A Gentleman Player; His Adventures on a Secret Mission for Queen Elizabeth

by Robert Neilson Stephens

  CHAPTER I.

  THE FIRST PERFORMANCE OF "HAMLET."

  "Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?"--_Quoted in "As You Like It," from Marlowe's "Hero and Leander."_

  At three o'clock in the afternoon of the cold first Monday in March,1601, a red flag rose, and a trumpet sounded thrice, from a littlegabled turret protruding up out of a large wooden building in a field inthat part of Southwark known as the Bankside and bordering on the Thameswest of London Bridge. This rude edifice, or enclosure, was round (notlike its successor, hexagonal) in shape; was in great part roofless; wasbuilt on a brick and stone foundation, and was encircled by a ditch fordrainage. It was, in fact, the Globe Theatre; and the flag and trumpetmeant that the "Lord Chamberlain's servants" were about to begin theirperformance, which, as the bill outside the door told in rough letters,was to be that of a new "Tragicall Historie of Hamlet Prince ofDenmark," written by William Shakespeare. London folk knew this MasterShakespeare well as one of the aforesaid "servants," as the maker ofmost of the plays enacted now by those servants, and, which was deemedfar more to his honor, as the poet of "Venus and Adonis" and "The Rapeof Lucrece." Many who read the playbill guessed rightly that the new"tragicall historie" was based in part upon another author's old play,which they had seen performed many times in the past.[1]

  The audience, in all colours and qualities of doublet and hose, ruff andcloak, feathered hat and plain cap and scholar's coif, had awaitednoisily the parting of the worsted curtains of the stage projecting fromone side of the circular interior of the barnlike playhouse. Around theother sides were wooden galleries, and under these was a raised platformdivided into boxes called "rooms," whose fronts were hung with paintedcloth. The stage and the actors' tiring-room behind it were under a roofof thatch. The boxes had the galleries for cover. But the great centralO-shaped space, known as the "yard," where self-esteeming citizens, andassertive scholars, and black-robed lawyers, and burly soldiers, andpeople of countless occupations, and people of no occupation at all,stood and crowded and surged and talked and chaffed, and bought fruitand wine and beer from the clamorous venders, had no ceiling but thesky. It had no floor but the bare ground, and no seats whatever.

  The crowd in this so-called "yard" was expectant. The silk and velvetgentry sitting in the boxes, some of whom smoked pipes and ogled the fewcitizenesses in the better gallery, were for the most part prepared tobe, or to seem, bored. The solid citizens in gallery and yard weremanifestly there to get the worth of their eightpence or sixpenceapiece, in solid entertainment. The apple-chewing, nut-cracking,fighting apprentices and riff-raff in the topmost gallery wereturbulently ready for fun and tumult, whether in the play or of theirown making. In the yard a few self-reliant women, not of the betterorder, and some of them smoking like men, struggled to hold their ownamidst the hustling throng. Two or three ladies, disdaining custom andopinion, or careless or ignorant thereof, were present, sitting inboxes; but they wore masks.

  Now and then, before the performance began, some young foppish nobleman,scented, feathered, bejewelled, armed with gilt-hilted rapier in velvetsheath, and sporting huge rosettes on his shoes, would haughtily, ordisdainfully, or flippantly, make his way to the lords' room, which wasthe box immediately overlooking the stage; or would pass to a place onthe rush-covered stage itself, he or his page bearing thither athree-legged stool, hired of a theatre boy for sixpence. There, onsimilar stools at the sides of the stage, he would find others of hiskind, some idly chatting, some playing cards; and could hear, throughthe rear curtains of arras screening the partition behind the stage, thetalk and movements of the players in their tiring-room, hurrying thefinal preparations for the performance.

  One of these gallants, having lighted his pipe, said, lispingly, toanother, and with a kind of snigger in the expression of his mouth:

  "'Twill be a long time ere my lord of Southampton shall again sit hereseeing his friend Will's plays."

  Southampton, indeed, was in the Tower for complicity in the insurrectionof his friend, the Earl of Essex, who had died on the block in February,and whose lesser fellow conspirators were now having their trials.

  "A long time ere any of us may see Will's plays here, after this week,"answered the other lord, dropping the rush with which he had beentickling a third lord's ear. "Don't you know, the chamberlain's actorsare ordered to travel, for having played 'Richard the Second' for theEssex men when the conspiracy was hatching?"[2]

  "Why, I've been buried in love,--a pox on the sweet passion!--dallyingat the feet of a gentlewoman in Blackfriars, the past month; and amurrain take me if I know what's afoot of late!"

  "What I've told you; and that is why we've had so many different playsall in a fortnight, and two new ones of Will Shakespeare's. The playersmust needs have new pieces ready for the country towns, especially forthe universities. These chamberlain's actors were parlously thick withthe Essex plotters; 'tis well they have friends at court, of otherleanings, like Wat Raleigh,--else they might find themselves ordered toa tower instead of to a tour!"

  Ignoring the pun, and glancing up at the black drapery with which thestage was partly hung, the first exquisite remarked:

  "Will Shakespeare must be in right mood for tragedy nowadays,--hisfriend Southampton in prison, and Essex a head shorter, and himselfordered to the country. Burn me if I know how a high-hearted knave likeShakespeare, that gentlemen admit to their company, and that has had thecourt talking of his poems, can endure to be a dog of an actor, and toscribble plays for that stinking rabble out yonder to gape at!"

  Whatever were Will Shakespeare's own views on that subject, he had atthat moment other matters in mind. In the bare tiring-room beyond thecurtained partition at the rear of the stage, he moved calmly aboutamong the actors, some of whom were not yet wholly dressed in the armoror robes or other costume required, some of whom were already disguisedin false beard or hair, some already painted as to the face, somewalking to and fro, repeating their lines in undertones, withpreoccupied and anxious air; and so well did Master Shakespeare overcomethe agitations of an author who was to receive five pounds for his newplay, and of a stage-manager on whom its success largely depended, thathe seemed the least excited person in the room. He had put on the armorfor the part of the ghost, but his flowing hair--auburn, like his smallpointed beard--was not yet confined by the helmet he should soon don.His soft light brown eyes moved in swift but careful survey of the wholecompany; and then, seeing that the actors for the opening scene wereready, and that the others were in sufficient preparation for theirproper entrances, he gave the signal for the flag and trumpet aloft.

  At sight of the flag, late comers who had not yet reached the playhousemended their speed,--whether they were noblemen conveyed by boat fromthe great riverside mansions of the Strand; gentlemen riding horseback,or in coaches, or borne in wherries from city water-gates; or citizens,law scholars, soldiers, sailors, rascals, and plain people, arriving byferry or afoot by London Bridge or from the immediate neighborhood. Atsound of the trumpet, the crowd in the theatre uttered the grateful"Ah!" and other exclamations natural to the moment. From the tiring-roomthe subordinate actor who played the first sentinel had already passedto his post on the stage, by way of the door in the partition and of aninterstice in the rear curtains; other actors stood ready to followspeedily; the front curtains were drawn apart, and the first performanceof Mr. William Shakespeare's earliest stage version of "Hamlet"--aversion something between the garbled form now seen in the "firstquarto" and the slightly altered form extant in the "second quarto"--wasbegun.

  In the tiring-room,--where the actors awaiting their entrance cues couldpresently hear their fellows spouting on the stage without, and the"groundlings" in the yard making loud comments or suggestions, and thelords laughing lightly at their own affected chaff,--the pale yellowlight of the chill March afternoon fell from high-placed narrow windows.It touched the face of one tall, slender young player, whose mustachesrequired a close inspection to detect that they were false,
--for at thattime, when the use of dye was general, it was common for natural beardsto look artificial. The hair of this youth's head also was brown, but itwas his own. His blue eyes and rather sharp features had a look halfconciliating, half defiant, and he was manifestly trying to conceal, bystanding perfectly still instead of fidgeting or pacing the floor, asevere case of that perturbation which to this day afflicts the chiefpersons concerned in a first performance of a play.

  He was approached by a graceful young person in woman's clothes,--withstomacher, puffed sleeves, farthingale, high-heeled shoes,--who had beengliding about, now with every step and attitude of the gentle damsel heseemed to be, now lapsing into the gait and manner of the pert boy hewas, and who said to the inwardly excited but motionless player:[3]

  "Marry, Hal, take it not as 'twere thy funeral! Faith, thou'rt ten timesshakier o' the knees than Master Shakespeare himself, and he writ theplay. See how he claps his head-piece on, to go and play the ghost, asif he were but putting on his hat to go to the tavern for a cup ofclaret."

  Hal looked as if he would deny the imputed shakiness; but seeing thatthe clever boy "Ophelia" was not to be fooled, he gave a quick sigh, andreplied:

  "'Tis my first time in so prominent a part. I feel as if I were the signin front of the theatre,--a fellow with the world on his back. May I beracked if I don't half wish they'd given this 'Laertes' to Gil Crowe toplay, after all!"

  "Tut, Master Marryott! An thou pluck'st up no more courage, thou shaltever be a mere journeyman. God knows thou art bold enough in a tavern ora brawl! Look at Mr. Burbage,--he has forgot himself and us and all theworld, and thinks he is really Hamlet the Dane."

  Hal Marryott, knowing already what he should see, glanced at Burbage,who paced, not excitedly but as in deep meditation, near the entrance tothe stage. A short, stout, handsome man, with a thoughtful face, a finebrow, a princely port; like Shakespeare, he was calm, but whileShakespeare had an eye for everything but apparently the part himselfwas to play, Burbage was absorbed entirely in his own part andunconscious of all else, as if in the tiring-room he was already Hamletfrom the moment of putting on that prince's clothes.[4]

  "What a plague are you looking at, Gil Crowe?" suddenly demanded HalMarryott of another actor, who was gazing at him with a malicious smileevidently caused by Hal's ill-concealed disquietude. "An it be my shoes,I'll own you could have made as good if you'd stuck to your propertrade!"

  "Certes," replied Crowe, who wore the dress of Rosencrantz, and whosecoarse face bore marks of dissipation, "I'm less like to deny havingbeen a shoemaker, which is true, than some are to boast of having beengentlemen, which may be doubtful."

  Young Marryott's eyes flashed hot indignation. Before he could controlhimself to retort, an actor in a rich robe and a false white beard,[5]who had overheard Master Crowe's innuendo, strode up and said:

  "Faith, Crowe, you wrong the lad there. Who hath ever heard him flaunthis birth before us? Well you know it, if he doth at times assert hisgentle blood, 'tis when forced to it; and then 'tis by act and manner,not by speech. Go your ways, Crowe; thou'st been overfree with thepottle-pot again, I'm afeard!"

  "Nay," put in the impudent Ophelia, his elbows thrust out, his handsupon his hips, "Master Crowe had picked out the part of Laertes forhimself; and because Master Shakespeare chose Hal to play it. Hal is aboaster and not truly gentle born."

  "You squeaking brat," said Crowe, "but for spoiling thy face for theplay, I'd put thee in thy place. I might have played Laertes, butthat--"

  Here he paused, whereupon the white-bearded Corambis (such was the nameof Polonius in the first version) finished for him:

  "But that y'are not to be trusted with important parts, lest the play beessentially spoiled an you be too drunk to act."

  "Why, as for that," replied Crowe, "beshrew me but our gentleman herewill stay as late at the tavern, and be roaring as loud for more sackwhen daylight comes, as any one."

  For this home thrust Marryott had no reply. Crowe thereupon walked away,the Corambis joined another group, and the Ophelia sauntered across theroom to view the costly raiment that a tiring man was helping Mr.William Sly to put on for the part of the foppish courtier, laterchristened Osric. Left to his thoughts, the Laertes, nervously twirlinghis false mustaches, followed the ex-shoemaker with his eyes, andmeditated on the latter's insolence. The more he reviewed it, and hisown failure to rebuke it properly, the more wrathful he inwardly became.His anger served as a relief from the agitation he had formerlyundergone. So deeply buried was he in his new feelings, that he heedednot the progress of affairs on the stage; and thus he was startled whenhe felt his arm caught by Shakespeare, who was pointing to the entrance,and saying:

  "What ails thee, Harry? They wait for thee on the stage."

  Roused as from sleep, and seeing that Burbage and the others had indeedgone forth from the tiring-room, Hal ran to the entrance and out uponthe stage, his mind in a whirl, taking his place before King Claudiuswith such abruptness that Burbage, surprised from his mood of melancholyself-absorption, sent him a sharp glance of reproof. This but increasedhis abashment, and he stared up at the placard that proclaimed the stageto be a room in the palace at Elsinore, in a kind of panic. Theaudience moved and murmured, restlessly, during the king's long speech,and Hal, imagining that his own embarrassment was perceptible to all,made an involuntary step backward toward the side of the stage. He thustrod on the toe of one of the noble spectators, who was making a note inhis tables, and who retaliated with an ejaculation and a kick. Feelingthat some means must be taken to attain composure, the more as his heartseemed to beat faster and his stomach to grow weaker, Hal rememberedthat he had previously found distraction in his wrath toward GilbertCrowe. He therefore brought back to mind the brief passage in thetiring-room. So deeply did he lose himself in this recollection, gazingthe while at the juniper burning on the stage to sweeten the air, thatit was like a blow in the face when he suddenly became aware of aprolonged silence, and of the united gaze of all the actors uponhimself.

  "What wouldst thou have, Laertes?" the king was repeating for the thirdtime.

  Hal, aware now that his cue had been given more than once, opened hislips to reply, but his first line had fled completely from his mind. Inhis blank confusion he flashed a look of dismay toward the entrance. Hiseyes caught those of Shakespeare, who had parted the arras curtainssufficiently to be visible to the players. Rather in astonishment thanin reproach, the poet, serving on occasion as prompter, uttered halfaudibly the forgotten words, and Hal, caught back as from the brink of abottomless pit, spoke out with new-found vigor:

  "Dread my lord. Your leave and favor to return to France,"

  and the ensuing lines. But his delivery did not quiet down theaudience,--which, indeed, though it had hushed for a moment at theplay's opening, and again at the appearance of the ghost, was notcompletely stilled, until at last, upon the king's turning to Hamlet,the "wondrous tongue" of Burbage spoke.

  When Hal presently made exit to the tiring-room, after the king andcourtiers, he craved the pardon of Master Shakespeare, but the lattermerely said:

  "Tut, Hal, it hath happened to all of us in our time."

  The derisive smile of Crowe did not sweeten Harry's musings while hewaited for his next going on. Indeed, he continued to brood bitterly onthe exhibition he had made of himself, and the stay he had caused in theplay. His chagrin was none the less for that it was his friend andbenefactor Shakespeare that had nominated him for the part of Laertes,and whose play he had brought to a momentary halt. In deep dejection,when the time came, he returned to the stage with the boy-Ophelia forhis scene with her and Corambis.

  This passed so smoothly as to give Hal new heart, until it was near itsvery end; and then, having replied to Corambis's excellent advice withthe words. "Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord," Hal happened tolet his glance wander past the old man, and across a surging mass ofheads in a part of the yard, to a certain face in one of the boxes; andthat face had in
it something to make his gaze remain delightedly uponit and his lips part in admiration.

  Yes, the face was a lady's. Hal had never seen it before; of that he wasinstantly sure, for had he seen it he could not have forgotten it. Hewould not have seen it now but that its youthful possessor had removedher mask, which had become irksome to her skin. She seemed above allconcern as to what might be thought of her for showing her face in aBankside theatre. A proud and wilful face was hers, as if with thefinest feminine beauty she had something of the uncurbed spirit andrashness of a fiery young gentleman. Her hair and eyes were dark, herskin fair and clear and smooth, her forehead not too high, her chinmasterful but most exquisitely shaped, her cheeks rich with naturalcolor. In fine, she was of pronounced beauty, else Master Marryott hadnot forgot himself to look at her. Upon her head was a small gray velvethat, peaked, but not very high, and with narrow brim turned up at thesides. Her chin was elevated a little from contact with a white cambricruff. Her gown was of murrey cloth with velvet stripes, and it tightlyencased her figure, which was of a well-made and graceful litheness. Theslashed sleeves, although puffed out, did not make too deep a secret ofher shapely, muscular arms. She might have been in her twenty-secondyear.

  With this fine young creature, and farther back in the box, sat a richlydressed old gentleman, comfortably asleep, and a masked lady, who shrankas far as possible into the shadow of the box corner. Standing in theyard, but close to the front of the box, was a slim, dark-faced youth inthe green attire then worn by the menservants of ladies.

  Not all these details, but only the lady, held the ravished Laertes'sattention while he recited:

  "Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well What I have said to you."

  So heedless and mechanical was his utterance of these lines, in contrastwith his previous lifelike manner, that the nearest auditors laughed.The Corambis and Ophelia, seeking the cause of his sudden lapse,followed his gaze with wondering side-glances, while Ophelia replied,in the boy's musical soprano:

  "'Tis in my memory lock'd And you yourself shall keep the key of it."

  "Farewell," said Laertes, this time with due expression, but rather tothe lady in the distant box than to Ophelia and Corambis. Reluctantly hebacked toward the rear curtains, and was so slow in making his exit,that Corambis, whose next line required to be spoken in Laertes'sabsence, gave him a look of ireful impatience and a muttered "Shog, forGod's sake," which set the young lords at the stage-side tittering.

  At sight of Shakespeare, who was whispering to the Horatio and theMarcellus, near the entrance. Master Marryott had another twinge ofself-reproach, but this swiftly yielded to visions of the charming face.These drove away also all heed of the presence of Crowe. Hal would haveliked to mount the steps to the balcony at the rear of the stage, inwhich the unemployed actors might sit when it was not in other use, andwhence he might view the lady at leisure; but the balcony was soon to bein service as a platform of the castle, in the scene between Hamlet andthe ghost.

  His imagination crossing all barriers, and making him already theaccepted wooer of the new beauty. Hal noted not how the play went onwithout, even when a breathless hush presently told of some unusualinterest on the part of the audience; and he was then but distantlysensible of Shakespeare's grave, musical voice in the ghost's longrecitals, and of the awestricken, though barely whispered, exclamationsof Burbage.

  In the second act Hal had to remove his mustaches, change his cloak, andgo on as an attendant in the presence-chamber scene. His first glancewas for the lady. Alas, the face was in eclipse, the black velvet maskhad been replaced!

  Returning to the tiring-room, he had now to don the beard of an elderlylord, in which part he was to help fill the stage in the play scene. Ashe marched on in the king's train, for this scene, to the blare oftrumpet and the music of instruments in a box aloft,--violins, shawms,sackbuts, and dulcimers,--he saw that the lady was still masked. Hispresence on the stage this time gave him no opportunity to watch her; hehad to direct his eyes, now at the king and queen on their chairs at oneside of the stage, and now at the platform of the mimic players.

  When he made his exit with the royal party, he saw on every face a kindof elation. "They are hit, and no question," said Master Taylor. "Ay,"quoth Master Condell, "that shout of the groundlings, when the kingfled, could have been heard as far as the bear-garden." "But thestillness of both lords and groundlings before that," said MasterHeminge,--"never was such stillness when Tom Kyd's Hamlet was played.""We shall see how they take the rest of it," said Shakespeare,softly,--though he could not quite conceal a kind of serene satisfactionthat had stolen upon his face.

  Hal Marryott doffed his beard, and resumed his Laertes cloak, resolvedto have some part in the general success. His next scene, that in whichLaertes calls the king to account for his father's death, and beholdshis sister's madness, held the opportunity of doing so,--of justifyingShakespeare's selection for the part, of winning the young lady'sapplause, of hastening his own advancement to that fortune which wouldput him in proper state to approach a wealthy gentlewoman. Perhaps shewas one of those who were privileged to attend the Christmas courtperformances. Could he first win her admiration in some fine part atWhitehall, the next time the chamberlain's men should play there;then--by getting as much wealth as Mr. Alleyn and other players hadacquired--leave the stage, and strut in the jewels and velvet suitableto his birth, to what woman might he not aspire? He had all planned in aminute, with the happy facility of youth in such matters.

  So he stood in a remote corner of the tiring-room, getting into thefeeling of his next scene, repeating the lines to himself, assuming aBurbage-like self-absorption to repel those of his fellow players who,otherwise, would now and then have engaged him in talk. Muchconversation was going on in undertone among the groups standing about,or sitting on the tables, chairs, stools, and chests that awaited theirtime of service on the stage,--for, although scenery was merelysuggested by word or symbol, furniture and properties, like costume andmakeup, were then used in the theatres. In due time, Hal placed himselfat the entrance, working up his mood to a fine heat for the occasion;heard the cue, "The doors are broke;" and rushed on, crying "Where isthis king?" with a fury that made the groundlings gape, and evenstartled the lolling lords into attention.

  Having ordered back his Danes, and turned again to the king, he cast oneswift glance toward the lady's box, to see how she had taken his fieryentrance; and perceived--no one. The box was empty.

  He felt as if something had given way beneath him. In a twinkling hismanner toward the king fell into the most perfunctory monotone. So heplayed the scene out, looking again and again to ascertain if his eyeshad not deceived him; but neither was she there, nor the other lady, northe gentleman, nor the page in green who had stood before the box. Thetheatre was dark and dull without her; though as much light came in asever, through the gallery windows and the open top of the playhouse.

  With a most blank and insipid feeling did Hal finish this scene, and thelonger and less interesting one that came almost immediately after. Hecarried this feeling back to the dressing-room, and dropped upon a stoolin utter listlessness.

  "Hath life then lost all taste and motive?" It was the voice ofShakespeare, who had read Hal's mood. The question came with anexpression half amused, half sympathetic. At this, in place of which hehad deserved a chiding, Hal was freshly stricken, and more deeply thanbefore, with a sense of the injury he did his benefactor by his lifelessacting. So his answer was strangely wide from the question.

  "Forgive me," he said. "I swear I'll make amends in the rest of theplay."

  And he rose, resolved to do so. Perhaps, after all, the lady and hercompanions had but gone to another box, or would return to the theatrebefore the play was over. And, moreover, what a fool should he be, tothrow away this chance of advancement that might equip him for somepossible future meeting with her! And what malicious triumph was glowingdarkly on the countenance of Gilbert Crowe! T
here remained to Hal twoopportunities to retrieve himself.

  The first was the encounter with Hamlet in the graveyard. Choosing tobelieve that his enchantress was indeed looking on from someto-him-unknown part of the house, he put into this short scene soexcellent a frenzy that, on coming off the stage, he was greeted with aquiet "Sir, that was well played," from Burbage himself, who had madeexit a moment earlier. "Bravely ranted," said the Corambis; and theOphelia, now out of his woman's clothes and half into a plain doublet,observed, with a jerk of his head toward Master Crowe:

  "Thou'st turned Gil's face sour of a sudden."

  But Master Marryott, disdaining to take gratification in Gil'sdiscomfiture, found it instead in a single approbative look fromShakespeare; and then, choosing his foil, began making passes at theempty air, in practice for the fencing match.

  It was partly for his skill with the foils that Hal had gotShakespeare's vote for the character of Laertes. Being a gentleman bybirth, though now alone in the world and of fallen fortunes, he hadearly taken kindly to that gentleman among weapons, the rapier, that hadcome to drive those common swaggerers, the sword and buckler, out ofgeneral service. At home in Oxfordshire, in the lifetime of his parents,and before the memorable lawsuit with the Berkshire branch of the familyhad taken the ancestral roof from over his head, and driven him toLondon to seek what he might find, he had practised daily with theblade, under whatever tuition came his way. In London he had picked upwhat was to be learned from exiled Frenchmen, soldiers who had fought inFlanders and Spain, and other students of the steel, who abounded in thetaverns. With his favorite weapon he was as skilful as if he had takenat least a provost's degree in the art of fence. The bout in "Hamlet"was, of course, prearranged in every thrust and parry, but, even so,there was need of a trained fencer's grace and precision in it. Goodfencing was in itself a show worth seeing, in a time when every man knewhow to wield one weapon or another.[6]

  The audience was wrought up to that pitch of interest which every fifthact ought to witness, when the final scene came on. Each man--especiallyamong the apprentices, the soldiers, and the lords--constituted himselfan umpire of the contest, and favored the fighters with comments andsuggestions. The sympathy, of course, was with Hamlet, but no one couldbe blind to the facile play of the Laertes, who indeed had the skill tocover up his antagonist's deficiency with the weapon, and to make himappear really the victor. The courteous manner in which Hal confessedhimself hit put the spectators into suitable mind for the betterperceiving of his merit. There could be little doubt as to the outcome,had the fight been real, for Burbage was puffing in a way that made thequeen's observation, "He's fat and scant of breath," most apt. Duringthe sword-work, the lords and soldiers aired Italian fencing terms thencurrent, in praising the good defence that "the mad girl's brother"made; and when he seemed to wound Hamlet, there burst out a burly voicefrom the midst of the yard, with:

  "I knew that thrust was coming, Master Marryott! Tis I--Kit Bottle!"

  When Laertes confessed his treachery and begged Hamlet's forgiveness, sowell had Hal fenced and so well acted, he won such esteem of theaudience as to die in the best odor. And when, at last, the rushescovering the stage boards were in turn covered with dead bodies, whenthe curtains closed, and the audience could be heard bustling noisilyout of the theatre, Hal partook of the general jubilant relief, andhoped the beautiful young lady had indeed seen the last act fromsomewhere in the house. The actors arose from the dead, looked as ifthey had jointly and severally thrown off a great burden, and hastenedto substitute their plainer clothes for their rich costumes.

  "Come with us to the Falcon for a cup or two, and then to the Mermaid tosupper," said Shakespeare to Hal, as the latter was emerging from thetheatre a few minutes later, dressed now in somewhat worn brown silkand velvet. With the poet were Masters Heminge, Sly, Condell, andLaurence Fletcher, manager for the company of players. The six walkedoff together, across the trodden field and along the street or roadway,drawing their short cloaks tight around them for the wind. The Falcontavern was at the western end of the Bankside, separated from the riverby a little garden with an arbor of vines. As the players were about toenter, the door opened, and a group of gentlemen could be seen comingfrom within, to take boat for the city or Westminster.

  "Stand close," said Fletcher, quickly, to the actors. "We may hear anopinion of the play. My lord Edgebury is the best judge of these mattersin England."

  The players moved aside, and pretended to be reading one of their ownbills, as the nobles passed.

  "It holdeth attention," my lord was saying to his companions,"but--fustian, fustian! Noise for the rabble in the yard. 'Twill last aweek, perchance, for its allegory upon timely matters. But I give it nolonger. 'Twill not live."

  "Gramercy!" quoth Sly to the players, with a comical smile. "He is moreliberal than Gil Crowe, who gives it but three afternoons. Come into thetavern, lads, and a plague on all such prophets!"

  My lord Edgebury and Gil Crowe, ye are not dead yet. At all firstnights do ye abound; in many leather-covered study-chairs do ye sit,busy with wet blankets and cold water. On this occasion, though no oneknew it at the time, you were a trifle out of your reckoning,--threehundred years, at least, as far as we may be sure now; not much, asplanets and historians count, but quite a while as time goes withchildren.