Edward Marston - The Fair Maid of Bohemia

‘They are ready,’ he announced.

‘Who are?’

‘The players from England.’

‘Have they arrived at last?’

‘Yesterday, Your Imperial Highness.’

‘Sophia Magdalena will be pleased.’

‘You have met two of them,’ reminded the Chamberlain.

‘Did I?’

‘You conducted them to my apartment.’

Rudolph smiled. ‘Ah, yes! Westfield’s Men. Now I remember. What do they intend to perform for us?’

‘ The Three Sisters of Mantua .’

‘A comedy or a tragedy?’

‘A comedy,’ said the other briskly. ‘I have looked into the nature of the piece and deem it suitable for performance.’

‘Nothing about religious dissension, I hope?’

‘Nothing whatsoever.’

‘Good. Let us meet these three sisters forthwith.’

The Chamberlain gave a slight bow and followed the Emperor towards the door. The artist, meanwhile, stayed at his easel and painted on. Rudolph swept out into the corridor.

‘One question,’ he said.

‘Yes, Your Imperial Highness?’

‘Have my wolves been fed today?’

‘I believe so.’

‘Make certain,’ he ordered.

‘I will.’

‘Raw meat keeps all three contented.’

***

The delay added to the already high tension in the tiring-house. From their position in the adjoining room, Westfield’s Men could hear the hall fill up with spectators. Their last private performance had been in the palace at Cologne before a conservative and rather sombre audience. Prague had a more lively Court. The actors could hear the hubbub and sense the animation. It sharpened their desire to begin the play. But it could not start until Emperor Rudolph was present.

‘Where is the fellow?’ complained Lawrence Firethorn.

‘I have never been kept waiting this long before,’ said Barnaby Gill in jester’s costume. ‘It is unforgivable.’

‘Yes,’ said Owen Elias, ‘in the time that we have been kept dawdling here, he could have ridden to Mantua and back to visit the three sisters in person.’

‘Why is he holding us up?’ wondered Edmund Hoode.

‘Because it is his privilege,’ said Nicholas Bracewell, trying to calm the tetchy atmosphere. ‘This is no random gathering of spectators in the yard of a London inn. We are playing at the Imperial Court and must abide by its rules. What does it matter if we wait another hour? Our audience waits with us. They will not go away.’

The book-holder’s philosophical attitude soothed many frayed nerves but Firethorn remained on edge. He prowled the tiring-house until he noticed Stephen Judd, an apprentice, attired as one of the sisters in the play.

‘No, no, you imbecile!’ he admonished. ‘Look to your bosom, boy. A woman’s paps come in pairs. And side by side.’ He grabbed the padding which had slipped down inside the lad’s dress and yanked it back into position. ‘Our play is about three sisters of Mantua. Not the one-titted witch of Whitechapel.’

The laughter helped to ease the tension. Blushing a deep crimson, Stephen Judd used both palms to adjust his bosom to a more seemly and convincing position. A scrape of chairs and a shuffling of feet told them that the spectators had risen out of respect as Emperor Rudolph had finally made his entrance. Accompanied by Sophia Magdalena and the Chamberlain, he strode to the centre of the front row and lowered himself into a high-backed chair with gilded arms. His companions took the padded chairs on either side of him and the spectators were able to resume their seats. The hubbub became an expectant murmur.

‘At last!’ said Firethorn. ‘Are we all ready?’

‘We have been for hours!’ groaned Gill.

‘Take us in hand, Nick. Guide us with care.’

The book-holder took charge. At his command, four musicians played behind the curtain at the rear of the stage and their courante silenced the audience and set the mood for the play. Elias came out in a black cloak and delivered the Prologue in a bold voice with the exaggerated gestures he had learned to use in Germany. The rippling applause which he gathered was an indication of what was to come. They loved the play.

The Three Sisters of Mantua was by no means one of the best dramas in their repertoire. Its verse was often banal, its characters lacking in depth and its story too moralistic, but these defects became advantages on this occasion. The verse was largely incomprehensible, the unsubtle characterisation made identification of the dramatis personae much easier and the undertones of a morality play gave it a neatness of shape and meaning. As in Frankfurt, music was used between each of the acts to facilitate changes of costume and scenery.

It was the visual comedy and the poignant moments of thwarted love which delighted the audience most. When they were not laughing uproariously, they were sighing with one of the three sisters as each in turn was rejected by the Duke of Mantua. Firethorn was at his most commanding, Gill at his most hilarious and they set the standard for the rest of the cast. Richard Honeydew, playing the lute in public for the first time, accompanied the plaintive song with which the three sisters took their farewell of the Duke. Many a sleeve among the spectators was used to dab at moist eyes.

Emperor Rudolph was transfixed. Nothing as smooth and apparently effortless had ever been played at Court before. Every detail of the performance intrigued him and he scrutinised it with the open-mouthed intensity of a child watching an ingenious clockwork toy. While they took note of his grandeur and his reaction, the company were once again caught up in their admiration for Sophia Magdalena, closer and even more beautiful to them this time, and drawing the best out of them simply by being there.

Firethorn wooed her shamelessly as the noble Duke and directed the Epilogue to her with moving conviction. When he bowed low to his fair maid of Bohemia, she was so thrilled that she stood up to lead the applause. The whole Court rose to its feet in approbation and the actors luxuriated in the ovation for several minutes. Rudolph remained seated but one palm beat against the arm of his chair in dignified salutation. The Emperor was pleased. Westfield’s Men had been accepted.

Steps were brought so that Rudolph could be escorted up onto the stage to be introduced to the leading sharers. Gill fawned monstrously and Hoode became tongue-tied in the face of majesty. Neither of them enjoyed the treasured moment which fell to Firethorn. Luminescent with excitement, Sophia Magdalena followed her great-uncle up the steps and offered her hand to the actor-manager. The kiss which he placed upon it was both an act of homage and a promise. His lips tingled for minutes. It was the Emperor who had the last word. When he congratulated Firethorn on his performance as the Duke of Mantua, the latter beamed obsequiously and gave a bow.

‘I am your obedient servant!’ he said with humility.

‘No, Master Firethorn,’ countered a smirking Rudolph. ‘It is I who was your obedient servant.’

He went off into such a peal of infectious laughter that everyone joined in and the whole room echoed with wild mirth, even though most of them had no idea what the source of amusement was. Only the Chamberlain and Sophia Magdalena were immune. They were too accustomed to Rudolph’s eccentricities to find them quite so diverting anymore. Wolfgang von Rumpf remained aloof. Sophia Magdalena took quiet enjoyment from watching Firethorn’s huge and uninhibited delight. Like everything else about him, his capacity for exultation was magnificently theatrical.

***

Nicholas Bracewell and George Dart were the last to leave. Everything had been cleared off the stage and stored in a room which had been put at their disposal. Nicholas surveyed the empty hall with quiet satisfaction.