Edward Marston - The Fair Maid of Bohemia

‘We needed to wake ourselves up, Nick,’ said Firethorn, hopping to the ground. ‘The weight of gloom was slowing us down and I sought to cast some of it off.’

‘We proved one thing,’ said Nicholas. ‘Our horses are sound in wind and limb. They enjoyed the race as much as us. I think they deserve a rest.’

‘So do we.’

While the horses were watered, the company jumped out of the wagons to stretch their legs, compare bruises, satisfy the wants of nature and eat some of the fruit which they had brought with them. Richard Honeydew sat with his back against a tree and practised for the first time on his own lute. Two of the other apprentices had a playful fight. Owen Elias went upstream to see if his quick hand could catch a fish or two. Dusting off his doublet and hose, Barnaby Gill wished that he had stayed in London with a certain young musician. James Ingram’s thoughts were still with their murdered colleague.

When it was time to move on, Firethorn first called them together so that he could impart his vision.

‘Gentlemen,’ he said soulfully, ‘we have suffered pain and sadness thus far. We have lost a cherished friend and were forced to leave him behind to be buried in foreign soil. You all know his virtues. Adrian Smallwood will never be forgotten by any of us. But he was first and foremost an actor, and he would not wish his death to leave a lasting grief. Adrian was proud of Westfield’s Men. Let us resolve to justify that pride by giving of our best in the true tradition of this company.’ He struck his Hector of Troy pose. ‘Do not look back. Forward lies our road. Destination is all. Remember where and why we are bound. Westfield’s Men are to be honoured guests at the Court of Emperor Rudolph. Let that inspire you. Do not trudge there with spirits low and heads hung down. March into Prague like conquerors. The city is there for the taking!’ He smiled inwardly. And so, he thought to himself, is the fair maid of Bohemia. She is mine!

***

When they slipped across the German border on the following day, Firethorn’s speech still echoed in their ears and they were excited by the thought that they had just entered the Holy Roman Empire. Most of them took the grandiose name at face value and had no conception of the chaos that lay behind it. It would be some time before they learned that Germany was a bewildering mass of electorates, principalities, duchies and prince-bishoprics, owing their allegiance less to the Emperor than to various religious and political factions. Westfield’s Men were innocent children in an enchanted forest filled with invisible wolves.

Days took on a fixed pattern. They would set out at dawn and vary their speed until noon. After rest and refreshment, they would press on until early evening before taking another break. A final push before nightfall took them to one of the capacious German inns, where food was served in huge quantities and where local inhabitants were often in a state of permanent drunkenness. They slept in large rooms that contained several beds or mattresses, grouped around a central stove of such size and significance that they were grateful they were not there during the winter. Germany in the snow was evidently a traveller’s ordeal.

In the summer, it was a constant delight, with verdant meadows, rolling hills, rich woodland, sparkling streams and sunlit vineyards to catch the eye. Towns and villages were picturesque but solidly built, a compromise between romance and reality that reflected something of the German character. To the gaping visitors, who had never been outside England before, it was enthralling. To Nicholas Bracewell, who had voyaged around the whole world, it was still fascinating.

Firethorn did not waste their time on the road. While he savoured with the others the pleasures of the traveller, he kept their mission firmly before their gaze. Every journey was a rehearsal of a play, every wayside stop an opportunity to practice dances or to stage fights. Westfield’s Men worked hard to keep their repertoire in a state of good repair because they knew it would be put under the closest scrutiny.

While rehearsals shaped each day, it was something else which gave them direction. The Rhine was a revelation to the newcomers, a majestic waterway which rose in the Swiss Alps and wended its way for over eight hundred miles until it fed into the North Sea. Like the Thames, it was a main thoroughfare, with sailing ships, barges, ferries, hoys, fishing-smacks and rowing-boats riding on it in profusion. There was a slow, unhurried, timeless quality about the Rhine. Along both banks, at points of scenic beauty or strategic importance, it had a succession of charming little towns and quaint villages. Nicholas felt a pang of regret that Anne Hendrik was not there to share such sights with him.

The river was their guide. Whether looping capriciously or running straight for miles, it eventually took them to their destination. When they got their first sight of the city, they brought the wagons to a halt and stood to marvel at what lay ahead. Nothing had prepared them for the glory that was Cologne. It was dazzling. Built on a graceful curve in the Rhine, it was an ancient city which had once been the largest in Germany and one of the wealthiest in Christendom. Much of its grandeur still clung to it like robes of tissued gold.

London might be bigger, especially now that it was pushing out into ever-widening suburbs, but they only ever saw the capital from the inside. They had absorbed its impact and taken its wonders for granted. Cologne was different. It was a dignified city of high towers, soaring steeples, fine houses and stately civic buildings, standing respectfully in the shadow of a mighty cathedral whose Gothic extravagance made Saint Paul’s look plain and homely and whose spire rose to a height which dwarfed its London counterpart. Westfield’s Men were struck dumb when they saw how much time, energy, money, love and sublime artistry had been dedicated to the service of God. Cologne Cathedral was a monument to centuries of belief.

It was still the centre of a vigorous Christianity and they could hear dozens of bells chiming even at that distance.

‘Cologne is a Roman Catholic city,’ warned Nicholas. ‘We must be very careful what we say and how we behave.’

‘We are here to entertain them,’ stressed Firethorn, ‘and not to convert them. Nor should we let them convert us to their Popish practices.’

‘It is magnificent!’ sighed Hoode, still wide-eyed.

‘Ha!’ snorted Gill.’ All that I see is a crumbling mausoleum of the Old Religion. And are we to debase ourselves by offering them our plays? It is an insult to my faith.

‘The only Superior Being in your life is yourself,’ said Firethorn sharply. ‘When we perform at the Queen’s Head, we share our bounty among Anglicans, Roman Catholics, Huguenots, Calvinists, Jews, Anabaptists, Atheists and creeping Puritans who come to sneer at our work. Theatre serves all religions. Even the God-forsaken will not be turned away by us.’

With Gill silenced, the wagons rolled on once more and they were able to take a closer inventory of Cologne. The city was fronted by several wharves and there were so many craft at anchor that it was almost possible to use them as stepping-stones to the opposite bank. Originally built on the western bank, the capital of the Rhineland had long since outgrown its fortified walls and spread out in an easterly direction. The river both divided the two parts of the city and joined them closely together.

Driving the first wagon, Nicholas led the way through the crowded streets in search of the inn recommended by Balthasar Davey. The secretary’s advice had been trustworthy so far. His choice of the White Cross had to be respected. While the book-holder was concerned with finding a place to stay, the actor-manager wanted to let the whole city know that they had arrived. Standing in his flamboyant apparel in the rear of the second wagon, he declaimed a martial speech to the tallest spires. A drum was beaten, a trumpet blared, the actors went into an elaborate mime and everyone knew that the players had come to Cologne.