The Muses’ Darling – Chapter 7

Introducing a slight change this autumn with Marlowe Months! This will see Chapter 7 from my novel The Muses’ Darling kicking it off in October, followed by Chapter 8 in November.

This month’s has Christopher Marlowe returning to his old school in Canterbury to give a talk during the drama class. While Kit was very innovative, it is unlikely that this invention of mine would have taken place, let alone with a 21st-century style. However, I wanted to show how forward-thinking he was. That said, I hope you enjoy the story anyway.

Both Anthony Shorte and Reverend Thomas Constant were the schoolmasters at The King’s School in 1588, when this chapter is set. All other characters except the Marlowe family, Philip Henslowe and Edward Alleyn are figments of my imagination, and any resemblance to reality and people past or present is pure coincidence.

The featured photo is of the current Marlowe Theatre, opened in 2011, with Canterbury Cathedral to the right. The King’s School is in the same location today as in Kit’s time, situated close to the cathedral.  

Chapter 8 will follow next month. You have been warned!!

If you missed the previous chapters, you can find them via these links:

The Photograph (mini biography), The New Playwright (Chapter 1), The Journey to Canterbury (Chapter 2), Back Home in Canterbury (Chapter 3), A Wet Monday (Chapter 4), A Double Surprise (Chapter 5), The Gifts (Chapter 6)

Also available to listen to on Spotify:

The Muses’ Darling

Chapter 7

One Day Leads to Another

Thursday proved to be uneventful, much to Kit’s relief. His mother and the girls had walked to the church for their weekly flower-arranging afternoon, and with the house so quiet he had been able to continue writing the formative stages of his new play. He had Edward Alleyn in mind for the lead role and soon after returning to London intended to outline the plot and ask him whether he could see himself as the main character. Kit felt a sense of relief having seen no sign of the mysterious Martin Arnynton since the latter’s arrival at The Rising Sun a couple of days earlier, and he hoped it would stay that way. Consequently, when he went to bed after a pleasant evening with the family, Kit felt a sense of calm and was looking forward to another visit to his old school the next day.

Friday morning’s mist soon lifted, and Kit spent an hour or so re-reading the notes he had made as reminders for the speech he would be giving to the drama class. Although not accustomed to speaking in public, he was undaunted by the prospect, knowing his subject well and feeling sure he could command the attention of the boys. From all his years in education, Kit knew that lessons could be boring. He had long believed that a more motivating approach, such as class participation, would stimulate the boys’ interest and hoped his speech would achieve this.

Once the midday meal was over, he set out for The King’s School and was soon at the door and being taken to the room where the drama lessons were held. The class hadn’t yet started, but the boys were assembled and listening as headmaster Anthony Shorte gave a brief explanation of the change to the format for that Friday afternoon. On seeing Kit walk in with Reverend Thomas Constant, the lower master, he beckoned them both over and introduced Christopher Marlowe as a former and very creditable pupil of the school, now a successful playwright. The headmaster went on to explain that their guest was a pioneer of a new type of play for the London stage, which itself was in its infancy but looked set to stay thanks to the purpose-built playhouses emerging. He explained that Kit was among only a few to write a play in English using iambic pentameter, and so far the most successful. There was a ripple of interest before a round of applause for Kit, instigated by Reverend Constant.

Standing on that stage was no new experience for Kit. He had spent many hours playing minor roles in various plays in his time at The King’s School, a couple of these dramas he had written, and with this look back to his youth, Kit embarked on his talk.

“Hello to all of you and thank you for attending my talk, though I presume it’s compulsory – in which case, bad luck!”

His opening gambit paid off, and he could detect a slight move away from boredom, even to mirth from some.

“As you’ll know from Master Shorte’s introduction, I am Christopher Marlowe, though everyone calls me Kit. So if we meet, feel free to do the same. After years of study, I have achieved my aim to be a playwright. Writing has always been my first love, and since I mastered the alphabet and the ability to hold a quill, I have been writing. Being asked to create two short plays for this school’s drama class over 10 years ago was such an honour and, I think, gave me some good grounding in the art. I realised early on that acting was not for me, and it must have been evident, as I was only ever given small parts to play here at school. It just didn’t come naturally, but this gave me greater incentive to write. Although I may not be able to bring characters to life on a page, I felt sure my writing could help others to do so on a stage.

“From The King’s School I went on to Cambridge University on an Archbishop Matthew Parker scholarship. This was such a gift, as I was able to further my education to gain both a BA and MA in the seven years I was there. I studied hard but also had some fun, which included – wait for this! – translating Ovid in my spare time! I loved Latin, still do, and have the former masters of The King’s School to thank for improving my fluency in the language. Still within the literary world, I was thrilled to see my historical drama Dido, Queen of Carthage performed by a local boys’ acting company, and this boosted my confidence when it came to writing plays.

“During my MA years, when students were given far more freedom than in their BA years, I visited London a few times, touring the theatres both sides of the Thames and getting to know the owners and actors, and showing them samples of my dramatic attempts. I was delighted when my draft of Tamburlaine the Great was accepted by Philip Henslowe – he’s the owner of The Rose Playhouse. He offered to stage it on the understanding that the finished version be written for Edward Alleyn in the title role. Tamburlaine debuted last year. It was one of the first dramas to be performed there, and Alleyn’s stage presence and character portrayal have kept audiences enthralled since, not only as Tamburlaine but also as different characters in other dramas. In fact, I’m sure he has a long and successful acting career ahead of him.”

Noticing some interest as he was speaking, Kit ventured to ask, “Had any of you heard of Tamburlaine before this afternoon?”

Silence reigned.

“Come on, hands up if the name of the play means anything to you, though don’t feel ashamed if it is new to you. I’m just curious to find out how fast theatrical news travels these days.”

After a few seconds his brother Thomas put his hand up, then a few others followed suit.

“That’s a relief! I was beginning to think even my brother had forgotten all about it! Or perhaps, Tom, you are finding it hard to live with my fame?”

“What fame?” responded Tom daringly, hoping he wouldn’t be reprimanded for his cheeky comment, even if it was to Kit.

“Aah, you’ve given the game away now! Yes, in reality no one beyond a few friends and relatives has even heard of me and even they wonder who I am when I arrive home after months away.”

An initial giggle turned to laughter from the assembled drama class.

“To be serious for a moment. Do any of you – not including you, Tom – know on whom I based the character of Tamburlaine?”

Faced with a sea of bewilderment, Kit decided on the spur of the moment to set them a voluntary task.

“No? I’m not too surprised; after all, to most of you Tamburlaine was unknown till a few minutes ago. Well, I based him on a Mongolian emperor called Timur. With some help from my quill and changes to his name, nationality and other aspects of his life, Timur became my Tamburlaine. Now, I’m wondering whether any of you would like to do some research and find out a bit more about Timur, perhaps write an essay on him. It’s voluntary, so if it doesn’t appeal to you or you haven’t got time, just ignore it.”

Kit paused, wondering whether he had overstepped the mark with this additional homework. He glanced over to the masters and noticed both nodding their approval, while there was an atmosphere of subdued enthusiasm for this project from his young audience. Kit knew there was some reference material in the school library, where he had first encountered Timur in literature, and this would be sufficient for a short essay, and he hinted at this location as a starting point. Seizing the opportunity while the masters were in a good mood, Kit elaborated on the task.

“Now, I would very much like to read any essays you may write on Timur. With Headmaster Shorte’s permission, which I shall seek later, I’ll leave him the address of The Rose Playhouse where you can write to me, and Philip Henslowe will pass on any letters. I often call in to see him and my other friends who work there. I promise to reply to all correspondence on Timur, but my one rule is that you are not to ask for information from my brother Thomas. The project, if you undertake it, must be your research via books only.

“Anyway, I was talking about the play, wasn’t I? You can probably tell I haven’t prepared this talk and am making it up as I go along! Well, I hadn’t planned a sequel to Tamburlaine the Great, but at the request – well, insistence – of Philip Henslowe, I reluctantly agreed to write a second part. I have to admit that I wasn’t really happy with the assignment and rushed it so the playhouse could capitalise on the success of Tamburlaine the Great, but all in all it didn’t draw the audiences in to the same extent as the first part. Despite this disappointment, my enthusiasm for writing hasn’t been dampened, though I intend to avoid sequels at all costs in future. I do feel that all of interest should be contained within one drama, which is how I approached Tamburlaine Part 1. However, I am currently working on a new play, so have plenty to occupy me. Now, I don’t want any of you to walk away from this talk under the illusion that playwriting is easy and exciting. It’s neither. It takes much research, hours spent sitting at a candlelit table drafting and redrafting, aware of the very real risk of never being able to sell it. Even though a dramatist releases all claim to the play once sold, he is often involved with rehearsals, and even rewriting certain scenes, before it is deemed ready for its stage premiere. I should also mention that a playwright receives no credit for his work, so most people have no idea of the name of the author of both Tamburlaines, but I am hoping that will change in due course. New-style theatre is still in a state of formation, and it will take time before its dramatists’ names become more widely known, but I live in hope that one day writers will receive greater acknowledgement.”

Having caught the boys’ attention and imaginations, he tried to maintain both by mentioning Edward Alleyn, the leading actor of The Admiral’s Men troupe at The Rose Playhouse.

“Of course, audiences recognise actors’ names, especially those in the lead roles. So let me tell you a little about Edward Alleyn, or Ned as we all call him, the man who brought Tamburlaine to life. First of all, he is a friend of mine. I met him soon after The Rose had opened, and we got along well from our first introduction. Getting to know him so easily helped me to picture him as I was writing the part of Tamburlaine especially for him. So let me describe him to you. He is a well-built man standing six feet tall. If I were to stand behind him, you wouldn’t see me! When he walks across the stage the scenery often shakes. Admittedly, it is a little flimsy, but it serves its purpose and so far nothing has fallen down mid-play to my knowledge!  

This mental picture of Edward Alleyn caused more laughter from the boys, which Kit left uninterrupted before continuing.

“I think it’s not only his acting talent but also his size, his natural stage presence and the way he can project his voice to the outer reaches of The Rose which enhance all his performances. He was ideal for the role of Tamburlaine, and once I am back in London, I shall hand him an outline of my new play and ask him if he would like to play the lead role again. If so, we shall join forces to try to persuade Philip Henslowe to accept it.”

Feeling that the talk was arousing some interest among his young audience, Kit ventured to ask them another question.

“Can you guess the type of dramas which have influenced my playwriting?”

Eventually, Richard timidly offered “Greek plays?”

This prompted Kit to praise him for his perception and ask him directly how he had come to that conclusion.

“The use of iambic pentameter,” was Richard’s quick reply, which received more praise from Kit. He knew of the boy’s interest in Greek literature from their meeting at the school the previous week when the missing book from the school library was the main focus.

“Having studied Greek plays over the years,” Kit explained, “I was convinced that their format was the key to a departure from the mumming plays. Theatre needed a change from those plays; after all, they are old-fashioned with their origins dating back about 300 years. Philip Henslowe was looking for a new style of drama, and when he read the iambic pentameter lines of my draft of Tamburlaine, he jumped at the chance to introduce it at The Rose. Luckily, the gamble has paid off.”

Quoting from both Tamburlaine plays to demonstrate the style in English, Kit had the boys spellbound. He then touched on stage direction, props and scenery and concluded by asking if there were any questions. At first there was silence – the boys apparently too shy to speak – but then Richard raised his hand and, following a nod from Anthony Shorte, asked Kit how long it took him to write a play.

Kit responded with a smile. “Unfortunately, I can’t give a definite answer, as I write whenever the chance arises and don’t add up the minutes and hours. I will just say it’s not a quick process. I am always trying to improve it all as I go along and somehow get there in the end.”

This question prompted a number of others: how much influence Kit had in the presentation of the play and the choosing of the actors, the number of times his plays had been performed in London and even how much he was paid for a play – this enquiry prompted the headmaster to admonish the pupil for his insolence, but Kit was happy to answer it, along with all the other queries raised. With all facts delivered, Kit wound up the talk, telling the class that he was greatly looking forward to seeing the play they were working on. He received a round of applause, for which he thanked them, adding that at least he hadn’t suffered the indignity of rotten fruit being thrown at him, as happens to actors at London theatres with an unpopular play. The boys laughed as Kit pretended to duck away from any fruit hurled in his direction.

A little later, Kit was settled in the front row of the audience, between the two masters, ready to watch the dress rehearsal of Menaechmi. This Roman comedy by Plautus, revolving around twins and mistaken identities, was based on an Ancient Greek play. With the lines in the original Latin, it tested the boys’ grasp of the spoken language, as well as their singing abilities because much of the dialogue was sung. Although very familiar with Roman literature, Kit had never felt the desire to base any of his plays on this style of writing. However, he had acted in a few when at school and enjoyed watching this dress rehearsal which, while not of a professional standard, was ripped into with gusto by the cast.

The play ended to praise from masters and Kit alike, and the boys then disappeared to change out of their costumes. Accepting an invitation to join his brother for the evening meal, Kit then passed on a request from his parents for Thomas and his friend Richard to have lunch with the Marlowes on Sunday. The headmaster agreed, adding that he hoped Kit would attend the Sunday morning service in the cathedral. To Kit, this seemed like a proviso, but he nodded and similarly agreed to escort the boys back to the school before twilight. Telling the headmaster he would see him after the meal, Kit then made his way to the dining room and found Thomas and Richard at a table with some other boys of similar age. Introductions were made, and a seat was found for Kit, who once again marvelled at the lack of imagination as the menu hadn’t changed in the last ten years – at least! The possible boredom of this familiar meal was enlivened by “visits” from various boys who wanted to meet Kit and hear more about his writing, the theatre and life in London.

After the meal, the brothers were left to chat for about half an hour. Thomas then had to adjourn to the library for the nightly homework, overseen by the lower master – another ritual so familiar to Kit, who promised to return on Sunday morning.

Kit set off for the headmaster’s office, where he was welcomed and thanked for his very entertaining talk. Apparently, it was so popular half the students were now keen to become playwrights, the other half actors! Kit was surprised and felt sure that, in the intervening years, the lure of the theatre would wane in favour of more “respectable” employment.

He then apologised for taking the liberty of giving willing pupils the task of researching Timur, but Anthony Shorte was all in favour of extra-curricular learning and readily noted down the address of The Rose, promising to forward any essays on the subject of Timur.

“Christopher, I’m not surprised that Tamburlaine became such a success, as it’s evident from your unusual approach to your talk that you are a very creative and daring writer. There have been others who have given talks here, but these have been staid and without the novelty of inviting questions from the boys. I’m not considering adopting this style myself, or for classes in general, but your innovation has been a breath of fresh air which has stimulated the minds of your listeners.”

“Thank you for your tolerance and understanding, Master Shorte. I was in two minds about how to present it but decided to take a brave stand and follow the approach I take when there’s a quill in my hand – direct and out of line with other playwrights. As my talk progressed, I got the impression that I was getting through to the boys, and the fact that none of them fell asleep was a bonus!”

Anthony Shorte smiled at this. “They wouldn’t dare nod off in front of a guest speaker or they’d have me to face at the end of the afternoon. And, to be honest, Christopher, your lecture was so lively and interesting it would have been virtually impossible for them to be lulled into sleep.”

Having taken his leave of The King’s School till Sunday, Kit sauntered home for another evening with the family and an early bedtime. He had to be prepared for his role of godfather at the baptism the next day and make sure he was out early to collect the gifts for the twins, and the marzipan treats he planned to hand to all at the meal on Sunday.

©Chasqui Penguin, 2022

Twitter: @ChasquiPenguin