Townsend Harris High School - Crimson Gold Yearbook (Flushing, NY)

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W - , u -I 1 ,adj :I- j a SN I, to U' I or 'S 55. I f 2,7 M af! 5 GI U9 ,r 01 xp 'QW W . lf ! V ., Page Fifty-Six port at some time or other. Now that passage I just quoted was from Hamlet, and you couldn't call that a comedy, could you ? Shakespeare was absolutely astound- ed. Did I hear you call those plays lmgerfier? Or are my ears deceiving me? Why I never wrote a tragedy in my life, and neither did any of my contemporaries! Goodness knows, there are enough tragedies in my real life, without writing plays about them. We wanted to enjoy our- selves when we went to a show. By the way, how do you think the word 'playl came to be applied to perform- ances in the theatre? We jolly Eng- lishmen in Elizabetlfs time wanted to have our fun, just like other people. But you see, bridge and Mah Jong hadn't been invented yet, and it wouldn't look very decorous for us to be seen playing ball in the streets, like the children. And besides, those elaborate ruffs that we wore made it almost impossible for us to engage in any physical exercise. So we got into the habit of going to the theatre for our recreation. I admit, we were a bit unruly at times, but that is how theatres came to be known as 'play- housesf Hamlet, The Merchant of Venice, and Macbeth were great suc- cesses there. Yes, I think these three were my greatest comedies. How in the world did you get the impression that they were tragedies? All this talk was getting under joe's skin, and he flared up, 'How did I get the impfersion? just look at these books and see if you can find anything funny there. Shakespeare took the books and glanced at several pages. Evidently, it was his turn to be surprised now, for as he read, his eyes opened wider and wider, until he was the picture of astonishment. Why, bless my soul, I see it all now. How careless of me. It's really all my fault. You see, joe, when I wrote these plays it was cus- tomary for authors merely to give the actors their lines and provide for their entrances and exits. Nowadays, play- wrights note all stage directions in the script, even describing the characters' emotions and costumes. You know the old proverb, 'It's not what you say but how you say it.' Frequently a seemingly serious thought can be ut- tered in a manner that sends the listener into hysterics. Thatls the way we worked in my theatre. These 'tragedies,' as you call them, were really burlesqued so as to form come- dies. joe was coming around to Shakes- peare's point of view now. Then you mean to say that all these plays which we regard as tragedies were nothing more than exaggerated melo- dramas, which were presented in such a way as to appear laughable? Precisely The actors were dressed up in ridiculous costumes, and spoke grandiose language, while waving their arms about in impossible ges- tures! Audiences were not as well be- haved as they are now, either. One of their chief delights was to throw things at the actors. A bit vulgar of course, but it was good practice for the baseball season, and nobody cared much for actors, anyway. They were about the lowest form of society. Ha, Ha, Ha! You remember the part where Hamlet pronounces his 'To be or not to be' soliloquy? Well, judging from the quality and quantity of the artcles that were thrown at poor Hamlet, the crowd always seemed to favor suicide! An actor never lasted more than a week in that role! Lady Macbeth had a tough time of it, too. In her sleep-walking scene, she had to have her eyes closed, of course, and so had a hard time dodging the mis- siles. Thatls why we had to use men or boys in all the female roles. They

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street lamps far below him shone dimly through the blackness. Only the sound of a solitary policeman, pac- ing up and down his lonely beat, re- lieved the oppressive silence. Suddenly, he was startled by a pe- culiar noise behind him. He turned around, and almost fainted with fright and astonishment! He found himself face to face with a tall, gaunt individual who wore a small Van Dyke beard, and, most surprising of all, he was dressed in Elizabethan doublet and hose! W-W-Who are you?,' Joe man- aged to stammer. He rubbed his eyes, pinched himself, and stepped on his pet corn, just to make sure that he was awake. Yet the apparition, if such it was, refused to disappear. You needn't be frightened, Joe, it said: you see, so many people have been calling me 'The Immortal Bardf that they've sort of convinced me that I am immortal. just to con- vince myself, I took a little stroll this evening, and found that I'm still very much alive! Say, whatfs the trouble, joe? You keep staring at me as if I were a ghost. Honestly, I'm not. Here, feel my arm-real flesh and blood, I tell you. Gosh, I expected a warmer reception than this. Don't you recognize me, joe? This is your old friend Bill Shakespeare! At this, joe pulled himself out of his stupor. Shakespeare! Friend! Now just listen here, Mr. Shakespeare, or whoever you are, this has gone far enough . . . Now, now, joe. Don't get ex- cited. That's just what I came here for-to find out why you twentieth- century fellows dislike me so. You know, I used to be quite popular when I was young. Even with Queen Elizabeth, and you know she was very difficult to please! And say joe! don't call me Mr. Shakespeare any more. Bill's the name. I joe was just a bit reassured, and pro- ceeded to unburden himself of his grievances. Well, in the first place, Bill, why did you fellows back there in 1600 use such flowery, poetic lan- guage. We can hardly understand what you are trying to say. Take this passage from Hamlet, for in- stance: Bat look, the morn, in raise! mantle clad, Walks 0'e1' the dew of yon eastward bill. Why couldn't you use some simple expression like 'Came the dawn'? Shakespeare laughed good-humor- edly, like one who is pointing out the truth to a misguided little child. My dear boy, someone must have been putting queer ideas into your head. In my day, we didn't talk any differ- ently than you do now. We play- wrights just used that redundant, ex- aggerated language in our comedies to bring a bigger laughf' joe was even more puzzled. But if that is true, why did you use that style in your tragedies? You see, l'm not very familiar with your comedies and historical plays, because almost all of those we study in school are tragedies-Julius Caesar, Macbeth, and The Merchant of Venice. Most of us also read Hamlet for a book re- Ju S -- 252 Q.,- X I- S' :- wo ii' of . .Eg K- . - Ev 4 x jd!! .9 5 , I E V ll!! MES tw f jr li- f Page Fiffy-Five

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were a little harder, and lasted longerf' joe was all enthusiasm now, Oh, boy! just wait until my English teacher hears of this. l'll bet this is the greatest discovery in the field of literature since Adam started the vogue of eating apples to keep the doctor away! But how can I make them believe me, Bill? All this would seem so fantastic, so unreal, that no- body would place any faith in our revelation. XYfhy not write it down? sug- gested Shakespeare, and then I'll sign the statement. The skeptics could then compare the signature with those that have already been proven genuine, and so the truth of the mat- ter could be made known. Joe thought it was a great idea, and proceeded to write down the con- versation he had just had. !'How's that?'l he exclaimed, showing the finished work to his friend. That's fine! Shakespeare replied, !'l'll sign it now. just as he grasped the pen and pre- pared to affix his signature to the paper, the raucous sound of a milkman clattering down the street, rent the air. Shakespeare gave a short gasp. His body seemed to be gradually dis- solving into a thin mist. First his arms, then his legs disappeared and floated away. live got to go now, joe, he said. His voice had a strange, hollow, far away sound. His body still seemed to be disintegrating and now only his head and shoulders were left. Goodbye, joe. You know all we dead people must be back in our graves as soon as the cock crows. There aren't any cocks in the city so St. Peter decreed that the milkmen should be substituted. 'The milkman tolls the knell of part- ing nightf So long, joe. Good luck to you .... His voice trailed off into a faint whisper. joe was so entranced by this trans- formation that for a while he could do nothing but stare. Finally, he woke up and shouted, say, wait a minute, Bill, you forgot to sign the paper. Cant you wait just a second? It's so important! Hey, Bill! But Shakes- peare had now entirely disappeared, and Joe was left all alone in the room -alone with the memories of his dis- tinguished visitor. Joe then stumbled into bed, harboring very pleasant thoughts. He had spoken with Shakes- peare-said to be the greatest writer that ever lived. With his help he had made a discovery which was sure to cast a new light on the entire Elizabethan age and might revolution- ize the theatre, even the mode of liv- ing of the whole nation. Yes, it sure- ly was good night's work. joe's name would go down in history as the man who had ushered in a new era of culture and philosophy-who had discovered and righted grievous mis- takes of hundreds of years' standing. Perhaps he would become even more celebrated than Lindbergh! Perhaps. joe awoke from a sound sleep feel- ing very much refreshed. The silly dreams of the previous night had en- tirely vanished now. Yes, that was all it was, an idiotic nightmare. Joe dressed hurriedly-it seemed that he was always late. He surveyed the jumbled mass of books and papers on his desk. Some day he'd get real am- bitious and clean it all up. The first few books on the top of the heap went into his brief case, the next two or three into the bookcase .... Suddenly, a large sheet of yellow paper caught his eye. He was sure he had never seen that piece of paper before. He picked it up and read it hurriedly. Why it was a copy of his conversation with Shakespeare! The whole thing seemed like a far-off dream-a hazy mirage. Yet here was a written copy of everything that had A J1- E. '5' X U- a f J a ri! ! S 4 1. 2 y .lllfi .fig i . 9 W, i 01 f, ,1- ! I i ill! ,bk-J ' i ga l eff Q ll ! IDA l Page Fifty-Seven