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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
AS HE LIVED.
An Historical Tale.
BY CAPTAIN CURLING,
AUTHOR OF "JOHN OF ENGLAND." "SOLDIER OF FORTUNE."
"Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head."
_As you Like it._
_WARWICK_:
H. T. COOKE & SON, PUBLISHERS, HIGH STREET.
(COPYRIGHT.)
PREFACE.
The nature of the following work is sufficiently indicated by the title.
In it the most interesting portions of the career of Shakespeare, taken
from the best accredited sources, are brought forward in a pleasing
narrative, the dialogue being in the style of the Elizabethan period.
Throughout the work the writer has endeavoured, amidst a great deal of
stirring incident, and a subordinate tale of much interest, to place the
Poet constantly before the reader, whether on or off the scene. The
story commences when he was about seventeen years of age, and carries
him through some of the eventful "chances" of that glorious epoch which
called forth his own "muse of fire," and caused him to ascend "the
brightest heaven of invention;" and, after showing him the sharp "uses
of adversity," leaves him at the moment of success, whilst Elizabeth and
the entire Court-circle are turned to him whose matchless genius has
just enchanted them.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. A Forest Scene
CHAPTER II. The Youthful Shakespeare
CHAPTER III. Charlotte Clopton
CHAPTER IV. The Family of the Cloptons
CHAPTER V. A Domestic Party in Elizabeth's Day
CHAPTER VI. A Disagreeable Visitor
CHAPTER VII. Plots and Counterplots
CHAPTER VIII. Stratford-upon-Avon
CHAPTER IX. The Tavern
CHAPTER X. The Churchyard of Stratford-upon-Avon
CHAPTER XI. The Stratford Lawyer
CHAPTER XII. The Sonnet
CHAPTER XIII. Mother and Son
CHAPTER XIV. The Lovers
CHAPTER XV. Charlecote
CHAPTER XVI. The Attack
CHAPTER XVII. The Capture
CHAPTER XVIII. A Revel at Clopton
CHAPTER XIX. The Plague at Stratford
CHAPTER XX. More Trouble at Clopton
CHAPTER XXI. Domestic Affliction
CHAPTER XXII. Bereavement
CHAPTER XXIII. The Vault
CHAPTER XXIV. The Village Fete--Ann Hathaway
CHAPTER XXV. The Twelfth-tide Revelry
CHAPTER XXVI. The Misled Wanderer
CHAPTER XXVII. The Suitor
CHAPTER XXVIII. Shottery Hall
CHAPTER XXIX. The Lovers
CHAPTER XXX. The Adventurers
CHAPTER XXXI. The Benedict
CHAPTER XXXII. The Hostel
CHAPTER XXXIII. The Deer Stealers
CHAPTER XXXIV. The Adventure
CHAPTER XXXV. More Matter for a May Morning
CHAPTER XXXVI. The Lampoon
CHAPTER XXXVII. The Garden
CHAPTER XXXVIII. The Flight to London
CHAPTER XXXIX. Old London
CHAPTER XL. The Poor Player
CHAPTER XLI. The Tavern Revel
CHAPTER XLII. More Strange than True
CHAPTER XLIII. England on the Defensive
CHAPTER XLIV. The Boar's Head, in East Cheap
CHAPTER XLV. The Camp at Tilbury
CHAPTER XLVI. The Invincible Armada
CHAPTER XLVII. The Player at Court
CHAPTER XLVIII. Sir Thomas Lucy in London
CHAPTER XLIX. The Theatre of the Blackfriars
CHAPTER L. The Scenic Hour
CHAPTER LI. The Tavern
CHAPTER LII. The Player in his Lodging
CHAPTER LIII. The Poet and his Patron
CHAPTER LIV. A Consultation
CHAPTER LV. Ill Weaved Ambition
CHAPTER LVI. The Associates
CHAPTER LVII. The Poet and his Friends
CHAPTER LVIII. Stratford and its Neighbourhood
CHAPTER LIX. Kenilworth
CHAPTER LX. The Return
CHAPTER LXI. The Discomfited Scrivener
CHAPTER LXII. Old Friends
CHAPTER LXIII. Which ends this strange eventful History
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE AS HE LIVED,
STRATFORD-UPON-AVON, AND QUEEN ELIZABETH.
CHAPTER I.
A FOREST SCENE.
It was one morning, during the reign of Elizabeth, that a youth, clad in
a grey cloth doublet and hose (the usual costume of the respectable
country tradesman or apprentice in England), took his early morning
stroll in the vicinity of a small town in Warwickshire.
Lovely as is the scenery in almost every part of this beautiful county,
which exhibits, perhaps, the most park-like and truly English picture in
our island, it was (at the period of our story) far more beautiful than
in its present state or cultivated improvement.
The thick and massive foliage of its woods, in Elizabeth's day, were to
be seen in all the luxuriance of their native wildness, unpruned,
unthinned, untouched by the hand of man, representing in their bowery
beauty the wild uncontrolled woodlands of Britain, when waste, and wold,
and swamp, and thicket constituted all.
The fern-clad undulations and forest glades around, too, at this period,
were peopled by the wild and herded deer--those "poor, dappled
fools--the native burghers of the desert city"--which, couched in their
own confines, their antlered heads alone seen in some sequestered spot
amongst the long grass, gave an additional charm to the locality they
haunted, in all the freedom of unmolested range, from park to forest,
and from glade to thicket.
In these bosky bournes and sylvan retreats, unmolested then by the axe
of an encroaching population; nay, almost untrodden, save by the
occasional forester or the fierce outlaw; the gnarled oaks threw their
broad arms over the mossy carpet, giving so deep a shade in many parts,
that the rays of the mid-day sun were almost intercepted, and the silent
forest seemed dark, shadowy, and massive, as when the stately tramp of
the soldiery of Rome sounded beneath its boughs.
As the youth cleared the enclosures in the immediate vicinity of the
town, and brushed the dew from the bladed grass on nearing the more
sylvan scene, the deep tones of the clock, from the old dark tower of
the church, struck the third hour. The sound arrested him; he paused,
and turning, gazed for some moments upon the buildings now seen emerging
from the mint of early morning. At this hour no sign of life--no stir
was to be observed in the town.
"The cricket sang, and man's o'er-labour'd sense
Repaired itself by rest."
Although the youth looked upon a scene familiar to his eye (for it was
the place of his birth, and from whence as yet his truant steps had
scarcely measured a score of miles), his capable eye dwelt upon every
point of interest and beauty in the surrounding picture.
He had reached the age when the poetry of life begins to be felt; when
an incipient longing for society of the softer sex, and an anxiety to
look well in the eyes of the fair; to deserve well of woman, and to be
thought a sort of soldier-servant and defender of beauty, is mixed up
with the sterner ambitions of manhood.
Perhaps few forms would have been more likely to captivate the fancy of
the other sex than the figure and face of this youth, as he stood at
gaze in the clear morning air, and contemplated the landscape around. In
shape, he was slightly but elegantly formed, and his well-knit limbs
were seen to advantage in the close-fitting but homely suit he wore.
Added to this figure of a youthful Apollo, was a countenance of genius,
intelligence, and beauty, peculiarly indicative of the mind of the
owner. His costume, we have already said, was homely; it was, indeed,
but one remove from the dress of the common man of the period. A gray
doublet of coarse cloth, edged or guarded with black, and tight-fitting
trunks and hose of the same material; to those were added a common felt
hat with steeple crown, and shoes without rosettes. In his hand he
carried a stout quarter-staff, shod with iron at either end. No costume,
however, could disguise or alter the nobility of look and gallant
bearing of that youth. After regarding the view presented to him in the
clear morning air for some moments, he turned, leaped the last enclosure
which pertained to the suburbs of the town, and pursued his way through
a wild chase or park, avoiding the more thick woods on his right.
How slight and trivial are sometimes the accidents which control the
fate of man!
On setting out from his own home, the stripling had intended to traverse
the woodlands which lay between his native town and Warwick, in order to
keep an appointment he had made with some youthful associates of the
latter place--some wild and reckless young men with whom he had lately
become acquainted. The church clock, however, whilst it informed him he
had anticipated the hour, determined him to change his intention of
going straight to the trysting-place, and he turned his steps in a
different direction. He therefore left the deep woodlands on his right,
and sought the enclosures of Clopton Hall.
This change of purpose, in all probability, saved the life of the
handsome lad. As he turned from the woodlands on his right, and sought
the fern-clad chase and plantations in which Clopton Hall is embosomed,
a tall, fierce-looking man, clad in the well-worn suit of a ranger or
forester, stepped from the thick cover. As he did so, the forester
lowered a cross-bow, with which he had been taking a steady aim at the
stripling, from his shoulder, and stood and watched him till he
disappeared.
"Now the red pestilence strike him," said the man. "He has again escaped
me. But an I give him not the death of a fat buck ere many days are over
his head, may my bow-string be the halter that hangs me."
"Nay, comrade," said a second forester, at that moment coming forward,
"believe me, 'tis better as it is; thou must e'en drop this business,
and satisfy thy revenge by a less matter than murder. I half suspected
thy intent, and, therefore, have I followed thee. Come," he continued,
"thou must, I say, forgive the affront this lad has put upon thee."
"May the fiend take me then!" returned the ruffian.
"Nay, thou art most likely the property of St. Nicholas methinks.
Whatsoever thou dost," said the other, "certainly he will catch thee by
the back if thou should harm this youngster."
"Why, look ye," said his fellow. "Have I not reason for what I do? The
varlet (who I shrewdly suspect hath an eye upon the deer) constantly
haunts our woods. Not a nook, not a secluded corner, not a thicket but
he knows of, and explores. At all hours of the day, and even at night,
have I caught sight of him wandering alone. Sometimes I have seen him,
lying along, book in hand, under a huge oak, in Fullbrook wood; at other
times I have watched him as he stood in the twilight beside the brook,
which flows through Charlecote Park. As often as I have tried to gain
speech with and warn him from our haunts, he has been ware of me;
plunging into the covert (nimble as a stag), so escaped.
"Once, however, I came warily behind him while he stood watching the
deer as they swept along a glade in Fullbrook; and heard him repeating
words which rivetted me to the spot, nay almost took from me the power
of accosting him. Not, however, to be outworded by a boy, I pounced upon
him."
"Go to!" said the other laughing, "then you collared him, I suppose, and
took him off to the head-ranger to give an account of his trespass.
Was't not so! Eh?"
"You shall hear," returned the ranger. "At first I felt too much respect
to rebuke him. There was something in his look I could not away with. He
seemed somewhat angered too at being molested and caught by surprise;
and there was that in his eye which could look down a lion, methought.
After awhile, however, I gave him some of my mind, threatened to report
his trespass to the knight our master, and to give him a taste of the
stocks, or the cage."
"Good," said his fellow, laughing. "You said well!"
"Nay, 'twas not so good either, as it turned out," said the ranger.
"How so?" inquired his comrade.
"Why, he took my rebuke mildly at first, merely saying he sought not to
molest the game, but only to enjoy the liberty, freedom, and leisure of
the wild woods."
"Well," interrupted the other, "between ourselves, that seems natural
enough. But, an all the lads in the country were to do the same, they
would soon drive the deer from their haunts, and render our trade a poor
one."
"So I told him; and that I should not be so easy the next time I caught
him straying in our woods. Nay, that I would then, indeed, cudgel him
like a dog."
"Ha! ha! and how took he that threat?"
"Mass! I would you could have seen how he took it," said the irate
ranger, "for I shall never forget the change it wrought. He looked at me
with an eye of fire, reared himself up like a startled steed, and railed
on me in such terms as I think never man either heard or spoke before.
Nay, an I had not known he was the son of a trader here in Stratford, I
had taken him for the heir of some grandee, for never heard I before
such a tongue, or such words of fire."
"Go to!" said the other; "and how answered ye that?"
"At first I felt awed; but, when he dared me but to raise a finger in
the way of assault, and stirred my wrath so, that I laid hands on him,
he struck me to the earth; when I rose, and again attacked him, despite
my skill at quarter-staff, he cudgelled me to his heart's content."
"What, yonder lad?"
"Ay, yonder boy! His strength and skill were so great that, had I not
cried _peccavi_, I had died under his blows."
"And for this you are resolved to shoot him!"
"I am! I cannot forget the disgrace of his quarter-staff. My very bones
ache now at the bare remembrance."
"Aye, but thou must forget it, comrade," said the other; "for to shoot
him, look ye, might get the rangers all into trouble. He hath, you see,
gone out of our bounds this morning; but let us follow, and if we find
him we will both beat him. As far as that goes, I am your man. 'Tis
allowable, and in the way of business. But for shooting the lad--fie
on't! 'tis cowardly and dangerous. Ever while you live, forbear your
bullet on a defenceless person."
"Well, be it so!" said his fellow. "I agree. He hath had the best of me,
for once in his life. But, at least, will I be revenged:--blow for
blow."
"Hath he good friends, said ye?"
"None of note."
"What then is his father?"
"The wool-comber who dwells in Henley Street."
"Enough! Now let us but catch him, and by 'r lady, we'll beat him so
that he shall scarce disport his curiosity amongst our woods again."
"Nay, but if we kill him?" said the other, with a sneer.
"Then must our master bear us out; we are hired to keep off all lurking
knaves. By fair means or foul, it must be done. An we kill him, we'll
e'en knock over a buck, and lay it to's charge. Swear we caught him
red-handed in the fact, and there an end."