Lennox found room for the Heriots beside him, in what they felt to be an embarrassingly prominent position—but which he countered by pointing out that as they were partly responsible for some aspects of the proceedings, it was only suitable that they should be well to the fore. They had a word with Will Shakespeare before the start, who expressed himself as reasonably satisfied with the form the work had taken, with Ben Jonson's scenery and the general arrangements—but was much concerned that the caste were insufficiently expert as yet in the parts and words and would scarce do justice to his dramatic conception
The royal entrance was delayed, as usual, and the great company, left to entertain itself, was in danger of getting out of hand —as again was not unusual. However, Archie Armstrong, the King's jester, was on hand, and came forth dressed up to represent young Sir Robert Carr and so aped his mannerisms and style to the life that he had the entire audience shouting with laughter and joy—indication of the favourite's unpopularity. When Lennox rather anxiously declared that the good Archie had better take heed, if James got to hear of this, Heriot demurred, remembering what the King had said to him about Carr and his future. He might be none so displeased, since it seemed that it was part of his design that the young man should be unpopular.
The usual blast of trumpets heralded the monarch and Armstrong scuttled off with every appearance of guilt and alarm— but by a round-about route which kept him in view much longer than need be. James came in, leaning on Carr's shoulder—and the youth was over-dressed exactly as had been the jester, all ribbons, bows and jewels, his long, shapely, silk-clad legs on display right up to the bulge of the genitals and buttocks. Shambling beside him, the King looked the more clumsy, his grotesquely padded clothing tarnished, stained and thrown on anyhow. A couple of yards behind, the Queen stalked, frowning, limping a little with her arthritis, magnificently gowned in somewhat too youthful a fashion for her thirty-five years, the Marchioness of Huntly and the Lady Jean Drummond in attendance.
When the royal party were settled, Shakespeare himself again appeared before the still-drawn curtains, dressed in the antique armour of a general of the army of King Duncan of Scots, to bow low to King James and declare that it was his own, Master Richard Burbage's and all the King's Players' great honour to present before Their Majesties and all Their Majesties' illustrious guests the tragedy of ancient Scotland and the Ring's own remote ancestors, to be entitled MacBeth. Hail, King of Scotland!
"Och, man—no' King o' Scotland!" James called out censoriously. "King o' Scots, just I told you before. You maun get the style right mind. It's a different usage, see you."
The playwright bowed low at this inauspicious start but did not amplify. He signed for the curtains to be opened and disappeared.
A great clash of noise and flashing of lights broke out forthwith, drums beating and rumbling, cymbals clashing, fireworks banging and blazing—to the extreme apprehension of the monarch, who rose from his seat prepared to bolt for safety. However, the drawn screens revealed that it was only a thunder-storm taking place over a moorland scene, backed by realistic mountains, with a ring of ancient standing-stones the sole occupants of the foreground. Remaining standing until he was sure that all was well, James stared suspiciously. Unless he made the bangs himself, he did not like sudden noises.
Three weird and ragged hags entered on the scene, bent, mumbling, tangled of hair, all clawing hands, outstretched arms and darting glances, wary as James's own. The thunder fortunately died away.
"Ha—witches, on my soul!" James cried, into the sudden hush. "Waesucks—right devilish witches, I say! I can aye tell them. Auld, horrid demoniacs. Look there!"
"None so old, She!" the Earl of Montgomery's voice rang out from nearby. "See the paps of the one to the side—out-thrust nicely. None so old, I swear!"
"Eh?" The King leaned forward, peering. "I canna just see. Och, I daresay you're right, man Philip. You've the keen eye. Och, well—witches needna be a' that auld, mind. Satan can get at them fell young. I mind one at Dalkeith..."
"Pray sire, Sire—of a mercy" Queen Anne requested. "Or we shall be here all night"
Paddock calls—Anon!
Fair is foul, and foul is fair:
Hover through the fog and filthy air!
So crying, the witches crept away, and the curtains were drawn to again.
"Short!" James commented loudly. "Aye, maist expeditious. But we're weel quit o' the likes o' them." He sat down, having established his proprietorial interest in the production.
The scene-shifting was not quite so expeditious, for though there was no lack of manpower, the Yeomen of the Guard, pressed into service, were less expert than were, say, the Globe attendants. The next scene, however, could make use of some of the former fittings, since this was also set in heathland, with the same hill background, a tented camp, with painted pavilions of King Duncan and his Scottish lords. His present Majesty called out identifications of the various heraldic devices shown, dwelling rather on the significance of the Lion Rampant, but also hailing Vicky Stewart to note the red saltire and roses of Lennox.
"Lord!" the Duke muttered, to Heriot "If we're going to have a royal exposition and commentary on all, Anne's right—we'll be here all night"
The appearance of Duncan and his sons Malcolm and Donald Ban, certainly brought forth further elucidation, but the arrival of a wounded and blood-stained captain to describe how had gone the battle against the rebellious Donald of the Isles had James cupping his ears to listen intently, quickly becoming absorbed in the story. Exclamations of satisfaction, wonder, enthusiasm and displeasure continued to come from him but nothing so prolonged that he should miss any of the serious speaking—to the relief of all concerned. The entry of the Earl of Ross, to announce another victory of the King's forces in far-away Fife, with Sweno of Norway seeking terms and the treacherous Thane of Cawdor dead, ended the second scene amidst jubilation—especially the declaration that the Norsemen were paying ten thousand dollars damages had James cheering loudly.
"Master Will knows his patron!" Heriot whispered.
The King took the opportunity, while the scenery was again being changed, to dilate upon the relationship of MacBeth and Duncan in distant cousinship, pointing out that his right name was MacBoedhe, or MacBeda and that he had some claim to the throne.
The curtains aside, they were back on the empty heath again, with some more bad weather and the three witches reappeared— signal for boos and catcalls from the audience who recognised them as fair game, in view of the monarch's well-known disapproval of the species, with enquiries and wagers as to their ages and physical development Not a word they screeched was to be heard.
The entry of MacBeth himself and his friend Banquo, to James's vehement shushing—who saw audience participation best confined to himself—produced approximate quiet. Richard Burbage played MacBeth, a noble-looking and battle-scarred warrior and Shakespeare himself was Banquo, his friend. With the latter demanding how far it was to Forres, present Majesty intervened with some geographical information and Lennox took the opportunity to ask who on earth was this Banquo ? Heriot admitted that he had never heard of such a character. Possibly he was an invention of Shakespeare's own. Or the King's.
The unfortunate witches therefore again had some difficulty in getting their hailing over, their prophecies anent MacBeth somewhat lost in the general discussion. Montgomery was to be heard declaring that he was not very sure yet where Forres was but if he was this MacBeth, he'd have the plumpest one down in her own heather there and then and Forres could wait
The exchange between MacBeth and Banquo regarding the Thanes of Glamis and Cawdor went rather above the heads of most listeners, and the scene ended.
Furniture was clearly being' introduced behind the curtains, during a longer pause, as James announced that he was afraid Master Shakespeare had erred in this of the thanes. MacBeth was Thane of Glamis, yes—but the Celtic thane was a lesser rank to that of Mormaor, and MacBeth was in fact Monn
aor of Moray. Some elaboration of the Celtic polity followed, with reminders that the actors should really be speaking the Gaelic, the true language of Heaven and Eden both, as he'd explained one time— but belike most of those present would be none the wiser, belonging to neither the one place nor the other 1
The scene in Duncan's palace went well, with James concerned that no one should interrupt while a king held the floor. But the change to MacBeth's own castle at Inverness, as Mormaor of Moray, demanded another geography lesson. Moreover Lady MacBeth's appearance drew forth dark allegations from present authority that yon was an ill woman if ever he'd seen one—and he'd seen a few. Though well-bred, mind. You couldn't aye depend on high breeding to produce proper females, like you could with bloodstock horses. If Queen Anne and her courtiers bridled at this sally, the King's own entourage cheered loyally. Scenes five, six and seven, to the end of Act one, therefore, were almost as active off stage as on.
At the interval, refreshments were brought on for all, largely liquid, James thoughtfully sending a good supply back-stage for the performers—which Lennox for one declared a somewhat rash proceeding—with his compliments that they were doing fine, fine, though he had not yet heard one good Scots voice. Thereafter, gazing about him in fatherly fashion, he espied Heriot and Alison, beside the Duke. Banging his tankard on the arm of his chair, to arouse their attention, he beckoned imperiously.
Highly embarrassed and reluctant, the pair got to their feet and made their way through the crush to the monarch's side.
"Aye, Geordie—so you have her, a' safe, sound and whaur she's best kept, atween your legs, heh ? Or you between her's. Ooh, aye —and she's looking weel on it!"
Tight-lipped, Heriot bowed but said nothing. He squeezed Alison's arm comfortingly.
James did not fail to notice that squeeze. "Husbandly," he approved. "Aye, a kindly conjugality. And how like you married life, Mistress?"
She curtsied prettily. "Very well, Sire—very well indeed. But then, I have a better husband that most!"
James shot a glance at his Queen. "Hech, hech—pert, eh? I judge you pert, Mistress"
"I hope not, Sire—but only honest" She turned and dipped low to Anne. "Master Heriot is a better husband than most, I do swear!"
"M'mm. You'll hae to watch this one, Geordie," the King said. "Mind, I told you so before. She'll lead you a dance, if you're no' carefu'. I ken the kind!" And he sniffed.
The Queen, who had been prepared to be stiff, smiled graciously instead. "Welcome back to Court, Alison!" she said. "I need not ask if you are well. You bloom, child—you bloom!"
"Your Majesty is most kind. Most generous. I thank you. I have heard that you suffer greatly. Arthritic pains. Yet Your Majesty never looked fairer, more handsome..."
"Why, bless you, child—marriage seems to have done you good. In more than your health! Would we all could say as much! My pain is oft grievous, yes. But must be borne. Like other things !"
"Yes, Majesty. You instruct us all in forbearance ..."
The King banged his tankard. "Enough o' idle chatter" he commanded. "If there's ae thing I canna be doing wi', it's women enlarging on their bit aches and pains. Forby—you'll be holding up the play-acting, the pair o' you, wi' your clack. Look—I vow they're sweer to be at it again. Back to your seats, Geordie man— and dinna hold a' up."
Bowing away but not overhurriedly, the Heriots moved back to Duke Ludovick.
"Good for you, my dear," Lennox greeted. "Nicely played, I think. You should be safely back in Anne's favour, now."
"So long as I did not overdo it with the King," she murmured. "I did not really offend him, Geordie ?"
"Not you, lass. James does not offend easily. Not over boldness. He'll think the more of you for a bit of spirit. That's what these English do not understand about him. They tend to grovel to their kings, as we do not."
"You do not, anyway, Geordie!" Lennox chuckled, "I've never seen less of a groveller than Master Craftsman Heriot, in all my days"
"Ssshh! The curtain, my lord Duke..."
The second act, ah at Inverness Castle, went well, with a minimum of royal interpolation, James quite caught up in the drama of it all, and the unfolding wickedness of Lady MacBeth, which so accurately bore out all his own assertions as to the essential baseness of the female nature. He was constrained at one stage to point out loudly, however, in ah fairness, that the woman —whose right name was Gruach—had some reason for believing that Duncan had less right to the throne than herself, his cousin, since she represented the elder line. But that, to be sure, did not give her the right to suggest the murder of the Lord's Anointed, the which there was no fouler crime in earth or heaven.
By the time the second interval was over, the refreshments, offstage and on, were beginning to have their effect. Even a three-act play was really over-long to put before a Court audience of this reign—and this one was reputed to have no fewer than five. Some of the actors, notably the Earl of Lennox, were speaking with increasing thickness—a circumstance which did not fail to rebound on his modern counterpart, in quips and sallies. When he came to the line, "My former speeches have but hit your thoughts," and rendered it, "My former theetches have but shit your sorts", he all but brought down the house—to his own surprise, since his was a comparatively minor part The rest of his speech went unheard, to the complete demoralisation of the poor man; and Shakespeare himself, who as Banquo had just been slain, had to come back on stage wearing another lord's cloak to pronounce the important finale of the act,
... some holy angel, fly to the Court of England and unfold, His message ere he come,
That a swift, blessing may soon return to this our suffering
country, Under a hand accurst...
The curtain drew again, James was not too happy about the impact of that. Having missed, through the noise, the fact that the now murdered Duncan had a son at the English Court and he it was who was being thus advised and summoned, the last bit sounded rather as though England were some superior and blest realm urged to come to the rescue of accursed Scotland—which was assuredly not the object of the evening's entertainment. It took the monarch all of the third interval to explain the true situation to a not very attentive audience.
In the circumstances, the so dramatic ghost—and witch-haunted fourth act, with cave and cauldron, scarcely gained the rapt attention and horror it deserved—although there were cheers for the re-appearance of Banquo, however wraith-like. The sudden switch to MacDuff's castle in Fife was lost upon most onlookers, who, having once gone astray were not greatly concerned to return. Even the English Court scene failed to grip or be understood, apart from MacDuff's challenging question, "Stands Scotland where she did?" which received a notably vehement and unamimous answer from a large part of the gathering. And the final line of this act, Prince Malcolm's cry, "The night is long that never finds a day!" was taken up by all, with heartfelt fervour.
The last act, back in Scotland, at Dunsinane, interested Alison and Heriot more than it did most—though that was scarcely the fault of the playwright, who had fulfilled his exceedingly onerous task nobly, nor of Ben Jonson, whose no fewer than seventeen different scenes were a triumph of invention and design, even though none were recognisably Scottish in character. Success in the presentation of dramatic entertainment depends on many factors—and few of the necessary were present at Hampton Court that night Birnam Wood on the move, admittedly, was a great success, with the entire Court hallooing loudly, as at a buck-hunt; and MacBeth's head, dripping realistic gore and upraised on MacDuff's spear, was cheered to the echo. All, even King James, accepted that as the finish—and so were spared Malcolm's valedictory speech, however hopefully it began, "We shall not spend a large expense of time..."
Probably Will Shakespeare was as relieved to see the end as were his audience.
"Think you this piece will serve to endear us Scots to the longsuffering English?" Lennox wondered, as they made their way out in the royal train. "Since that, I unders
tand, was its object"
"I doubt it." Heriot sighed. "Not to this Court, at any rate— which I fear is far beyond conversion. It may serve better with the commonality of playgoers, who have longer wits if shorter pedigrees ! Who knows ? For there is much good in it. Had we been able to heed it properly, I would have enjoyed it, I think."
"Poor Master Shakespeare," Alison sympathised. "Who would be a playwright? I think it was splendid—or should have been. He was casting his pearls before swine, here."
"It is James I am sorry for," her husband said. "Shakespeare will know its worth and will play it to better effect another time. But this was the King's conception, his dream to serve Scotland and the Scots. He will be a sore disappointed man this night— though, I swear, he will never show it Have a thought for Jamie —even though half the fault was his own."
* * *
The Heriots did indeed go to see the play of MacBeth again, some weeks later, when it was performed before a more conventional audience at the Globe, Southwark—and enjoyed it greatly. But now there was another Banquo, for Will Shakespeare had finally done what he had been threatening to do for long—shaken the dust of London from his feet and gone back to his native Stratford, in Warwickshire, there to live the better life. George Heriot asked himself, and his wife, whether the playwright was not the wiser man than he? Alison was young enough still to find the bustle and excitement of the city and Court alluring— but she agreed that a small landed property in green Strathearn, say, near to Methven would make a joyous contemplation. Perhaps in a year or two... ?
Not that the news from Scotland that whiter and spring of 1609-10 was such as to entice exiles home. Trouble was brewing, harshness and uncertainty both were rife in the rule and governance, and rumours of plots, uprisings, even armed invasion from abroad, abounded. On the face of it, the struggle appeared to be between Dunbar and the rising tide of Catholicism, but those in the know tended to see it as between King James in London and Patrick, Lord Gray. Dunbar, now to all intents supreme in Scotland, was highly unpopular and known to be feathering his own nest hugely. But against Gray he seemed to be able to achieve nothing, for the latter appeared on the surface to be leading a blameless, innocuous and normal life for a peer of the realm, sheriffing it in Angus, managing large estates there and in Fife, making entirely worthy public appearances in Dundee, Aberdeen, Glasgow and the capital, ornamenting all he touched. But there was little doubt that he, not Dunbar nor yet Dunfermline, was beginning to all but control the Privy Council, as once he had done before. And that a constant succession of unknown visitors, some said to be Jesuits, came and went by night at Castle Huntly in the Carse of Gowrie, Broughty Castle and other of his houses.
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