THE TAVERN.
It was about an hour after the performance we have attempted to
describe, that a solitary individual stood near the water-gate of the
monastery of the Blackfriars. He stood, apparently lost in thought, and
listening to the distant sound of music on the waters--the roll of the
kettle-drum and the flourish of trumpet, as the Queen and her party
returned towards St. James's.
As Shakespeare stood thus alone (after having attended the Queen to the
Abbey stairs, and seen her embark), all around seemed dark and sombre.
The cloisters of that abbey no longer flashed in the torch-light; the
theatre was empty and deserted; all that was brilliant had
departed--vanished like the pleasures of the world, and left a dreary
contrast behind him.
"Oh, time," he thought to himself, "thou art the most indefatigable of
things! The past is gone, the future to come, and the present becomes
the past even while we attempt to define it,--like the flash of
lightning, it exists and expires."
His companions of the theatre had sought the genial license of the
tavern, there to revel over the success of the night, and canvass the
merits and demerits of what they had enacted; and whilst he, the poet
himself, the idol of the hour, and whom all wished to have with them,
felt at that moment unfitted for society.
As he cast his eyes up at the "brave o'erhanging firmament, fretted with
golden fire," he felt that "the wide, the universal theatre," was at
that moment most congenial to his soul.
Whilst numerous boats continued to pass and repass, many of them filled
with companies who had witnessed the performance, he hailed one he
observed disengaged; and after rowing to his own lodging, and changing
his dress, he re-embarked.
We have already stated that the mind of the man had not been elevated
beyond bounds at the success he had achieved. To such a mind as
Shakespeare's the prosperity of the hour was more likely to produce a
degree of melancholy than any undue elevation. An incomprehensible
feeling of contempt and distrust of all worldly success. Perhaps of all
mortals this great man was the least given to vanity. The present hour
would indeed seem to proclaim as much. He was on that night wished for,
sought for, not only by many of the nobles who had witnessed his play,
but his companions of the stage too sought for him to join their tavern
revel after the performance, and several of the audience had even
lingered about the doors, to gain a look at him as he came forth, whilst
the unconscious poet, wrapped in his own thoughts, slowly floated down
the river. Nay, so utterly careless was he of all he had effected, that
the very play which had made so great a sensation scarcely existed but
in the memories of the performers who had recited it.
It had, previous to performance, been copied into lengths, as the
several parts are technically denominated, and given to the actors to
study, whilst the manuscript itself was left casting about amidst the
properties of the theatre, to be searched for, if required, at the next
performance.
As the gentle Shakespeare, during the silent hour of night, passed
slowly along the stream, his thoughts indeed were of other matters
rather than his own particular affairs. The ripple of the water, the
plash of the oars, the faint sound of music from afar, soothed his
thoughts after the false exciting hour.
"Soft stillness and the night,
Became the touches of sweet harmony."
Meantime, whilst the poet floats onwards, we must return to the city,
and observe the events taking place immediately after the representation
of his play.
In a goodly room of a good-sized tavern, situated in the purlieus of Old
St. Paul's, were congregated, on this night, many who had been
spectators of the recent performance at the Blackfriars, and several
other chance customers.
Besides the more respectable merchants, who had put into the tavern
after the play, there were several ruffling blades of the inns of Court,
one or two bullying fellows whose moans and professions were extremely
doubtful--a sort of Alsatian companions, "as ready to strike as to
speak," who drank deep wherever they could obtain liquor, and diced
whenever they could pick up a cully; and also several guests from the
country.
The Londoners, who constituted a party by themselves, sat at a table
extending about half-way along the ample room; whilst two or three
smaller tables were occupied by those parties who had sought the hostel
on matters of business, and who transacted their affairs or enjoyed
themselves apart from the rest.
The aspect of the room shewed that it had been reduced to its present
state from a more respectable occupation. The ample window which ran
along one entire side, looked into a good-sized court: and on the
capacious stone chimney was carved various coats-of-arms, and all sorts
of herald devices and designs.
Those guests who were apart from the sort of ordinary, or common table,
were at the upper end of the room, and on either side the chimney. They
carried on their conversation amongst each other, and were, for the most
part, strangers to the town.
At one of the smaller tables, placed quite up in the corner of the room,
were seated a party of four individuals, and two of them being natives
of the town of Stratford-upon-Avon, our readers are already acquainted
with.
This company consisted of Lawyer Grasp; a rich client, for whom he was
professionally employed; a member of the Temple, with whom he was in
consultation; and Master Doubletongue.
Besides these, there were also four or five other persons seated upon
the long bench beneath the window, and they also carried on their
occupation apart from either the guests at the supper table, or the
other parties in the room. Some two or three were deeply engaged in
play, rattling the dice and staking their coin with an eagerness equal
to the absorption of their comrades who watched the game.
Such being the mixed nature of the assemblage, as two fresh guests
entered the room and made their way to the upper end of it, the
conversation of the various parties formed a sort of confused jargon,
very like the cross-reading of a modern newspaper.
Such as it was, it seemed greatly to interest the late arrivals, and, as
they stood with their backs towards the fire-place, they lent an
attentive ear, more especially to the conversation of Grasp and his
small party, and a look of intelligence ever and anon passed between
them.
The table at which Grasp sat was covered with the produce of his eternal
blue bag, and, as his quick moving fingers pointed to the various
documents and deeds, he held forth with his accustomed volubility whilst
every now and then a roar from the table, or a dispute amongst the
dicers, interrupted his dissertations.
"Here," he said to the Temple lawyer, "here we have the matter duly
executed. And here," he continued, "I will prove our right."
"Stay," said the Temple lawyer, "if I remember rightly, there is no
mention of this place in the Conqueror's survey."
"A fico for the Conqueror and his survey," cried Grasp; "trouble not
yourself upon that subject; mark and perpend--from Geoffrey Clinton it
descended to the Verduns in marriage with Leosceline, daughter of that
same Geoffrey, as did also the manors of Brandon, and I take it--"
"On my word," roared a tall Alsatian-looking fellow at the long table,
"I take it that this Romeus and Julietta, or whatever else 'tis called,
is the most exquisite piece ever submitted to a crowned head."
"A pestilence seize Romulus and Julia," said Grasp; "how that fellow
bawls. And now, sirs, that name Anselm de Clinton, of whom I was before
speaking, was first enfeoffed thereof."
"Up with his heels then," cried one of the dicers, as he threw. "Play.
Ha! seven by Old Paul's. More sack, drawer!"
"The fiend sack those dicers," said Grasp, "marry and amen; as I was
saying, good sir, by a multitude of testimonies I can prove--"
"A lie, knave, throw again." "Ha! ha!" roared another of the gamblers.
"They are certified to hold it," continued Grasp, "of that family by the
service of half a knight's fee, and they of the Earls of Warwick. Now my
client here--"
"A cheater, I'll be sworn. A murrain take thee!" cried another of the
gamblers.
"But how said ye," inquired the Temple lawyer, "that you became opposed
to this Arderne? Methinks, when I last consulted you, you were employed
and trusted by him."
"At first, _only_ at first," said Grasp. "In virtue of my having
informed him of his good fortune he did employ me,--entrusted me with
management of his estates, and I did but eject--"
"Cheatery, villany!" cried the dicer. "I'll not restore a dernier."
"Pshaw," said Grasp, "I did but eject one or two of the poorer tenants,
and put relatives of mine own into their holdings, when he ejected both
them and myself. This, my good sir, I liked not, and, as upon careful
examination I found one I thought more nearly related to the deceased,
and the will distinctly says next of kin. I forthwith sought out my
client; there now is our case."
"The case is a good case, an exceeding good case, and so I said from the
first," said the Templar. "You have this Arderne fairly upon the hip, an
he pay not he must to jail, unless you give him time."
"Not a day, not an hour," said Grasp; "we got a verdict in a former
suit, and he shall incontinent to prison."
"Such is the law of a verity," said the Templar, emptying his glass,
filling his pipe, and turning now to regard the guests at the ordinary,
as they seemed getting up a dispute upon the subject of the play they
had witnessed.
"I perfectly agree with you," said a person who sat opposite to the tall
Alsatian, "in so far as regards the excellence of the play we have this
night seen. But in respect of its newness to the world there I
disagree."
"How?" cried the other fiercely, "dost mean to affirm that such
exquisite portraits as that lady who loved the youth Romeo, that
brilliant Mercutio, and that hot-brained Tybalt were ever drawn by
mortal man before? Didst ever behold any thing so like reality as that
loquacious, secret, obsequious nurse, or the little Peter who carried
her fan? Didst ever--"
"Pshaw," said the other, "I quarrel not with your nurse, neither do I
take exception at Peter,--what I say I will maintain with my rapier here
or elsewhere. And thus it is: the subject-matter of that play is not new
to the world. 'Tis manifestly constructed upon the novel of Italy,
written by Luigi da Porto, a Venetian gentleman now deceased--gainsay
that who will." And the student rose, drew up his tall form, twisted his
mustachio, and looked fiercely around.
"We shall assuredly have a riot here," said Grasp, looking up from the
copy of a will he was perusing. "I like it not."
"Nay," said Doubletongue, "'tis but a controversy upon a play. I saw the
greater portion of it myself, and came away to my appointment here.
'Twas but a paltry performance methought, full of bombast and fustian."
"Was it not then liked?" inquired the Temple lawyer.
"'Fore Heaven, I cannot answer for that," said Doubletongue. "I only
know it liked me not."
"Methinks," said the Templar, "you are hard to please, good Master
Doubletongue. Master Shakespeare is somewhat of a favourite here."
"Who, said ye?" exclaimed Grasp, looking over his glasses, and speaking
with great rapidity. "Master Shakespeare--methinks I ought to know that
name. Comes he from Warwickshire? Is he to be met withal? Canst tell me
aught of Master Shakespeare? 'Fore Heaven, I have matter on hand with
Master Shakespeare, an' his name be William, and he cometh from
Stratford-upon-Avon."
"I pr'ythee settle one thing at a time, my good Grasp," said the London
lawyer. "Permit me to glance at that testament you was perusing once
more."
"Here 'tis," said Grasp. "Nay, you shall find that I do hear a brain;
whoso trusts to Lawyer Grasp shall be--."
"Ruined, hip and thigh," cried one of the dicers, hurling the dice-box
at the head of his opponent, whilst, at the same time the disputants at
the ordinary being also pretty well flushed, a general riot immediately
ensued, and swords being drawn the whole room became a scene of
confusion.
The two guests who had last entered took advantage of this scene to
press close upon the table at which Grasp and his party had been seated.
They were both clad in the costume of sea-faring men of the period,
their sea-caps so completely drawn over their heads that their features
were not discernible, though one appeared a slight youth, and the other
a middle aged and powerful man.
As Grasp, in some alarm, seized upon his blue bag and withdrew more into
the corner, the elder of the strangers, as if to keep from the fray,
seated himself in the chair the lawyer had left, and whilst he puffed
out huge volumes of smoke from his pipe, abstracted from amongst the
papers the will the Templar had been perusing. Handing it then to his
youthful companion, the latter seized a pen, and, unobserved, wrote a
codicil to it. He then restored it to its place, and as the riot
increased and Grasp seized upon his papers and thrust them into his bag,
the pair took an opportunity of withdrawing as quietly as they had
entered.