In this case, Shakespeare knew that there would not be time enough to produce a fair copy of the play before the next performance, which entailed several potential problems. The first order of business would have to be producing new scrolls for each actor, detailing the alterations in each part. Fortunately, his handwriting was reasonably legible, for given that only a few hours remained until the next performance, everyone in the company would be enlisted in this task, which was usually the province of the bookkeeper. The remainder of the time would be spent in learning the new lines and blocking out any necessary changes in the action on the stage. It would not be easy, but Shakespeare had anticipated this and allowed for it by the expedient device of altering the play in stages. And that was both a solution to the problem and a potential problem in itself.
The fair copy that would be produced would most likely be of the finished fifth stage of the rewritten play. In the meantime, the actors would participate in having their individual changes written out. Under ordinary circumstances, this would be the province of the bookkeeper, who would take the edited and marked-up manuscript that came back from the Office of the Revels and write out each part separately on scrolls, which would then be handed out to the actors who would play each part. Except that in this case, there would be no time to submit a fair copy to the Office of the Revels, and consequently, no time to have it reviewed and stamped.
The role of the Master of the Revels, to whom every new play had to be submitted for review, was to scrutinize each manuscript and look for any criticism, real or implied, of government policies or of the Church of England. If any such offending lines or scenes were found, the Master of the Revels would then strike them out, or else demand that the company strike out the seditious or offending lines or scenes before the play could be produced. Once that was done, the play would then officially be stamped for approval, at which point it could be staged. Except that with the next performance only hours away, there would be no time for that.
This could, thought Shakespeare, involve a certain element of risk. As the play stood when he first came to it, it had already been approved. But by the time the fifth stage of changes was completed, it would be in essence a completely different play. At that point, obviously, a fair copy could easily be submitted to the Master of the Revels and there would be ample time for it to go through the approval process. The question was, what about the earlier changes?
It was not at all unusual for actors to make ongoing changes to a play as it was being performed without the Office of the Revels demanding that each and every little change require a separate stamp of approval. But at what point would the Master of the Revels feel that The Honorable Gentleman had become a brand new play?
Shakespeare felt reasonably certain that they could get away with at least the first and second sets of changes, and possibly the third, especially if they did not change the title. But by the time the fourth set of changes was incorporated, it would really be a different play. By then, he reasoned, they would be ready to submit the fair copy for review. There would have been more than enough time for it to be prepared, and in the meantime, the company could easily stage other plays in its repertoire. But would the very next performance be safe from censure?
In all likelihood, he thought, it would. It was, however, up to the company to make that determination, because the Master of the Revels could not only fine a company for violations, he could stop a performance, close down the playhouse if he chose, or even send the author and the members of the company to prison. Still, the chance of anything like that occurring would be very slim, thought Shakespeare, considering that his rewrite of the play was aimed solely at making it more amusing, without including any controversial content of either a political or religious nature. He had no axe to grind, after all; he merely wanted to prove his ability so he could get a better job.
The final step, which would take place just prior to the performance, would be the hanging of the “plot,” a large sheet of paper pasted on wood or cardboard that the bookkeeper would write out and hang upon a nail in the tiring room. Here would be written out the cast, the props, the cues for entrances and exits, what sound effects were needed and when, and other incidental stage business. This would be consulted throughout the performance to ensure that things ran smoothly. And if all went well, thought Shakespeare, there should be time enough… perhaps just barely… for everything to come together for the next performance.
He sat back, rubbed his eyes wearily and stretched his stiff muscles. He had done the best job he could, considering what they gave him, but he had managed to improve it, and that improvement would be evident with the very next performance. He took a sip of wine, then pushed back his bench and rose to gather up the manuscript. At the same moment, someone started frantically knocking at the door.
“Never fear, Burbage, I have finished it!” he called, going to the door and opening it. He blinked. Instead of Richard Burbage, a beautiful young woman stood there, clasping her hands and gazing at him anxiously.
“Mr. Smythe,” she said, looking past him into the room. “I must speak with Mr. Smythe at once!”
9
SMYTHE HAD NOT INTENDED TO spend most of the day at Green Oaks, but Sir William was a genial and gracious host who had seemed genuinely pleased to have his company. And after a few hours with him, Smythe began to understand why. Sir William’s success had introduced him into elegant society, and eventually, into a life at court. He had risen from the most humble beginnings to become one of the wealthiest men in the country, one who could even claim the queen as an acquaintance. He was the living embodiment of the new age in England, where a man could rise above the station of his birth through industry and perseverance-and a little luck-and through success in trade achieve entry into the upper ranks of society. Even, possibly, attain a peerage and become a member of the aristocracy.
It was, Smythe realized, precisely what his father’s dream had been, only his father had overreached himself. Like Icarus, whose wings had melted from the sun, his father had tried to fly too high too quickly and his hopes had melted as his dreams came crashing down around him. Now he was a bitter old man, confronting the specter of his own mortality and fallibility, and Smythe found it impossible even to speak with him. It was a source of some discomfort to him, even a little shame, for he felt he owed his father more than that, but he could not give more than would be accepted. And his father, at least for the present, could not bring himself to accept anything from him. Not even his sympathy.
By contrast, Sir William had achieved success far beyond what Symington Smythe the elder could have dreamed, but while he outwardly seemed to enjoy the fruits of it, inwardly, he was frustrated and displeased. The society in which he moved now had its own rewards and privileges, and they were not inconsequential, but in many ways, it was a society that felt alien to him. These were not people like himself, who had pulled themselves up by their own bootstraps, but people who had been born to wealth and privilege-”born to the blood,” as the saying went-and he did not feel any kinship with them. He found them indolent and decadent, sycophantic and fawning, especially toward the queen and the members of her inner circle, and most of all, he found them detestably superficial.
“In the queen’s court,” he had said, sarcastically, “a ‘friend’ is one who stabs you in the chest. I know them all, every last one of the treacherous leeches, and there is not a one who has not, at one time or another, asked a favor of me-most of which I granted-and to be fair, on occasion, I have asked favors in return. Yet, for all that, I would still not turn my back on any of them.”