THE THEATRE OF THE BLACKFRIARS.
In our times the profession of an actor presents a picture of
uninterrupted drudgery and discomfort. In Elizabeth's day such was not
the case. There was not then that continual craving after novelty, that
constant production of pieces, written for the hour and the topic of the
day, which gives an actor no rest. In comparison to our own race of
actors (excellent as many of them are for the sort of work they have to
do,) the actors of Elizabeth's day were a company of magnificoes,
"proper fellows of their hands," and "tall gentlemen in their own
esteem."
The thing they took easily, and with a certain dignity of deportment. It
was indeed edifying to see one of these goodly fellows with part in his
hand, his plumed hat, "short cloak and slops," and eke his rapier,
taking his early walk, either in the fields or on Bank Side, or
peradventure hiring a boat at the Blackfriars, and thus gesticulating,
with a short and diminutive bowled pipe in his mouth, studying the
author's meaning to the letter, and _getting up his lengths_.
Sometimes they went forth in companies, these men, to some favourite
rural haunt, some delightfully situated hostel or tavern by the river's
bank, or to the bowery woods near Richmond or Greenwich. On such
occasions they would take boat, and make the river echo with their
jokes, and puns, and witticisms, as they were wafted along on its glassy
surface. At other times a select few would hire horses and beat up the
towns of Windsor, Mortlake[25], and other places which the occasional
residence of the Court made more gay and populous; for these actors
loved to haunt the whereabout of royalty. Their professional knowledge
made them exceeding good companions too. Glorious fellows. And then how
dearly too did "mine host of the tavern," enter into their joviality,
and aid them in those little waggeries they were so prone to engage in.
[Footnote 25: Elizabeth, with her court, frequently moved to these
places.]
None but those who have mixed amongst actors of talent, and know them
intimately, can have an idea of the charm of their society. The very
characters they have to personate, good or ill, and the moralities
taught in the pieces they are obliged to study, ought to, and does,
render them better men. Their study also is to give peculiar effect to
all they say and do. And oft-times with them the most common place
sentence is pointed into something witty. They understand the "jest's
prosperity," and in an instant they penetrated through the follies, the
ignorance and the cunning of the common-place. Their ideas being for the
most part free, unfettered, and unshackled by mercantile matters, their
sentiments are ennobled by the study of those parts they have to
perform.
And oh, what fascination, what delight, what a world of itself, is the
scenic hour! The romance of feeling, the inexpressible charm, belonging
to that brilliant little period, none know but the actors themselves. It
is oft-times their all of life; the rest is flat and stale? they live
but for those few brief moments in which they glitter the observed of
all observers, the admiration, the delight, nay, almost the envy of the
audience. Like the lunatic, the lover, and the poet, they are "of
imagination all compact." The actor has thrown himself into the author's
conception. The poet's world is also the world of him who enacts the
part the poet has written. He lives in his author's period, not only
whilst acting, but whilst studying the part. The loves, the hates, the
fears, the joys, the doing of all around are pertaining to himself--as
if "'twas reality he felt."
Some of these men were very noble fellows, (if we may so term it), noble
at least in sentiment, if not in blood, and who would have scorned to
perform the mean acts perpetrated by men in a class far above them. They
knew, too, in what the point of honour consisted, and were "sudden and
quick in quarrel" where they conceived themselves insulted; and it was
this virtue in the better sort of the actors of Elizabeth's day which
made them sought for, and associated with, by many of the best of the
nobility. Nay, it must be remembered that at a somewhat later period of
England's history, and when civil war "channelled her fields," the
actors were, to a man, found enranked amongst the cavaliers, and
fighting "on the party of the King." Their professional education taught
them to "hold in hate the canting round-heads," and they fought and bled
for the better cause.
How dearly Shakespeare loved the scenic hour his own doings have, we
think, proclaimed. The world around him, too, at the period in which he
lived and wrote presented much that was grand and exciting. He had but
to note what he observed in the vicinity of Elizabeth's Court, in order
to pourtray some of his scenes.
From the first moment of his introduction within the walls of the
theatre, he had felt the fascination of the "scenic hour," and become
captivated with the society of the actors, oven rude as the pieces were
which he found them performing. To one of his own natural parts and
brilliant wit, there was to be found an endless fund of amusement
amongst such men. Their way of life also had its charm. How he loved
those summer excursions amidst the sweet scenery of Old Windsor--those
country revels in which he mingled amongst the rural throng, in all the
sports and pastimes "of the old age." He had now been resident in London
some time, and besides being noticed by many of the "choice and master
spirits of the age," had become acquainted with some of the native
burghers of the city, and their connexions in the country around.
The amusements of the early portion of Elizabeth's reign for the most
part consisted in her dearly-loved bull and bear-baiting, with
occasionally the more refined masques and pageants. These latter,
however, were of rare occurrence, and usually called forth by some
exciting occasion, such for instance as the visit of a foreign
ambassador, the celebration of a victory, or the return of some joyous
festival. The votaries of the "deformed thief, Fashion," did not then
herd together as now. Factions, jealousies, and fears together with the
dangerous intrigues which the great carried on against each other, and
which oft-times brought the heads of such contrivers to the block, kept
the grandees apart. Added to which, those mediums of varied amusement
which assemble the _elite_ with one another in our own day, were not in
existence.
At the period in which our story had now arrived, however, an event was
about to take place which made some little stir, and drew a large
concourse from both Court and city into one focus.
This was neither more nor less than a new play, written as was then
said, by "a right pleasant and merry conceited companion," named William
Shakespeare. It was to be enacted within the walls of an old monastery
called the Blackfriars. The performance was entitled "The Lamentable
Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet;" and so great was the interest created,
that the Queen, with such of her Court as she chose should attend her on
the occasion, had signified an intention of being present.
It will doubtless appear somewhat extraordinary to many of our readers
to find such a performance taking place within the walls of a religious
edifice. But the civic authorities had so often opposed the
representation of regular performance in the city that the actors at
last sought a place without their jurisdiction, and finally obtained the
deserted building within the precincts of the dissolved monastery of the
Blackfriars, and fitted some parts up for a theatre.
In the preceding reigns there had been no public buildings exclusively
appropriated to dramatic entertainment. The most common places of
performance were the yards of the Chaucer-like hostels, in the various
towns through which the actors wandered.
Some of these inns are even yet remaining, although altered and
modernized, in the city of London, and also along the Old Kent Road. The
gateways of such houses formed one side of the quadrangle, whilst the
balconies, being accessible from the various chambers, obviated all
necessity of descending amongst the vulgar in the yard.
In such galleries kings and nobles, the fierce Norman of the Crusades,
the knight, the esquire, and the damsel of high decree, had leant over
the rails in the olden time, and witnessed the miracle-plays and
mysteries then exhibiting. Such for instance as the miracle-play of the
Creation, wherein Adam and Eve appeared "in puris naturalibus," and
were, as the play quaintly says, "NOT ASHAMED." The earliest of theatres
were churches; the earliest performers, monks and friars; and for the
most part their exhibitions being on religious subjects, such as the
descent of our Saviour to liberate our first parents, John the Baptist
and the prophets from the lower regions. On the accession of Henry the
Eighth, acting had become an ordinary profession, and companies of
players were attached to each town; but previous to the reign of the
bluff monarch, plays on general subjects were unknown, yet long before
that period it had been customary for great noblemen to have companies
of players attached to their household.
Such, then, is a short summary of theatrical affairs previous
to the period in which Shakespeare startled the town by his
productions,--making a single vault from the lowest depth of misrule and
barbarity to the highest pinnacle of excellence in dramatic art and
composition; and, apparently without any ostensible guide whereby to
steer his course, at once striking out a path, so exquisitely conceived,
so laden with perfumed flowers, so filled with romance and beauty, that
all the world of after-times has bowed down in worshipful adoration. Of
after-times, however, it is not our hint to speak. The sight and
impression of Shakespeare's own play, in the infancy of his career,
himself enacting a part, and speaking his own words, is what we have to
look upon. To bring before the reader's eye that "poor player, who
strutted his hour upon the stage, and then was heard no more." "_Heard
no more!_"--his own words! How "rounded in the ear," and yet how strange
to reflect upon.
We have already said that the expected performance had on this occasion
drawn together a considerable audience both from Court and city.
Such was indeed the case, and taking into consideration in what
consisted a considerable audience at that period, and when accommodation
was at best but scant, the concourse of persons hieing to witness Master
Shakespeare's new play was very great.
The _elite_ of the Court, for the most part, took boat from their own
residences, or from Westminster, where they waited within the Abbey
walls for the arrival of the Queen. The citizens, on the contrary, came
thronging through Paul's and Ludgate, and over Flete Bridge, and along
Knight Ryder's Street, filling the open space before the Abbey,
citywards, and cracking their jokes with each other on that side, whilst
other nobles and their attendants being congregated about the water-gate
or sauntering within the wall, (at that period extending along the
Thames from Baynard Castle to Bridewell), presented a gay and brilliant
appearance.
All along this part and up to the point of entrance, through the various
gateways and passages, until the theatre itself was reached, the actors
had strewn fresh rushes, and to and fro upon these flags walked several
whose names were famous in the world; and as they walked they debated of
matters appertaining.
And now, as the chimes sounded from Old Paul's proclaiming the hour of 4
p.m., soft music was heard upon the water at some little distance, with
the sullen boom of the kettle drum. Soon after which, boats containing
the yeomen of the guard touched the Abbey stairs, the men as they landed
falling in file by file in extended order beneath the various arches and
along the passages; and shortly afterwards, as boat after boat
discharged its brilliant freightage and shot off again, the Queen, with
several of her ladies attendant, and the _elite_ of the Court, stepped
on shore. As they took their way amidst the cloisters and gothic arches
of that old building so darkly venerable, and besides whose walls flowed
the broad Thames, it seemed singular to hear the echo of the gay
courtier, to listen to the clash of weapon, and the measured tread of
the guard, as they followed the royal Tudor, together with the mincing
step and affected voice of the Court fop. On the other side, and in the
same precincts was also to be heard the ribald jest of the 'prentice of
Chepe, and the ringing laugh of the city madam, as they entered the
theatre.
Within, too, what was the sight there? Methinks our readers will be
anxious to look within those walls, where their own Shakespeare was
living, breathing, nay, at that moment, perhaps, dressing for his part,
and about to fret his hour.
The aspect of the interior, as it bursts upon the gazer's eye, is indeed
curious.
Here was no vast triumphal specimen of architecture; the whole seemed
got up for the nonce. But oh! how exquisite--how characteristic of him
who was then striving against so many difficulties.
The partition-wall between two large apartments of the monastery had
been cut through, so as to form the stage, the proscenium, and the
circle. Nay, so rude was the whole construction, that, to a modern eye,
it would have seemed only suited to some "play of ten words long,"
wherein there was not "one word apt, one player fitted." And yet doth a
single glance within this rude theatre present all we can expect to
find. The boxes were a sort of gallery, along which stood and leant the
gallants and ladies of the Court. The Queen and her own especial party
being enthroned in ft sort of canopy in the centre--looking indeed very
like the lady in the lobster.
The rude throne on which she sat was merely railed off from the other
seats, and standing behind her chair, on either hand, were several of
her favourites. On her right stood Leicester, on her left Essex--both
magnificent in look and apparel. Immediately behind her also, on the
right of her chair, (stepping down whenever she addressed him), was Sir
Philip Sidney. Beside him stood Sir Christopher Hatton, and Bacon was
seated near, not being able to remain long on his gouty foot. The rich
costume of these magnificent looking men, and their splendid jewels, and
weapons, glittered in the reflection of the many torches held by some of
the Queen's servants, and even several of the guard held flaming torches
in their hands.
In what would now be called the pit, were congregated the citizens. The
members of the inns of court, etc., they stood (for there were no seats
in that part of the theatre), leaned upon their rapiers, and intently
_watched_, as it was then termed, the play.
The stage, which was somewhat elevated above the pit, was on each side
furnished with three-legged stools, and strewed with rushes and seated
thereon, and even, (one or two of them throwing their careless lengths
along), nay even smoking their diminutive pipes, were also several of
the privileged of the Court. Raleigh was upon one side, Spenser on the
other; my Lord Southampton was also half reclined upon the rushes,
whilst others of the privileged sprawled about.
Such was, indeed, a custom of the time (albeit it was exceedingly
distasteful to the audience), as these gallants, whilst they swaggered
with their rapiers, or combed their long curls, interfered frequently
with the business of the hour, mewing like cats, hissing like serpents,
tickling each other's ears with the rushes, and, if they had any pique
against actor or author, "damning him utterlie." Nay, it was extremely
fashionable at this period for a gallant to salute his friend in the
boxes, in the midst of the performance, or carry on a loud conversation
so as utterly to discontinue and distract the business of the hour, and
being thus in the very midst of the actors, perhaps, himself and company
would then get up and withdraw, making as much noise as possible. In
addition to this was the rudeness of the "all licensed clowns," who
laughed in order to set on the barren spectators to _laugh_ too, though,
in the mean time, "some necessary question of the play had to be
considered."
On the present occasion, however, albeit the conversation was somewhat
of the loudest, the company were necessitated to be somewhat restrained
within the bounds of propriety out of respect to the Queen.
The orchestra, we fear, must have _rather_ "split the ears of the
groundlings." The performers were, for the most part, situated behind
the scenes. It consisted principally of wind instruments and two
kettle-drums, which, ever and anon, sounded out a wild flourish of
martial music, whilst a viol-de-gamba and several fiddles occasionally
created a sort of relief to the troubled ear.
In our own times, indeed, magnificent as the whole scene must have
appeared, it would have been criticised severely. The loud talking of
those on the stage, the impertinence of the clowns, the rudeness and
small dimensions of the stage, and whole theatre, and which latter
indeed was calculated to give the actors a gigantic appearance, bringing
them too close to the audience, would have been cavilled at. In addition
to all this, was the lack of scenery and decorations; nay, so great was
the dearth of painted scenery at this interesting period, that the spot
on which the scene was supposed to occur, was indicated by a board or
placard, upon which was written the particular locality.
Still, with all those deficiencies, the whole aspect of the interior
would have presented an extraordinary effect to a modern spectator.
The Queen, beneath her canopy of state, for so was it be-fashioned; her
splendid guard standing immediately beneath, and bearing "staff
torches," which threw their glare upon the spectators, and lit up the
Gothic architecture of that abbey playhouse. The stage itself being
also, on this occasion, lighted by torches held by servitors having the
royal arms emblazoned on their doublets. Then those choice spirits of
the Court too, sitting or lying on either hand, and several of the
gentlemen-pensioners on guard at each wing. Altogether, rude as was the
theatre, the entire scene was, as we have already said, one of peculiar
splendour. Meanwhile, during the few brief minutes before the curtain
rises, a lively conversation was going on amongst the audience.
"Ah, what, Sir Thomas Lucy, art thou, too, come to see the play
to-night?" said Lord Burleigh to our old Warwickshire acquaintance, who
was elbowing his way into the gallery amongst the _elite_. "By cock and
pie, but 'tis long since thou and I have met at masque or revel."
"Fie! my lord. 'Tis so indeed," returned the knight, "some twenty
winters is it since we foregathered at Arundel Castle."
"Go to, Sir Thomas," said Lord Burleigh, "By 'ur Lady, 'tis thirty years
come Martinmas. Rememberest thou the revels there, what time we saw
enacted in the great hall the Castle of Perseverance?"
"Truly, I had forgotten that," said Sir Thomas Lucy. "Yet now I do
remember me thereof."
"Go to," said Lord Burleigh, "those were princely revels. Dost remember
in the performance how rare it was to see the seven deadly sins do their
parts?"
"Ah, and how featly the dancers tripped it?" struck in Sir Christopher
Hatton.
"I do now remember me," said Sir Thomas, "of those deadly sins. Let me
see, there was Pride, Wrath, Envy, Luxury, Sloth, and Gluttony. By the
same token they came mounted on their hobbys, and assailed the castle."
"Aye," said Hatton, "and then Humanum Genus (who defended it) was sore
bested; truly it was excellent, and then came Mors, or Dreary Death, and
took Humanum Genus and carried him off."
"Aye, but then the fool, Sir Thomas!" said Burleigh, "rememberest thou
the scurvy knave of a fool? By my fay, ha was the life o' the night.
Truly, Sir Thomas, the fool was a most worthy fool; not altogether an
ass,--eh?"
"Ahem!" said Sir Thomas, who liked not the word ass, "methinks Her
Majesty doth glance towards this part, nay, now she peradventure wisheth
a word with you."
"Go to," said Burleigh, "I will attend. Oh, that fool! methinks I had as
lief go hang as go see a play without a fool in't. Oh! that ass, Sir
Thomas; and Sir Thomas, and Lord Burleigh, and Hatton sidled up towards
the Queen, and joined in the conversation carried on there upon
theatrical subjects.
"Your Majesty will understand," said Lord Revel (who was something of a
fop), "that this Shakespeare hath a new style, which is very commendably
excellent. A most perfect style, altogether his own. Hast seen anything
yet of his producing, my Lord Burleigh?"
My Lord Burleigh shook his head, an old custom with him. "I have not,"
he replied, "but I hear great things of his poetry."
"Go to," said the Queen, in answer to some remark of Sir Philip
Sydney's. "Those matters, Sir Philip, were good, but here be better.
Didst thou witness the former play of this man's writing, Sir Thomas
Lucy?" she enquired of the Knight of Charlecote.
"If it is so, please your Majesty, I did not," he returned.
"'Fore Heaven, then, thou hadst a great loss. You heard of it?
peradventure."
"Truly, your Majesty, we hear not of such matters in Warwickshire as
these your London plays," said Sir Thomas drily.
"But you have heard of Master Shakespeare, and seen his verse? Nay,
methinks you must have seen his verse."
Sir Thomas coughed (he glanced at her Majesty in order to see if she was
bantering him), "His verse, your Majesty," he said.
"Truly so," said the Queen. "How like you Master Shakespeare's verse,
Sir Thomas."
"Very scurvily, in verity, what I have seen of it, that is to say.
Ahem!"
"That is singular," said the Queen. "Methinks there could hardly be a
double opinion upon Master Shakespeare's verse. It is most exquisite and
unmatchable."
"I cannot say I have seen anything I particularly admire in it
nevertheless," said Sir Thomas, drily.
"What verse have you seen?" inquired the Queen. "Can you repeat a
stanza?"
"Ahem! Your Majesty," said Sir Thomas, "I am not altogether good at
repeating poetry. I like it not. Sir Philip Sydney was about to observe
something,--he understands these matters."
"I am but saying to my Lord of Leicester," said Sir Philip, "that
according to the present system, those stage matters are managed in a
somewhat more rapid style than was wont to be the custom. Now, for
instance, we must tax our imagination. For look ye, if in the play the
ladies walk forth before one's eyes and gather flowers, what skills it
but your Majesty is forthwith to imagine the stage a garden. By-and-by
two wet mariners speak of shipwreck in the same place. Then indeed, are
we to blame an we accept it not for a barren sand or rock. Upon the back
of that cometh out a hideous monster with fire and smoke issuing from
his nostrils; and then the miserable beholders are bound to take it for
a cave, whilst in the meantime two armies flying in are represented by
some half-a-dozen swords and bucklers, and then what hard heart will not
receive it for a pitched field?"
"By my fay, Sir Philip," said the Queen, "we must then have imaginations
as fertile as him who writeth these changeful varieties."
"Truly so, your Majesty," said Sir Philip, who was rather affected in
his ordinary style. "Doubtless such sights are edifying, but then of
time, madam,--of time,--we must be even more liberal, for look ye, if
(as is not uncommon) two royal persons fall in love, we may see these
lovers become parents of a chubby boy. Then, your Majesty, such boy
becomes stolen and lost, and after many traverses he groweth to man's
estate, falleth in love in time, and _in time_ is ready to marry
and all this (an it so please ye) in some two hours' space."
"Nay, Sir Philip," saith the Queen, " methinks you are now taking some
pains to appeal to our imagination yourself, lest we should weary ere
the performance commences. But, look ye, in good time the drums have
ceased and the curtain rises."