Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness
I’ th’ posture of a whore.
He observed, I am certain, the worried look on my face. He always knew, it seemed, what I was thinking and feeling before I myself did.
“Do not think, John, that the audience will laugh at you as part of the joke. Yes, it is true that you are a squeaking Cleopatra boy — the kind of actor that Cleopatra is fearful of being forced to watch portray her in a Roman revel of some sort — but fear not. Say the words as Cleopatra would and you will take the audience with you, from the reality of watching actors in their roles to viewing you as Cleopatra herself. Forget, at least for a time, that you are a boy actor yourself. Played as I know you can do it, you will be Cleopatra and only Cleopatra. Please, John, trust me. This will play just as I tell you it will.”
And while I did trust Master Shakespeare with all my heart, that still did not stop me from worrying about my ability to do justice to the role and all the toil he had put into it.
Given the inherent difficulties of my role as well as Burbage’s, in addition to the sheer complexity of the drama, with one scene unfolding into another as Shakespeare seemingly included the entire world on the stage, our rehearsal time was extended an extra day. But still, I was not at all certain that I would be successful.
Would I be able to be a convincing Cleopatra with just the barest of sets and with costuming that, until the last moments of the play and unlike the masques I’d seen performed before King James, did little to tell the audience that I was an Egyptian queen? I would have to rely solely on makeup to indicate my difference from Antony, along with my voice, gestures, movements and all that I had learned over the course of my apprenticeship to make Cleopatra a believable breathing personage; to force the audience to forget, at least in part, that they were at the Globe watching an actor, and a boy actor at that; to make them believe they were watching Cleopatra in Egypt. As I was able to convince myself as well as the audience that I was an Egyptian queen, so too would the audience need to be convinced that what they were seeing was real.
And I believe in that, I and we were successful.
I felt at ease and comfortable throughout the majority of the play. I was able to work with Burbage and the others, including Alexander, to showcase Cleopatra and her “infinite variety”; her flirtations with and love for Antony; her rage and jealousy and fear of aging on learning that Antony, who had been called back to Rome, had married the sister of the Emperor Octavian; her overwhelming need for reassurance that his new wife did not rival her, or me, in looks; her happiness on his return to Egypt and her bed; the disastrous defeat at sea, which she in part caused at the battle of Actium; Antony’s suicide, which Burbage enacted most beautifully; and finally her captivity, awaiting news of her fate at the hands of the victorious Octavian.
It was at that point though, that I felt my self-confidence desert me. The play’s last moments, for the most part, relied solely on myself to make them work, with some assistance from the actor portraying the Roman Dolabella and my dear Alexander. I could see that despite his discomfort and, I believe, a hint of jealousy, he could still look at me and with one glance make it clear that he still loved me and had nothing but faith in me and my ability.
So with that knowledge, I was able to go forth. I took a large and unfortunately audible breath for which I knew Heminges would berate me afterwards, and addressing the Roman Dolabella, Caesar’s representative, spoke of my love and extreme feelings of loss for Antony:
I dreamt there was an emperor Antony.
O, such another sleep, that I might see
But such another man!
…
His face was as the heavens, and therein stuck
A sun and moon which kept their course and lighted
The little O, the earth.
…
His legs bestrid the ocean; his reared arm
Created the world; his voice was propertied
As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends;
But when he meant to quail and shake the orb,
He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty,
There was no winter in’t; an autumn it was
That grew the more by reaping. His delights
Were dolphin-like: they showed his back above
The element they lived in. In his livery
Walked crowns and crownets; and islands were
As plates dropped from his pocket.
My mood, Cleopatra’s mood, our mood here was mournful and at the same time hopeful, needing to hear from another that Antony’s greatness was of that scale. I asked Dolabella:
Think you there was or might be such a man
As this I dreamt of?
But his reply was a simple and truthful, “Gentle madam, no.”
This gave me an opportunity to display and portray Cleopatra’s rapidly shifting moods, her ability to confound her audience, as she raged, “You lie up to the hearing of the gods!”
Then came the moment I had expressed concern about to Master Shakespeare, as Cleopatra seemingly makes reference to me:
… ’tis most certain Iras. Saucy lictors
Will catch at us like strumpets, and scald rhymers
Ballad us out o’tune. The quick comedians
Extemporally will stage us and present
Our Alexandrian revels; Antony
Shall be brought drunken forth; and I shall see
Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness
I’ th’ posture of a whore.
And while I heard one of the minor players behind me whisper to another calling me Alexander’s whore, from the audience the reaction was as Shakespeare had promised me. I had taken them with me, and to them I was Cleopatra. My confidence grew as Cleopatra’s greatness grew, as she prepared herself for death and a promised reunion with her beloved Antony:
Give me my robe. Put on my crown. I have
Immortal longings in me.
Feeling Alexander’s strong hands on me, draping my purple robe around my shoulders, placing the crown on my head, I felt fully Cleopatra as well, ready and willing to die. Shoulders back and head held high in royal splendor, I felt in complete control of the role, of the play, of myself and of the audience. I was no longer John Rice — I had gone beyond that. For a moment or two, I entirely lost myself. I was Cleopatra.
Moments later, I placed the asp, the poisonous snake of the Nile, to my bosom, and in words very unlike Lady Macbeth’s confessed willingness to tear the babe from her breast, I said,
Dost thou not see my baby at my breast
That sucks the nurse to sleep?
And, as beautifully and as regally as I was able to do, I slowly died, remaining as I did and as much as it was within my power to do so, every inch a queen. The audience, to my extreme satisfaction, fell into a hushed silence, as did Cleopatra herself. I had won.
Chapter Eighteen
In which we spend Christmas
at Whitehall, I am greeted by
His Royal Highness, James I,
and I am confronted with my
future
During the course of our appearances at Whitehall over the holiday season of 1606 and 1607, commencing on St. Stephen’s Night, the day following the commemoration of the birth of our Savior, through Candlemas, until our final performance on the 27th of February, we performed nine plays. In four of them I was featured as the female lead, and in two, I was asked to double in an additional role.
On St. Stephen’s Night, we performed King Lear. In addition to my role as Cordelia, I was asked, due to the unexpected illness of Robert Armin, to personate the Fool, who appears shortly after Cordelia’s banishment to France and disappears from the play, for reasons Master Shakespeare never explains, shortly before her return.
It was my first opportunity to play
the Fool, who much like Cordelia is the only person brave enough to tell Lear the truth about who he is. Burbage was a magnificent Lear, and I took full advantage of doing our scenes together. The Fool and Lear have several conversations of great import, in which I was able, disguised by the Fool’s nonsensical rhymes, to tell Lear things that he was in need of hearing.
I was also given the opportunity to sing nonsense songs, which again masked truths, to cavort and in general do all in my power to amuse and distract the king from his growing madness.
It was a role unlike any I had ever had and ever would have again, given Armin’s near monopoly on such comic clowns. So taking advantage of the opportunity to perform before the royal court, playing both Cordelia, a royal daughter and queen of France, as well as the young boy that was the Fool, I somehow became both. Going from one to the other and back again was an exhilarating and exhausting experience, one I was glad to have had, and perhaps equally glad to not have to do again, at least not with any frequency.
After the performance had ended and the jig had been danced, Burbage and I, along with several of the other actors, were summoned to receive thanks from our patron, King James, even though His Royal Highness and court, much like the audience at the Globe, did not appear to know exactly what to make of the drama they had witnessed.
It was my first encounter with King James, although as I have noted, I had witnessed his greeting to Alexander on several previous occasions. This time though, it was me whom he wanted to meet.
I was in Cordelia’s dress when, on being presented to him, I politely curtsied and put out my hand. The king kissed it, and then pulling me closer as I had seen him do with Alexander, he allowed his hand to brush against my arse while at the same time he whispered in my ear to inform me that he had been watching me over the last few seasons and was pleased to note what he called my progress. Calling a servant bearing a silver tray to his side, he removed a small box from the tray. As he pressed the box into my hand, he told me that there would be more to follow, before sending me forward and moving on to Burbage.
The king’s actions, while not entirely unexpected, were all the same frightening, even distasteful given the king’s general appearance, but also, I must allow, flattering. I looked back at Alexander. He stared at me with an unreadable look on his face before giving me a wink and an odd smile. Apparently, it seemed, this would be something between myself and the king — something that he appeared not willing to assist me with, although it was equally apparent that he was amused to see me follow along his path. Upon my return home, when I opened the box the king had given me, I found a beautiful gold ring.
Nine days later, on the 8th of January, we presented Macbeth, hoping that with the absence of Christian IV of Denmark, the court might pay attention to the play itself rather than drinking and gossiping among themselves throughout the performance. They did, and because they did, they were fortunate enough to witness Burbage give what I think was the finest and strongest performance I ever saw. It took all I had to stay with him as he transformed himself into Macbeth, to match his force with mine and to believably be the lady who pushes him to murder to achieve his, or actually, their goals. It was exhilarating to find myself pushed by Burbage beyond what I thought I was capable of. And once again, the court responded as well as any of us could have hoped.
In addition, I was commanded by the king to appear before him once again, this time as the lady. I curtsied as gracefully as possible and was again rewarded — if one could indeed call it a reward — by being drawn closer to His Majesty, while his hand seemed to caress rather than graze my buttocks, after which an exquisite bracelet was pressed into my hand.
On this occasion, when I looked over towards Alexander, he had a smile on his face, as if seeming to sense and even enjoy my slight discomfort. Whether he was taking what appeared to be a prurient interest in watching someone else touching me where he alone had previously done so, I know not. Soon after, he watched me closely as I transformed from Lady Macbeth back to John Rice, whispering to me that if I continued to allow the king to take liberties with me, I would be, as he had been, rewarded handsomely.
Weeks later, on the 2nd of February, we were called back to Whitehall to perform The Devil’s Charter. I thought our performance had been effective, but while the drama had been seen as a great success at the Globe, here at Whitehall in front of the royal court, it did not seem to have the same effect. Before the play had even finished, Queen Anne rose from her seat and left the hall. The rest of the court, including King James, seemingly taking their cues from her, began to take their leave as well, until only a few remained to attend through to the end.
Needless to say, we never performed The Devil’s Charter in court again.
And given the reaction Barnes’s play had received, we felt it incumbent upon us to remind the court that we were chosen by His Royal Highness to be the King’s Men for a reason, and performing Antony and Cleopatra several days later, every actor played to their very best ability. It was, I’m pleased to be able to say, a performance that I suspect will live on in the memory of those in attendance.
I was again summoned to speak with the king and accept his favors. I curtsied in my royal robe, and again His Highness drew me closer. This time though, instead of his hand on my buttocks, I felt it on my member, which now that I was approaching adulthood stirred and swelled in response. The king looked at me in amused surprise as though until that moment he had been uncertain whether I was indeed male or female. He again whispered in my ear, this time asking me if I would be interested in joining him in his chambers later for a private audience, and then called over the servant with the silver tray and presented me with a beautiful gold brooch to display, not on my women’s gowns, but on my leather jerkin.
I thanked His Majesty, but uncertain how to respond to his invitation, and now knowing exactly what was expected, moved away as quickly as possible, leaving him to address Burbage who, as even I well knew, was far too old to receive the king’s gifts and invitations.
Later, when I spoke with Alexander about the invitation from the king, he at first seemed slightly jealous and then amused. He expressed disbelief that I had not accepted the invitation, telling me that he had on several occasions gone to the royal chambers to receive the king’s favors and had been, as he had assured me earlier, handsomely rewarded for his pains.
I was, I confess, briefly taken aback that at the same time Alexander had been sharing a bed with me he was also, even if only on a few occasions, sharing a bedchamber with the king. I remember each of the nights he had been away, him telling me on his return that he had been out drinking with friends, and it being late had slept at their homes rather than make the journey back to Master Heminges’s. And though I did feel a brief pang of jealousy, as well as disappointment in Alexander for not telling me the truth, I also appreciated his tact and sensitivity in not being completely open. Knowing me as well as he did, he knew that I would have been hurt beyond all measure, while at the same time not fully understanding why he was doing what he was doing.
Like Alexander, I was beginning to come to terms with the reality of my situation. I was now sixteen years old, my manhood had begun to make itself evident, the days when I would be able to persuasively be the lady, be Cleopatra, be a woman on stage who wasn’t, like Alexander’s Iras, an older character of lesser importance, were dwindling. I had two or three years at most before that would happen.
We were asked to give one final performance for the royal court before the season ended — a command performance of As You Like It, the first play I had seen before being apprenticed to the King’s Men, just three and a half years earlier.
Only now it would be me, John Rice, who would play Rosalind. And Alexander, who had performed Rosalind so memorably in that first performance, would play Orlando, the young man who loves Rosalind and whom she loves in return. Alexander had been eighteen and at his peak as a boy acto
r when I had seen him. I was now the same age, and, I must humbly say, at my peak as well.
It was an unnerving experience for me, and, I suspect, for Alexander himself to have this on-stage role reversal, in addition to the role reversal in the play itself. As Rosalind, I would flee to the Forest of Arden dressed as the boy Ganymede and teach Alexander, as Orlando, how best to court and win the heart of Rosalind.
The performance played well. Perhaps the personal history between myself and Alexander served to heighten the romantic tension. At play’s end, still in Rosalind’s disguise as Ganymede, I stepped out to address the audience as Alexander had done in what seemed a previous existence:
If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not. And I am sure as many as have good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths will for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell.
I felt the king’s eyes on me and knew in an instant what would happen next.
And indeed he did summon me for an audience. He did, after I curtsied still dressed as the boy Ganymede, pull me closer, touch upon my member, speak well of me and give me a present. Once again, he invited me to visit him in his royal chambers, and with that, I had not only assumed Alexander’s roles on stage, I was being asked to assume his role in the king’s affections as well.
This time I accepted his invitation, as I did for the next two nights, during which time I learned two things. The king’s clothing was very much padded to make him look larger than he was, as well as to protect against possible assassination. And despite the overwhelming odor of camphor in his chambers, each time I left I found myself crawling with lice — what His Royal Highness, for reasons I failed to understand, referred to as his “wee little ones” — which, because of the care I had always taken regarding my own personal cleanliness, I had up to now been fortunate to avoid.
But also, I must admit, Alexander was right. I was, for my pains, rewarded handsomely as well.
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