ILL WEAVED AMBITION.
The machinations of Pouncet Grasp had not been without their due effect.
His evil disposition was as great as his industry, and his very face and
form, twisted and contorted as both were, proclaimed the mind of the man
as plainly as if he had carried a window in his breast.
Few specimens of the human countenance presented indeed less of the
divine about it than did that of the Stratford lawyer. The term _ugly as
sin_ might, in verity, have been applied to him, for, when he was
hatching any particular piece of rascality, the working of his features
gave him a diabolical look.
Not only had he succeeded in his design of weaving a web about Walter
Arderne, and getting incarcerated within the walls of a prison for debt,
but he even managed, by some strange underhand practice, to bring him
under the suspicion of the Queen's council for treasonable matter. And
yet, with all this malignancy of disposition, Grasp carried about him
such an air of _bonhommie_ that, until he was found out, he was seldom
distrusted. After he had, by the most careful approaches, (like a spider
securing a victim in his web, who is too powerful to be openly
attacked), fairly enmeshed Walter Arderne, he turned his thoughts upon
his old Stratford enemy, William Shakespeare, and, whose whereabout he
now had little difficulty in discovering, since after the successful
performance of Romeo and Juliet, the author's name was in the mouths of
many.
Sir Thomas Lucy had departed only few days before for Stratford, or
Grasp would immediately have sought him out, and, as he himself was also
on the eve of returning to Warwickshire, together with his new client,
in order to take immediate possession of the inheritance succeeded to,
he resolved to delay till his arrival the discovery he had made.
Meanwhile, the situation of Arderne was sufficiently disagreeable. He
was arrested for an enormous sum, and-when Sir Hugh Clopton sought to
clear him of the difficulty, by making some great sacrifices, that good
old man found, to his further dismay, that some secret foe had denounced
his nephew as a conspirator against the life of the Queen.
In Elizabeth's reign, those persons of condition who came under
suspicion and were confined within the walls of a prison found it no
easy matter to clear themselves, and some, even in the higher ranks of
the nobility, without any sustained charge but "for mere suspicion, were
treated as if for surety," finding their graves in the dismal chambers
of the Tower.
The news of the imprisonment of his early friend greatly troubled
Shakespeare. He was just at this time contemplating a return to his
native town, for now that he had so far achieved success, and felt
within himself the power of future fame, the longing for home, added to
the desire of once more embracing all he had dear there, he felt to be
irresistible.
To leave London, however, without an effort to serve his early friend
was impossible. He visited Arderne in his prison, and afterwards sought
Lord Leicester in order to interest that noble in his favour.
The time was, however, somewhat out of joint for making a successful
suit to Leicester at this moment. He was in one of those periodical fits
of ill-temper which usually attacked him when his "high-reaching"
schemes failed. He was out of favour with the Queen too, somewhat on the
sudden, and so wide was the breach that, albeit he was seeking by some
underhand contrivances to regain a place in her good graces, all his
attempts were futile.
To explain this to our readers, we must remind them that after the
services of Leicester at Tilbury, Elizabeth had created for the
favourite the office of Lord Lieutenant of England and Ireland; an
office which would have invested him with greater power than any
sovereign of this country had ever ventured to bestow on a subject. The
patent for this unprecedented dignity was actually made out, and only
awaited the royal signature, when Burleigh and Hatton, by their earnest
remonstrances, deterred Her Majesty from investing him with such power.
It was during the fit of rage consequent upon disappointment, that
Leicester had behaved with a degree of intemperance so distasteful to
Her Majesty, that she dismissed him in anger, and refused to be
reconciled.
The despondence which followed the violence of his rage on this occasion
brought on an illness, from which he, in truth, never recovered.
At the moment Shakespeare obtained an interview, he accordingly found
the earl in so ill a frame of mind, that he refused to interest himself
in favour of Walter Arderne.
He was about, he said to quit London for his castle of Kenilworth, and
was so utterly disgusted with Courts and all pertaining, that he vowed
to Heaven he would no more return.
As the poet looked in the face of this ambitious and still powerful
noble, he thought it not unlikely his words would prove true; for the
inroads of his peculiar disease were so apparent in his countenance,
that the grisly tyrant seemed to have put his mark upon him.
Leicester, at this period of his life, had grown bulky, and lost much of
that striking beauty of face and form for which he had been so
celebrated. His countenance shewed traces of his ungovernable temper and
evil disposition; his hair, lately coal-black, had become a "sable
silvered;" his frown had contracted into an habitual scowl; his dark
complexion, and from which he had obtained the _sobriquet_ of "The
Gipsey," had changed to a sickly yellow; his fine features had become
bloated; and every part about him seemed blasted with premature age.
As he rose from his seat during the interview, the poet observed that he
looked the personification of an evil-disposed but powerful man. One who
was torn by the fiend of avarice, the lust of power, and the chagrin of
blasted ambition. The Court smile was gone for ever from that once
pliant brow, and the scowl of hate seated in its stead.
To the surprise of the poet, whilst he flatly refused interference on
the subject of Arderne's imprisonment, he even seemed to experience
satisfaction at that youth's danger. The poisonous mind of the most
successful poisoner of the age was now recklessly displayed. He seemed
to rejoice in the misfortunes of his fellow-men, whilst he felt that his
own further success in life was ended. He was indeed at that moment
sinking into the grave a hopeless unbeliever, "a bold bad man."
"Sir Thomas Lucy," he said, rudely and abruptly, "hath sought me on the
subject of this Arderne, praying of me to intercede with the Queen. But
I meddle not again with matters of state or the business of others. My
health requires change from the pestilential vapour of this city. I have
done with Courts and seek my castle at Kenilworth."
Shakespeare bowed, and was about to withdraw, when Leicester turned and
again spoke.
"I advise you yourself, Master Shakespeare," he said, "to keep free of
such matters. Peril not your present favour by mixing in treasonable
affairs, and so farewell."
"Nay, my Lord," said Shakespeare, "this gentleman, my friend, hath been
most unjustly accused. He is one to whom I owe much love. I may not
cease from making what interest I can in his favour."
"And I tell thee then," said Leicester, imperiously, "that in me you
will find an opponent in his cause; my interest lieth in the very
opposite direction, since I am informed by a law-man of your native town
that, in right of my wife, I can claim some of those estates in
Warwickshire so lately in possession of this Arderne."
Shakespeare felt surprised at this intimation, and immediately the
interview terminated.
There was evidently a secret enemy at work, he thought, as he left the
house; and, as he passed through the gateway, he ran against a man who
was entering.
The poet was so wrapped in his own thoughts that he observed not the
features of this person; but Grasp (for it was no less a person who was
entering the courtyard) started at the well-known form of his sometime
clerk, and, hesitating for the moment, seemed divided as to whether he
should not defer his present business and follow the poet.
Whilst he stood undecided, Shakespeare took boat, and so Grasp turned
towards the building.
"I shall find the pestilent fellow," he said, "and I shall also
penetrate into the mystery of that fair Lindabrides who dwells beneath
his roof, and masquerades about the city at nights. My certie, but I'll
spoil his actings, his writings, his inditings, his poetizing, and
rhapsodizing. I can myself indite, aye, and play a part, too, as well as
he; and so, Master William Shakespeare, look to thyself, for thou art in
jeopardy;" and so Grasp turned and proceeded, across the court of
Leicester House rejoicing.