THE HOSTEL.
At the present time, when every street and thoroughfare of a country
town has its public-house filled with the noisy refuse of an
overwhelming population, and absolutely roaring with ribaldry, many of
our readers have but a faint idea of the quiet comfort and cozy
appearance of a hostel in the olden time. Its ample kitchen hung around
with articles and implements of the good wife's occupation, the chance
guests, for the most part, assembled in such apartment, and the quiet
retirement of its other rooms, engaged, as they not unfrequently were,
by some well-to-do retired person, half sportsman, half soldier, who
paid his shot weekly, and was dependent upon chance customers, and mine
host, for companionship.
Such guest not unfrequently dubbed himself gentleman, upon the strength
of possessing a half-starved steed and a couple of greyhounds. Sportsman
he was, of course, for every man professed knowledge of, and had a taste
for, field sports, when England was less cultivated, and her woods and
wastes teemed with game.
The tavern we have named as the residence of Master Froth, was called
the Lucy Arms, because upon its sign were displayed the three white pike
fish, or lucies, which had been the cognomen of the knights of
Charlecote from the time of the Crusades downwards.
Inn signs were, indeed, in former days for the most part of an heraldic
character. Many of the town residences of the nobility and the great
ecclesiastics were sometimes called inns, and in the front of them the
family arms displayed. Such inns afterwards became appropriated to the
purpose of the hostel, and the armorial decorations retained, under the
denomination of signs, directed the guest to them as places of
accommodation and refreshment. This we retain even in the present
degenerate age, the signs of the white, red, black, and golden lions of
the Crusades; and the blue boars, golden crosses, swans, dragons, and
dolphins, which ornamented the knightly helmet or shield, now do duty at
the entrance of the beer-shop.
"Thus chances mock and changes fill the cup of alteration."
It was one evening in the merry month of May, about a year after the
marriage of young Shakespeare, that Jack Froth, and several of his
associates, were assembled at the Lucy Arms.
The apartment in which they were congregated was one which Froth had
appropriated to his own especial use,--a good-sized room, whose windows
looked into the orchard in rear of the hostel, one of those sweet and
verdant orchards peculiar to the time, and which are now, for the most
part, destroyed; but which, in Elizabeth's day, were attached to every
goodly dwelling, or hostel, in a country town.
A half-open door, on one side of the apartment, gave a peep into a
smaller room, in which, as the sun streamed from the lattice-window, its
rays fell upon, and lighted up, the deep red curtains and square-topped
hangings of an antique bed; and at the same time gilded the high-backed
chairs with which the room was furnished.
On the ample hearth of the first-named apartment two enormous
deer-hounds were to be seen, sprawling at full length, their occasional
disturbed sleep, and short sharp bark, shewing that their dreams were of
the woodland and the chase.
The occupants of the room were five in number. They were seated round a
massive oaken table, which placed near the window, gave them a delicious
view of the green and bowery orchard.
The fat and jovial Froth, "the lord o' the feast," as he leaned back in
his strong oaken chair, whilst he occasionally looked out upon the
orchard, listened to the recital of some verses his opposite neighbour
was reading aloud. Seated directly opposite the window was a tall thin
man, of about five-and-twenty years of age, clad in the faded suit of an
officer of pikemen, an enormous rapier tacked to his waist, with dagger
to match. His chair being drawn so close to the table that he sat
bolt-upright, and, as he dallied with the glass he ever and anon carried
to his lips, he also listened with attention to the words of the poem.
Opposite to him sat another man, about thirty years of age, clad in a
tawdry suit, which in our own days would have been shrewdly suspected of
having done duty on the boards of a theatre. Beside him, with apron
doffed, and his cap thrown aside, sat mine host of the tavern--a portly
and jolly-looking companion.
Such was the party assembled, and, as the reader finished the fragment
of verse, his hearers seemed so much interested in its recital that for
some moments there was a pause of expectation. It was like the expiring
sound of sweet music, which has a soothing effect upon the listener,
making him long for a renewal of the melody.
"There is more?" said Froth, inquiringly, as he turned his eye upon the
reader.
"No more have I written," said young Shakespeare, who was indeed the
reader of the poetry; "nor deemed I this deformed offspring of my brain
worthy of notice."
"Then I pr'ythee, good William," said Froth, "repair thy voice by
another draught of Canary, and give the two first verses over again."
"Has my verse, then, so much pleased you?" inquired Shakespeare.
"It hath more than pleased, it has delighted me," said Froth; "so to't
again, lad."
"Two verses you shall have," said Shakespeare, smiling, "but no more."
And he again read from his manuscript the following lines of a poem he
had that morning commenced writing,--
"Even as the sun with purple-coloured face--"
"'Fore gad, bully host," interrupted Froth, "but thy countenance at this
moment, round, fiery, and covered with huge angry welks and knobs, must
have suggested that line. Was't not so, sweet William; didst thou not
call the sun's face purple-coloured from the reflection of our host's
mulberry visage?"
"Go to, go to," said the host; "'fore gad, if my face took but a tithe
of the good vivers to keep it in colour that thine doth, I were
altogether a ruined landlord."
"I cry you mercy, good William," said Froth; "proceed with thy stanzas.
Mine host here is one of those prating knaves who would rather talk than
listen, let who will be the orator."
And the poet again read from his manuscript,--
"Even as the sun with purple-coloured face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose cheeked, Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn.
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And, like a bold-faced suitor, 'gins to woo him.
'Thrice fairer than myself'--thus she begun;
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are.
Nature that made thee with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.'"
"And how call ye the poem?" inquired Froth, as young Shakespeare
finished the second verse, and then thrust the paper into the breast of
his doublet.
"I think of calling it 'Venus and Adonis,'" he said, "for fault of a
better name."
"Call it what thou wilt, lad," said Froth, "'tis a glorious
commencement. Like everything else thou dost, 'tis excellent."
"Ha, ha," said Pierce Caliver, "thou art full of thy ropery, Froth; thou
word'st him, thou word'st him. See, he blusheth at thy praise."
"I word him not, but as I mean," said Froth; "an his cheek blusheth,
'tis more than thine was ever guilty of. I hate flattery as I hate an
unfilled flasket in the woodlands at midnight. He hath but one fault,
that lad."
"Ah, a fault," said Caliver, "can Will Shakespeare own a fault in thy
eyes? I pr'ythee let's hear it."
"Nay, 'tis not a fault, either, 'tis a misfortune," said Froth, "he's
married."
"Gad-a-mercy, that is indeed a scrape to get into!" said Ralph Careless.
"I have been twice across the Atlantic, escaped shipwreck as often, been
left for dead amongst the burning huts of a Spanish settlement; and yet
have I never had such an escape as when I offered marriage to the Widow
Crooke, and she altered her mind a week before the day fixed."
"That widow must be worthy looking on too," said Froth; "for truly her
own escape exceedeth all thine put together."
"How so?" said Careless.
"In escaping from thee," returned Froth.
"Nay, the evil-favoured old hag," said Careless; "but she escaped not
altogether scot-free either, since I drew a handsome forfeit ere I
consented to let her break off."
"Had she given thee all she possessed," said Froth, "so she kept herself
free of thee, she had the luck on't; but, come, the very name of
marriage hath made our good William here a melancholy man. Oh! 'tis
monstrous that tying together of couples for life, to claw and tear like
a brace of tabbies cast over a clothes' line! Said I well, William? Why,
fill again, and pass the flasket."
"Nay," said Shakespeare, "wooing, wedding, and repenting is, after all,
but a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque pace. The first suit is hot
and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding
mannerly and modest;[13] and then comes repentance, and with his two
logs fallen into a cinque pace, faster and faster, till he sink into his
grave."
[Footnote 13: "Much ado about Nothing."]
"Methinks, bullies," said the Host, "since we are on the subject of
matrimony, that we must quaff a health for the nonce. Heard'st thou not
that our good William here is the honoured father of a fair son--a
goodly boy?"
"Ah, by St. Jago and charge Spain!" said Caliver, "and is it so? Why,
then fill to the brim, my masters all;" and the health of the infant was
pledged in flowing bumpers of Canary. After which, the long-necked
glasses were flourished to a loud huzza, and being cast overhead,
smashed upon the rushes with which the apartment was strewed.
"And now," said Froth, "thou shalt give us a song, William--a song of
thine own, for what man amidst us could produce a verse worthy of thee
to sing? Come, warble, and let it be to thine own words, Will."
"A song--a song!" said Caliver; "give us one, William, in praise of the
wine-cup."
Shakespeare smiled, and then sang:
"Come, thou monarch of the vine,
Plumpy Bacchus, with pink eyne;
In thy vats our cares be drown'd,
With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd:
Cup us, till the world go round,
Cup us, till the world go round."
Whilst the chorus was ringing out, till every room in the hostel echoed
with it, another individual entered the apartment.
The new comer was a tall, good-looking youth, clad in a worn leathern
jerkin, which seemed as if it had endured the worst spite of the
elements, and done duty in the woods for many years. His russet boots
were drawn up to the thigh, and his well-worn wide-brimmed beaver was
without feather or ornament, except a large assortment of fish-hooks,
with the horse-hair twisted around it. In short, he looked what he
really was--a dissolute hanger-on of a country town, and yet a good
fellow withal, one given to the sports of the field, without means or
license to pursue them--one of Diana's foresters, a poacher, a professed
deer-stealer.
"You keep a goodly revel here, my masters," said he, drawing a chair,
and seating himself unceremoniously at the table.
"Ha! what, Diccon Snare, is it thou, thou wandering knight of the hollow
woods?" said Froth. "By my troth, thou art welcome; fill thyself a
chalice for the nonce. How goes all at Warwick?"
"I scarcely know," said Snare, "since I have not been there for some
days. If I have news at all, it is of these parts, and farther afield.
There is work for you to-night an ye listen. The old Pike of Charlecote
hath ridden forth, and taken in his train some thirty followers. The
moon is up to be sure, but then the woodlands are but badly watched."
"And how know'st thou this, thou sworn enemy of an outlying stag?"
inquired Shakespeare.
"How know I it? Why, from sure intelligence, and careful watching. How
else should I know my trade?"
"Nay, thou hast served a pretty apprenticeship to the poaching trade,
Diccon, that's certain," said Froth, "as the hangman's brand can
testify! And what takes Sir Thomas to town with so strong an escort?"
"It seems there is more trouble at Court about the Queen of Scots," said
Snare, "and her name is again mixed up with all sorts of intrigues and
plots against our Queen. My Lord of Leicester hath stroked the beard of
consideration upon the matter, and set on foot an association for the
nonce. They are sworn keepers of the Queen's safety in life, and doubly
sworn to revenge her death, should she fall by these malignant
conspirators. A great many of the gentry around have gone up to join in
this association, whilst the Queen of Scots is again placed in more
severe keeping."
"Ha!" said Froth, "I heard somewhat of this before; and so--"
"And so," continued Snare, "Sir Thomas in great state hath set forth
towards town, and sleeps to-night at Kenilworth, where the great
Bear-ward at present lies."
"So that several of his foresters follow in his train, eh! is't so?"
"They do; he rides in state, for, as thou knowest, 'tis the pride of the
old Pike to be followed by a whole troop. I saw him pass along the road
as I lay perdue in the covert. Twenty of his fellows in coat and badge,
with green and yellow feathers in their hats,[14] and as many falconers
to make up the train."
[Footnote 14: People of condition in the country generally rode with
numerous followers at the period.]
"And that in truth makes a fair field for us," said Shakespeare. "What
say ye, my masters all? Shall we be minions of the moon to-night? Shall
we strike a buck at Charlecote?"
To men of the wild and peculiar disposition of the assembled party,
nothing could be more pleasant than an excursion of the sort.
A midnight visit to the woodlands was by no means an uncommon
circumstance in their lives; but hitherto they had pursued their sport
in localities somewhat more removed from the town in which they dwelt.
To the bold and imaginative Shakespeare, as his eye glanced into the
moonlit orchard, the excursion had charms known only to himself. He had
once or twice before watched the deer in the glades of Fulbrook, and he
now joined in the expedition heart and hand.
Preparations were accordingly forthwith commenced, and the entire party
made themselves ready for an exploit, which in those days, and with such
men, was attended with something more of circumstance than in our own.
In the first place, a large closet in the bedchamber of the portly Froth
was ransacked for such change of garment as was necessary for pushing
through the more thick and tangled cover. Cross-bows and other weapons
of the chase were then lugged out, and, amongst other articles, a sort
of theatrical dress was produced; and being carefully packed up, was
strapped upon the shoulder of Diccon Snare, to be used as occasion might
serve.
This latter article of apparel had been purloined from the wardrobe of a
company of masquers, who were in the habit of visiting Stratford. It was
neither more nor less than the dress of "_Mors, or dreary Death_," a
character then enacting in one of the tedious moral plays of the period.
It was fashioned so as to represent a skeleton; and seen in the
woodlands in the night, would be likely to scare a forester out of his
wits, and consequently, should the party be molested during their
exploit, enables them to escape without collision or discovery.
By the time the party had indued their forest gear, the curfew
proclaimed that it was time for them to set out; and once more seating
themselves round the board, they arranged their plan of proceedings.
"Now, my masters all," said Froth, "a cup to hearten us, and another to
the success of our venture, and then to horse."
"Let him whose courage fails remain here," said Caliver; "and let those
to horse whose feet cannot prop up their bodies."
"No scoffing, lads," said Froth. "Thou knowest I am not able to travel
on foot so far, or so fast as thou art; but in the field, I have twice
thy skill at a shot."
"I have heard thee say so often," said Caliver. "To-night I hope to see
a specimen of thy skill."
"Thus be it, then," said Snare. "You and I, Will Shakespeare will go
straight to Charlecote Park. By 'ur Lady! we'll strike the best buck in
the herd. You, Froth, being mounted, will accompany us, and remain
without the park in readiness to receive the deer when we have struck
it. You, Careless and Caliver, will walk apart lower down, and give us
notice in case of approach."
"I like not that lying-out work, and alone too," said Froth. "The last
time I played receiver on Wolvey Heath, I was nearly captured. He that
dies a martyr, 'tis said, proves that he is not a knave. But, methinks,
'tis not so sure that he proves himself no fool."
"And wherefore art thou and Will Shakespeare to have the best of the
sport?" said Careless. "Methinks, since you say the chase is left to
take care of itself to-night, we might all four be strikers, and make a
good venture on't."
"Nay," said Snare, "be it as you will. Will Shakespeare here is sound in
wind and limb. You are both of ye but broken-down hacks at best, and, if
you take my advice, will lie perdue without the palings; for, an we be
molested, we shall have a smart run for it, I promise ye."
Having made their arrangements and laid the plot of their proceedings,
the party soon after divided, and left the hostel by different doors.
Shakespeare, Snare, and Froth, the latter mounted on horseback, and
disguised in a sort of countryman's frock, took the road; whilst Caliver
and Careless, leaving by the back door, crossed the orchard, and making
a slight detour to the right, joined them about a mile from the town.
Scarcely had the party left the Lucy Arms a quarter of an hour ere
Pouncet Grasp, accompanied by Master Doubletongue and a couple of
ill-looking companions, entered it.
"Ah," said Grasp, peering about, and snifting like a terrier dog in
search of a rabbit; "ah, Host, is your honoured guest, Master John
Froth, within?"
The host of the Lucy Arms had an instinctive dread and a most
unalterable dislike to the lawyer. He considered a visit from him little
inferior in omen to that of a visit from the plague. He accordingly
busied himself about some matter or other, and pretended not to observe
Grasp.
"Not within?--eh, Host?" said the latter, making a sign to his two
attendants, who immediately planted themselves at the front and back
doors of the premises. "I am sorely unlucky in my visits. Host. An it
please you, permit me to observe _myself_ if Master John Froth hath in
reality gone abroad."
"Hast thou business, Master Grasp," inquired the Host, "with mine
honoured guest to-night? If so, I take it the best way would be to
confide it to me, or call again. I have said it: Master John Froth
_hath_ gone forth to-night."
"Business," said Grasp; "ah, to be sure; 'business, like time, stays for
no man,' as the saying goes. Why, yes, I have a slight trifle of
business; albeit I may not confide it to thee. Certes, I _will_ call
again. Wilt thou meantime draw me a tankard ere I depart?"
Whilst the host busied himself in drawing the liquor called for, and
which he immediately set about, in the hope of speedily getting rid of
the trio, Grasp sauntered into the passage, and peeped into the private
apartment of Froth, in order to be sure he was really out, and then
whispered to his two neighbours to make a shew of leaving the house by
the back way, and quietly conceal themselves in the orchard.
That done, he returned to the kitchen, drank off his liquor, and bade
the host good night.
Scarce had he gone a dozen paces, however, ere he returned stealthily,
and watching without the window till the host for some purpose left the
kitchen, he very quietly re-entered it, and concealed himself there.