Chapter 6: In Which there is Sobering News
Later that night, everyone went to the Boar's Head, a local tavern, to get drunk and rejoice about their victory over the Chamberlain's Men. Margaret, however, did not go, because she did not like the prospect of drinking. Secretly, Ellen was glad to be rid of her for a while. Most of the men, Ned included, snuk off with the tavern girls to have some fun, while others grouped around tables getting drunk out of their minds. Will and Thomas Kent were sitting across from each other, which Ellen found just a tad strange. She knew Will was married and had children, and she also knew that he got around, since his wife and children were in Stratford, and he was in London. Still, women were one thing, but men were quite another. However, this observation was quickly forgotten after many pints of ale. After about an hour, Mr. Fennyman, who was about as drunk as any of the men there, stood atop a table, and made an announcement.
"I have an announcement to make!" he shouted, "Master Shakespeare has offered me the part of the apothecary in his new play!" all this he said while teetering clumsily.
"The apothecary?" laughed Mr. Henslowe, "Will, you must give us comedy and a dog in your play, or we shall have to send you back to Stratford to your wife!" There was raucous drunken laughter after this. Then Thomas got up and quickly walked out of the tavern. Ellen would have thought this to be strange behavior, but she was too drunk to notice. All of a sudden, Henry Condell, one of the actors, burst into the tavern.
"Kit Marlowe is dead!" he shouted, desparingly. Every head in the room turned to Henry.
"He's been killed in a tavern brawl up north of here!" The room fell dead silent. Ned Alleyn, who had appeared in the stairwell the second Marlowe's death had been announced, looked absolutely shocked.
"Marlowe gave me one of my first parts. A great light has gone out." As soon as he said this, an ashen Will Shakespeare ran out of the tavern and into the rain.
"Good Lord!" Ellen gasped, letting the reality of what had happened sink in. She put a hand over her mouth. It was, indeed, hard to believe. Kit Marlowe, the author of Faustus, the playwright who had been so enormously popular in recent weeks, was no longer alive. And he had been so young! At the very least he had been 25, only six years older than Ellen herself. Ellen ran a hand through her red hair, a hard knot of exasperation forming in her stomach. She watched as Ned put on his jacket and left the tavern. Ellen then got up and left herself. She didn't know exactly why, but she felt some sympathy for Ned, and wished to tell him so.
As soon as Ellen stepped outside, she was completely soaked from the downpour of rain that had been falling throughout the evening.
"NED!" she shouted. Ned turned around, saw who it was, and continued walking. Ellen ran and caught up to him.
"Ned, look, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."
"I don't need your pity, Shrew," Ned grumbled angrily, and continued walking.
"Come on, Ned! For once in your life, don't be so thick! I'm only trying to be nice to you!"
"Leave me alone, Ellen! I've already told you, you're pity's not welcome here. You'll get no friendship out of me."
"Ned, why do you hate me so much?" but Ned didn't answer. He was already gone. Ellen watched him as he left. Couldn't he at least try to realize when she was trying to be nice to him? Why did he have to be so pompous all the time? He was no better than she was. Finally, Ellen decided she wasn't going to take it. She ran again, and caught up with Ned.
"Look, you pompous fool!" she said to him, "I've asked you a question. Answer me!" Ned remained silent. "Come on! Say something! Why do you hate me so much? Why do you always have to be so much more rude to me than to the other players?" Ned whirled around on her.
"Do you want to know why? All right, I'll tell you. I can't stand you because you're the only person who's ever talked back to me. You're always ready with a shrewish comment to throw back at me. In truth? I can't stand you because you're too smart."
"What? Do you wish all your women to be as Margaret is? Silent, simple, and stupid? Someone who doesn't like theater, but who thinks the sun rises and sets in your britches?" Ned paused, and looked at Ellen, perplexed. "Margaret? You think I love Margaret? She's a painted doll! She is only for looks."
"Then who do you love, Ned? Tell me. Is it truly possible for you to love someone else more than you love yourself?" Ned turned his back on Ellen.
"I have said too much," he said, and walked away. Ellen shook her head and walked in the opposite direction.
Later that night, everyone went to the Boar's Head, a local tavern, to get drunk and rejoice about their victory over the Chamberlain's Men. Margaret, however, did not go, because she did not like the prospect of drinking. Secretly, Ellen was glad to be rid of her for a while. Most of the men, Ned included, snuk off with the tavern girls to have some fun, while others grouped around tables getting drunk out of their minds. Will and Thomas Kent were sitting across from each other, which Ellen found just a tad strange. She knew Will was married and had children, and she also knew that he got around, since his wife and children were in Stratford, and he was in London. Still, women were one thing, but men were quite another. However, this observation was quickly forgotten after many pints of ale. After about an hour, Mr. Fennyman, who was about as drunk as any of the men there, stood atop a table, and made an announcement.
"I have an announcement to make!" he shouted, "Master Shakespeare has offered me the part of the apothecary in his new play!" all this he said while teetering clumsily.
"The apothecary?" laughed Mr. Henslowe, "Will, you must give us comedy and a dog in your play, or we shall have to send you back to Stratford to your wife!" There was raucous drunken laughter after this. Then Thomas got up and quickly walked out of the tavern. Ellen would have thought this to be strange behavior, but she was too drunk to notice. All of a sudden, Henry Condell, one of the actors, burst into the tavern.
"Kit Marlowe is dead!" he shouted, desparingly. Every head in the room turned to Henry.
"He's been killed in a tavern brawl up north of here!" The room fell dead silent. Ned Alleyn, who had appeared in the stairwell the second Marlowe's death had been announced, looked absolutely shocked.
"Marlowe gave me one of my first parts. A great light has gone out." As soon as he said this, an ashen Will Shakespeare ran out of the tavern and into the rain.
"Good Lord!" Ellen gasped, letting the reality of what had happened sink in. She put a hand over her mouth. It was, indeed, hard to believe. Kit Marlowe, the author of Faustus, the playwright who had been so enormously popular in recent weeks, was no longer alive. And he had been so young! At the very least he had been 25, only six years older than Ellen herself. Ellen ran a hand through her red hair, a hard knot of exasperation forming in her stomach. She watched as Ned put on his jacket and left the tavern. Ellen then got up and left herself. She didn't know exactly why, but she felt some sympathy for Ned, and wished to tell him so.
As soon as Ellen stepped outside, she was completely soaked from the downpour of rain that had been falling throughout the evening.
"NED!" she shouted. Ned turned around, saw who it was, and continued walking. Ellen ran and caught up to him.
"Ned, look, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."
"I don't need your pity, Shrew," Ned grumbled angrily, and continued walking.
"Come on, Ned! For once in your life, don't be so thick! I'm only trying to be nice to you!"
"Leave me alone, Ellen! I've already told you, you're pity's not welcome here. You'll get no friendship out of me."
"Ned, why do you hate me so much?" but Ned didn't answer. He was already gone. Ellen watched him as he left. Couldn't he at least try to realize when she was trying to be nice to him? Why did he have to be so pompous all the time? He was no better than she was. Finally, Ellen decided she wasn't going to take it. She ran again, and caught up with Ned.
"Look, you pompous fool!" she said to him, "I've asked you a question. Answer me!" Ned remained silent. "Come on! Say something! Why do you hate me so much? Why do you always have to be so much more rude to me than to the other players?" Ned whirled around on her.
"Do you want to know why? All right, I'll tell you. I can't stand you because you're the only person who's ever talked back to me. You're always ready with a shrewish comment to throw back at me. In truth? I can't stand you because you're too smart."
"What? Do you wish all your women to be as Margaret is? Silent, simple, and stupid? Someone who doesn't like theater, but who thinks the sun rises and sets in your britches?" Ned paused, and looked at Ellen, perplexed. "Margaret? You think I love Margaret? She's a painted doll! She is only for looks."
"Then who do you love, Ned? Tell me. Is it truly possible for you to love someone else more than you love yourself?" Ned turned his back on Ellen.
"I have said too much," he said, and walked away. Ellen shook her head and walked in the opposite direction.