honored his memory by trying to imitate the matter of hisnplays and the thunder and lightning, the drums andntrumpets and gunpowder blasts of his words? Not to mynknowledge. There was a time, believe me, sir, and it has notnyet fully dissipated, either, when all that the managersnwished to see and to consider for performance was somethingnor other, anything really, which had at least thencounterfeit sound and echo of Marlowe in the lines andnsome shadowy copy of the astonishing spectacle of hisnfables.n”I am telling you no news there.n”For a little time, not for longer than that in this foolishnage of fashion, when fashions in all things flare and blazenand, poof!, are gone forever, for a time the poetry ofnMarlowe was the very model and fashion for most of us. Notnmany can or ever will equal that influence.n”And though it may seem to you, sir, as it does to manynmen (who can say which?) that there is a kind of army ofncommon players and suchlike, men without honest craft ornemployment, in this weary kingdom, though it may wellnseem to you, sir, that we are as thick and noisy and annoyingnand dangerous to the good order of things as a cloud ofnlocusts on the wind, the truth is (and you asked me for thentruth, did you not?) that we are few enough in number and,ndespite many differences of degree and of good fortune, arenjoined together in a kind of shadowy commonwealth. Wenare brothers in general disrepute if not always in adversity.nAnd because we are few, we are much concerned, indeednfascinated to the edges of obsession, by all the bits and piecesnof news of our little world. Rumor, bruit, and alewife’sngossip, these are among our greatest pleasures.n”Sometimes, to the more notorious among us, this can bena kind of tribulation. For I do believe, sir, that there is nonman (no woman, either, for that matter) in all this kingdom,nperhaps in the wide world as well, who would not relish thenprospect of good report, good repute, and good fame amongnhis fellows.n”Consider that we live in an age in which, shall we agreenon it?, good fame seems to be desired by almost everyone,nfrom turnspits to dancing masters, from jakesmen to greatnLords and even, God save us all, by common stageplayers.n”But if it is good fame that we desire for ourselves, it isnnevertheless the ill fame of others, our enemies and rivals,nwhich gives us most pleasure. Good fortune is not half sonhappy as it is when it can be, like the sweet rose in its nest ofnthorns, surrounded by the misery and bad fortune ofnothers.”n”I think you may be wrong in that last supposition. Butnnever mind. Pray conhnue.”n”I have reached the age — and I am not old yet by anynmeans — when I never feel quite so much fully alive asnwhen I hear the news of the death of one enemy or another.nSometimes it even pleases me to contemplate the death ofnmy friends.”n”Marlowe?”n”In that case, believe me, neither my friend nor enemy,nbut someone else, someone celebrated for the good fame ofnhis words. But, why deny it?, the old black trumpet of illnfame loudly saluted many things he said and did.”n”Are you thinking of the buggery of boys?”nMost cautious again. Who could tell what the habits andnfrailties of this handsome young man, his abductor andninterrogator, might be?n”I am well aware, sir, that the practices you refer to,ntogether with others of the like, are widely known to benunnatural and, in the eyes of every kind of Christian churchnand sect, to be mortal sins. And in the Law are mostngrievous crimes and most grievously punished.”n”But?”n”Sir?”n”But what?”n”But, sir, I have lived long enough in the wicked world tonknow that there are many creatures of God who are so sweptnand overcome by strange hungers and sinful appetites as tonbe undeterred from these practices by fear of any earthly orneternal punishment. It’s a pity, but the truth.”n”And was Marlowe one of these?”n”I have heard so, but have no evidence of the truth ornfalsehood of the rumor.n”It is undeniably true that he earned himself considerablenill fame on account of what he was supposed to have saidnand done. And we often talked of him in those days as if henwere a kind of player playing the role of himself In our talknand minds he became one of those paradoxical beings whonso often seem to be appropriate emblems for our wickednage, these dying times. He was a stranger whom we came tonimagine that we knew well.n^ ^ T T aving said all that, I have to say, also, sir, that I havenJ. J. indeed seen the man in flesh and blood, when henstill had living flesh to wear around his bones. Perhaps andozen times in a dozen different places. Taverns andnplayhouses usually. Yet only as a face among a crowd ofnfaces, somehow seeming oddly familiar because of his fame.nIn all my life I spoke to him only once or twice, exchangingnmaybe a dozen or two of inconsequeritial words. If he hadnoutlived his last brawl (if brawling was truly the death ofnhim) and if he were here instead of myself, I am certain hencould neither recall my name nor my face. Not even if henwere being tortured to encourage recollection.n”In long and short then, sir, I find I knew a good deal,nmuch of it indifferently true or false, with myself not caringnripe figs or farts to distinguish between the two, aboutnMarlowe. But no, sir, I did not truly know him nor could I,nin any serious sense, claim him for an acquaintance.”n”Were you surprised at how he died?”n”Well, sir, it did seem . . . how shall I say it? … a fittingnend for his story.”n”And you felt neither sorrow nor regret?”n”Why should I?”n”Not an answer to what I asked you.”n”Very well, then. I felt nothing at all at the time and havenfelt nothing since then. Other deaths have moved me andnwounded me. When Madowe died, I had no place in mynheart to mourn the fate of strangers.”n”And did you ever hear anything as to why Marlowenmight have been murdered?”n”You are asking me to try and remember what was of nonconsequence to me at the time.”n”What was it you heard?”n”Well, finally, after all the rumors and wild tales, onlynwhat the Coroner’s jury found. That it was self-defense.nnnMAY 1989/15n