William Shakespeare as he lived Part 3

Sir Hugh had, however, made election for his daughter, of one who had been her companion from childhood, a cousin of her own, Walter Arderne.

This young man, who was now about two and twenty years of age, absolutely doated on his affianced bride. His fortune was ample, and the woods of Arderne could be seen from the grounds of Clopton. Added to this he was extremely handsome, of a most amiable and generous disposition, brave as the steel he wore, and "complete in all good grace to grace a gentleman."

And yet withal, although Charlotte loved him as a brother, esteemed him as a friend, and had been taught to regard him as her future husband, to entertain any more tender feelings towards him she found impossible.

Still, Walter Arderne being thus the constant companion, the affianced husband of Charlotte, although numerous other cavaliers saw, and seeing, admired, their brief bow was soon made. They saw--they were smitten by the blind bow-boy--but they felt that the prize was appropriated worthily and withdrew.

Few men, indeed, were more worthy of a lady's eye than Walter Arderne.

Gentle, generous, and frank, as we have before described him--rich and handsome withal--it seems scarcely possible that his fair cousin could fail in returning the strong love he felt for her. Yet so it was, and whether this love "chosen by another's eye" was distasteful to her, or that she thought the near relationship any bar to a more tender feeling, it is certain the very thought of her betrothment was disagreeable.

Still Walter had been her friend, her companion, and her champion from childhood's hour, and under his fostering care and tuition she had become a sort of Dian of the woods and groves. Dearly did she love the bounding steed and the chase: the wild, the wold, the hawk, and the free air.

Her father's wishes also were law to her, and as she found it would be a terrible disappointment to him were she to own her dislike to a marriage with her cousin, she had suffered the engagement to remain unchallenged.

For centuries the Cloptons had seemed a doomed race; as if some ban was upon them they had been strangely unlucky by flood and field. Gentle by birth, n.o.ble in spirit, and in the enjoyment of all the world could give, they seemed doomed to be unfortunate. There was even a melancholy about the old hall itself consequent upon the mishaps and disasters that appeared the hereditary portion of the family. The sons were brave, their banner ever in the van, but they fell early in the fight. The daughters were chaste as they were beautiful, but an early grave had almost always closed over them. Nay, the villagers called the old manor-house the house of mourning, so invariably had most of its numerous occupants been swept off. An old legend (they affirmed) proclaimed this near extinction of the line of Clopton, and that the hall would be unlucky whilst their race continued its owners.

The brave old knight, gentle and even-tempered as he was, and whom on ordinary provocation it was difficult to anger, was peculiarly sensitive on this subject. Any allusion to the wild legend from a servitor, or rustic on his estate, would be sure to be followed by displeasure or dismissal; whilst mention of it from one in his own rank would have been considered equivalent to an invitation to the dark walk at the end of the pleasance, armed with rapier and dagger.

Sir Hugh had beheld his children fade away, apparently of hereditary disease, one after another in their early youth; all except the beautiful Charlotte, the pledge of a second marriage, and whose mother had died soon after giving birth to this their only child, and he was in consequence tremblingly alive to the slightest alarm of accident or illness. It was under such circ.u.mstances that Sir Hugh, in accepting the guardianship of his nephew, had learned to look upon the well-favoured Walter almost with the eye of a parent, and had set his heart upon a marriage between him and his lovely child.

Under such circ.u.mstances, too, had young Shakespeare performed the piece of service we have described,--a service beyond reward (as the old knight worded it), beyond aught he had to bestow; and it was under such circ.u.mstances that the youth became an occasional visitor at Clopton Hall, where he was admitted on an equality with the inmates, and received in a manner perhaps no other circ.u.mstances would have been likely to lead to.

The line drawn between persons of different condition in life was then more strictly kept, and more accurately defined than in our own day. But the good sense of Sir Hugh led him to appreciate superior attainments wherever they were to be found. The ignorance of youth proceeded, he thought, from idleness; the continuance of ignorance in manhood from pride--the pride which is less ashamed of being ignorant than of seeking instruction. At Clopton, therefore, men of worth were received, even though of low estate.

CHAPTER V.

A DOMESTIC PARTY IN ELIZABETH'S DAY.

On the evening of the day on which the accident had happened to Charlotte Clopton, that lady, together with her father, her cousin Walter, and young Shakespeare, were a.s.sembled in an ample apartment at Clopton Hall, situate on the ground floor, the windows looking out upon the lovely pleasure-grounds in the rear of the building. The youth had spent the entire day at the hall, and in the society of those to whom he had rendered so great a service.

Indeed any person (albeit he might not so well deserve consideration by this good family) would still have been a cherished guest; nay, even an "unmannered churl," under the same circ.u.mstances, would have been tolerated and made much of; but in this lad, Sir Hugh and his family found something so extraordinary, so superior, and of so amiable a disposition, that it appeared a blessing and an honour to have him as an a.s.sociate beneath their roof.

Those who can a.s.sociate with persons above them in rank, it has been said, and yet neither disgust or affront them by over-familiarity, or disgrace themselves by servility, prove that they are as much gentlemen by nature as their companions are by rank and station. If our readers wish to picture the youthful Shakespeare's first introduction into "worshipful society," and amongst people of condition of his day, and where he received those first impressions from which some of his delicious scenes have been drawn, they must imagine to themselves a large and somewhat gloomy oak-pannelled room, whose princ.i.p.al ornament is the huge elaborately-carved chimney-piece, which, in truth, seems to occupy one entire side of the apartment, and appears inclined also to march into the very centre thereof. The apartment (albeit it was, as we have said, by no means stinted to s.p.a.ce, and had an exceeding quiet, retired, and comfortable look withal) was by no means constructed or fashioned after the more approved style of modern architecture. The ceiling was somewhat low, traversed by an enormous beam, and cut and carved elaborately, displaying fruits and flowers, heraldic devices of the brave, and all those extraordinary and grotesque figures which the cunning architects of old were so fond of inventing. On the side of the apartment opposite the huge chimney-piece, and on which side hung several scowling and bearded portraits, stood a sort of spinnet or harpsichord, and beside that leant an instrument, fashioned somewhat like a ba.s.s viol of the present day, but of a more curious form, and elaborately inlaid with ivory, a viol-de-gamba, an instrument then much in vogue. Two ample cas.e.m.e.nts which opened inwards, and which were festooned by creeping plants, the eglantine and sweet jessamine, and which cas.e.m.e.nts, as we have before said, looked into the green and bowery garden, and through which the soft evening breeze of May breathed the most exquisite perfume, gave a sort of green and fairy light to the interior. A heavy oaken table with enormous legs was placed near the window. Upon it were to be seen a silver salver, with several bottles of antique and most exquisite pattern, containing liquors of comfortable appearance and delicious flavour. These were flanked by high gla.s.ses of Venetian workmanship. In addition to these articles, several high-backed cane-bottomed chairs and one or two stools formed the remaining furniture of the room, and which, in comparison with our own over-crowded style, would perhaps have been termed only half furnished.

Nic-nacs there were few or none. Two or three dull-faced miniature mirrors, looking all frame, hung heavily against the pannelling, and even a cross-bow, several rapiers, one or two matchlocks, and other weapons of ancient fashion, were to be observed; whilst, to complete the picture, on the ample hearth (although the room const.i.tuted what in the present day would have been called the withdrawing-room of the mansion) sprawled several of the smaller dogs then used in field sports, and an enormous hound, sufficiently large and powerful to pull down a stag; and in the enjoyment of the sight and flavour of the good wines placed before him, sat the portly form of the master of the house. Beside the open window stood the youthful cavalier Walter Arderne, and on one of the oaken lockers or benches in the embrazure of the cas.e.m.e.nt, was seated Charlotte Clopton. As she leant her cheek upon her hand, one moment she gazed abstractedly into the bowery garden, the next her eyes wandered into the softened light of the interior of the apartment, and rested upon the features of her deliverer, young Shakespeare. This youth stood beside the spinnet, and (unconscious of the sensation his narrative produced upon the ears and hearts of his hearers, and of the beauty of the description) was giving them the plot of a tale in verse which he had that morning been perusing, when the lady's danger interrupted him.

He related the story briefly, but in such language that his listeners were wrapt by the recital. He even accompanied his description by some action, and where he wished to impress his hearers more especially he endeavoured to recollect and repeat the lines of the poem, piecing out the story, when memory failed him, with such verses as he made for the nonce.

In addition to these, the princ.i.p.al personages of our chapter, there was one other individual in the room, who (albeit he occupied the background of the scene, being crouched up in a corner) is also deserving of a description.

This was a sort of hanger-on, or appendage to the establishments of the old families of condition in England not then quite extinct--a sort of good familiar creature, attached to the master of the house princ.i.p.ally, and indifferently familiar with all and sundry, in doors and out--a sort of humorist--a privileged, seeming half idiotic, though in reality extremely shrewd and clever companion, who used his folly "like a stalking-horse, under cover of which, he shot his wit;" but who was indeed more the friend than the fool of the family, and oft-times consulted on matters of moment by the good knight.

This individual, clad in somewhat fantastic costume, fashioned by himself, be it understood, and which it was his especial pleasure to wear, (for Sir Hugh would by no means have forced any one in his establishment to wear motley,) was seated in a huge high-backed arm-chair, in a corner of the apartment, where, with his legs drawn up under him on the cushion, his hands clasped together over his breast, and his thumbs in his mouth, he kept a shrewd eye upon the other occupants; the long ears of his cap every now and then, as they shook with a sort of nervous twitch of the head, alone proclaiming that he was not some stuffed ornament, occupying the position it was his wont usually to choose in the apartment.

The story Shakespeare had related seemed to have made an impression on his own youthful mind. It professed to pourtray that baneful pa.s.sion jealousy--a pa.s.sion which, when once indulged, is the inevitable destroyer of conjugal happiness. It formed one of the old romances then in vogue amongst such as delighted in reading of the sort; for in those days of leisure, sobriety, and lack of excitement amongst females in the country, reading, spinning, embroidery, and other ornamental needlework, princ.i.p.ally occupied the hours of the elder; and out-door amus.e.m.e.nts and music the younger. Those females who were given to literature, however, would, in our times, have indeed been considered learned, since many (albeit they eschewed light reading) understood both the Greek and Latin tongues to perfection, and many were no less skilful in the Spanish, Italian, and French.

In the narration of this story, and whilst (as we have said) young Shakespeare gave his own version, might have been observed gleams of that mighty genius which was, in after-times, to astonish the world.

His relation had, indeed, much of the fire and descriptive beauty which he afterwards threw into every line of his writings. He called up before his hearers the fiery openness of the injured husband; boundless in confidence, ardent in affection. He touched upon the soft and gentle simplicity of the victim; her consciousness of innocence; and her slowness to suspect she could be suspected. And, lastly, he described the clever devil, the fiend-like and malignant accuser, with matchless power.

Indeed the enormity of the crime of adultery, and upon which this story touched so forcibly, was in after days (as our readers doubtless recollect) made by the great dramatic moralist the subject of not less than four of his finished productions.

Another thing remarkable, and which struck all present, was the facility with which, by a touch as it were, he ever and anon (and as if by some incomprehensible magic of description) impressed the climate and country, the manners and customs of the actors in this romance, upon the hearers.

The relation had, indeed, seemed to the auditors like a dramatic performance. The melody of the speaker's voice, and the lines he uttered, left his audience as we sometimes feel after the scenic hour.

There was a want of some soother of the excitement produced.

The old knight felt this. He took his viol-de-gamba and drew his bow lightly across the strings, producing that silver and somewhat solemn sound which those who have heard the instrument so well remember--sounds suited to the hour, age, and scene, and which give their own impressions of days long pa.s.sed away.

"Come, Charlotte," said Sir Hugh, after executing one of the pieces of music then in vogue, "now a madrigal in which all can join. This youth hath put a spell upon us with his sad story. Come, a madrigal; and after that our evening meal in the garden, beneath the mulberry-tree. Do thou take the first, whilst I and Walter chime in second and third, and Martin shall e'en do his best to help us."

"Nay, uncle," said Martin, jerking out his legs straight before him, then putting them to the ground gently, and then lightly executing a sort of somersault and coming forward, "I pr'ythee hold me excused. I shall but spoil your music: my voice is rugged. I am not gifted to sing squealingly with a lady. A psalm or so at church, or a quaver after supper I can execute; but my voice is like the howl of an Irish wolf when I sing a part with the lady Charlotte: blessings on her celestial throat."

"Nay, Martin," said Charlotte, as she seated herself, "thou wilt not refuse when I tell thee it is to pleasure our new friend, to whom we owe so much."

Martin glanced quickly upon Shakespeare, as she said this, and then slowly turned his eye upon the young lady.

He stroked his chin knowingly, and seemed to be considering them both very curiously. "Truly so," he said, "we do indeed owe much to this lad.

May G.o.d requite the debt." So saying, the familiar walked to the window, and, looking affectionately in the handsome face of Walter, as he stood leaning against the cas.e.m.e.nt and regarding Charlotte, he put his arm through that of the young cavalier, and remained beside him whilst the madrigal was sung; his own fine ba.s.s voice coming in with singular effect, and belying his modest a.s.sertion of incompetency.

To say that the voice of the lovely Charlotte delighted Shakespeare would be to say little; he felt ravished and enchanted, and it left an impression upon the young poet which he never forgot from that hour!

And oh! how calmly, how contentedly, and how quietly flowed the hours of private life even during such a reign of glory as that of the great and good Queen Bess!

In those days the whirl of events, the increasing villany of the world, the petty doings of the actors in this vale of tears, the very minutiae of crime and sin, the most paltry acts "committed on this ball of earth," in town, city, village, and hamlet were not as now, printed and published and blown into every corner of the kingdom, a few hours after commission. Even the leading events of the day, the acts of the great amongst the nations of the earth, and all the stirring deeds going on in the world, and which shook and overturned thrones; even these travelled slowly, and though posts "came tiring on," still rumour, full of tongues, made oft-times many slanderous reports ere the true one was manifest.

To the country gentleman his domain was his little world, his court, wherein he received the homage of his neighbouring dependents and tenants.

The charm of life consisted in these pursuits, those a.s.sociations--nay even those superst.i.tions, and those antiquated customs which modern utilitarianism has driven from the world. Whilst, as we have said, mighty events shook the nation, men continued to pursue their even way in that station of life in which it had pleased Heaven to call them.

After the madrigal, the old knight, with the viol-de-gamba clutched between his legs, fell fast asleep, his wonted custom in the evening; and having gently relieved him from all care of the instrument by withdrawing it from his custody, Charlotte invited the trio to a stroll in the garden, where they held converse upon various matters, occasionally interrupted in their discourse by the quaint sayings and witticisms of the shrewd Martin.

CHAPTER VI.

A DISAGREEABLE VISITOR.

'Twas a pleasing picture, that old knight taking his evening nap in his oak pannelled room, so quiet and so retired, so undisturbed, except by the cooing of the wood-pigeon, or the distant bay of the hound in the kennel.

The evening breeze sighed drearily through the branches of the gigantic cedar-tree in the garden, and whispered softly through the luxuriant plants and shrubs which hung about the diamond-paned windows.

'Tis a sweet time that evening hour, in an old mansion far removed from the bustle of the world. The oak floor, too, in the centre of the apartment, was coloured faintly by the many tints reflected through the stained gla.s.s in the upper compartments of the windows, and where the arms and crest of the Cloptons were variously multiplied and emblazoned.

The dark polished oak of the huge chimney-piece, as the shadows of evening descended, seemed framed of iron or ebony, the grotesque figures, here and there ornamenting the higher parts, with their demoniac faces and satyr-like bodies, seeming ready to pounce upon whoever came within their reach.