Edward Marston - The Laughing Hangman

Additional light flooded the acting area as fresh candelabra were brought in and set in position. All eyes were trained on the stage without distraction. Martial music played and the Prologue entered to a burst of applause. The attack began after only half a dozen lines:

Monstrous body with the Head of a Queen ,

A maggot-filled apple, so sour and so green ,

A running sewer of repulsive jest

Besmearing grass in the field to the west .

Nicholas was stung by the jibe at Westfield’s Men, but it was the sustained assault on the character and work of Jonas Applegarth which really offended him. Tasteless enough while the playwright was alive, it was disgusting when aimed at a victim of murder. Nicholas told himself that those who laughed at the vicious abuse were unaware of the fate of the man at whom it was aimed, but that did not ease his mind.

His acerbic mockery of child actors had set Applegarth up for a counter-blast. Nicholas accepted that. But while his had been a general satire on despised rivals, the playwright was now suffering a vindictive onslaught of the most personal kind. Every aspect of his appearance, his plays, his opinions and his alleged atheism was held up to ridicule. Nicholas could almost see the man, dangling from a rope in the middle of the stage while he was pelted with rotting fruit and sharp stones.

Alexander the Great stormed onto the stage with his entourage and the tale of heroism began. Military prowess and stirring poetry wiped out the Prologue for everyone else, but it wriggled like a tiny worm in Nicholas’s brain. The play itself was a skilful drama, yet it lacked any of the sheer power which had made the work of Jonas Applegarth so compelling and controversial.

Ideal for Blackfriars, the piece would not have survived on the stage at the Queen’s Head. Its language was too high-flown, its action too stylised and its moral judgements too oblique. Much of its political commentary would have been incomprehensible to the standees and there was none of the earthy humour with which even the most serious plays in the repertoire of Westfield’s Men was liberally salted. The greatness of Alexander did not extend to a sense of humour.

At the same time, it was an instructive experience. As a member of one theatre troupe, Nicholas rarely had the opportunity to view the work of the others. Adult companies were scathing in their dismissal of juvenile actors, but he now saw how unfair that attitude was. The Chapel Children deserved to be taken seriously. They were worthy rivals to Westfield’s Men and had one supreme advantage over them. While a typical season at the Queen’s Head would last at most for five months, the Blackfriars company could perform for twelve. In the interests of commercial gain, and regardless of the pressure on his actors, Raphael Parsons would keep the theatre open for the whole year.

Alexander the Great showed the strengths and exposed the weaknesses of the Chapel Children. They spoke the verse well, they sang superbly and they moved with the grace of dancers. What they lacked was physical presence and this was a failing in a play about recurring warfare. Battles were described in soaring language by children who did not look strong enough to carry spears, let alone to wear full armour. Older members of the company bore the principal roles with honour but there were occasional sniggers as the mighty Alexander entered with an army of boy soldiers.

Two things impressed Nicholas above all else. The first was the clear evidence of the manager’s rich abilities. Whatever the defects of his character, Raphael Parsons had a flair for theatrical presentation. His cast was well drilled, his use of scenic devices was masterly and he brought off some stunning dramatic effects. Control of light was a feature of the performance. Candles were whisked on in profusion to create the sun-baked deserts of Persia, then removed in a flash to leave Alexander’s tent in virtual darkness for a dream sequence. As the play moved faultlessly on, one book holder admired the work of his counterpart behind the scenes.

The other striking feature was the performance given by Philip Robinson. Dressed as a Greek goddess, he wafted in and out of the action with ethereal charm. Three songs were allotted to him, each sung in the most sweet and affecting voice. Enjoyment shone out of the boy. Nicholas wondered if this Greek goddess really did wish to return to family life with a heavy-handed butcher in Bankside.

The final scene was the best. Having used all the stage equipment with consummate skill, Parsons saved the most arresting moment until the end. As life slowly ebbed away from the dying Alexander, a silver cloud descended from above with the goddess reclining in front of it. High above the stage, Philip Robinson declaimed a valedictory tribute to the great commander. Light slowly faded on his epic career.

While the audience was profoundly moved, Nicholas was shocked. The winch used to lower Philip Robinson was the one which had hauled Cyril Fulbeck up to his death.

An ovation greeted the cast as they came out to take their bows and several spectators rose to their feet in salute. When they began to file out of the theatre, nothing but praise was heard on every side. Nicholas waited until he reached the Great Yard before he accosted James Ingram.

‘Nick!’ Ingram said. ‘I did not look to find you here.’

‘It was a temptation too big to resist.’

‘They acquitted themselves well, I feel, though they would fare better with a better play. Boys make wonderful goddesses but sorry soldiers.’

‘Why did you come?’ asked Nicholas.

‘Out of interest.’

‘Interest or envy?’

‘Both, Nick.’

‘There is certainly much to interest.’

‘But even more to envy. Just think what we could do with that winding-gear at the Queen’s Head. And that scenery! Jonas was so wrong in his attack on the children’s companies. So wrong and so vilely unfair.’

‘What did you think of the reply?’

‘In the Prologue?’

‘Was not that vilely unfair?’

‘No,’ said Ingram evenly. ‘Jonas deserved it.’

Before Nicholas could discuss it further, the actor wheeled away and was soon lost in the crowd. It was abrupt behavior for a man who was unfailingly polite as a rule. The book holder was not left alone for long.

‘I see that we have a spy in our midst.’

‘Merely another spectator.’

‘Our spectators do not come to sneer.’

‘Nor more did I. There was much to admire.’

‘I cannot say the same of Westfield’s Men.’

Raphael Parsons was circling the Great Yard to garner praise and eavesdrop on opinion. He gazed around with a proprietary air and spoke to Nicholas over his shoulder.

‘I wonder that you could spare the time, sir.’

‘You advised me to come.’

‘Not with any expectation of a response,’ said Parsons. ‘Should you not have been at the Queen’s Head this afternoon to prop up that rabble of actors?’

‘I should have been there, it is true.’

‘Then why did you choose Blackfriars instead? And why did you not bring Jonas Applegarth with you so that we could throw his insults back in his teeth?’

‘Jonas, I fear, is dead.’

Parsons turned to him in surprise. It quickly shaded into a pleasure that was fringed with disappointment.

‘Then the rogue has escaped me, has he?’

‘Not by design,’ said Nicholas. ‘Jonas was murdered at the Queen’s Head early this morning. Hanged from a beam.’

‘Hanged? Was there a rope strong enough?’

‘A rope strong enough and a killer determined enough. We have seen his handiwork here at Blackfriars.’

Parsons blinked. ‘You believe it to be the same man?’