by L E Pembroke
The latest member of the household soon became well aware that a young woman seated in the lower section of the table was showing a marked interest in him - a chamber maid perhaps, or a parlour maid. Life had to be lived, he thought with eager anticipation, as the saying goes, all work makes Jack a very dull boy. Opposite him, six or seven young men were joking together with gusto. There appeared to be no curtailing their enthusiasm. One leaned forward to introduce himself. ‘William Beeston, sir, good evening to you. What, may I ask, is your position at Hoghton Tower? He told them. ‘And yours sir?’
‘My companions and I are my Lord’s musicians and players and a grand life it is, sir. William nodded his head. ‘I can imagine that is so. I envy you greatly’.
William knew little of acting although he was familiar with the pastoral music and songs played by travelling troupes who regularly passed through the town of Stratford and also the troupes who entertained guests staying at cousin Edward Arden’s home.
He looked forward to many more meetings with the players. However there would be plenty of time in the future, meanwhile he had to give his mind to the satisfactory tuition of the boys. William noticed the tables were fast emptying and when a footman approached to show him to his room, he rose eagerly realising how very tired he was after his first long day in Lancashire.
The footman led the way to his small, plainly furnished room which was set directly under the roof and reached by climbing several flights of stairs. Through a small dormer window he looked down upon the torch-lit inner court-yard and the rear of Hoghton Tower. He was asleep in a second.
It seemed only minutes later when a maidservant wakened him soon after dawn. With haste he splashed his body with ice cold water and dressed into his only change of garb, a sober-coloured set of clothing - woollen breeches, hose, a shirt and doublet.
It wasn’t easy finding his way through the vast and cold corridors and down various stairways to the Great Hall which at that time of the morning was occupied by relatively few. Rigby entered the hall as William finished his oats, bread and single ale. A footman was waiting to conduct him on a tour of the house and introduce him to his pupils. They retraced the direction he had taken the previous evening and on the ground floor he saw, for the first time, the Hoghton chapel. As chapels go, it was large although, unlike the small family chapel in the Arden forest, this one was bare of any form of decoration. He thought that was strange. A chapel this size in a house reputed to be one of the great castles of northern England should contain icons, statues, candles and all the ornamentation usually found in a Catholic Church. Why, this was no better than the plainest and meanest hall for meetings of citizenry.
He soon forgot the chapel as, on the first floor his eyes swept across and along a superb, oak-panelled gallery. It was almost the length of the main house and magnificently furnished. Its walls were hung with family portraits which, judging from the different fashions, appeared to extend back several hundred years. At the centre of the vast room a musicians’ gallery excited him and within it he saw a harpsichord, lute and viol. Would he be invited to attend musical evenings or did the musicians only play for the family and their guests?
The youngest members of the family lived most of the time in another wing. Their apartment consisted of a school room, bedrooms, a play room, small dining room and a wash room with stone-seated privy with the usual chute set into the outer, stone, castle wall. Young children spent very little time in the main house or with their parents.
Before the winter closed in completely, during the pleasant if brisk days of autumn, the family occasionally enjoyed a picnic within the vast grounds by the lake upon which ducks and water fowl abounded. And, there was horse riding with the older boys as well as cricket, the relatively new bat and ball game that became popular in England around the time of William’s birth. The younger ones rode ponies.
More than one pretty young serving maid soon caught William’s attention. He was a compact lad, slim and of moderate height and was aware that the giggling girls who served him his food seemed to think he was a passing agreeable fellow with pleasing facial features. At sixteen years he had no wish to spend all his time with his pupils and in the Hoghton library and being one who was never backward in coming forward, William soon began a romantic interlude with Bridget, Rigby’s niece, a red-haired, bold girl of eighteen years who had been sent to Hoghton from Ireland after acquiring an unenviable reputation with the local lads in faraway County Mayo.
*
Every now and then at Hoghton and, he soon realised, at many other great houses, there were secret visits from disguised and undercover priests. However, these visits because of the necessary secrecy entailed, were restricted to the landed gentry and the families of the nobility. These were families with homes large enough for priests to hide in secret passages if danger loomed in the form of the Queen’s men. Priests, during their overnight stays heard confessions, conducted a Mass and administered whatever other sacraments that were required, such as marriage, baptism or the last rites.
William was used to these secret visits. His cousin, Edward Arden, lived in a home large enough to accommodate secret visiting members of the clergy. Apart from welcoming visits from undercover priests, he also had living within the land he owned, a priest who was disguised as a gardener. William’s mother made certain that her whole family visited cousin Edward regularly in order to hear Mass in the family chapel. William was brought up to believe he had been fortunate in the matter of his religious training as he had been by having spent nine years at Kings during the time of three outstanding headmasters, two of whom encouraged him in his faith and one who secured him his position at Hoghton.
Nevertheless, William was not a zealot as many in his family were. He knew the Arden’s were obsessed with their faith. Not that he minded their zealotry, after all it was their enthusiasm that provided him with his present opportunity.
*
In later life William often thought the following two years at Hoghton had been the happiest in his life. Bursting with enthusiasm for his job as tutor, he awoke each morning refreshed and full of novel ideas to impart his knowledge to the children of the house.
In the Great Hall it became his habit to sit amongst the musicians and players. In Lancashire, for the first time, he was amongst young men to whom he closely related. He wrote letters to the family, read aloud by Gilbert, and filled them with descriptions of his new friends, the fun and laughter they shared during rehearsals and the drama of actual performance. William sensed he had found the sort of environment in which he wanted to live for the remainder of his life.
Sir Alexander was a devotee of music (it was said he played the lute nearly as well as the Queen and her musical skills were renowned in circles of the nobility). The master of the house employed, on a permanent basis, a group of players not only for the entertainment of his family and friends but also as an educative tool for the villagers, his servants and their children.
From the time of William’s first meeting with the players, thrilling concepts tumbled through his mind. Why couldn’t the children be players? Why couldn’t they learn through the medium of rehearsing and performing religious and morality plays to members of the household? He thought it was a waste of time to keep them at their desks fretting over the inadequacies of their quill pens and the neatness of their script when, instead, their lessons could be brought to life by performance.
William was always confident of his ability to direct his students on a stage. All that remained to be done was to convince Sir Alexander of the benefits to the students of this innovative approach to their religious education. Another thought, would his patron permit him to become a player, albeit only on a part-time basis?
William, already sanguine about his writing skills, was also aware of his highly-developed imagination. He liked nothing better than writing and telling stories that portrayed the ferocity of an evil protagonist, the courage and daring of a hero and the sweet gentility of th
e heroine.
As time passed, he understood that, unlike himself, plenty of players were at ease playing the roles of women. The choice of female parts invariably went to the more slightly built player. William, although slim and not tall, preferred to play roles of mystic male characters. He thought it went without saying that the young grandsons of the house would be happiest with action roles. Perhaps they would like to be part of the baying crowd who demanded, “Crucify Him,” or even the shepherds stumbling through the dark in search of a special stable. An excellent role for a more promising boy actor would be young Isaac so nearly stabbed to death by his father, or, even better, costumed as an animal being led aboard an ark that pitched and rolled on a sea of rippling blue satin.
The stories in the bible seemed endless and he was confident of his ability to create dramatic tension on stage by dousing lamps, designing appropriate costumes and properties, using music to enhance atmosphere and painting a spectacular backdrop to vivify a scene.
First of all, there was the library - a fountain of stories to be read and mulled over. He grabbed at every free moment to search for tales to rewrite and put into dramatic form for both children and players. He was amazed at the wealth of information stored in the Hoghton library and like a starving man with a loaf of bread, he feverishly and urgently assimilated as much knowledge as time would allow. He created story outlines from the tales of saints and other religious topics as well as tales from early English and European history and soon became aware he possessed an uncanny knack of getting into the skin of his characters by choosing just the right words that brought them and his plays to life. Sir Alexander, delighted with his young tutor’s ideas, gave him free rein.
*
After the evening meal, the musicians played most nights for the family in the Great Gallery. At times they accompanied the players for special performances for all held in the Great Hall to celebrate Christian festivals. On these occasions, all the occupants of Hoghton Tower were invited as well as local villagers and certain more wealthy land-holding neighbours.
At the end of 1579, a mere three months after his arrival in Lancashire, he was thrilled and excited at the challenge of being given his first major experience of directing. He created his own version of the Christian Christmas story. Because of being kept so very occupied in the wings with his young protégées he played only a bit part, (the inn-keeper, an unsympathetic character, more interested in drinking his ale than providing shelter for those in need). The enthusiastic Hoghton younger grandchildren, impatient for the cue that would bring them onto the stage and face to face with the admiration of the audience, needed his constant attention.
The Christmas story was William’s first taste of what he considered to be the unique satisfaction experienced by players, playwright and stage director when the audience responded. With every roar of appreciation and their obvious attention and perception, William shivered in a fever of excitement. His make-believe creation had been an outstanding success. This was what he was born for, he was certain of that. The satisfaction he gained from writing and performance consumed him and weeks passed between his visits downstairs to tumble with the willing Bridget.
*
He soon discovered these idyllic times were to be short-lived. 1581 began as a good year. After fifteen months under William’s tutelage, Richard, the eldest grandson, had qualified to go to a boarding school in France, all of which were run by priests and monks. William had more time to write and perform in his own plays. Easter was just a week away, children and players rehearsed day and night for the re-enactment of Christ’s Passion. ‘I have never been so happy,’ he wrote to brother Gilbert (no other member of the family being able to read).
A few days before Easter, Sir Alexander announced to all that special guests were arriving for Easter and would be attending the performance of the Passion Play on the Saturday night, the feast of the Vigil, before Easter Sunday.
William had discovered soon after his arrival in Lancashire that special guests meant priests, and special religious festivals at Hoghton meant that the chapel would be transformed rapidly from a plain unadorned space to that which the family and friends yearned for.
With a knowledgeable touch, certain timber panels in the chapel walls opened to reveal a storage area for crucifix, candlesticks, icons, statues, altar linen and all the accoutrements used in a Catholic Mass. During the stay of disguised and underground priests, who traversed the country bringing Communion and other sacraments to those who wanted them, the outer walls and square tower were manned. Lookouts were posted. Their job was to give ample warning if the Queen’s men were approaching Hoghton in search of traitors who stubbornly refused to acknowledge the church founded by King Henry VIII.
On receiving such a warning, family and servants rapidly restored the chapel to its former unembellished state and the travelling priest or priests took refuge in the secret passage behind the chapel wall.
No such unwanted Queen’s men interrupted the serenity within the castle when Fathers Edmund Campion and Joseph Cottam dwelt at Hoghton during Easter 1581. Father Joseph was the younger brother of Thomas Cottam, William’s last headmaster at Kings and the one who had organised his position as tutor. William and the younger Cottam were known to one another - in fact kinsmen on the Arden side of the family. The priest was young, barely ten years older than William and they greeted one another with enthusiasm.
The other priest, Edmund Campion, previously a priest in the faith founded by King Henry VIII, had converted to the Roman Church and become a Jesuit. He was a man of between forty and fifty years, had lectured at Oxford before the persecutions began in earnest after which he was forced to become a fugitive priest. He was known throughout the country by friends and foe alike. For many months he had been pursued by the Queen’s men and had narrowly missed arrest on several occasions. Despite the hazardous nature of his present way of life he seemed to be a relaxed, gentle and humorous man. It was said his sermons were an inspiration to all of his faith. The players were awe-struck by this unexpected opportunity to perform the Passion in his presence.
William, always reluctant to forego an opportunity to perform in any play and confident that he could manage the complexity of a major role with aplomb, took the part of Pontius Pilate. He also conceived of a way to create a climactic finish. The backdrop was painted to depict the Temple in Jerusalem. ‘This will bring the audience to its feet,’ he assured William Beeston, one of his player friends and the one who was playing the principal role.
Enthusiastically William raced onto the acting space and demonstrated how at the moment of Christ’s death the concealed stage hands would rip the canvas and timber of the backdrop so that, as predicted in the bible, the Temple would become a heap of rubble. ‘A fitting conclusion don’t you think?’ said a complacent William.
*
The Passion Play ended as William planned. The audience rose to its feet to acclaim the players. Father Edmund congratulated them all. He turned to William. ‘Well done my boy. May I say I think perhaps the substance of the plot and the words you wrote are strong enough without resorting to theatrical effects. Do you think that perhaps the climactic moment of our Saviour’s death should stand alone, should leave the audience stunned and sorrowing? Is it possible that the spectacular destruction of the temple might detract from the quintessential message of Easter?’
The gentle rebuke left him temporarily speechless. Yet, later in his bed as he relived the night’s performance, he realised Campion had given him sound advice, the sort of guidance and admonition he had never before received. He had become too confident of his skills as a budding playwright but this man, with a few well-chosen words, had made him see that any plays he might write in the future should contain an unambiguous central message. Words were his strength, he must learn to choose the words that would give his plays greatness. His enthusiasm wasn’t dimmed one whit by the mild criticism he’d received. Rather the reverse. One day he would make a livi
ng as a playwright in London. He would pit his skills against the best. ‘We’ll see who comes out on top.’ William, in his bed, murmured sleepily that night.
*
Little changed at Hoghton until Midsummer Day, the Feast of John the Baptist. The players were in final rehearsal for this religious feast when the news arrived. Fathers Edmund and Joseph had returned to London, been captured and were now in the Tower charged with treason.
A terrible gloom swept over those in residence at Hoghton. Clearly, the men would be tortured (most commonly racked) in an effort by the authorities to discover the names of active recusant families. Queen Elizabeth was even more determined to rid England of Catholics following the discovery of several plots by Catholics to release Mary Stuart from the Tower and put her on England’s throne.
Hoghton residents could only pray that their friends would ultimately be released and without revealing the names of those who had secretly remained with the Church of Rome. Then, only weeks later, Sir Alexander Hoghton died unexpectedly. His son took the title.
Many changes occurred, the most relevant to William was the abandonment of the Hoghton Players. Nevertheless, following Sir Alexander’s wishes as expressed in his Will, most were given employment as players at various other great houses in the county. William’s closest friend amongst them became a member of Lord Strange’s Company of Players. They, within a few years would transfer to London where William would join them in their performances held in the courtyards of inns where prior to the establishment of theatres, many player groups performed to rapt audiences.
William, torn between duty to family and desire to follow a career in the theatre, ultimately decided to return to Stratford. He had been away for two years, was only eighteen and felt obliged to spend time with the family, besides, he had to meet his new young brother, Edmund, not yet two years old.
