(Will has been with the Queen's Men for several months. He recently began submitting plays he has been working on to the leader, John Adams.)
John Adams assigned the parts and the rehearsal
began. William Knell, playing Valentine, paused and said, “John, Will, the
speech is fine, but I have one suggestion. Perhaps the line, ‘To have
adventures in the world abroad,’ would read more easily as, ‘To see the wonders
of the world abroad.’ ”
Shakespeare reflected for a moment. “I
like it, smoother.” He went over and scribbled at a makeshift desk. “It is changed
for the better. Thank you.”
Later in the rehearsal the actor playing
Sylvia questioned the line, ‘Servant, you are welcome to an unworthy mistress.’
“It seems less poetic than say, ‘worthless.’ I can’t tell you why. Then the
line by Proteus, ‘That you are worthless,’ might be more felicitous.”
Robert Wilson in the Proteus role said,
“Since my character is always lying, ‘worthless’ rings closer to home.”
John Adams looked to Will, who said,
“Let me write it down . . . you are right, Tobias, Robert, much improved in
sound and meaning.”
Still later, Richard Tarlton playing
Launce interrupted and suggested to Will who played Speed that he was acting
too broadly when Launce was the wiser and more amusing clown. Will immediately
saw his fault, “I misunderstood my own writing, probably couldn’t resist
overdoing.”
“Another thing, Will, so far this is a
talking part, the dialogue is good, but I am more comfortable with antics.”
Then Tarlton looked to John Adams, “Do you mind if I move about a bit more,
improvise action and some words, use the dog Crab to more advantage?”
“No, the play needs more life. Will, you
play off Richard and the other parts with more natural speech like talking to a
friend, toned down, suit the action to the words, smaller physicality.” Adams
thought: You don’t steal scenes from
Richard Tarlton.
Two nights later the Queen’s Men
performed The Two Gentlemen of Verona
in a rough town with frequent bawdy comments from an audience well-fueled with
ale and other spirits. The players extensively adlibbed their lines, and Will
struggled to remember the improvisations. Tarlton’s Launce and his beloved dog Crab
had the crowd in a comic-stricken frenzy.
Once the play ended to sustained
applause, Will made straight for his makeshift desk and wrote down all the
dialogue he recollected, adapting the suitable new with what he had earlier
written. Later, at the town tavern, he opened the rolls he had retrieved from
the players and made changes far into the night. Several of his friends brought
ale to Will’s table, and one carried a bowl of soup, which was no more than a
thin broth over bread.
Robert Wilson said to a gathered group
at a far table, “I, too, write what I can, but I’ve seen nothing like Will
Shakespeare’s pluck. He works far beyond the limits of my endurance. Have you
looked at his writing hand? I believe the fingers are permanently stained and
have calluses thick as old coins.”
Another player said, “He never seems to
cross anything out, runs on like a stream.”
‘My verse is the
true image of my mind,
Ever in motion still desiring change;
And
as thus to variety inclined,
So
in all humors sportively I range;
My
muse is rightly of the English strain,
That
cannot long one fashion entertain.’
(This vignette was excerpted from Discovering Will's Lost Years and the Marlowe-Shakespeare Lost Play: Uncovering 16th and 21st-Century Mystery, Treachery and Obsession.)
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