Read Online A Play of Heresy by Margaret Frazer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Margaret Frazer
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the man who was playing Tertius Doctor had clear voices and some sense that who they played should not just be themselves with fancy words to say. With time and work on them by Sendell, they would likely do well enough.
It was Eustace Powet who took Joliffe by full surprise. As Joseph, Powet was better than only good. By voice alone, since they were only reading this evening, not up and moving, he caught Joseph’s doddering age as well as his querulousness, yet somehow showed, too, the old man’s deep devotion to his young wife and her son. He made Joseph both a figure for laughter, as he was supposed to be, and at the same time almost as heart-touching as—at best—he should be, too.
Powet’s nephew Dick, on the other hand, made a very poor Christ. He had a clear voice and that much was to the good, but he seemed to have taken Richard Eme’s style of playing for his own and that was not good. Why couldn’t he have taken after his uncle instead? As it was, Joliffe silently wished Sendell luck with changing the boy.
Interestingly, what came clear as they read the play to the end was that its “bones” were surprisingly strong. True enough, it lacked the Nativity’s possibilities for dazzling, and that showed in the flat looks among the men and dispirited rerolling of their scrolls when they were at its end, but Joliffe could see that, well-played, all the play’s differences from the Nativity would be a goodly, needed balance to the excesses of Herod and the murdering of the infants of Bethlehem played just before it.
The catch was in that “well-played.” The skills among the men and boys were very uneven. Much was going to depend on how far Sendell could bring them in the all-too-few days he had before Corpus Christi. That was surely in Sendell’s mind as, starting to reroll the master scroll from its end back to its beginning, he said, “There’s hope in it. Tomorrow we take it onto its feet. Joliffe, not then but the day after I’m going to want you to work with our Mary on how to move. So, Tom Maydeford, I need you to bring a dress you can wear for that.”
“Why can’t I just use what I’ll wear for the play? I’m not likely to hurt the tired old thing.”
“Because I’m probably going to use that tired old thing to wipe the stage clean. You can’t wear what you’ll wear for the play because we don’t have it yet.” Sendell paused, giving the men time to be puzzled by that, then said triumphantly, “I’ve talked the guild into money for some new garments and for fresh paint and a bit of gilt on the pageant wagon.”
Glum faces brightened, and there were exclaims of “Well then!” and “Hai-mai!” and “Not before time!” There was even some slapping of thighs and everyone in altogether merrier minds when they left the yard than when they had come. Only Dick was made unhappy by Sendell saying he wanted him to stay a while longer. The boy grimaced but, clouted on his shoulder by his uncle, granted he had nowhere to be just then.
“Except home to bed,” Powet said. “Nay, he can stay, Master Sendell.”
“It’s that the whole last part of the play depends on the young Christ,” Sendell said. “That’s why I want us to work particularly at it, Dick. There’s a while of daylight left. I won’t use it all up. Let’s sit here.” He moved to the farthest end of the benches and gestured for Dick to join him.
Dick grumpily did. Powet sat down on another bench, well away from them. Joliffe, who had lingered for a chance to talk to Sendell, went to sit beside him. The two scrolls of his parts were still in his hand, and Powet asked, nodding at them, “You mind having just those for your parts?”
“Mind?” Joliffe echoed, surprised.
“You’re the one of us does this for your living. You should be doing more than a dull prophet and a woman who’s only there because the Bible says she is, not because she does aught that matters in the play.”
“She gives Simeon someone
It was Eustace Powet who took Joliffe by full surprise. As Joseph, Powet was better than only good. By voice alone, since they were only reading this evening, not up and moving, he caught Joseph’s doddering age as well as his querulousness, yet somehow showed, too, the old man’s deep devotion to his young wife and her son. He made Joseph both a figure for laughter, as he was supposed to be, and at the same time almost as heart-touching as—at best—he should be, too.
Powet’s nephew Dick, on the other hand, made a very poor Christ. He had a clear voice and that much was to the good, but he seemed to have taken Richard Eme’s style of playing for his own and that was not good. Why couldn’t he have taken after his uncle instead? As it was, Joliffe silently wished Sendell luck with changing the boy.
Interestingly, what came clear as they read the play to the end was that its “bones” were surprisingly strong. True enough, it lacked the Nativity’s possibilities for dazzling, and that showed in the flat looks among the men and dispirited rerolling of their scrolls when they were at its end, but Joliffe could see that, well-played, all the play’s differences from the Nativity would be a goodly, needed balance to the excesses of Herod and the murdering of the infants of Bethlehem played just before it.
The catch was in that “well-played.” The skills among the men and boys were very uneven. Much was going to depend on how far Sendell could bring them in the all-too-few days he had before Corpus Christi. That was surely in Sendell’s mind as, starting to reroll the master scroll from its end back to its beginning, he said, “There’s hope in it. Tomorrow we take it onto its feet. Joliffe, not then but the day after I’m going to want you to work with our Mary on how to move. So, Tom Maydeford, I need you to bring a dress you can wear for that.”
“Why can’t I just use what I’ll wear for the play? I’m not likely to hurt the tired old thing.”
“Because I’m probably going to use that tired old thing to wipe the stage clean. You can’t wear what you’ll wear for the play because we don’t have it yet.” Sendell paused, giving the men time to be puzzled by that, then said triumphantly, “I’ve talked the guild into money for some new garments and for fresh paint and a bit of gilt on the pageant wagon.”
Glum faces brightened, and there were exclaims of “Well then!” and “Hai-mai!” and “Not before time!” There was even some slapping of thighs and everyone in altogether merrier minds when they left the yard than when they had come. Only Dick was made unhappy by Sendell saying he wanted him to stay a while longer. The boy grimaced but, clouted on his shoulder by his uncle, granted he had nowhere to be just then.
“Except home to bed,” Powet said. “Nay, he can stay, Master Sendell.”
“It’s that the whole last part of the play depends on the young Christ,” Sendell said. “That’s why I want us to work particularly at it, Dick. There’s a while of daylight left. I won’t use it all up. Let’s sit here.” He moved to the farthest end of the benches and gestured for Dick to join him.
Dick grumpily did. Powet sat down on another bench, well away from them. Joliffe, who had lingered for a chance to talk to Sendell, went to sit beside him. The two scrolls of his parts were still in his hand, and Powet asked, nodding at them, “You mind having just those for your parts?”
“Mind?” Joliffe echoed, surprised.
“You’re the one of us does this for your living. You should be doing more than a dull prophet and a woman who’s only there because the Bible says she is, not because she does aught that matters in the play.”
“She gives Simeon someone
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