William Shakespeare as he lived Part 24

The ceremony was performed without the usual formalities, and in all haste. Walter drew aside as the buriers, preceded by the s.e.xton, approached and opened the vault. They ignited their torches previous to descending the flight of steps, and when they did so a cry of horror and alarm proceeded from the s.e.xton, who had first entered the vault, and he rushed out, whilst those who had followed seemed equally horror-stricken. They threw down the corpse, after a glance at the interior, and fled.

Walter, who had quietly followed, was struck with dread. He stopped, and taking up one of the torches, descended into the vault; when a dreadful sight presented itself,--a sight which, as long as memory held a seat in his brain, remained there.

The vault was situate deep below the surface. On hastening down the steps Walter held his torch on high, and when about half-way its rays fell upon a figure, which, like some sheeted ghost, leant against the damp walls.

Arderne was brave as the steel he wore, but at first he stopped and hesitated, whilst the door of the vault closing behind him added to the horror of the situation.

As he continued to regard this startling object, the light becoming more steady, he recognised the features of the figure.

"Oh!" he said, "do I behold aright, or do mine eyes play false?"

With horror in his features he approached nearer, and became confirmed in his first suspicion. It was Charlotte Clopton. She was dressed in her grave-clothes, as she had been consigned to the tomb. She appeared to have been but a short time dead, and in the agonies of despair, hunger, or, perhaps, madness, consequent upon the dreadful situation, she had bitten a large piece from her round white shoulder.

When the buriers of the dead returned, somewhat rea.s.sured by collecting all their number together, they found Walter in a swoon, with the body of Charlotte fast locked in his embrace. Separating them, they replaced the body in the coffin, and conveying Walter to upper air, closed up the vault for ever.

As the day broke, a tall cavalier rode slowly out of Stratford. The raven plumes of his hat almost shadowed his pale face, and his ample riding-cloak completely enveloped his form.

He reined up his steed as soon as he had cleared the suburbs, and gazed long and fixedly for some time at the handsome spire of the church. He then turned his steed, dashed the spurs into its flanks, and galloped like a madman along the Warwick road.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE VILLAGE FETE.--ANNE HATHAWAY.

It is extraordinary how speedily the human mind recovers its elasticity after being bent down to the earth, as it were, with the weight of care.

Let the reader glide over some four or five months from the date of the transactions we have first narrated, and again look upon Stratford-upon-Avon. No trace remains of the deadly scourge which had so recently raged in the town; nay, even but small remembrance is to be observed in the visages or trappings and suite of the surviving citizens (now again mixing in the business of life and the pleasures of the world) of those relations and friends _put to bed with a shovel_.

The fact was, that the plague was a constant visitor at this period, and fear of infection the bugbear of the time.[4] The visitation, however, being over, the inhabitants came forth again with renewed zest. They fluttered about like "summer flies i' the shambles," and sunned themselves in the antic.i.p.ation of brighter days to come. It seemed quite a delight to walk the streets, where all looked so happy and contented.

And yet how small indeed is the portion of life really and truly enjoyed by the poor compounded clay, man! Youth refuses to be happy in the present moment, and looks forward to future joys, never perhaps to be realized. Old age, again, takes a backward glance, and sighs over what has pa.s.sed; whilst manhood (which appears to be occupied with the present moment) in reality is oft-times forming vague determinations for happiness at some future period when time shall serve.

[Footnote 4: See Correspondence of Sir Christopher Hatton.]

Master Dismal had experienced a perfect state of contemplative contentment during the recent visitation; he might now sit himself down and retire for a s.p.a.ce, he thought; his researches had been most incessant, and his attendance upon his neighbours most praiseworthy; he could almost have written a treatise upon all he had beheld and studied; he had seen out no less than three sapient doctors during the progress of the plague, and could indeed, from his gathered experience, have himself practised the healing art as well as the remaining one. Now, however, that his vocation was over, for the present at least, and the inhabitants full of enjoyment, he determined to enjoy himself amongst them. It was exactly the twelfth day after Christmas-day that the thread of our story is resumed. A sort of village festival was held at the hamlet of Shottery, about a mile distant from Stratford-upon-Avon, and as several of Master Dismal's neighbours were hieing thither with light hearts and joyous spirits, thither he bent his steps also. "Who knows what sports may be toward?" he said, as he called for Lawyer Grasp and Master Doubletongue, on his way. "Peradventure I may be of some service; for albeit I do not wish to antic.i.p.ate accidents or offences, the last wake I was present at, which was at the shearing-feast at Kenilworth Green, there were more heads broken by the lads of Coventry and Warwick than I can tell you. Nay, d.i.c.k, the smith, got such a fall at the wrestling, that he never joyed after. Yes, he, died in three weeks. Aye, and Ralph Roughhead had his spine wrenched by the back trick."

In Elizabeth's day, when the bold peasantry of England did recreate themselves, their sports and pastimes were most joyous. Except in such a case as we have just described, and in which the hand of sickness bore them hard, their hearths were for the most part free from the withering cares of our own improving times. Light-hearted and jovial, they kept up the old world sports and pastimes which had been handed down from their forefathers. Those quaint games and rural diversions so frequently carried on in the green fields and bosky woods. Those cozy fire-side diversions which extended alike from the cottage ingle neuk to the manorial hall and the castle court.

Many of the popular customs then in use had their origin in remote antiquity. The well-known custom of making presents upon New-Year's-day in England is as old, for instance, as the period in which the Romans sojourned in Britain, and by whom it was introduced amongst us. Amongst the Saxons the first of the new year was observed with great ceremony and hilarity, and in the reign of Alfred a law was made that the twelve days following Christmas-day should be kept as festivals. This is the original of our twelfth-day feast, and which, in Elizabeth's reign, and long afterwards, was kept with something more of jovial circ.u.mstance than is now customary. For what says Herrick--

"For sports, for pagentrie and plays, Thou hast thy eves and holy days.

Thy wakes, thy quintels, here thou hast: Thy May-pole, too, with garlands vast.

Thy morrice dance, thy Whitsun ale, Thy shearing feasts which never fail; Thy harvest home, thy wa.s.saile bowle That's tost up after fox-i'th-hole; Thy mummeries, thy twelfe-tide kings, And queens; thy Christmas revellings."

When Master Dismal reached Shottery, he found a goodly a.s.semblage collected together enjoying themselves in various ways upon the green. A whole sheep, which had been given to the inhabitants of the hamlet by Sir Thomas Lucy, who possessed property there, was roasting before a huge fire. A company of morris-dancers, dressed in a sort of eastern or Moorish costume, and covered with bells, were capering away, toeing and heeling, and keeping time, their truncheons also bedecked with hawks'

bells, and making a tremendous jingling.

Then the May-pole, decked with evergreens and berries, and surmounted with misletoe, had its joyous party dancing, and running, and threading, and laughing, till the green rang again. The lads were all in holiday trim, their short becoming jackets belted tightly round the waist, their trunks and well-fitting hose forming part of their picturesque costume.

The la.s.ses were also dressed for the most part in one style--the neat made boddice and the short stuff petticoat, so becoming to the female figure, and in which they looked handsomer even than if bedizened with lace and silk, and tricked out with jewellery. The glow of exercise was in their cheeks, and the forms of many there, as they sported in all the unchecked freedom of innocent enjoyment, would have been worthy studies for the artist's pencil.

The children of the village, who are seldom behindhand when diversions are in full force, had also their part in the performance. Tricked out in all sorts of sc.r.a.ps of frippery, and costumed for the nonce, they revived, in their own way, the Christmas-day pastimes, and bringing out the hobby-horse, the green dragon, and all the paraphernalia which had done service on the former occasion, they renewed (in small) the sports they had then and there beheld. The dragon flapped his wings, the knight engaged him, the merryman and the old pantaloon took equal numbers of adherents, and "fought on part and part." The snow-b.a.l.l.s flew fast and furious, and loud and dire were the shouts and hallooing of the combatants. Then came the feast in the open air, for in those days men and women shrank not from the winter blast during their holiday sports, and after that the cup went round, the dance was renewed, and the twelfth-tide kings and queens were introduced in all their grandeur.

The village of Shottery was a lovely specimen of a rural hamlet in the days of Elizabeth. It consisted then but of some half-a-dozen houses or hamlets, which, sequestered amongst the deep woodlands, and each with its little orchard in rear, and its pretty flower-garden, formed a delicious picture.

Except, indeed, that the homesteads were of a more recent build, (having superseded the ruder sort of huts, one or two of which, however, yet remained,) Shottery seemed as sequestered and out of the way of the busy world as when, many hundred years back, Offa, King of the Mercians, granted its meadow to the church of Worcester.

Besides the actors in the different games, there were also many spectators, who stood about and occasionally mingled amongst the lads and la.s.ses of the village; and amongst these visitors were several foresters or keepers belonging to the domains of the gentry around.

These men, as was generally the case when they met together at the different wakes, fairs, and country diversions, got up a shooting-match at the edge of the green. Warwickshire was always famous for its bow-men, and the caliver had not so entirely superseded the cloth-yard shaft but that it was yet a dear diversion amongst the peasantry. The cross-bow, it is true, was mostly in use, but the longbow was still much practised. The remembrance of its destructive powers, and the battles it had won in the "vasty fields of France," was yet ripe in the mouths and memories of the old host, when he told his winter tale; nay, even yet we shall find in this delightful province some remnant of the longbow in almost every hamlet: there are indeed more archery meetings in Warwickshire alone than in all the other counties of England put together.

Amongst the many specimens of rural beauty enjoying themselves in the dance, there was one female who especially attracted the gaze of all a.s.sembled.

Pouncet Grasp (who had wandered over with Master Dismal and others to enjoy the scene, and, at the same time, see a client he had in the hamlet) seemed especially struck with her. Nay, even Master Dismal p.r.o.nounced her of exceeding good proportions, and most comely features.

He had never seen a fairer form, he affirmed, chiselled upon a tomb.

"What a lovely corpse she would make!" he said, with professional enthusiasm; "an it please Heaven to take her early, and before age withered up her rounded limbs, and whitened her glossy black hair."

"Out upon it," said Master Doubletongue; "thy voice is like a screech owl's! Yonder la.s.s will live to make wild work with the hearts of some of the village swains before she dies, for all her cherubim looks. I shall make shrewd inquiry about her. I'll wager a flagon there's some scandal to be heard. I never knew a well-favoured maiden yet, but her neighbours said something of her;" and here Master Doubletongue whispered in Grasp's ear, at which the lawyer laughed and winked his eye, as much as to say, "Ah, Master Doubletongue, you're a wag, but you're not far out either."

"An I might get yonder sweet-faced la.s.s for a partner," said Grasp, who was a trifle roguish when out of his office; "methinks I could like to shake a toe amongst the circle."

"Nay," said Doubletongue, "I'm clearly with you there, neighbour; what a trim ancle she hath! By the ma.s.s, the keen wind which blows me into an ague here, shews her figure off to advantage. Accost her, Grasp, accost her! Methinks I should like to hear the voice which issues from so pretty a mouth."

"Go to," said Grasp, "I am somewhat diffident at speaking to a young la.s.s where so many of her companions are around her. Do thou accost her, Master Doubletongue, and I'll be near to back you. See, the dance is finished, and she comes this way."

"You trip it featly, fair Mistress," said Doubletongue, as the damsel, whose appearance had so struck them, approached with two other maidens.

"Will you join hands with me? Methinks I should like to join issue in the dance, and tread a measure with so fair a partner."

"Thanks, gentle sir," said the maid, laughing; "but I do not use to dance with any save those I know."

"Right," said a tall athletic-looking forester. "What do lawyers want dancing with village girls--Eh? Go to, Master Grasp, mate with your own degree. Fair mistress Anne," said he to the maiden, "you must be mine for the next dance."

The maiden shrank back with a look of dislike at the tall forester, which Grasp observing, interpreted it as a preference for himself as a partner.

"Thou art but a rude companion," said he; "and I would fain have the maiden's answer without thy counsel; she'll have none of thy partnership any how, I trow."

"No," said Doubletongue; "she wisheth not to have the scandal of such a partner. Go, fellow--go."

"Pshaw!" said the forester, "what a brace of old crones thou art--go, get thee down to the hostel yonder, and warm thee with a cup of wine, or an extra flannel shirt! Dance, quotha, and with such a la.s.s as Anne Hathaway--Ha! Ha! Why, there's not a caper left in the pair of ye. Go, ye gray beards, go, or by my faith I'll make ye both dance to some other tune."

"Come, neighbour," said Doubletongue, who liked not the athletic make and savage look of the forester, "let us budge and exchange no more words with this scurvy companion. For, look ye there, the girl and he understand each other, depend on't. They are well matched. I know the fellow. He's a keeper of Sir Thomas Lucy's, and one of the greatest ruffians in the country."

But the village maiden evidently did not relish the companionship of the tall forester. She turned and would have tripped off with her two female companions without more controversy. The forester, however, who seemed somewhat flushed with good liquor, seized her by the hand, and insisted upon her being his partner.

"If I must dance with thee, Diccon, why I must," she said, as she was led by the rude keeper to another party; "but it is ungentle of thee to force me to do so against my free inclination."

"Thou art ever thus coy with me, Anne," said the forester, "and ever avoidest my company. Why dost use me thus, when I have sworn an hundred times I would die to serve thee?"

"I like thee not, and would have no further words with thee," said the maiden. "Thy presence poisons my delight. I have told thee so I know not how oft. I pr'ythee prove the love thou dost profess, by leaving me."