The Merry Devils

'Yes, master,' said Martin Yeo.

'And do not fiddle with my beard this time. Dick?'

'Master Gill?'

'Be more sprightly in our dance. Toss your hands thus.'

Richard Honeydew nodded as the actor demonstrated what he meant. > As for you, Stephen, do sweeten your song.'

'Am I too low, master?' asked Stephen Judd.

'Indeed, yes. You are a shepherdess, sir, and not a bear in torment. Do not bellow so. Sing softly. Please the ear.'

'I will try, Master Gill.'

The three apprentices made very convincing females in their skirts, bodices, and bonnets. Young, slender and well-trained in all the arts of impersonation, they were skilful performers who added to the lustre of the company's work. Cupid's Folly made no real demands on them. All three took the roles of country wenches who were pursued in vain by the diseased and doddering Rigor-mortis. Pierced by Cupid's arrow in the opening scene, the old man fell in love with every woman he saw and yet, ironically, spurned the one female who loved him. This was Ursula, a rural termagant, fat, ugly and slothful but relentless in her wooing. She chased the object of her desire throughout the play and finally bore off the reluctant groom across her shoulders.

Barnaby Gill luxuriated in the part of Rigormortis. Apart from giving him the chance to display his full comic repertoire, it allowed him a fair amount of licensed groping on stage, particularly of Richard Honeydew, the youngest, prettiest and most tempting of the apprentices. Gill's proclivities were no secret to Westfield's Men and they were tolerated because of his talent, but there was a tacit agreement that he would not seduce any of the boys into his strange ways. He had to look outside the company for such sport. Cupid's Folly did not abrogate that rule but it gave his fantasies some scope.

'How do I look, Master Gill?'

'God's blood!'

'Am I ill-favoured enough, sir?'

'You would frighten the eye of a tiger!'

'When shall I kiss you on stage?'

'As little as possible.'

The lantern-jawed John Tallis had been padded out as Ursula and fitted with a long, bedraggled wig of straw-coloured hue. Cosmetics had turned an already unappealing face into a grotesque one. The thought of being embraced by such a hideous creature made Gill shiver.

'Oh, the sacrifices that I make for my art!'

'Shall I practise carrying you?' said Tallis helpfully.

'Forbear!'

'I only strive to please, master.'

'Then keep your distance.'

The voice of Nicholas Bracewell now stilled the hubbub.

'Stand by, sirs!'

The play was about to start. During its performance, Nicholas ruled the tiring-house. In spite of his leading role, Barnaby Gill was subservient to him. Even Lawrence Firethorn, cast as a frolicsome lord of the manor, acknowledged his primacy. Actors had their hour upon the stage. Behind it--where so much frenetic activity took place--the book holder held sway. The audience would see Cupid's Folly as a riotous comedy that bowled along at high speed but it was also a complicated technical exercise with countless scene changes, costume changes, entrances and exits. It needed the controlling hand of a Nicholas Bracewell.

The trumpet sounded above and they were away.

After the shortcomings of the Queen's Head, playing at The Curtain was a pure delight. Located in Shoreditch, it was a tall, purpose-built, circular structure of stout timber. Three storeys of seating galleries jutted out into a circle and this perimeter area was roofed with thatch. Open to the sky, the central space was dominated by an apron stage that thrust out into the pit. High, handsome and rectangular, it commanded the attention of the whole playhouse. At the rear of the acting area was a large canopy supported on heavy pillars that came up through the stage. I lie smooth inner curve of the arena was broken by a flat wall, at each end of which was a door. Directly behind the wall was the tiring-house.

The place was a superb amphitheatre with attributes that the Queen's Head could never offer. There was an additional bonus. It had no Alexander Marwood. There was no prevailing atmosphere of gloom, no long-faced landlord to depress and inhibit them. The Curtain was a theatre designed expressly for the presentation of plays. It conferred status on the actors and their craft.

'Come, friends, and let us leave the city's noise

To seek the quieter paths of country joys.

For verdant pastures more delight the eye

With cows and sheep and fallow deer hereby,

With horse and hound, pursuing to their lair

The cunning fox or nimble-footed hare,

With merry maids and lusty lads most jolly

Who find their foolish run in Cupid's folly.'

The opening words of the Prologue set the tone admirably. When Barnaby Gill danced on stage to music, he was given a warm welcome. The audience knew where they were and liked what they saw. Rigormortis was quite irresistible. It was a performance of verbal dexterity, visual brilliance and superb comic timing. As the play progressed, it grew in stature. Each new love affair brought further complications and Gill milked the laughter with practiced assiduity.

Firethorn shone, too, as the lively Lord Hayfever but it was only a supporting role for once. The three apprentices made wonderful, nubile shepherdesses and John Tallis was an immediate success as the daunting Ursula. Nor was the romantic theme neglected. Edmund Hoode wallowed in a pit of poetic anguish and the female section of the audience was visibly touched. Watching from her cushioned seat in the gallery, Isobel Drewry was almost in tears as the lovesick shepherd bewailed his plight. Many of his lines seemed to be directed straight at Grace Napier and she herself was moved by the ardour of his appeal. The more she got to know of Hoode, the more fond of him she became but it was an affection that was tinged with sadness. He was so ready to commit himself wholeheartedly while Grace felt something holding her back.

Lord Westfield and his cronies preened themselves in their privileged seating and led the laughter at the wit and wordplay.

They were particularly diverted by a special effect that had been suggested by Nicholas Bracewell. It came in a scene that was set in the garden of Lord Hayfever's house and which featured a large conical beehive. The amorous Rigormortis was paying his unwanted attentions to Dorinda, the winsome shepherdess. Refusing to be deflected by her protestations, he pursued her with such vigour around the beehive that his elbow knocked it over. A swarm of bees burst forth--a handful of black powder tossed covertly in the air by Gill himself--and angry buzzing sounds were made by members of the company secreted beneath the stage. Stung in a dozen tender places, Rigormortis ran and jumped his way offstage with a series of yelps and cries that made the audience rock with mirth.

Lord Westfield turned to his nephew to share a joke.

'Where the bee stings, there sting I!'

'The fellow will not sit for a week,' said Francis Jordan. He should not have courted the queen of the hive.

'Queen, uncle?'

'That shepherdess is young Honeydew!'

'Well-buzzed, I say!"

They watched the stage as fresh merriment arrived.