Voices from the Past Part 114

Chris never knew what it was to have a bed of roses, not even for a fortnight.

He might have gone on to splendid heights. His verses mean much to me. I liked him for his clowning, his patience, his kind words, his persuasive pen. Glover's son and shoemaker's boy-we had many a boisterous time. Of his plays I think best of Tambourlaine and Faustus.

From jigging veins of riming mother wits

And such conceits as clownage keeps in pay

We'll lead you to the stately tent of war...

As we collaborated on our plays, he was constantly fighting debts, his mistress riding him hard. Our tankards full we worked in my place or his. I shied away from his a.s.sociation with the School of Atheists, leaving that to him and Raleigh.

No writer could have had a better guide for t.i.tus, Henry and Richard. M__ had learned to smoke and like R__ had to putter with tobacco, pipe and flint.

One afternoon he used a sc.r.a.p of poetry to light his pipe. Letting the paper burn and then char on the floor, he said:

"That was a poem well used."

Was it another "Shepherd's Song"?

I should have collected his works and seen them published. Now I could not track down his pieces. Ah, the shoulds of life...

This is the anniversary of his death, another churlish scruff of day with wretched rain...the rain it raineth every day...true, boy, come bring us to this hovel...the tyranny of the world is too rough at times...give me your hand.

Jonson received a letter from Ellen, Ellen in Edinburgh, writing at home, expressing her friendly concern for me:

"Will has written me but I am worried. Can you look after him?" She was afraid after Marlowe's death. "Will you write and rea.s.sure me?" she asked. "Edinburgh is far... I'm sick with a cold...so much rain."

And it was raining as Jonson read me her letter, in his apartment. I opened a book of his and leafed through it, standing by his window, the rain leaded on the pages, long, grey, thin lines, tracing problems that threatened us, a bond tying in with her concern, lessening that distance between us.

The wall felt damp to my shoulder and I smelled stale bread and stale cheese on Jonson's desk.

"What came between us?" I asked.

"Are you talking to me...or to her?"

"To you."

"Bad luck...the thing that comes between most lovers."

"And what do I do to change it?"

"You know London's soothsayers...they're ready to help you. Pay them."

"How much?"

"Pay...oh, with your life, your work. Pay and she's yours."

"It's stupid to talk like that."

"It's stupid to fall in love. Just f.u.c.k and go."

Stratford

September 9, 1615

When Raleigh was brought to trial by the Crown and condemned to life imprisonment, I began a play, thinking to defend him, troubled by the royal hatred leveled at him, for his loyalty to England was unquestionable.

His trial was pure sham.

SHEPHERD OF THE OCEAN

Scene I: Courtroom, in winter

Raleigh: You claim me guilty, but I am innocent. In no way, at no time, have I conspired against the throne. At sea, I defended our country against all enemies. I supplied ships for the Queen. In Virginia, my colony is dedicated to all that England stands for. Sirs, I protest!

Judge: d.a.m.ned you are, d.a.m.ning our people with your stinking guilt. You have conspired!

We have every proof...there's not the slightest doubt of your perfidy! You defended Queen Elizabeth against the Earl of Ess.e.x but he was the King's friend, never his adversary. You have every guilt upon you. You are grossly guilty of plotting against our nation and our King. King James sees fit to sentence you...

Maybe the King had secret reasons for Raleigh's banishment but I doubt it. Some call Sir Walter the "King of Liars." His letters from prison no longer come and Tower over me, filling me with guilt.

Should I burn his letters: could there be family in- volvement at some unforeseen time? I should burn many things-many memories!

Ocean Skimmer, you pilloried yourself. We were friends: those were good days but not good enough to last. What lasts?

The oriel outlasts us! Its quarrels outlast ours!

September 11, 1615

In my mind's eye we meet at the taproom of the Mermaid's Tavern...