A Mystery of Errors Read Online Free PDF Page A

quiet and deserted, and they proceeded without incident, for which Smythe was rather grateful. He observed that the road had grown somewhat wider since they had left the inn, and was clearly more traveled and in better condition, which was a sure sign that they were approaching London. It made him feel excited to know that they would reach the city soon. A new life beckoned.
    As they ambled down the road, with the early morning mist undulating lazy tendrils at their feet, they compared their knowledge about the different companies of players and which might be the best one for them to join. They were both in agreement about the Queen's Players, also known as the Queen's Men. They had each seen that company perform, and Shakespeare had some contact with the players when they had visited Stratford-upon-Avon while on tour, as they did every season.
    "The Queen's Men are, without a doubt, a most estimable company of players," the poet said, apparently none the worse for wear from the previous night's tippling. "And as they were assembled on the orders of Her Majesty, membership in their company would, of course, provide the opportunity to display one's talents in performances at court, and there can be no more prestigious audience."
    "I saw Dick Tarleton and Will Kemp perform with the Queen's Players while they were on tour," said Smythe. " 'Twas then that I decided to become a player myself. And I thought from the first that was the very company that I would wish to join."
    Shakespeare smiled. "Well, I felt much the same when they played the Stratford Guildhall. In truth, I was of a mind to leave with them right then and there, and though they did not seem unwilling to take me on as a hired man till I could prove my worth to them, circumstances for my leaving were not favorable at the time. And perhaps 'twas just as well. One should never make such decisions without proper planning and consideration. Choices made on impulse often have unfortunate results. As for Dick Tarleton, he is an amiable clown, if you like that sort of thing. He is famous for his drollery, but Kemp isn't half the man that Tarleton is. He can never seem to remember his lines, probably because he does not bother overmuch to learn them in the first place. From what I've seen, he fills in what he forgets with extempore or some silly piece of clowning. Some of your more dull-witted groundlings may like that sort of thing, but it is not my meat. I have never cared much for pratfalls and silly prancing and whatall myself. I believe that audiences respond much better to a
story,
not clowning, jigs, pratfalls and posturing, and silly prancing. And while it is true that a play is a thing to which the entire company usually contributes, a poet labors much too hard over his words to have some clownish player disregard them altogether."
    "You do not like Kemp?" asked Smythe, with some surprise, recalling that he had quite enjoyed Will Kemp's performance, pratfalls and all. "Is it merely because he cannot measure up to Tarleton or is it something more personal?"
    "Oh, I have no personal quarrel with him, if that is what you mean, although I think he is an ass," said Shakespeare. "Tarleton is no longer young, and his energies are clearly waning. You can see the difference from one performance to another. And as his successor, Kemp is clearly champing at the bit. He thinks rather well of himself, and is not hesitant to inform anyone within earshot just how well of himself he thinks. Yet if Tarleton should retire from the stage, I fear the Queen's Men would lose much of their luster, despite their bombast to the contrary, much of which, I fear, has been inspired by Kemp himself."
    "Bombast?" Smythe said. "What do you mean?"
    "Oh, why, they are the best actors in the world, you know." Shakespeare's voice took on a mocking, portentous tone. "For tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical,