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Shakspere: Personal Recollections

<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> <h4>GROWING LITERARY RENOWN. ROYAL PATRONS.</h4> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Follow your envious courses, men of malice; You have Christian warrant for them, and, no doubt, In time will find their fit rewards." </div> <div class="stanza"> </div> <div class="stanza"> "O beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on." </div> </div> The literary and dramatic world of London in the years 1589 to 1592 was stirred with pride and astonishment at the productions of William Shakspere, and from the tavern and guilds of tradesmen to the crack clubs of authors, lords and royalty itself, the Dramatic Magician of the Blackfriars was praised to the skies and sought for by even Queen Elizabeth, who saw more than another Edmund Spenser to glorify her reign and flash her name down the ages with even finer, luminous colors than bedecked the sylvan pathway of the Faerie Queen! The Earl of Leicester was one of the first great men of England to recognize the divine accomplishments of the Warwickshire boy who had made his first theatrical adventures through the domain of the old Earl, and who was ever the friend of old John Shakspere, the impecunious and agnostic father of our brilliant Bard. On the death of the old Earl in the autumn of 1588, his domain reverted to his stepson, the young Earl of Essex, who continued to be the patron of letters and often attended the Blackfriars, with his friend, the handsome and intellectual Earl of Southampton, Henry Wriothesley, who took the greatest interest in the plays of "Love's Labor's Lost," "Two Gentlemen of Verona," "King John," "Henry the <ins class="correction" title="Transcriber's note: original has a missing closing quote">Fourth,"</ins> "Henry the Fifth," and "Henry the Sixth," that were then fermenting in the brain of William. He had ransacked the history of Hollingshead and others to illustrate on the stage the civil wars between the houses of York and Lancaster, known as the war of the Red and White Roses, with canker and thorn to pester each royal clan and bring misery on the British people because of a family quarrel! <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." </div> <div class="stanza"> </div> <div class="stanza"> "What have Kings that privates have not too, Save ceremony?" </div> </div> The jealousy of Kyd, Lodge and Greene continued to secretly knife the Stratford butcher boy, but the more they tried to cough him down the more he rose in public estimation, until finally these little vipers of spite and spleen gave up their secret scandal chase, when, like a roebuck from the forest of Arden or Caledonian heather crags, he flashed out of sight of all the dramatic and poetic hounds who pursued him, and ever after looked down from the imperial heights of Parnassus at the dummies of theatrical pretense. They accused him of wholesale plagiarism and of robbing the archives of every land for raw material to build up his comedies, tragedies and histories. He laughed and worked on, night and day, acknowledging the "soft impeachment" of his literary integrity, but at the same time defied them to equal or surpass the marvelous characters he created for the edification and glory of mankind! Yet, while he had a few envious literary, political and religious detractors, he was building up constantly a bulwark of sentimental and material friends in London that kept his name on the tongue of thinkers in home, tavern, club and palace. The keen and generous Burbage knew the intrinsic value of Shakspere, and to tie him to the interest of the Blackfriars, he gradually increased the Bard's salary and gave him an interest in the stock company. Yet, other theatres staged his plays. Edmund Spenser, the greatest rhythmic poet of his day, author of the "Faerie Queen," and prime favorite of Sidney and Queen Elizabeth, was lavish in his praise of the rising dramatist, while Michael Drayton and Christopher Marlowe vied with each other in admiration of the newly discovered star of intellectual brilliancy that glittered unceasingly in the sky of poetic and philosophic letters. Essex, Southampton, Raleigh, Bacon, Monmouth, Derby, Norfolk, Northumberland, Percy, Burleigh, Cecil, Montague, and many other lords of London club life, gave a ready adherence to Shakspere, and after his mighty acting on the Blackfriars and other stages, struggled with each other as to who should have the honor of entertaining him at the gay midnight suppers that delighted the amusement world of London. One of the most valuable friends William encountered in London was John Florio, a Florentine, the greatest linguist of his day, who had traveled in all lands and gathered nuggets of thought in every clime. He spoke Spanish, Italian, French, German and Greek, with the accent of a native, and had but recently translated the works of Montaigne, the great French philosopher. The Herbert-Southampton family patronized him. When not employed at the various theatres, the Stratford miracle could be found at the rooms of his friend Florio, at the "Red Lion," across the street from Temple Bar, where law students, bailiffs and barristers made day and night merry with their professional antics. William employed Florio to teach him the technical and philosophic merits of the Greek and Latin languages, and at the same time furnish him with ancient stories that he might dramatize into English classics, and astonish the native writers by dressing up old subjects in new frocks, cloaks, robes and crowns. Florio would often read by the hour, gems of Latin, Greek and French philosophy, and explain to us the intricate phrases of Virgil, Ovid, Terence, Homer, Æschylus, Plutarch, Demosthenes, Plato, Petrarch and Dante, while William drank up his imparted knowledge as freely and quickly as the sun in his course inhales the sparkling dewdrops from garden, vale and mountain. In the spring of 1591 William and myself paid a flying visit to Stratford, the Bard to pay up some family debts and bury a brother who had recently migrated to the land of imagination. The mother and father of William were delighted at the London success of their son, and Anne Hathaway seemed to be mellowed and mollified by the guineas William emptied into her lap, while Hammet and Judith, the rollicking children, were rampant with delight at the toys, sweetmeats and dresses presented as Easter offerings. No matter what the incompatibility of temper between William and Anne, he never forgot to send part of his wages for the support of herself and children, and although he was a "free lance" among the ladies of London, he maintained the "higher law" of family purity and morality. When he violated any of the ten commandments, he did it with his eyes open, and took the consequent mental or physical punishment with stoic indifference. He never called on others to shoulder his sins, but on the contrary he often bore the burden of cowardly "friends," who made him the "scapegoat" for their own iniquity—a common class of scoundrels. He never bothered himself about the religion manufacturers of mankind, knowing that the whole scheme, from the Oriental sunworshipers to the quarreling crowd of Pagans, Hebrews, Christians and Moslems, was nothing but a keen financial syndicate or trust to keep sacerdotal sharpers in place and power at the expense of plodding ignorance, hope and bigotry! The night we started back for London, by jaunting car, on the road to Oxford, the Bard was in a mood of lofty contemplation. He had stowed away in the bottom of the car, a mass of school-day and strolling-player compositions, evolved in the rush of vanished years. "William," said I, "can you tell me anything about the silence of those sparkling, eternal stars and planets?" He instantly replied: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> I question the infinite silence, And endeavor to fathom the deep That rests in the ocean of knowledge And dreams in the heaven of sleep; And I soar with the wing of science, Its mysterious realm to explore, But the wail of the wild sea breakers Drowns my soul in the Nevermore; For the answer of finite wisdom Is as fickle as ambient air, And my wreckage of hopes are scattered On the rocks and shores of despair! </div> </div> Arriving at the Crown Tavern, in Oxford, we were, as usual, received by the old Boniface Devanant and his handsome wife, with warm words and luxurious table cheer. After a day and night of reasonable revelry, we proceeded on our way to London, and in due course found our sunny lodgings at the home of Maggie Mellow. The night after our arrival Sir Walter Raleigh gave a grand banquet at the Mermaid Club to the principal wits of London. Burbage, Florio, Field, William and myself were invited as special guests, in honor of the poetic and dramatic association. Representative authors and actors of the various theatrical companies were present at the festive war of wits. The Queen's men, and those who played under the patronage of Leicester, Pembroke, Burleigh, and the Lord Admiral were there, while Henslowe, the owner of the Rose Theatre on Bankside, with his son-in-law, Edward Alleyn, the noted actor, shone in all their borrowed glory. Spenser, Drayton, Marlowe, Kyd, Nash, Chettle, Peele, Greene, and a young author, Ben Jonson, were a few of the literary luminaries present. A contingent of London lords, patrons of authors and actors graced the scene. Essex, <ins class="correction" title="Transcriber's note: original reads 'Southhampton'">Southampton</ins>, Pembroke, Cecil, Mortimer, Burleigh and Lord Bacon occupied prominent places at the angle table of the club, where Raleigh sat as master of ceremonies. Promptly at eleven o'clock, the great courtier, sailor and discoverer arose from his elevated chair and proposed a toast to the Virgin and Fairy Queen! All stood to their tankards and drank unanimously to the Virgin Queen. I thought I observed a flash of secret smiles pictured on the lips of Essex, Spenser, Bacon and Raleigh when Elizabeth was toasted as the Virgin Queen; and William whispered in my ear: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Her virtues graced with eternal gifts, Do breed love's settled passions in my heart!" </div> </div> After tremendous cheers were given for the Queen, Sir Walter, in his blandest mood said: "We are glorified by having with us to-night the greatest poet in the realm, and I trust Sir Edmund Spenser will be gracious enough to give us a few lines from the 'Faerie Queen.'" Sir Edmund arose in his place and said: "In Una, the Fairy Queen, I beheld the purity and innocence of Elizabeth, and in the lion of passion, hungry from the forest, I saw her conquer even in her naked habiliments." <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "One day, nigh weary of the irksome way From her unhasty beast she did alight; And on the grass her dainty limbs did lay, In secret shadow, far from all men's sight, From her fair head her fillet she undight, And laid her stole aside, her angel's face, As the great Eye of Heaven, shone bright And made a sunshine in the shady place— Did never mortal eye behold such grace! It fortuned, out of the thickest wood A ramping Lion rushed suddenly, Hunting full greedy after savage blood; Soon as the Royal Virgin he did spy, With gaping month at her ran greedily, To have at once devoured her tender corse; But to the prey when as he drew more nigh— His bloody rage assuaged with remorse, And with the sight amazed, forgot his furious force!" </div> </div> Spenser resumed his seat, while a whirl of echoing applause waved from floor to rafter. Then Sir Walter remarked: "We are honored to-night by the presence of the counsel extraordinary of Queen Elizabeth, the orator and philosopher, Sir Francis Bacon, who will, I trust, give us a sentiment in honor of Her Majesty, the patron of art, literature and liberty!" Bacon, handsome, proud, but obsequious, then arose and addressed the jolly banqueters as follows: "Gentlemen: The toast of the evening to her gracious Majesty, Elizabeth, the Virgin Queen, meets my soul-lit approval, and had I the wings of fancy, instead of the plodding pedals of practical administration, I should raise her virtuous statue to the skies until its pinnacle shone above the uplands of omnipotence! "Philosophy teaches us that vice and virtue are at eternal war, and that whether married or single, the happiest state of man or woman is personal independence! <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed, Or pain his head; Those that live single, take it for a curse, Or do things worse; Some would have children, those that have them mourn, Or wish they were gone; What is it then, to have or have no wife, But single thraldom, or a double strife! </div> </div> "My friends: The ocean is the solitary handmaid of eternity. Cold and salt cure alike! "Men are like ants, crawling up and down. "Some carry corn, some carry their young, and all go to and fro—at last a little heap of dust!" The states' attorney took his seat, with frantic applause rattling in his ears. Although the sentiments of Bacon were variable, mixed, foreign and epigrammatic, they received great attention; for no matter who may be the speaker at a banquet where royalty and power are the subjects at issue, there will be great and tremendous cheering by little sycophants who expect reward, and of course, by those patriots who have already received favors from the administration pie counter. Sir Walter at last arose and said "that although the hour was late, or, more properly speaking, early, he earnestly desired the noble gentlemen present to hear one whose fame, in the world of dramatic letters, like the morning sun, had already flashed upon the horizon and rapidly approached the high noon of earthly immortality—William Shakspere, of Stratford-on-Avon!" Then could be heard roof-lifting cheers by all present, who had often heard the Bard in his lofty language and kingly strides at the Blackfriars. William, in the flush of self-conscious, imperial, splendid manhood exclaimed: "Gentlemen: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Your toast of glory to The Virgin Queen Cracks high heaven with reverberation, And through the ambient air, sonorous, The echoing muses mingle the Harmony of the spheres with celestial repetition! Elizabeth, I lift my song to thee, In holy adoration To echo down the flowing tide of ages! </div> <div class="stanza"> Within the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme In praise of ladies dead and gallant knights, Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I know their antique pen would have expressed Even such a beauty as you master now. So all their praises are but prophecies Of this our time, all you prefiguring; And, for they looked, but with divining eyes, They had not skill enough your worth to sing; For me, which now behold these present days Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. </div> <div class="stanza"> Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured, And the sad augurs mark their own presage; Incertainties now crown themselves assured, And peace proclaims olives of endless age. Now with the drops of the most balmy time, My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes, Since spite of him I'll live in the poor rhyme While he sweeps over dull and speechless tribes. And thou, in this shall find thy monument, When tyrant crests and tombs of brass are spent!" </div> </div> Rapturous and universal praise and applause greeted William and his immortal sonnets; and if any critical reader or author will take pains to delve into and scan the poetry and philosophy of Spenser and Bacon with that of Shakspere, they will quickly and honestly come to the conclusion that the former writers are merely rushlights to the flashing electric lights of the Divine Bard! To paraphrase the encomium of Shakspere to Cleopatra would fit the greatness of himself: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Age cannot wither him, nor custom stale His infinite variety; other men cloy The appetites they feed; but he makes hungry Where most he satisfies!" </div> </div> <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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