the general direction of the river and potential theatre.
Suzanne’s attention sharpened, and she listened closely. The other musician wanted to know how Willie knew this.
“I heard it from a drummer I sometimes let play with me on the corner. You know Arthur.” He made another gesture to indicate the direction of his corner, though everyone present well knew where it was and who Arthur was. “He were angling to be hired to drum for it, he says to me. I laughed, I did.” Big Willie let go a chuckle as if to demonstrate how he’d laughed. “That one playing for the king? Not bloody likely. But in any case, I hears the theatre is a-gonna be a big and fancy one.A right palace, they says. One might call it a sort of fare-thee-well to Cromwell, if you will. A bit of a nose-thumbing, I thinks. Take that, you old fire blanket!” He raised his tankard to cheers and laughter, then took a draught and emitted a belch that caught the attention of the patrons at the other end of the room.
Suzanne asked, “What sort of theatre will it be?”
Willie turned to focus on her as if he’d just then realized she was present. At his bright grin she thought it might be possible he only just then knew a woman was listening. “I hear they’re bringing in all the new plays from France. Ones with backdrops and such.”
Backdrops?
“What are those?”
Backdrops?
“Do you mean paintings on the back wall of the stage?” Suzanne found it hard to imagine. Every stage she’d seen, including the temporary ones Horatio had used in alleys, were slightly sloped affairs with two large curtained entries at the back wall and no attempt at decoration.
“Oh certs, ’tis paintings, it is. And set pieces.”
“But how can the audience imagine the scene if there’s a painting behind it?”
“I ain’t certain myself, but I think the painting is of where the scene is supposed to take place.”
Suzanne squinted, trying to picture it. “But how, then, do they do a new scene that’s supposed to be a different location?”
Willie shrugged. “I can’t tell ye. But I hear ’tis all the rage, it is. Set pieces and backdrops, to make the scene real-looking.”
Suzanne took a sip of her drink, then said thoughtfully, “Well, it strikes me as awfully silly. And awfully cumbersome as well. Good actors should be able to create their own scene, with words and voice and posture. You should be able topicture the place by how the actors act and not have to have a painting behind him to tell you where they’re supposed to be.” She tried to imagine what Horatio would say about such a thing as backdrops, and had to smile. Yes, the friend of Hamlet would have a great deal to say, and none of it very nice.
She asked Big Willie, “What do people say of these things? Do they like the French theatre? What sorts of plays are they?”
Willie screwed his face into a thinking pose, then said, “Dunno what sorts of plays they is, but you know them nobles and all will like anything the king likes. He lived there long enough, I suppose he’s as much French as anything.”
“No, he’s English,” said the round-faced musician.
Another standing nearby with an ear to the conversation said, “Nae, he’s a Stuart and Scottish, and dinnae allow anyone to tell ye different.”
“His grandfather was a Scot, and not such a good one for all that.”
“
In any whatever,
” said Big Willie in a loud, overriding voice, “he appears to like to see a play now and again, wishes to let the followers of Cromwell know it, and now he and his brother is both o’ them putting money into bringing back stage plays. For the nobility, at any rate.”
One of the listeners at the table said, “I wish they’d bring back the bearbaiting. I like a good brawl.”
“Oh, they will,” said another. “Sure as anything, they’ll have the bear arena opened soon, I’ll just wager on’t. There’s good old English entertainment, says I.”
“I wonder whether they’ll
Suzanne’s attention sharpened, and she listened closely. The other musician wanted to know how Willie knew this.
“I heard it from a drummer I sometimes let play with me on the corner. You know Arthur.” He made another gesture to indicate the direction of his corner, though everyone present well knew where it was and who Arthur was. “He were angling to be hired to drum for it, he says to me. I laughed, I did.” Big Willie let go a chuckle as if to demonstrate how he’d laughed. “That one playing for the king? Not bloody likely. But in any case, I hears the theatre is a-gonna be a big and fancy one.A right palace, they says. One might call it a sort of fare-thee-well to Cromwell, if you will. A bit of a nose-thumbing, I thinks. Take that, you old fire blanket!” He raised his tankard to cheers and laughter, then took a draught and emitted a belch that caught the attention of the patrons at the other end of the room.
Suzanne asked, “What sort of theatre will it be?”
Willie turned to focus on her as if he’d just then realized she was present. At his bright grin she thought it might be possible he only just then knew a woman was listening. “I hear they’re bringing in all the new plays from France. Ones with backdrops and such.”
Backdrops?
“What are those?”
Backdrops?
“Do you mean paintings on the back wall of the stage?” Suzanne found it hard to imagine. Every stage she’d seen, including the temporary ones Horatio had used in alleys, were slightly sloped affairs with two large curtained entries at the back wall and no attempt at decoration.
“Oh certs, ’tis paintings, it is. And set pieces.”
“But how can the audience imagine the scene if there’s a painting behind it?”
“I ain’t certain myself, but I think the painting is of where the scene is supposed to take place.”
Suzanne squinted, trying to picture it. “But how, then, do they do a new scene that’s supposed to be a different location?”
Willie shrugged. “I can’t tell ye. But I hear ’tis all the rage, it is. Set pieces and backdrops, to make the scene real-looking.”
Suzanne took a sip of her drink, then said thoughtfully, “Well, it strikes me as awfully silly. And awfully cumbersome as well. Good actors should be able to create their own scene, with words and voice and posture. You should be able topicture the place by how the actors act and not have to have a painting behind him to tell you where they’re supposed to be.” She tried to imagine what Horatio would say about such a thing as backdrops, and had to smile. Yes, the friend of Hamlet would have a great deal to say, and none of it very nice.
She asked Big Willie, “What do people say of these things? Do they like the French theatre? What sorts of plays are they?”
Willie screwed his face into a thinking pose, then said, “Dunno what sorts of plays they is, but you know them nobles and all will like anything the king likes. He lived there long enough, I suppose he’s as much French as anything.”
“No, he’s English,” said the round-faced musician.
Another standing nearby with an ear to the conversation said, “Nae, he’s a Stuart and Scottish, and dinnae allow anyone to tell ye different.”
“His grandfather was a Scot, and not such a good one for all that.”
“
In any whatever,
” said Big Willie in a loud, overriding voice, “he appears to like to see a play now and again, wishes to let the followers of Cromwell know it, and now he and his brother is both o’ them putting money into bringing back stage plays. For the nobility, at any rate.”
One of the listeners at the table said, “I wish they’d bring back the bearbaiting. I like a good brawl.”
“Oh, they will,” said another. “Sure as anything, they’ll have the bear arena opened soon, I’ll just wager on’t. There’s good old English entertainment, says I.”
“I wonder whether they’ll
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