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 assembled 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 circumstances, 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
associate beneath their roof.
Those who can associate 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 principal 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 space, 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 bass 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 casements which opened inwards, and which were
festooned by creeping plants, the eglantine and sweet jessamine, and
which casements, 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 glasses 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 constituted 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 casement, 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 principal 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 principally,
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 passion
jealousy--a passion 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,
principally occupied the hours of the elder; and out-door amusements 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 passed 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 God 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 casement 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 bass voice coming in with singular
effect, and belying his modest assertion 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 associations--nay
even those superstitions, 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.