by David Elias
My mother rose from her chair when she saw us. Alfonso straightened and turned to us.
“Henry, at last you’ve come.” She walked toward us with arms outstretched. “Elizabeth, I was not expecting you.” She brushed past me and hurried to greet Henry.
“Good to see you, too, Mother,” I said.
She reached out and clutched my brother by the arms, dragged him into the room. “Come, come. We have much to do. Over here. Take off that cloak.”
Alfonso stepped forward. Though it might have been said of him that he was impeccably dressed, well groomed, and not without courtly manners, I found him shifty and seedy-looking. Hair oiled, beard and moustache shiny to excess, he was small of nose and weak of chin, with sunken eyes under half-closed lids.
“Your Highness.” He took up my hand and bent to kiss it, lingered over it too long as he was wont to do, his thin lips yet pressed against the back of my hand even as I pulled it away. “We are honoured to be in your elegant and delightful company. Here is the music I have composed for your mother’s new masque.” He picked up a few of the sheets from the desk and held them up. “It promises to be an excellent production.”
He turned to the Queen. “Your Majesty, your daughter grows in beauty by the day, it would seem.”
“Yes, yes,” said the Queen, “let us dispense with needless flattery.” She pointed to a table at the far end of the room where two tailors stood in attendance. “They have laid out your costume for you,” she said to Henry. “Come and try it on.” Her eyes sparkled with anticipation, as they always did when she was immersed in her preparations. “I am eager to see my Oberon in the flesh.”
“Mother, you catch me unawares,” said Henry. “I came merely to look upon it.”
“The tailors would know how it sits upon your frame.”
“I fail to see the need,” Henry protested. “The measurements have all been taken.”
“As a favour to me.” Mother smiled ingratiatingly. “Is that so much to ask?”
“You shall see me in it soon enough,” said Henry. “What need have I to wear it now?”
“Do my eyes deceive me, or are you somewhat thinner about the waist?” She looked him up and down.
“I admit I am a little off my appetite of late,” said Henry. “Perhaps that may account for it.”
“All the more reason we must see to a fitting,” said Mother, “as these tailors may see the need for some alteration. We would be assured of an excellent fit.” She pulled him over to the table while one of the tailors slid over an ornate dressing screen and unfolded it while the other guided Henry into position behind it.
When she began to undo the buttons on his doublet he took her hands away. “Leave off, Mother,” he said irritably. “I shall manage this on my own.”
“We have no need for undue modesty. There shall be little time for that when you are in the midst of all the other players about the stage.”
“I shall expect a dressing room to myself.”
“I shall you get an entire wing if it will quell this unseemly pleading.”
“A pity.” Alfonso Ferrabosco closed in on me. “We shall not get to see Your Highness take the stage in a fairy costume of her own.” The way his eyes took in my body left no doubt as to his inclinations. “It should give me the greatest of pleasure.”
“My daughter shall soon have means to her own ambitions in that regard,” said my mother.
“Are there productions such as these in your future?” asked Ferrabosco.
“It is my fondest hope that there are not,” I said.
“As you see,” said my mother, “my daughter sits in unrepentant judgment as only a child can.”
At this Henry emerged from behind the partition dressed in the Roman style, carrying a helmet with feathered plumes under one arm and wearing a scarlet cloak adorned with a set of Leonine shoulder pieces. A bold sash of bright blood-red cut across his golden thorax, and the leggings, their tops filigreed with lace, were embroidered with the face of a lion. On his feet he wore a pair of leather calcei lunati that came halfway up his calf.
“It flatters your physique,” said my mother.
“I dare say I had not seen such a leg upon a prince,” said Ferrabosco. “There’s something of the gladiator in him.”
“I will say it impresses,” said the Queen.
“Well,” Henry looked at me, “what did you think, Sister? I look the fairy, don’t I?”
“I think the ladies shall find you quite fetching,” said my mother.
“Not to mention some of the men, the King’s favourites among them,” I added.
My mother bristled at this remark but kept silent.
“If you are pleased then I am pleased, Mother, and so I retire.” He made to return to the partition, but she took hold of him.
“No, wait.” She spun him around by the shoulders until she had brought him full circle. “We like it well.”
“Now may I go?” asked Henry.
“I had hoped you might walk about a little in it.”
“You have seen me walk from there to here, and now you shall see me walk back.”
Ferrabosco turned to me. “What think you, Your Highness?” he asked. “You have not said.”
“It is a good fit.”
“It speaks to your brother’s physique.” Ferrabosco lowered his gaze. “Or indeed such charms as yours, which flatter those garbs that conceal them.”
I ignored him. “Mother, it would appear this promises to be the most extravagant of all your productions. How do you plan to pay for it? And what about all this new construction? Do you have any idea what all of this costs?”
“I do not concern myself with such matters.”
“You think it wise? There are rumblings that the exchequer is all but bankrupt.”
“A tedious business best seen to by Parliament.”
“Which grows unwilling to finance more needless expense.”
“Indeed they will have us grovel for what is rightfully ours.”
“You stand to leave your son an inheritance of debt.”
“I have no wish to discuss it further, least of all with you. Is that why you came, to needle me with these petty concerns? And why are you traipsing about London when the foreign prince is eager for your company?”
“I thought you would rather I wed the new Swedish monarch.”
“Your father would choose a prince over a king.”
“I should prefer to choose neither.”
***
Henry had finished changing back into his clothes and come over to join us. He was impatient to return to St. James’s now that our mother’s curiosity had been satisfied. She herself eagerly resumed her consultations with Ferrabosco, and so we took our leave.
The evening’s performance at Whitehall saw me seated once again next to the Palatine, awaiting the raising of the curtain. The Queen had chosen to sit in one of the loges with the trio of Alfonso Ferrabosco, Inigo Jones, and Ben Jonson. The King occupied a separate balcony, accompanied by his bodyguards and his usual entourage of young male courtiers.
“There is yet one seat empty next to Lady Anne,” noted Count Schomberg. He and Lady Anne were seated in behind us, engaged in a pitifully transparent flirtation.
“One more guest has yet to arrive,” I explained. The two of them were a little too cozy for my liking, and I had arranged to bring a little disquiet to their excessive congeniality.
“I had thought we might see Mr. Shakespeare here this evening,” said the Palatine.
“Busy with one of his own productions, no doubt,” offered the Count.
“The man harbours a great fear of the plague,” said Lady Anne.
“How does that speak to his absence here?”
“As he would have it, there are deadly sprites that flit about,” I said, �
�and more easily find their mark within the confines of an enclosed room such as this, being bounded by four walls and a roof.”
“To that end did he build the Globe Theatre open to the air?” the Count enquired.
“Indeed,” Lady Anne answered. “So that those who pay a penny can stand in the pit without a roof over their heads, and in inclement weather suffer themselves to be rained upon, even as the actors shrink back from the stage.”
“Or that upon a clear night the moon might play her part.” The Palatine smiled over at me. “If it should suit the scene.”
“Do you suppose he might think of a masque like this as competition?” asked the Count.
“That would better fall to the Beargarden I should think,” offered Lady Anne, “but a stone’s throw from the Globe.”
“And what productions do they put on?”
“None but where the actors must play their part to the death.”
“Ah, tragedy, then.”
“More like to comedy.”
“Some would call it comedy,” I said. “I would call it barbarism.”
“Bear-baiting and such,” Lady Anne explained to the Count.
“Prince Henry told me,” said the Palatine, “that upon the last occasion they set loose a pack of ravenous dogs that proceeded to tear the entrails out of a declawed bear.”
“He’s been, then,” mused the Count.
“I suppose you should wish to go and see for yourself.”
“Quite a sight, I imagine.”
“Theatre of the worst kind,” I said disdainfully, “with naught to recommend it but blood and gore.”
“No doubt tonight shall offer spectacle of a more civilized fashion,” said Lady Anne.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” I cautioned. “Whatever the case, we are sure to have more sizzle than steak.”
I saw that my special guest had arrived at last, and beckoned him over. “Look who it is.” I turned to Lady Anne, who fixed me with a contemptuous glare.
Tobias Hume strode toward us dressed in an ill-fitting knee-length coat, soiled and wrinkled, a pair of worn brocade breeches, and scuffed knee-length boots with spurs. It was apparent his beard and moustache had not been trimmed in some time, nor the hair upon his head combed, all of which pleased me greatly.
“You know him, then?” the Count asked.
“We have some mild acquaintance,” Lady Anne admitted.
“He has upon occasion made overtures to your favour, has he not?” I teased.
“With all the subtlety and charm of a fishmonger.”
“And yet I’ve heard you call him Toby.”
“I’ve met the man,” said Prince Frederick. “Henry introduced me to him only yesterday.” He turned to Count Schomberg. “He has written a book of ayres the Prince is very fond of.”
“If only we could separate the man from his music,” Lady Anne said dryly.
“I admit he is rough around the edges,” I acknowledged, “but we must seek to overlook such shortcomings. Even coarseness has its uses. There’s something to be said for vulgarity if it should serve to subvert pretense.”
“Your brother remarked that the other composers are eager to study his works, though only in secret.”
In the course of the ensuing introductions and formalities, Captain Hume made a great show of going down on one knee before Lady Anne to take up her hand in his and kiss it with his lips puckered, after which he proceeded to seat himself next to her in a most boisterous and demonstrative fashion. Lady Anne, much to my delight, was clearly discomfited, and Count Schomberg hardly knew what to make of the situation.
“How is it this masque takes place at Whitehall Palace rather than Somerset,” Prince Frederick enquired after some moments, “where the Queen resides?”
“It does so upon the King’s insistence,” I answered, “the better to let him take as much credit as he can, an option he never fails to exercise. See where he has taken pains to ensure that all in attendance know whereof he is ruler.” I indicated the stage curtains, onto which an enormous, detailed map of the British Isles had been sown.
“What did you say is the title of this production?” asked the Count.
“Oberon, the Faery Prince.”
“And those corbies seated there with the Queen,” Captain Hume scowled, “have pocketed the chinks for it. Therefore we can be assured of three things: a second-rate script from the priggish Mr. Jonson, lurid costumes and garish scenery by the profligate Inigo Jones, and most scandalous of all, an utterly unoriginal musical score thanks to the oily Alfonso Ferrabosco.”
“Do I note some slight animosity?” the Palatine offered sarcastically.
The Captain ignored the comment. “We are sure to have some Italian slop offered up tonight.”
“Look how the composer sits very near to the stage.” I goaded him on.
“Did I but strut those boards, I should be sure and allow him some spit.”
Prince Frederick leaned toward me. “How is it the Captain holds this gentleman in such contempt?”
“They have ever been rivals for one court appointment or other.”
Captain Hume’s open disdain for Alfonso Ferrabosco could hardly be faulted. The man could not be trusted. He had already made a sly pass at me on one occasion, and considered every woman vulnerable to his lubricious charm. I had urged Henry in the strongest possible terms not to consider him for his court, but my brother would only answer that the matter was a delicate one. Sir Raleigh should certainly have put him in his place soon enough.
Now the candles were snuffed out around the room and the crowd quieted. The curtains ruffled as they were drawn wide to reveal upon the stage an enormous boulder, jagged and ugly, and above it a thin moon that traced a barely noticeable path across the stage and whose light lent the set a pale, milky texture.
A muscular man wearing a robe draped loosely across his torso and holding a leafed staff took centre stage and began to recite.
Melt earth to sea, sea flow to air, and air fly into fire,
Whilst we in tunes, to Arthur’s chair bear Oberon’s desire;
Than which there’s nothing can be higher,
Save James, to whom it flies
“Look there, how dutifully the King suffers his flattery.” I glanced up at the balcony, where my father sat surrounded by fawning courtiers, and wondered how it must make Henry feel to see his father prefer the company of such young men to that of his own son.
“This player sports the ears of a horse,” the Count remarked.
“He is Silenus,” said Lady Anne, “god of dance.”
“And drunkenness, no doubt,” I added.
But he the wonder is of tongues, of ears, of eyes.
Who hath not heard, who hath not seen,
Who hath not sung his name?
“What bodes this horse-eared fellow?” asked the Count.
“He comes as harbinger, I venture,” said the Palatine, “to prophesy that Oberon shall bring good order and benevolent reign upon his subjects.”
The soul that hath not, hath not been;
But is the very same
With buried sloth, and knows not fame,
Which him doth best comprise:
For he the wonder is of tongues, of ears, of eyes.
“How likes the King these words, I wonder?” the Palatine ventured.
I looked up at my father and saw he had grown more attentive, listening now to the import of the words.
He is a god o’er kings; yet stoops he then
Nearest a man, when he doth govern men;
To teach them by the sweetness of his sway,
And not by force.
Now an array of outrageously attired satyrs in oversized codpieces who had been perched upon the crag rose and began to gyrate about the stage, suggestively playing thei
r flutes, while nymphs with breasts exposed under diaphanous fabric, appeared and flitted about among them. From time to time unseen hands from off-stage deployed artfully decorated partitions onto the wings to change up the scenery.
“What do you make of this scenery construction?” said the Palatine. “See how the backdrop is made up of separate pieces they disassemble and configure in a new arrangement to yield a different effect. I had not seen this upon a stage heretofore.”
“A ploy to squeeze additional remuneration out of coffers, no doubt,” offered Captain Hume.
“And what say you for those backcloths?”
“I can only imagine what the stage at the Globe would look like with such clutter upon it. Let us hope these affectations of Inigo Jones do not become the fashion.”
“The audience seem impressed by it,” the Count put in.
“Their taste is bred out of privilege and entitlement, and ever has comfort tendered a false sense of refinement. They would make excellent guests at your Banquo’s banquet.”
Now there arose a general murmuring in the audience as the nymphs and satyrs formed into couples that writhed about the stage with lewd and salacious gestures. I thought how utterly misplaced my brother must feel to find himself part of such a garish production. The masquers continued to gyrate in anticipation, the audience in twitters and whispers, until the crag split open with a clap of rolling thunder that echoed from off-stage.
“Impressive, that sound effect,” said the Palatine. “I dare say Mr. Shakespeare might have learned a thing or two here tonight.”
“A cheap ploy to divert the attention of the audience,” protested the Captain. “A bit of trickery to fool them into believing they are witnessing something worthy.”
“Notable nevertheless,” the Palatine held his ground, “from a technical point of view.”
When the crag had finished splitting wide, there inside was revealed the interior of a palace hall, its throne illuminated by a host of lights in a variety of colours. From out of this fissure sprang a throng of yet more masquers, and from their midst, riding in a chariot drawn by two white bears, appeared the Prince of Wales himself.
“There he is!” said Lady Anne.
