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Shakspere: Personal Recollections

<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> <h4>RURAL ENGLAND. "ROMEO AND JULIET"</h4> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "I know a bank where the wild thyme blows; Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows; Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk roses and the eglantine." </div> <div class="stanza"> </div> <div class="stanza"> "Stony limits cannot hold love out; And what love can do, that dares love attempt." </div> </div> We remained in Liverpool three days, and then determined to return to London by land, crossing through the inland shires, taking in Manchester, Sheffield, Derby, Birmingham, Coventry, Warwick, and on to Stratford, where clustered the dearest objects of our affection. We were ten days walking, riding and resting at taverns, in our rural tour of Old Albion. The fields were furrowed for the grain, the birds sang from every hedge and forest domain, the cattle, sheep and swine grazed in lowing, bleating, grunting security along winding streams, public fields or on the velvet meadows of rich yeoman or lordly estates, while the men, women, boys and girls that we encountered seemed to be infused with the delights of May blossoms, forest wild flowers and refreshing showers, all noting the practical prosperity of England. How different these rural scenes to those we had recently encountered in poor down-trodden Ireland, the Niobe of nations, besprinkled with the tears of centuries for the loss of her crushed and exiled children. <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Yet, the world is moving upward To the heights where Freedom reigns; Where the sunshine of redemption Shall give joy for all our pains, When the cruel hands of tyrants Shall be banished from the land With our God the only Master Of Dame Nature true and grand! </div> </div> We arrived in sight of Stratford as the sun set over the hills of Arden, and as the pigeons and rooks sought their nests for the night, a golden glow flashed over the evening landscape. The last rays of Sol shone in dazzling splendor upon the pinnacle of old Trinity Church as we gazed with ravished eyes on the winding, glistening Avon, meandering through emerald meadows and whispering wild flowers to the silvery Severn. The old tavern was still there, but the old host slept in God's acre near by, while the lads we knew ten years before, had, like ourselves, gone out into the world for fame and fortune. William sought out his father and mother, and then Anne Hathaway and the children, who still resided at the old Hathaway cottage at Shottery. I remained at the tavern for contemplation. Time and age mellow the most violent spirits; and the temper of Anne had become modified by family troubles, inducing an inward survey of self, which brings a reasonable person to the realization of the fact that he or she is not the only stubborn oak in the forest of humanity. A practical stubborn wife and a lofty poet never can assimilate. Shakspere had no equals or superiors. Shakspere was simply SHAKSPERE. <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> At home he found a scolding wife, Abroad he felt the joys of life, While all his glory and renown Were reaped at last in London town. He looked for truth in crowds of men, In field, in street, in tavern, And mingled with the moving throng To hear their story and their song, He pictured life in colors true, As brilliant as the rainbow hue, And all his characters display The pride and passion of to-day. He cared not for the crowds of men— As fierce as beasts within a den, And looked alone to Nature's God Displayed in heaven, in sea and sod, And held the scales of justice high- Uplifted to the sunlit sky, Weighing the passions of mankind With lofty and imperial mind. The Puritan and Pope to him Were overflowing to the brim With bigotry and cruel spleen That desolated every scene. The midget minds of men in power He satirized from hour to hour, And on the stage portrayed the greed Of those who live by crime and creed. He tore the masks from royal brows And showed their guilt and broken vows, Exposing to the laughing throng The horrid face of vice and wrong. In every land and every clime, He honored truth and punctured crime, And down the years his god-like rhyme Shall be synonymous with Time! </div> </div> We remained among relatives and friends in Warwickshire until the middle of September, when we heard that the London plague had abated and the theatrical profession were busy preparing for a winter campaign of dramatic glory. Shakspere had several plays partly or nearly finished, and, as Burbage and Henslowe desired our immediate services, we took our departure from Stratford, with the friendship of the town echoing in our ears. The flowers and growing fields, the leafy forests and circling and singing birds seemed to say good-bye, good luck and God bless you! We felt happy and hopeful ourselves, and consequently Dame Nature echoed the feeling of our souls. All was joy, song, feasting and laughter. William, on our way to Oxford, in one of his original flights taken from an ode of Horace, impulsively exclaimed: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Laugh and the world laughs with you; Weep and you weep alone, This grand old earth must borrow its mirth, It has troubles enough of its own. Sing and the hills will answer, Sigh, it is lost on the air, The echoes bound to a joyful sound, But shrink from voicing care. </div> <div class="stanza"> Be glad and your friends are many; Be sad and you lose them all; There are none to decline your nectared wine, But alone we must drink life's gall. There's room in the halls of pleasure, For a long and lordly train, But one by one we must all file on; Through the narrow aisles of pain. </div> <div class="stanza"> Feast, and your halls are crowded, Fast, and the world goes by, Succeed and give, 'twill help you live; But no one can help you die! Rejoice, and men will seek you, Grieve, and they turn and go, They want full measure of all your pleasure But they do not want your woe! </div> </div> These lines impressed me very much at the time and from that day to this I have never ceased to act on the philosophy of the poem. It has been part of my nature, and during my wanderings for the past three hundred and twenty years I have never failed to carry in my train of thought and action—sunshine, beauty, song, love and laughter—advance agents to secure welcome in all hearts and homes throughout the world. We were beautifully entertained by Mrs. Daisy Davenant at the Crown Tavern in Oxford, and many of the college "boys," who heard of our arrival in the city, hurried to pay their classic friendship to the "Divine" William. We arrived in London on the 20th of September, and found that our old maid landlady had died of the plague, but had kindly sent all our literary and wardrobe effects to Florio, who was still alive and well at the Red Lion. In a couple of days William was up to his head and ears in theatrical composition and stage structure. A few years before the Bard had "dashed off" a love tragedy entitled "Romeo and Juliet," taken from an Italian novel of the thirteenth century, and a translation of the old family feud in poetry, by Walter Brooke, who had but recently delighted London with the story. Shakspere never hesitated to take crude ore and rough ashler from any quarry of thought; and out of the dull, leaden material of others, produced characters in living form to walk the stage of life forever, teaching the lesson of virtue triumphant over vice. The exemplification of true love, as pictured in the pure affection of Juliet and the intense, heroic devotion of Romeo, have never been equaled or surpassed by any other dramatic characters. The lordly and wealthy gentry of Italy have been noted for their family feuds for the past three thousand years, and the party followers of these blood-stained rivals have desolated many happy homes in Rome, Florence, Milan, Naples, Venice and Verona. Shakspere showed the finished play of "Romeo and Juliet" to Burbage, and the old manager fairly jumped with joy and astonishment at the eloquence of the love and ruin drama. The families of Capulet and Montague of Verona, stuffed with foolish pride about the matrimonial choice of their daughters and sons, can be found in every city in the world where a tyrant father or purse-proud mother insist on selecting life partners for their children. The story of Romeo and Juliet shows the utter failure of such parental folly. The play was largely advertised among the lights of London and announced to come off in all its glory at the Blackfriars on the last Saturday of December, 1595. Queen Elizabeth, in a special box, was there incog, with a royal train of lords and ladies; and such another audience for dress and stunning show was never seen in London. Burleigh, Bacon, Essex, Southampton, Derby, Raleigh, Spenser, Warwick, Gray, Montague, Lancaster, Mountjoy, Blake, and all the great soldiers and sailors of the realm then in London were boxed for a sight of the greatest love tragedy ever enacted on the dramatic stage. All the dramatic authors were present. William himself took the part of Romeo, for he was a perfect exemplification of the hero of the play. Jo Taylor took the part of Juliet, and I can assure you that his makeup, in the form and dress of the fourteen-year-old Italian beauty, was a great success. Dick Burbage took the part of Friar Laurence, Condell played Mercutio, Arnim the part of Paris, Field played old Capulet, and Florio played Montague, Hemmings played Benvolio, and John Underwood played the part of Tybalt, and Escalus, the Prince, was played by Phillips. The curtain went up on a street scene in Verona, where the partisans of the houses of Capulet and Montague quarreled, while Paris, Mercutio, Romeo and Tybalt worked up their hot blood and came to blows. Romeo and his friends, in mask, attended a ball at the home of Juliet, in a clandestine fashion, and on first sight of this immaculate beauty Romeo exclaims: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The dancing done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand, Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight, For I ne'er saw true beauty till to-night!" </div> </div> The poetic apostrophe of Romeo to his new discovered beauty elicited universal applause, led by the "Virgin Queen," who imagined, no doubt, that his tribute to beauty was intended for herself. She never lost an opportunity to appropriate anything that came her way. An epigram of strenuous audacity. A winner! In the second act Romeo climbs the wall, hemming in his beautiful Juliet, and in defiance of the family <ins class="correction" title="Transcriber's note: original reads 'fued'">feud</ins>, locks and bars of old man Capulet, and seeks a clandestine interview with his true love, although at the risk of his life. It was the evening of the twenty-first birthday of Romeo, and with love as his guide and subject, he felt strong enough to attack a warring world. Beneath the window of the fair Juliet, Romeo soliloquizes: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "He jests at scars, that never felt a wound— (Juliet appears at an upper window.) But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks! It is the East, and Juliet is the sun! Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she; Be not her maid since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green, And none but fools do wear it; cast it off— It is my lady; O, it is my love; O, that she knew she were!— She speaks, yet she says nothing: What of that: Her eye discourses, I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks; Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars. As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing, and think it were not night. See how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek!" </div> </div> Juliet speaks, and finally out of her fevered, love-lit mind says: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "O, Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet!" </div> </div> Romeo replies: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "I take thee at thy word; Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized, Henceforth I never will be Romeo." </div> </div> She says: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "How cam'st thou hither? The orchard walls are too high and hard to climb; And the place death, considering who thou art." </div> </div> Romeo quickly responds: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out; And what love can do, that dares love attempt, Therefore thy kinsmen are no hindrance to me! I am no pilot, yet wert thou as far As that vast shore washed with the further sea I would adventure for such merchandise!" </div> </div> Then Juliet, with her fine Italian cunning makes the following declaration of her love; and considering that she is only fourteen years of age, yet in the hands of a house nurse, older and wiser girls could not give a better gush of affectionate eloquence: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain, fain, deny What I have spoke; But, farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say, Ay; And I will take thy word, yet if thou swear'st, Thou may'st prove false; at lover's perjuries They say Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully; Or, if thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay, So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world, In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond; And therefore thou may'st think my conduct light; But, trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more shy, I must confess, But that thou overheard'st, ere I was aware, My true love's passion; therefore, pardon me; And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered, My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite!" </div> </div> The lovers part, promising eternal love and marriage "to-morrow" at the cell of good Friar Laurence, the confessor of the fair Juliet. The friar, priest, preacher and bishop have ever been great matrimonial matchmakers, and when "Love's young dream" is foiled or withered by parental tyranny, these velvet-handed philosophers find a way to tie the hymeneal knot, even in personal and legal defiance of cruel, social dictation. Friar Laurence, in contemplation of tying love-knots soliloquizes in the following lofty lines: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "The gray-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light; And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's pathway, made by Titan's wheels. Now ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer, and night's dark dew to try, I must fill up this osier cage of ours With baleful needs and precious-juiced flowers. The earth that's Nature's mother, is her tomb; What is her burying grave, that is her womb; And from her womb children of divers kind We sucking on her natural bosom find, Many for many virtues excellent, None, but for some, and yet all different; O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies In herbs, plants, stones and their true qualities; For naught so vile that on the earth doth live, But to the earth some special good doth give; Nor aught so good, but strained from that fair use, Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse. Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied And vice sometimes by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this small flower, Poison hath residence and medicine power, For, this being smelt, with that part cheers each part, Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed foes encamp them still In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will, And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant!" </div> </div> Romeo implores the holy Friar: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love devouring death do what he dare, It is enough I may but call her mine!" </div> </div> Juliet addressing Romeo in the Friar's cell exclaims: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Imagination more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament; They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess, I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth." </div> </div> The good old Friar then says: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Come, come with me and we will make short work; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone Till holy church incorporate two in one!" </div> </div> Mercutio and Tybalt fight, in faction of the Capulet and Montague houses. Mercutio is killed, and then Romeo kills Tybalt and is banished from the State by Prince Escalus. Juliet awaits Romeo in her room the night after marriage, and with passionate, impatient longing exclaims: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Give me my Romeo; and when he shall die Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so bright That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun. O, I have bought the mansion of a love, But not possessed it; and, though I am sold; Not yet enjoyed; so tedious is this day, As is the night before some festival To an impatient child that hath new robes, And may not wear them!" </div> </div> Although the verdict of banishment was pronounced against Romeo to go to Mantua instanter, he found means through the old nurse and good Friar Laurence to visit his new-made bride the night before his forced departure; and in spite of locks, bars, law, parents and princes, plucked the ripe fruit from the tree of virginity. Romeo must be gone before the first crowing of the cock and ere the rosy fingers of the dawn light up the bridal chamber, else death would be his portion. Juliet importunes him to stay, and says: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day; It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree; Believe me, love, it was the nightingale." </div> </div> Romeo replies: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale; look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder East; Night's candles are burnt, and jocund day, Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops; I must be gone and live, or stay and die!" </div> </div> Juliet further implores him to stay: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Yon light is not daylight, I know it; It is some meteor that the sun exhales; To be to thee this night a torch bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua; Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not be gone." </div> </div> Romeo willingly consents: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Let me be taken, let me be put to death; I am content so thou wilt have it so; I'll say yon gray is not the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow! Nor that it is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads; I have more care to stay than will to go;— Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so— How is it, my soul? Let's talk, it is not day!" </div> </div> Juliet alarmed exclaims: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "It is, it is, hie hence, begone away; It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. Some say the lark makes sweet division; This doth not so, for she divideth us; Some say, the lark and lothed toad change eyes; O, now I would they had changed voices too; Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunts up to the day. O, now begone; more light and light it grows." </div> </div> Romeo descends the ladder, saying his last words to the beautiful Juliet: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "And trust me, love, in mine eye so do you, Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu! Adieu!" </div> </div> After the banishment of Romeo, old Capulet and his wife insisted that Juliet marry young Paris, a kinsman of Prince Escalus, and sorrows unnumbered crowded on the new-made secret bride. To escape marriage with Paris, Juliet consulted Friar Laurence, who gives her a drug to be taken the night before the prearranged marriage, that will dull all life and the body remain as dead for forty-two hours. This scheme of the Friar works out favorably until Juliet is laid away with her ancestors in the grand tomb of the Capulets. But Romeo hears of the whole trouble and hurries back from banishment, dashing his way through all impediments until he kills Paris, grieving at midnight by the grave of Juliet. Then, tearing his way into the tomb of Juliet throws himself upon the gorgeous bier and exclaims: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Oh, my love! my wife! Death that hath sucked the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty; Thou art not conquered; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson on thy lips, and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there; Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? O, what more favor can I do thee, Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain, To sunder his that was thine enemy! Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet, Why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe That unsubstantial death is amorous; And that the lean abhorred monster keeps Thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that I will still stay with thee; And never from this palace of dim night Depart again; here, here will I remain With worms that are thy chambermaids; O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest; And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh; eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, O, you, The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death! Come, bitter conductor, come, unsavory guide! Thou desperate pilot, now and at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick, weary bark! Here's to my love! (Drinks poison.) O, true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick; thus with a kiss I die!" </div> </div> Friar Laurence and Balthazar with dark lantern, at this moment approach the tomb to extricate and save Juliet from the sleeping drug. She awakes with the noise in the tomb and views the deadly situation. The Friar implores her to come, depart at once, as the night watch approach. She says: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Go, get thee hence, for I will not away; What's here? a cup close in my true love's hand; Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end; O churl! drink all; and leave me no friendly drop To help me after? I will kiss thy lips; Haply, some poison yet doth hang on them, To make me die with a restorative. Thy lips are warm! Yea, noise? Then I'll he brief. O happy dagger! (Snatches Romeo's dagger.) This is thy sheath, there rust and let me die!" (Stabs herself through the heart.) </div> </div> The Prince, Capulet and Montague family soon discover all, and Friar Laurence tells the true story, punishment follows, and the two contending houses of Verona clasp hands over the ruin they have wrought, while the Prince exclaims: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "For, never was a story of more woe, Than this of Juliet and her Romeo!" </div> </div> The drop curtain was rung down and up three times, and the storm of applause that greeted Shakspere and Taylor, as the representatives of Romeo and Juliet, was never equaled before at the Blackfriars. The Queen called William and Jo to the royal box and by her own firm hand presented a signet ring to Romeo and a lace handkerchief to Juliet! <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "What fates impose, that men must needs abide; It boots not to resist both wind and tide!" </div> </div> <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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