The Arrival of Ben Jonson
It was 1597. Benjamin Jonson was just crossing the border into London. He was feeling a great sense of excitement. Finally, he would be able to settle down permanently in London, one of the world's greatest cities, home to many famous figures, and perhaps most importantly, the seat of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth.
Please don't think we're talking about an ordinary man. Ben Jonson, a theatre enthusiast, graduated with distinction from the school at Westminster Abbey, which was headed by William Camden, a distinguished historian who instilled in Jonson a love of Roman writers, read in the original, of course.
However, don't think Ben Jonson was flawless. He had a violent temper and started street fights several times. It should also be added that before devoting himself fully to his studies, he worked as a bricklayer for his stepfather and then did military service in Flanders. All this contributed to his decisive and ruthless character.
London was an impressive city. Situated on the right bank of the Thames, fifty miles from the sea, it already had a population of over three hundred thousand. London owed its economic boom to the river. No other city boasted such a long waterfront, and all foreigners who visited agreed that they had never seen so many ships anywhere else. The reputation of England's capital might have been somewhat undermined by the fact that it was a city of houses built of wood and mud mixed with straw, where the poor thronged to filthy, stinking cellars.
Despite this, as I mentioned, Jonson entered London with a sense of excitement.
Benjamin was passing St. Catherine's Hospital. The stench that wafted from it unpleasantly irritated his nostrils. He passed the first street stalls and the ever-increasing number of pedestrians. The towers of the Tower of London loomed before him.
The newcomer couldn't complain about the journey so far. After two days of leisurely cruising on the Thames, he was heading to the home of his distant relative, Edward Cook. He had some trepidation about this meeting, but his curiosity and desire to explore London were stronger. He knew he had the opportunity of a lifetime to utilize his education, and above all, to present the play he had just finished a few days ago. He titled it "Everyone Has Their Occasion," and had high hopes for it. He even secretly hoped to compete with another great playwright and poet, William Shakespeare, whose plays were increasingly being performed in English theaters. He had the opportunity to read Shakespeare's tragedy "Romeo and Juliet" and comedy "A Midsummer Night's Dream." Both plays captivated him with their rich language, and he deeply regretted not having been able to see either on stage. They certainly made a profound impression on audiences. Ben had often dreamed that once he reached London, he would meet Shakespeare in person.
With a calm, even pace, he passed the walls of the Tower of London. A chill ran down his spine as he thought of how many executions had taken place there. He even shuddered as he paused for a moment, gazing up at the turrets and bastions. All prisons, and especially execution sites, had filled him with panic since childhood.
After fifteen minutes of walking, he reached London Bridge and saw with his own eyes what he had only heard about in stories. First of all, the bridge was indeed completely built up. The passage was narrow, and since it was almost noon, it was swarming with Londoners. Benjamin Jonson spotted the Chapel of the Blessed Martyr surrounded by numerous crowded residential buildings. To his great surprise, he found that the bridge was also lined with stalls. This seemed rather odd, but he was well aware that London would hold many surprises for him. When he finally managed to make his way through the crowd, he felt a sense of joy at having arrived here, in the capital of England. He also began to think with growing enthusiasm about his upcoming meeting with Edward Cook.
He soon reached Stoney Street and knocked on the door of the house where, he knew, his relative lived. A servant opened the door, and right behind him, a balding, slim, middle-aged man appeared in the hallway.
"Good morning, good morning," he replied to Ben's greeting. "Welcome, and come in. Your father has told me many good things about you. You must be very tired after such an exhausting journey. Please take off your shoes. The servants will clean them in a moment. London streets, especially at this time of year, are terribly muddy.
Benjamin Jonson's earlier fears proved unfounded. Edward Cook was a pleasant and straightforward man.
"Let's sit down at the table; we'll be having dinner in a moment."Please feel at home.
"Thank you very much for the wonderful reception. I hope I will soon have the opportunity to return the favor."
During the meal, Edward Cook peppered his guest with questions, mainly about his father and his business affairs. Their conversation continued until late in the evening.
"I know you're very tired, sir, but I'd like to tell you something that might interest you. Well, tomorrow I've invited my dear friend, William Shakespeare, to afternoon tea. "
Ben Jonson was speechless.
"Really... Do you really know William Shakespeare?
" "Of course, he's my friend. Is there anything strange about that?
" "He's a very talented man. Soon all of England will be hearing about him..."
Benjamin couldn't sleep that night. He kept thinking about his upcoming meeting with Shakespeare the next day. His father, who had been fortunate enough to see the tragedy "Romeo and Juliet" in 1595, returned from the theater enchanted. Ben decided he wouldn't waste this opportunity and would show the master his play "Every Man Has His Oddity."
There was a knock on the door. Benjamin Jonson jumped with excitement. He was about to meet William Shakespeare in person!
A moment later, a man of about thirty entered the room. He was slim and dark-haired. Despite his frail build, he was certainly handsome.
"Gentlemen, meet yourselves," Edward began. "William, this is my relative, Benjamin Jonson. Mr. Jonson, this is William Shakespeare.
" "Pleased to meet you," Jonson muttered, shaking the newcomer's hand.
"Forgive my cousin's embarrassment," Edward saved the day. "Ben has heard much about you.
" "Really? I feel honored," Will smiled faintly.
Benjamin Jonson's conversation with William Shakespeare lasted a very long time. When Edward, tired from the day, went to bed, Will was telling Ben about his work on a new play. He already knew he would title it 'The Merchant of Venice.' They debated for a long time whether the principle of unity of time, place, and action should be adhered to. However, they couldn't agree on this matter. Jonson, obsessed with classical models, believed that this principle should be strictly adhered to. Consequently, he expressed contempt for such eminent writers as Kyd and Marlowe, calling their plays bad and unpolished. Meanwhile, Will had completely different views on the matter.
It was only after midnight that Shakespeare began to prepare to leave.
"Will, wait a moment," Ben stopped him. "I have a huge favor to ask of you. I greatly value your previous plays; I truly admire them. I also recently wrote a play. I titled it 'Everyone Has His Own Curiosity.' I would be incredibly grateful if you would review it and then offer your valuable comments.
" "Good, with great pleasure."
Ben hugged William with joy.
A week had passed since Benjamin Jonson's last meeting with William Shakespeare.
"It's good to see you, Ben," Edward greeted his lodger. "I have something interesting to tell you.
" "I'm all ears.
" "William will be here this afternoon. Apparently he has some very important news for you.
" "Really?! I can't wait. What could he possibly have to tell me?
" "I'm afraid you'll have to be patient. At least until this afternoon," Edward smiled.
The hours dragged on mercilessly. Finally, however, the expected guest arrived.
"Good morning, Edward, good morning, Benjamin. It will be especially kind to you, I think.
" "Make yourself comfortable, Will, and tell us quickly," urged Cook, who was also eager to hear the news.
"Well, my dear Benjamin, I've looked through your play as you asked, and I like it very much. Therefore, after making a few minor corrections, I've proposed it to the Lord Chamberlain's Staff." My colleagues were a bit hesitant, but finally they agreed. If you'll just agree to sell it, we'll put it on at the Curtain Theatre this season.
"Hurrah!" Ben shouted at the top of his lungs, hugging William, then Edward, though as we well know, despite his violent temper, he was generally a composed man. "Of course I agree!"
Thus, Benjamin Jonson's great dream came true.
A few words about Michael Smith and his family
. It was February 7, 1601. Over the past four years, Benjamin Jonson had gained fame, unfortunately not only for writing increasingly better plays. He had once killed a fellow actor during an argument and narrowly avoided the death penalty. Meanwhile, advertisements appeared on the streets, inviting visitors to see "King Richard II" at the Globe Theatre, built in 1599 for the Lord Chamberlain's Company.
Trade was booming on London Bridge. As usual, it was so crowded that it was difficult to get through. The stalls sold not only vegetables and fruit, but also a multitude of other useful items, some more or less useful. The stallholders had to be vigilant—the area was swarming with all sorts of scoundrels, cutthroats, and prostitutes.
Thomas Draper was happy. He had probably never made as much money as he had this Sunday. Suddenly, he felt a sharp tug from behind. He turned and saw a child running away with the purse he'd only moments before been tied to his belt.
"Smith, you scoundrel, you thief! Give me my money, you son of a bitch!" he shouted, and gave chase.
He knew the boy well. This rascal had robbed him several times before. This time, however, Draper decided not to give up so easily.
"Catch the thief! Catch the thief!" he yelled. "Smith, just let me catch you, and you'll remember me forever."
Michael Smith nimbly weaved between the stalls, and Thomas Draper, chasing him, had no chance of catching the robber. His years and enormous bulk were already taking their toll. However, he wasn't about to accept the loss of his honestly earned money. Seeing he wouldn't be able to catch the thief on his own, he decided to call for help.
"Guardian! Guardian!" he shouted.
"What's the matter?" a large man appeared before him as if from nowhere.
"Just now, that bastard... That pup, Michael Smith, stole my purse! I have to get it back!
" "Sir, leave me alone," the guard snapped rudely.
"But why?! I can describe him in detail. In fact, I can show you where he lives!" Draper felt anger rising within him.
"Sir, do you think I don't know this scoundrel? I know him perfectly. You're not the first person he's robbed, but he's unpunished. The clever pup knows how to hide money so no one will find it." We won't get anything from his parents either. His father is a drunkard, a terrible scoundrel, and his mother a whore.
"What kind of guard are you if a brat like that mocks you!" Draper finally gave vent to his anger.
"Sir, watch your language, or I'll arrest you in a moment!"
The embittered merchant returned to his shop.
Meanwhile, Michael Smith was distraught. During his escape, he had lost the stolen money. He lived outside the city walls, in a wretched mud hut, near the road from London to Southwark. The sight he encountered upon entering the house didn't surprise him in the slightest. His father and mother were arguing as usual.
"You drunkard, we'll end up in the gutter because of your drinking!
" "And you, you should find some honest work instead of sleeping with the first guy who throws a penny!
" "They're all better than you anyway. At least they stink less!"
Then the man's gaze shifted to Michael.
"What are you doing here, little boy? Did you bring any money? No?! Get to work!!! And don't show your face until evening!"
The distraught child ran out of the house. Why was fate so cruel to him? What had he done to deserve this?
Deep down, Michael Smith was a good kid. He stole because he had no choice. If he didn't bring home at least ten pence by nightfall, he'd get a good thrashing from his father. He knew exactly how the money was spent, and he was deeply ashamed of it.
Michael wanted to change his life, but he didn't know how. He had only one friend, Eve Black; to everyone else, he was a common thief and a scoundrel. Even to his parents, he was a liability.
The boy suddenly felt a pang of hunger. He knew he couldn't show his face in London today. He suspected that old Draper wouldn't give up so easily this time. Desperate, he stepped onto the London road and slowly walked forward.
Michael Smith was already very tired. On the way, only three stagecoaches had passed him, rushing out of London. He had practically resigned himself to the thought of the beating awaiting him at home. Suddenly, on the horizon, he saw a lone man carrying a large trunk. He knew he didn't have much chance of winning, but what else was left? So when the man approached to within a few steps, Michael approached him and said in a timid tone,
"I'm... sorry. Bye... you dropped something." He pointed behind the man. The man set his luggage down and turned around.
Michael Smith had been waiting for this. With a lightning-fast movement, he grabbed the trunk and ran into the nearby bushes. The gentleman stood stunned for a moment, then gave chase to the thief. He soon realized he had no chance against the child. Michael knew this area like the back of his hand. The man stopped, resigned. Suddenly, he saw the top of a head peeking out from behind a bush. He instantly regained his composure. He would teach this child no more foolish jokes. The distance between the man and Michael was rapidly closing, and Smith was losing hope of a successful escape. Suddenly, he spotted a large group of people in the distance. He thought that if he could blend in with the crowd, he might still have a chance of saving his prized possession.
Meeting the Lord Chamberlain's Company in the pleasant surroundings of enjoying Shakespeare's "King Richard II" at the famous Globe Theatre.
A veritable crowd was heading to the Globe Theatre to see William Shakespeare's "King Richard II."
The massive building, capable of seating two thousand people, was built on the road leading from London to Southwark. The theater was named after the figure of Heracles, which stood above the entrance. The Greek hero balanced the globe on his back.
"Don't worry, Will. You'll see, everyone will like your play," his colleague from the Lord Chamberlain's Company, Thomas Pope, reassured Shakespeare.
"Oh, Tom... I think we're all a bit nervous. I'm supposedly convinced the play will be a success, but then again... Anyway...
"Will, this play is brilliant. We'll manage. Nothing bad can happen. We've had so many rehearsals already that I'm sure none of us will forget the lines," Henry Condell chimed in.
"Exactly. We're already a financial success. We'll get forty shillings just for putting on this play. And then there's the box office revenue," enthused John Hemings, responsible for the company's finances.
"Everything you say is true, yet I have a very bad feeling. Perhaps we should cancel tonight's performance..." Shakespeare wondered.
"Will, don't be silly! I can't wait to play King Richard in front of two thousand people," said Richard Burbadge, the Lord Chamberlain's best actor, who had played almost all the leading roles.
Christopher Beeston felt he couldn't bear it:
"William, we won't cancel the performance because of your whims. Get a grip, man!"
Then Augustine Philips, Shakespeare's best friend, noticed a tear rolling down Will's cheek.
"Shut up!" he roared at Beeston. "You'd better think twice about what you're saying. Leave me alone with William for a moment," he said to the other colleagues.
"Will, what's wrong?" he asked, concern in his voice when they were alone.
"Oh, Augustine. Two days ago, I heard news from my hometown of Stratford." Apparently, my father's health has deteriorated significantly recently.
"Don't despair, there's only hope. I understand that your father's serious illness is a tragedy for you, but right now you must focus on playing your part in the play as best you can. Crying won't change anything. I can only hope that better news will soon arrive from Stratford.
" "You're right, my friend. It's high time to get a grip. "
Philips noticed a faint smile flicker across Shakespeare's face.
"Will, give it your all. Today, all of London will know that William Shakespeare is the author of a magnificent history play."
"Augustine, you are a true friend of mine.
" An hour later, in front of two thousand spectators at the Globe Theatre, the performance began.
Michael Smith was running at top speed. In a moment, he would merge with the crowd, and the man would have no chance of catching him. I will make it, I must make it, he repeated to himself. He now realized why there was such a crowd. They were surely all heading to the theatre for the performance. Although the building had been standing for two years, Michael hadn't yet managed to remember its name. The boy leaped over the fence in a single bound and was soon among the audience.
Richard II was killing another guard when Exton burst onto the stage. Amidst the audience's applause, a duel to the death ensued between the rightful king and the cunning traitor. Several times, the audience shuddered as Richard blocked sword blows at the last moment. From the very beginning, Michael Smith, who had managed to slip into the audience unnoticed, forgot the world around him. He had never seen anything so magnificent. People in the theater whispered about a certain William Shakespeare. Could this be the man who had created this entire unknown world?
William Shakespeare… He tried to remember that name. A long groan from the audience tore him from his thoughts. Richard had fallen to the ground, pierced through by the sword of the traitorous Exton. The performance was over. Now everyone began to shout and applaud with delight. Even the wealthiest, seated on cushions, rose to their feet, clapping. Michael Smith was stunned.
The actors taking part in the performance bowed. They were all dressed in beautiful, colorful costumes. Was this the wizard among them that people in the theater had been talking about? Michael Smith had to find out for himself. But as he pushed his way through the crowd to get closer to the stage, a man blocked his path.
"I've got you, you thief. You won't escape me this time!" he yelled, snatching the suitcase from his hand.
Michael didn't have time to move, and the audience's applause completely drowned out his cries.
"Let's go!" The man tied his hands and roughly pushed him toward the exit. "I won't hand you over to the guards, kid, oh no! I'll deal you out myself," he laughed ominously.
Michael Smith stepped out, or rather, was pushed onto the road. He was terrified. This adventure couldn't end well for him. He was at the mercy of the man he'd just tried to rob. He felt a trickle of sweat running down his back.
"Wait, you brat," the man teased. "We'll turn into the woods and deal with it there, he he."
Suddenly, quite close, a horse neighed, and a rider emerged from around a bend in the road, charging straight at them. They didn't have time to dodge…
Meanwhile, the man who had been the messenger hadn't noticed anything. He knew they had to hurry. Dusk was falling, and this area had a bad reputation. In the meantime, he had to get to The Globe Theatre today. Since he had no idea how many miles lay between him and his destination, he felt a sense of relief when he saw the building emerging from behind the trees. Everything matched the description; it had to be the famous Globe.
The messenger dismounted and entered the building. He was immediately led to Shakespeare.
"Your Grace, I bring news from Stratford..."
"Speak, man, for God's sake, speak!" A spark of hope lit in William Shakespeare's heart.
"The health of Your Grace's father has improved considerably recently.
" "What a relief..." the poet sighed and burst into tears.
Michael Smith's impressions after seeing the performance, and his pleasant encounter with Eve Black.
When Michael Smith awoke, it was already completely dark. A dead, bloodied man lay beside him. Smith only had time to think that he was alive, and that that was the most important thing.
He woke again when the moon was already high in the sky. Everything hurt. He couldn't get up. His entire arm was covered in blood.
His memory was slowly returning. He could now reconstruct the entire story, and he knew he had to get home as quickly as possible. If his father arrived before him, his fate would be grim.
His hands were bound with a leather strap. Fortunately, after several attempts, he managed to untie the loose knot. Now he could search the pockets of the man lying next to him. To his joy, he found two bulging purses, jingling invitingly. Finally, fate smiled upon him. Although the trunk had mysteriously disappeared, Michael still felt rich at that moment. He stood up, pushed the dead body into a nearby ditch, and headed home.
He replayed the entire adventure in his mind once more. He remembered the performance he had accidentally stumbled upon. The colorful costumes, the duels, the conversations, which he understood little of, but which sounded somehow so beautiful. Completely different from his life. He knew he would go to the theater again someday. He simply had to go there, if only to meet that wizard, William Shakespeare.
He was close to home now. Suddenly, he saw someone on the road he never expected to meet at this hour.
"Eve!" he shouted. "Eve!"
The girl turned. A smile spread across her face.
"Michael? What are you doing here?
" "I'm just going home.
" "I guess. You must have been stealing in London again.
" "Eve, it wasn't like that at all. I mean... You know, something unusual happened to me today. I did steal..." A shy blush appeared on the boy's face.
"Michael... I asked you...
" "I'm sorry... I had to! But listen... I went out on the road from London to Southwark. I was very hungry, but I couldn't meet anyone. And you know what... Just as I was about to go home, I suddenly met this gentleman. Even though he looked very strong, I had to try. And imagine... I did! While I was running away with my suitcase, I ended up at the theater. You know, the one half a mile from here. And there was a performance there.
" "Oh, silly, silly," Eve laughed. "This theater is called The Globe. It's been there for two years. Today they were performing a play by Mr. Shakespeare."
Eve Black was two years older than Michael Smith, but she still enjoyed talking to him. She felt great pity for this boy, for whom fate had been so cruel. She came from a family that was neither very poor nor very rich. Her father, though strict, was an honest man, a craftsman. Eve's parents' greatest dream was to provide their daughter with a better future.
The boy valued Eve's friendship immensely. He knew she was the only person he could count on for help.
"William Shakespeare?" he exclaimed at the sound of the familiar name.
"Mr. Shakespeare wrote many plays," Eve explained.
"You know what, Eve," Michael continued, increasingly emotional. "There was a king in that play. A wonderful one. It's a shame they killed him off at the end."
Michael Smith often acted a bit childish around Eve. No wonder, he treated her like his own mother. And that's precisely why she liked him so much.
" "It's all just a pretense," Eve shrugged. "Now don't be angry, Michael, but it's high time I went home. My parents are probably worried about me."
At the sound of the word "parents," Smith sighed deeply.
"Good night, Eve. See you soon...
" "Good luck, Michael! I believe you'll be fine." Eve always tried to comfort the boy with these words.
Michael sat down on a rock and wept bitterly. After his talk with Eve, the thought of seeing his parents seemed even more unbearable. He stood up and slowly walked toward the house. He was in pain, barely able to move his injured arm, and limped on one leg. And yet he should have been happy. He almost shared the fate of the man with the trunk. But he couldn't help but smile at the thought that, like every evening, his father would give him a good beating.
Not far from the house, he saw a drunk staggering, singing a vulgar song. There was no mistaking it. It was too late to escape. Despite his condition, the man immediately spotted the boy.
"You mangy pup, where have you been wandering around again, you damsel?! I work hard all day, and what are you doing?"
During his father's rambling speech, Michael tried to stuff the bulging purses deeper into his pockets. In vain. The old man noticed his strange behavior.
"What are you hiding in your pockets, you stench? Are you trying to hide something from your own father? Give it to me! Now!" the old man yelled.
Michael pulled the purses from his pocket and obediently handed them to his father. Tears welled in his eyes. It was easy to guess how the money would be spent.
"Listen, son, I don't care where you got it. For once, you did a good job. Go home. In the meantime, I'll look around."
Michael went home. He knew perfectly well what a father's look around meant... His mother wasn't home yet. She was probably hanging out with some roadside bum for a few pennies.
Trying to forget his pain and hunger, Michael Smith fell asleep. He couldn't have imagined the momentous events that would unfold the next day.
When Eve Black returned home, she was met with an unpleasant surprise. Her mother was sitting at the table, weeping, and her father was pacing furiously.
"Girl, where the hell have you been all this time?!" he shouted. "Look what time it is! Mother's sitting there worrying about you, and you're wandering around with who knows who or where?"
"Father... Forgive me... Not at all...
" "Silence when I'm speaking to you! I know you're seeing that thief.
" Eve's face flushed.
"Father, Michael is a poor boy who needs help.
" "I don't want to hear about this son of a drunkard and a wench. It's time to end this friendship. You can start packing. You're leaving soon to join my relative in Oxford. Some time away from London will do you good.
" "But, Father... I can't..." Eve said, her voice breaking.
"What I've just said is beyond dispute. Your pleas, or even your mother's, won't help. I've decided that and that's it. And I don't want to see any tears here."
At these words, the distraught girl burst into loud sobs.
A chilling chapter about the Essex conspiracy
Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, had enjoyed Queen Elizabeth's favor from the very beginning. Her Majesty had placed certain hopes in him. She remembered their first meeting in 1588 well. Unfortunately, Robert had always lacked wisdom and authority, two qualities essential to ruling a state. Despite this, the queen entrusted him with the high office of Viceroy of Ireland, tasked with suppressing Tyrone's rebellion. She likely later regretted her rash decision more than once. Essex had wasted sixteen thousand men, entered into alliances with the enemy, and, worst of all, against orders, he returned to England in November 1599.
Essex was disappointed. Having assumed an important position of state, he hadn't expected such a cold reception upon his arrival from Ireland. No one cheered for him, the streets were deserted. Even for November, it was cold, the rain was pouring down, and the horses were stuck in the mud. Despite his disappointment at having disappointed the queen's hopes, he knew he had to maintain his dignity and not bow to her.
The earl was already approaching Elizabeth I's castle. The imminent audience aroused in him the worst premonitions. He knew the queen's patience would not last forever, and this time the whole affair could end very sadly for him. His modest escort, perhaps only two hundred soldiers, followed him with sadly bowed heads. These men, too, realized they had failed the queen, for whom they held great respect and love.
The gate was opened, and Robert Devereux rode into the courtyard. He dismounted and went to the queen's chamber. The mere sight of Elizabeth's expression revealed what awaited him. The queen glared at him for a long time. Finally, she ordered in a loud voice:
"Servants! Guards! Leave the chamber. I wish to speak with Essex alone. If I learn that anyone was eavesdropping, I will behead you all."
Although the order was carried out immediately, Elizabeth remained silent. Finally, Devereux could bear it no longer.
- Your Highness...
"Silence, Essex!" the queen thundered. "Not only have you wasted sixteen thousand soldiers and begun to enter into unfavorable agreements with the enemy, but now you're speaking without permission.
" "Listen...
" "How do you address me?! I'm the Queen!
" "I don't think I deserve such immense anger from Your Majesty. After all, despite my recent failures, I've served my country well, and anyway...
" "You?! You served England well?" Elizabeth flushed with anger. "You'll serve England well in a moment. I sentence you to six months' imprisonment. Guards! Remove him from my sight."
Robert Devereux had learned nothing from his past behavior. After his release, instead of repenting and attempting to reconcile with Elizabeth, he stayed away from court and manifested his resentment towards the Queen in every possible way. Worse still, he listened to his family and friends, who advised him to launch an armed attack on the queen...
February 8, 1601, arrived. The previous day, the Lord Chamberlain's Company had been performing "King Richard II" amidst cheers from the audience. The actors were unaware they had been drawn into a hideous political intrigue.
It was early morning. Fog hung over sleepy London. A few were gathering to attend the first Sunday mass. On that day, however, the inhabitants of the English capital were awakened by Robert Devereux...
"Down with Robert Cecil! Death to Cecil!" shouted the Earl of Essex, riding his horse at the head of his two hundred followers. The rebels were just entering the city gates.
"Londoners! Robert Cecil wants to overthrow Elizabeth's reign! You can prevent this! Join me, and we will defeat him! Londoners, it's all in your hands!"
The royal guard, however, was not idle. Soldiers were just leaving Nonsuch Palace to quell the riots. Elizabeth guessed what Essex was up to. She was well aware of his disputes with Robert Cecil over who would succeed her to the English throne after her death.
Robert Devereux enjoyed considerable popularity. Despite this, few chose to side with him. Londoners sensed deception in his behavior and listened to him with great distrust.
"It is to you, people of London, to you I speak! The future fate of England depends on you! Down with Robert Cecil, the Secretary of State, who seeks to overthrow the Queen! I believe in you, Londoners! Do not remain indifferent, take care of your own fate!" Devereux urged. "Join us! The time for justice has come!"
Meanwhile, the royal guard was already close, and the first clashes would soon begin...
Despite their immense determination, Robert Devereux and his companions had no chance of victory, greatly outnumbered by the queen's troops. However, the rebels fought to the bitter end...
News of the events in London quickly reached the ears of the actors from the Lord Chamberlain's Company. Several of them happened to be standing on the road opposite The Globe. "
It's bad, gentlemen, very bad. We're going to have a lot of trouble," worried William Sly.
The actors were terrified. William Kempe realized too late that the performance of "King Richard II" was a political provocation. How could they have known that those commissioning the play intended to show the downfall of a monarch in front of two thousand spectators? They were expecting to be summoned to Queen Elizabeth's court at any moment. They weren't entirely sure they would be able to clear themselves of the charges.
"But we're innocent!" Thomas Pope fumed. "Surely we'll be able to prove it to the Queen!"
"Wait a minute... And where is Shakespeare? As usual, when we're in trouble, he doesn't care. He didn't even bother to come here, and he's one of the most important figures in the company!" Christopher Beeston fumed.
"Chris, calm down." William is working on a new play. Apparently, he's come up with a brilliant idea – Augustine Philips has come to the playwright's defense.
"As always," Beeston muttered under his breath.
Augustine was about to say something to him when he spotted four horsemen approaching from London. It was a deeply disturbing sight, especially since a moment later there was no doubt who they were dealing with. They were the royal guards. They stopped their horses near the group of actors. One of them spoke:
"Which of you is Augustine Philips?
" "It's me." Terrified, Augustine stepped forward.
"I am an officer of Her Majesty's Queen Elizabeth I's guard. You will now accompany us to the hearing.
" Philips offered no resistance. A moment later, the members of the Lord Chamberlain's Company watched their colleague disappear into the distance. They wondered if they would ever see him alive again...
The rebellion had almost been crushed. A handful of rebels were holding out with their last remaining strength, surrounded on all sides by the royal guard. The captured Robert Devereux awaited his transfer to Elizabeth. He knew he had overdone it this time, had revealed his true intentions too clearly. It could mean his end. Soon, the decisive moment arrived.
"Your Majesty, this is the leader of the uprising: Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex," the commander of the guard reported.
Elizabeth looked at him with clear contempt.
"Oh, Essex, Essex. You don't learn from your mistakes. Tell me, what am I to do with you now?"
The rebel stood impassively.
"Essex, speak up! Do you have anything to say in your defense?"
He remained silent.
"Speak up, or I will have you beheaded!"
Essex said nothing.
Elizabeth felt anger rising within her. What arrogance! She hesitated for a long time, but finally uttered these words:
"Enough of this comedy. Call the herald!
" "Your Majesty," the handsome young man bowed to the Queen.
"Announce throughout London that on February 25th, the Earl of Essex will be executed in the Tower of London." "Remove this man from my sight," she ordered the guards.
Elizabeth was suffering. Despite his arrogance, Robert Devereux had aroused great sympathy in her. She had come close to having the sentence overturned several times, but how would she have looked in the eyes of her subjects? Yet she knew that after Essex's death, it would be more difficult for her to govern the state wisely and justly.
The hearing is over. You are free. It seems your company played "King Richard II" without malice.
Philips was heartbroken. The Lord Chamberlain's company was found innocent in the entire matter. Augustine had to announce this joyful news to his colleagues as quickly as possible. He had probably never been so happy. He could already feel a knife at his throat, but thankfully everything turned out well.
When he arrived at the Globe, the entire ensemble was waiting for him, except, of course, William Shakespeare. However, Augustine was able to forgive his friend's absence.
"Gentlemen, we've done it! We are innocent!" he exclaimed with joy, throwing himself into the arms of William Sly, who was standing closest to him.
A great joy filled the troupe. The actors vented it for the rest of the day. Meanwhile, Robert Devereux did not share their mood. February 25th was inexorably approaching…
The execution was to take place at Tower Green, where only the most important figures were beheaded. The bloodthirsty mob had no access.
Elizabeth, grieving, stared at the block where Robert Devereux would soon be placed. She was still unsure if she had made a rash decision. She hadn't slept a wink last night. If only she could rescind the sentence…
She could already see the executioner, slowly walking towards the chopping block. She shuddered…
The guards led Essex onto the scaffold. Elizabeth knew she had to remain indifferent. She couldn't afford to embarrass herself in front of so many people. The herald was just finishing reading the sentence. The Queen looked helplessly at the condemned man.
"Do you wish to say anything in your final words, my lord?" the herald asked Essex.
"Yes. First of all, I wish to thank God for a rather short, yet eventful life," he said in a confident, resonant voice. "I also wish to ask God to bless Queen Elizabeth and her future reign. I bear no ill will towards her; in my eyes, she has always been considered a great ruler. I also wish to say that I was unjustly sentenced to death and that I did nothing to deserve such a cruel punishment. My behavior was sometimes ill-considered, but I never harbored any ill intentions towards anyone. Therefore, I do not fear death. Once again, I thank God for the gift of a wonderful life. Lord! Help England, bless Elizabeth!"
Tears welled in the Queen's eyes. Essex laid his head on the chopping block. It would soon be over. The executioner raised the axe. Elizabeth closed her eyes. The sound of three powerful blows rang out.
At the same time, William Shakespeare was poring over another sheet of paper. He had not left the house at all lately. He persevered in writing a new play. Overcome with extraordinary excitement, he felt he was creating a great work. He had to pour all his strength and skill into it. Unfortunately, for two days, he hadn't been able to write a suitable line for Hamlet, the Danish prince, the play's protagonist. And suddenly, it dawned on him! He began to jot down his fleeting thoughts:
To be or not to be—that is the question.
Who acts more worthily: he who passively
stands under the rain of fate's fierce arrows,
or he who resists the sea of misfortunes
and puts an end to them in battle? ...
He paused for a moment to dip his pen in the inkwell, and soon the next lines appeared on the page.
