Chapter XXIV: Prologue

Write me a prologue.
III, 1, 1a.

We will have such a prologue.
III, 1, 24.

Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.
III, 1, 35.

So please, your grace, the prologue is addressed.
V, 1, 106.

He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt.
V, 1, 119.

Indeed he hath played on his prologue like a child on a recorder.
V, 1, 122.

PART.

Name what part I am for and proceed.
I, 2, 20.

I could play Ercles rarely or a part to tear a cat in.
I, 2, 31.

Snug, the joiner; you, the lion’s part.
I, 2, 66.

Have you the lion’s part written?
I, 2, 68.

You can play no part by Pyramus.
I, 2, 87.
Here are your parts; and I am to entreat you and desire you to con
them by to-morrow night.
I, 2, 101.

Sit down, every mother’s son, and rehearse your parts.
III, 1, 102.

Every man look o’er his part.
IV, 2, 38.

Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged.

PLAYING.

O sweet Bully Bottom; Thus hath he lost sixpence a day during his
life: he could not have scaped sixpence a day; or the duke had not
given him sixpence a day for playing Pyramus, I’ll be hanged; he
would have deserved it; sixpence a day in Pyramus or nothing.
IV, 2, 23.

There is probably an allusion here to some actor who had been pensioned by the Queen with this sum. The author of “Cambyses,” Thomas Preston, was pensioned, at the rate of twenty pounds a year, by the Queen for his rare ability in acting. The play in which Preston acted was John Ritwise’s “Dido,” played before Queen Elizabeth at Cambridge, 1564. Shakespeare likewise ridiculed the title page of “Cambyses” by alluding to the most lamentable comedy of Pyramus and Thisby.

After the lapse of so many years it is doubtful whether the audience fully appreciated or understood the allusion.

PROPERTIES.

In the meantime I will draw a bill of properties.
I, 2, 108.

REHEARSAL.

A marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal.
III, 1, 3.

REHEARSE.

A mile without the town, by moonlight: there will we rehearse.
I, 2, 105.

There may we rehearse most obscenely and courageously.
I, 2, 110.

Sit down every mother’s son, and rehearse your parts.
III, 1, 75.

Were met together to rehearse a play.
III, 2, 11.

Which, when I saw rehearsed, I must confess made more eyes water.
V, i, 68.

The first authentic use of this word, in its technical theatrical sense, is made by Shakespeare in this passage: “A marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal.” Cunningham, in his Revels Accounts, quotes the use of the word in 1580: “Rehersinge of divers plaies and their sundry Rehersells.” There is a grave suspicion of forgery overhanging Cunningham’s transcripts of the Revels Account. Most critics would condemn them as modern forgeries, while others uphold their genuineness.

REVELS.

The King doth keep his Revels here to-night.
II, 1, 18.

THESEUS.

Where is our usual manager of mirth?
What revels are in hand?
V, 1, 36.

A fortnight hold we this solemnly
In nightly revels and new jolity.
V, 1, 377.

Where is our usual manager of mirth?
What Revels are in hand? Is there no play
To ease the anguish of a torturing house?
Call Egeus (Philostrate Master of the Revels).

There is a curious error in the above passage, which is copied from the First Folio. Egeus is simply an Athenian Lord, and is in no way connected with the household of Theseus. Philostrate, who is really Master of the Revels to the Duke, is correctly named in this extract in Fisher’s quarto edition of the play, issued in Shakespeare’s life-time. The error probably arose through the same actor’s doubling the characters of both Egeus and Philostrate, and must be attributed to the prompter, who adapted for the stage the quarto edition, dated 1600. This was, in fact, the original quarto, and fraudulently re-issued in 1619. It was called the Robert’s quarto, from the name of the printer, and this quarto was used by the editors of the First Folio in reprinting the play. Although the date of 1600, the same as that of Fisher’s quarto, is stamped on the title page, it has been conclusively proved by Mr. Pollard, of the British Museum, that this edition was really issued in 1619, together with other quartos, some of which bear false dates, and the nine false quartos were bound in one volume in the year 1619.

The Master of the Revels was an important official at the Court. All plays that were publicly acted were obliged beforehand to obtain the sanction of the Master of the Revels, much in the same way as the approval of the Lord Chamberlain must be obtained in our own times. During Elizabeth’s reign, Edward Tilney held this post in the Royal Household; his official residence was at St. John’s Gate, Clerkenwell, and here were stored the properties and costumes that were used in the masques and entertainments, which were presented at the palaces of Whitehall, Greenwich, Hampton Court, and other royal residences. During the last years of the Queen’s reign, Henry Carey, first Baron Hunsdon, was Lord Chamberlain; after his death, William Brooke, Lord Cobham, succeeded to the office, to be followed by George Carey, second Lord Hunsdon, the son of the earlier Lord Chamberlain.

SCENE.

Forsook his scene and entered in a brake.
III, 2, 15.

A tedious, brief scene of young Pyramus and his love, Thisbe.
V, 1, 56.

SHOW.

Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show:
But wonder on, till truth make all things plain.
V, 1, 128.

STAGE.

This green plot shall be our stage.
III, 1, 4.

STUDY.

Have you the lion’s part written? Pray, if it be, give it me; I am
slow of study.
I, 2, 69.

I am told that to study a part belongs to the theatrical vocabulary of to-day. Another proof of the conservatism of the English stage.

TIRING HOUSE.

This green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn brake our tiring
house.
III, 1, 4.

Every Elizabethan theatre possessed a tiring house or a tiring room, as it is generally named. The word is an abbreviation of attiring house: the place where the actors dressed or attired themselves. From the very earliest times the tiring room was a part of theatrical equipment. In the early days of the Greek drama, the Coryphæus mounted on a table, surrounded by choristers, who danced and chanted the dithyrambs in the orchestra. This was the name given to the flat service enclosed between the stage buildings and the inside boundary of the auditorium. It was called the orchestra, or dancing place, because in Greek theatres it was reserved for the performance of the chorus.

Thespis, who first introduced an actor on the scene, in the latter part of the sixth century B.C., erected a booth at the back of the orchestra in order to facilitate the changing of his costume. As this one actor impersonated all the characters in the play, it can easily be imagined how necessary the tiring room became. In later years, when the dramas of Æschylus, Sophocles and Euripides were produced, regular stage buildings, with ample accommodation for the actors, were then in vogue. The tiring house of the Globe Theatre was in all probability constructed at the back or on the side of the lower stage. Some critics would also allot a space on the first floor for a second tiring room, adjoining the music room, which was known to be situated in that part of the building. There can be no doubt that in the engraving of the so-called “Inside of the Red Bull Theatre,” spectators are watching the play from these rooms, but it is not safe to deduce any dogmatic conclusions from this drawing: one critic would place the tiring room behind the proscenium doors on the ground floor, and the second room behind the balcony windows on the first floor. It would also seem, by a quotation from Melton’s _Astrologaster_, 1620, that the tiring room was used for preparing scenic illusion. “While Drummer’s made thunder in the Tyring-house.” The whole subject of the exact situation and the uses of this room is beset with difficulties, and no one so far has grappled with them successfully. That an actors’ dressing room did exist is a positive certainty. The most convenient place would be at the back of the lower stage, and, until further proof is forthcoming, there it must be located. This is the only instance in which Shakespeare uses the word.

TRAGEDY.

Mary, if he that writ it had play’d Pyramus and hanged himself in
Thisbe’s garter, it would have been a fine tragedy; and so it is,
truly and very notably discharged.
V, 1, 367.

By the above quotation, the word discharge bore some theatrical meaning, but I have failed to trace the use of the word as connected specially with the stage.

TRAGICAL.

Very tragical mirth. Merry and tragical.
V, 1, 57.

And tragical, my noble lord, it is
For Pyramus therein doth kill himself.
V, 1, 66.

THESEUS.

Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth,
Joy, gentle friends; joy and fresh days of love
Accompany your hearts.
Come now, what masques, what dances shall we have
To wear away this long age of three hours
Between our after-supper and bed-time?
Where is our usual manager of mirth?
What revels are in hand? Is there no play
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour.
Call Philostrate.
V, 1, 37.

When a marriage was celebrated in a nobleman’s family it was customary for a play, interlude or some kind of dramatic entertainment to be represented, in presence of the invited guests. This play of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” may have been written and acted to solemnize the marriage of the Earl of Southampton to Elizabeth Vernon, or that of Edward Russell to Lucy Harrington. Noblemen, who were nominally the patrons of the different actors’ companies, often requisitioned their services at their private houses or summoned them to their country houses, to play before them on some festive occasion. The assumption that this play was acted in honour of Southampton’s marriage is the merest guess, no atom of proof being available that such was the case. Perhaps a version of the play was acted before the Court, but even this statement is pure surmise.

Flourish of Trumpets.
V, 1, 107.

The above stage direction appears only in the First Folio; it is omitted in the quartos, but retained in all modern editions. These musical honours announced the commencement of the play. In the sketch of the Swan Theatre, the trumpet is being sounded, although the action of the drama is in progress. To account for this anomaly, we must infer that the artist drew his sketch from memory, and inadvertently overlooked this slight discrepancy. Dekker, in his _Gulls Hornbook_, first printed in 1609, addresses the Gallant, who is about to visit the theatre, not to present himself until the quaking prologue hath, by rubbing himself, got colour in his cheeks, and is ready to give the trumpets their cue that he’s about to enter. On the modern English stage a bell is rung to indicate the rise of the curtain. In France, three knocks on the stage announce the appearance of the actors.

TAWYERS WITH A TRUMPET BEFORE THEM.

Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine and Lion.
V, 1, 127.

This is a stage direction peculiar only to the First Folio; it is not included in modern editions. The correct direction should be: Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Moonshine and Lion, Tawyers before them with a trumpet. Tawyer was an actor who played subordinate parts; at one time he was in the employment of Heminge, one of the chief actors of the Lord Chamberlain’s servants, and more important still, one of the editors of the famous and the most precious books in all literature, the _First Folio of Shakespeare’s Works_, 1623. There is a monument erected in his honour and that of his fellow editor, Henry Condell, in the churchyard of St. Mary’s, Aldermanbury, in the City of London. No true Shakesperean should omit paying a visit to this shrine. The real names of the actors occur several times in the Folio edition. In “Much Ado About Nothing” a certain Jacke Wilson is mentioned in the stage directions: “Enter Prince Leonato, Claudio and Jacke Wilson.” This Jacke Wilson impersonated the character of Balthazar, a servant of Don Pedro, who sings the well-known song in the second act, entitled, “Sigh no more, Ladies.”

There has been some controversy respecting the identity of this actor. He has been confounded with Dr. John Wilson, who composed the music to “Sigh no more, Ladies.” Jack Wilson, the actor and singer, belonged to St. Giles’s, Cripplegate, where he was baptized in 1585, whereas John Wilson, the Doctor of Music, was born at Faversham, Kent, in 1594. Dr. Wilson set to music many of Shakespeare’s lyrics, and is the author of a rare book, entitled _Cheerful Ayres and Ballads_, 1660. This book is also noted as being the first essay of printing music at Oxford. Although the editors strongly assert that the plays are printed from the author’s manuscripts, a slight acquaintance with the original edition will prove that this statement is not accurate. In fact, I doubt that any single play in the entire collection was copied from a Shakespeare holograph. The many stage directions alone indicate that transcript copies, expressly written out for the prompter, formed the basis of the text as it has come down to us. In some instances it can be proved that the latest printed quarto before 1623 served the compositors for setting up the type. The question is of great interest, and deserves a thoroughly exhaustive examination.

Enter Quince for the Prologue.
V, 1, 108.

In a prologue prefixed to Beaumont and Fletcher’s “Woman Hater,” 1607, the authors affirm that the person who delivered the prologue wore a garland of bay leaves, and was dressed in a black velvet coat. The bay was the sign of authorship, and the person who delivered the prologue was generally the author or his representative. In this instance, we are to accept Quince as the author of the interlude.

PYRAMUS AND THISBE.

The interlude of Pyramus and Thisbe, acted by the rude mechanicals, is a burlesque of a famous legend, related originally by Ovid, in the fourth book of the _Metamorphoses_. This poem, which consists of fifteen books, was composed shortly after the first years of the Christian era. The first printed edition, which was in Latin, was issued at Bologna, 1471. Dr. Rouse, in his beautiful edition of Golding’s translation (which, by the way, cost me more than the second complete edition of 1575) relates, in his interesting introduction, the following important information. In the Bodleian Library is a copy of Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_, printed by Aldus in 1502, which bears on the title page the signature “Wm. Shr,” and opposite is written, in what appears to be a seventeenth century hand: “This little book of Ovid was given to me by W. Hall, who sayd it was once Will Shakespere’s T. N., 1682.” John Hall, it will be remembered, married Shakespeare’s daughter, Susanna. The genuineness of the inscription has, of course, been questioned, and, no doubt, it is a clever forgery. The book has been used by more than one person for study. One has written in a fine minute hand meanings and paraphrases in Latin above the text throughout the earlier part of the volume. Many verses have been underlined, especially in the earlier books, and but very few pages show no marks of use. There are also marginal scribblings and caricatures, which are carelessly done, and do not appear to be so old as the rest. The first English translation of the _Metamorphoses_ was made by Arthur Golding, which consisted of the first four books, and consequently included the story of Pyramus and Thisbe. This edition was printed and perhaps published, although the latter fact is not stated, by William Seres. The title page is as follows: “Imprynted at London by William Seres, anno 1565.” Two years later the entire fifteen books were published, and other editions followed in 1575, 1587, 1603, 1612. The Pyramus and Thisbe legend is found in most European literature. I possess an edition of Montemayer’s _Diana_, in Spanish, dated 1585, a pastoral romance well known to Shakespeare. At the end of this romance is related in verse the history of Pyramus and Thisbe. In French the same story is dramatised by Theophile de Vian, published in 1627. Other versions are known in Greek, Italian, German, Dutch and Roumanian.

Shakespeare has treated the story very unkindly, burlesqueing it in a most merciless fashion; even the rustic amateurs have not been spared being ridiculed in no less degree. Although exaggerated beyond recognition, the burlesque is most amusing, and must have caused endless delight and roaring laughter from the groundlings for whom it would appear it was principally intended.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

BILLS.

BEATRICE.

He set up his bills here in Messina and challenged Cupid at the
flight.
I, 1, 39.

In Shakespeare’s day the only means of advertising were by posting bills all over the town. As early as 1579 we are told the players used to set up their bills upon posts certain days before the performances, to admonish the people to make resort unto their theatres, and that the players, by sticking up their bills in London, defile the streets with their infectious filthiness. These bills were mostly set up around St. Paul’s Cathedral. The monopoly of this trade was for many years held by Charlwood, a London printer. By marrying Charlwood’s widow James Roberts, the notorious piratical publisher of Shakespeare’s plays, succeeded to this business, and at his death, Jaggard, the chief promoter in publishing the _First Folio_, obtained this lucrative post. Roberts’ connexion with printing the bills for the players may in some way account for the fact that he managed to secure the manuscripts of the plays from the playhouse proprietors, and then print and publish them, either by bribing the players or some official connected with the theatre.

The first authentic quarto of “Hamlet” was published by Roberts in 1604, without doubt from a manuscript copy, whatever modern critics may say to the contrary. The idea that it was taken down in shorthand or longhand from the actors’ lips is preposterous; the copy could only have been obtained from genuine sources. The mutilated edition of 1603 is quite another story, and only confirms my theory. Many of the quarto editions of Shakespeare’s plays, although they may have been published without the sanction of the author or the owners of the manuscript, were nevertheless derived from authentic copies of the original manuscripts.

An excellent story, illustrating the nature of setting up bills for the play will be found in an early English jest book, entitled “Mery Tales, Wittie Questions, and Quicke Answeres, Very pleasant to be Readde.”

Imprinted
at London
in Fleete Strete by
H. Wykes. 1567.

Another book of this kind is more famous, having been mentioned by Shakespeare in this very play. The quotation will be found in Act 2, Scene 1, where Beatrice mentions Benedick as having said: “That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit out of the _Hundred Merry Tales_.”

Well, this was Signor Benedick that said so.

A. C. Mery

Tales.

Thus endeth the booke of a C mery
talys. Empryntyd at London at the
sygne of the Merymayd at Powlys gate
next to Chepe side. The yere of our
Lord M.D.C.XXVI.
The XXII day of November.

How a merry man divised to call people to a play
C XXX III.

“A mery man, called Qualitees, in a time set up bills upon posts about London, that whosoever would come to Northumberland place should hear such an antic play, that both for the matter and handling the like was never heard before. For all that they should play therein were gentlemen. Those bills moved the people when the day came to come thither thick and threefold. Now he had hired two men to stand at the gate with a box as the fashion is, who took of every person that came in a penny or an halfpenny at the least. So when he thought the market was at the best he came to the gate and took from the man the box with money, and giving them their duty, bad them go into the hall, and see the room kept, for he should go and fetch in the players. They went in, and he went out and lockt the gate fast and took the key with him, and got him on his gelding, which stood ready saddled without Aldersgate, at an Inn, and toward Barnet he rode apace. The people tarried from two o’clock till three, from three to four, still asking and crying ‘When shall the play begin? How long shall we tarry?’ When the clock struck four all the people murmured and said, ‘Wherefore tarry we any longer? Here shall be no play. Where is the knave that hath beguiled us hither?’ ‘It were alms to thrust a dagger through his cheeks,’ sayeth one. ‘It were well done to cut off his ears,’ sayeth another. ‘Have him to Newgate,’ sayeth one; ‘Nay, have him to Tyburn,’ sayeth another. ‘Shall we lose our money?’ thus sayeth he. ‘Shall we be thus beguiled,’ sayeth this man. ‘Should this be suffered?’ sayeth that man. And so muttering and chiding, they came to the gate to go out, but they could not, for it was fast locked and Qualitees had the key away with him. Now began they afresh to fret and fume, now they swear and stare, now they stamp and threaten. For the locking in grieved them more than all the loss and mockery before; but all avail not. For there must they abide till ways be found to open the gate that they may go out. The maidens that should have dressed their masters’ suppers, they weep and cry, boys and ’prentices sorrow and lament, they wot not what to say when they come home, for all this foul array, for all this great fray, Qualitees is merry riding on his way.”

Another well known story, illustrating the custom of setting up bills, occurs in _Tales and Quick Answers_, a book printed by Thomas Berthelet, in Fleet Street, about 1533:

“Of him that lost his purse in London.”

“A certain man of the country, the which for business came up to London, lost his purse, as he went late in the evening. And by cause the sum therein was great, he set up bills in divers places, that if any man of the city had found the purse and could bring it again to him, he should have well for his labour. A gentleman of the Temple wrote under one of the bills how the man should come to his chamber, and told where. So when he was come, the gentleman asked him, first what was in the purse; secondly, what countryman he was; and thirdly, what was his name. ‘Sir,’ quoth he, ‘twenty nobles was in the purse. I am half a Welshman, and my name is John ap Janken.’ ‘John ap Janken,’ said the gentleman, ‘I am glad I know thy name, for now so long as I live thou nor none of thy name shall have my purse to keep. And now farewell, gentle John ap Janken.’ Thus he was mocked to scorn and went his way.”

CUE.

Speak, Count, ’tis your cue.
II, 1, 316.

DUMB SHOW. SCENE.

That’s the scene that I would see, which will be merely a dumb show.
II, 3, 226.

PLAYED.

My Lord, I have played the part of Lady Fame.
II, 1, 225.

Hero and Margaret have by this played their parts with Beatrice.
III, 2, 79.

PART. DIALOGUE.

Fear you not my part of the dialogue.
III, 1, 30.

OTHELLO

PROMPTER.

Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it without a prompter.
I, 2, 84.

In a special theatrical sense, the prompter denotes a person stationed out of sight of the audience to prompt or assist any actor who is at a loss in remembering his part. In early days of the drama, the usual word for this official was book-holder, and is so quoted in Higgins’ _Junius Nomenclator_, 1588: “He that telleth the players their part when they are out and have forgotten. The prompter or book-holder.”

Ben Jonson uses the word book-holder in several of his plays, likewise many dramatists of this period. The word is now obsolete.

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