SHOTTERY HALL.
With lovers, days, weeks, and months pass swiftly by. The fair and witty Rosalind is made to tell us, however, that time trots hard with a young maid, between the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemnized, for "if the interim be but a se'night, time's pace is so hard, that it seems the length of seven years."
With the swifter foot of time, however, during the even course of love between young Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway, we shall pace over some few months in our history.
Angry winter must be supposed to have departed; the fields and meadows to have thrown off his livery, and the woodland scene around Stratford-upon-Avon, to be dressed in the green investiture of the coming spring.
The hard pace of time therefore must be now imagined to be progressing with the fair Anne, inasmuch as she has been wooed and won by the youthful Shakespeare. She is indeed between the contract of her marriage and its solemnization.
It was one lovely evening, about this period of our story, that an exceedingly handsome female was sitting pensive and melancholy in her own apartment at Shottery Hall, a large mansion situated just without the village.
Our readers have before had a glimpse of this lady, during the eventful night of the party at Clopton, what time she was engaged in the dance with Walter Arderne. Clara de Mowbray had indeed, been one of the intimate friends of the fair Charlotte, her confidant and associate from childhood. She was herself an orphan, and possessed of great wealth; and although but one-and-twenty years of age, seemed to have already given up the pleasures of the world, and dedicated her days to good and charitable deeds in and around her own neighbourhood. She was, therefore, as a matter of course, the lady patroness of the little village near which she dwelt.
Whether it was that she mourned over the fate of the early friend, whose death had been attended with such awful and melancholy circumstances, or whether the loss of her parents had left a sad impression upon her spirits, we cannot tell; but certain it is, that Clara de Mowbray seemed to labour under some secret and deep-seated grief, which rendered society a burden to her.
As she sat on this evening in her own apartment, her attendant announced a maiden from the village, who was desirous of seeing her.
"'Tis the handsome Anne Hathaway——is it not?" inquired Clara. "Indeed I sent to request she would come hither."
"It is, lady," returned the attendant.
"Set a chair for her here beside the window, and wait on her in."
"They tell me she is soon to be wedded," said the attendant, as she brushed the chair with her apron, "and that she hath refused a good offer for the sake of her present lover."
"I have heard as much," said the lady; "and 'tis of that I would speak with her."
The Lady Clara had known Anne Hathaway from childhood, consequently, there was little of form or ceremony between her and the more humble friend.
"I have sent for you, Anne," said Clara, as soon as the damsel entered, "to talk about your future prospects. I have been so great a recluse, that I have only just heard of your intended marriage. I trust you will be happy, Anne."
"I hope so, lady," said Anne.
"And do you think so?" inquired Clara.
"Wherefore should I not, lady?" inquired Anne.
"There are one or two things," continued the lady, "I have heard of your betrothed, which leads me to ask the question, Anne; and also because we are old friends, and I love you. In the first place, I hear your suitor is younger than yourself. Is't not so?"
"It is, lady," said Anne.
"And I hear also that he is of no calling; that he is poor, and his friends needy."
"All that you have said is true," said Anne Hathaway; "but—" and she paused.
"But you are in love," said Clara. "Well, I suppose there is no advice I can give you which will avail against that argument. I would have you, however, consider well; and (as I know neither of the parties) I cannot judge in how far your own judgment is right in this matter."
"I would you could see the two together," said Anne, smiling, "you would then have little left to urge in favour of my richer suitor."
"Indeed!" said Clara, smiling; "yet one word more, Anne. I hear the youth—let me see, how is he named?"
"Shakespeare," said Anne, "William Shakespeare."
"Well, then, I hear that this lover of yours—this young Shakespeare, is of a daring spirit; that he associates with youths as reckless as himself; and that, in very sooth, he bears altogether a character for idleness even in the town where he dwells."
"What do you charge him with in particular?" said Anne, smiling.
"Nay, nothing more than I have hinted at," said Clara. "He is slightly regarded by the townsfolk of Stratford, from his idle propensities. If there be a bear to be baited at Kenilworth Green, who so sure to be there as this younker. If there is a wrestling-match and a bull-baiting at Coventry, thither is your swain sure to go. If there be, in short, a wake or fair, or revel, in this or the adjoining county, young Shakespeare is as certain to be seen upon the Green as those resident on the spot. Nay, I have been told that he hath himself beaten one of our Warwickshire champions here at Shottery last Christmas, and that he is giving to poaching withal."
"In respect ye have named his delight in all sort of out-door sports, you are right, lady," said Anne; "but that he is given to poaching is a malicious rumour."
"Well," said Clara, "I see your affections are set upon this match, and far be it from me to oppose your will. I too well know the misery of blighted love. Heaven guard you, Anne. Ere you wed, it would please me to see the youth."
"You have seen him," said Anne.
"I remember him not," said Clara.
"'Twas at Clopton you met with him," said Anne. "William hath told me he met you on the night of that unhappy ball, and that Master Walter Arderne shewed you to him in the room."
Clara started. She then said, in some surprise, "Did your lover know Walter, then?"
"They were sworn friends, lady," said Anne.
"Shakespeare!" said Clara. "'Tis a name I remember. Was not the youth who saved Charlotte Clopton from death in the park called Shakespeare? If so, him indeed have I met at Clopton, and have heard both Charlotte and Walter Arderne speak of."
"'Tis the same youth, lady," said Anne.
"Indeed," said Clara; "that doth indeed surprise me;" and Clara remained for some time lost in deep thought. "I have a relic," she said, "of Charlotte's given me by Martin, and which was much treasured by poor Charlotte. 'Tis a small piece of verse of exquisite beauty. If I recollect rightly, Martin told me it was written by this lad—this lover of yours. Stay, I will shew it you;" and Clara, after searching in a small casket, brought forth a scrap of paper with some verses written on it, which she read aloud, and then handed to Anne.
"I am not much given to poetry," said Anne, smiling; "but I see by the character they are written by William; but methinks I should have known them for his by other tokens. He often repeats such verse in our walks. He hath written scores of such pieces as the one I now hold in my hand."
"Nay, then, I cannot wondor at what I have heard," said the lady; "neither am I surprised at such a man being the friend of Walter Arderne. There is one thing more I would ask," said Clara, blushing. "You know my secret, Anne, and can perhaps give me some news of him you wot of, through means of your lover. Where now is Walter Arderne?"
"I shall grieve you, lady, if I say that for some time no accounts have been received of him, and it is greatly feared he hath perished amongst the adventurers with whom he left England."
"How is this news derived?" she said.
"William hath learnt so much from Martin, whom he has occasionally seen whilst Martin remained at Clopton; but latterly Martin seemed to grow uneasy, and as reports were circulated relative to the loss of that part of the expedition with which Master Arderne sailed, he at length left Clopton, where he had been residing almost alone, and went to London. Whilst there he met some of the adventurers who had returned with Sir Francis Drake, and of them he heard dire accounts of the dangers and hardships they had encountered. From them too he learned that Walter Arderne had greatly distinguished himself amongst the followers of Christopher Carlisle at the taking of St. Jago, near Cape de Verde; that he had afterwards sailed for Hispaniola, and assaulted and taken St. Domingo. He was also heard of on the coast of Florida; and it was at the burning of one of the towns, either St. Anthony or St. Helens, on that coast, that Master Arderne is supposed to have perished."
"Was he then not seen and identified amongst the slain or wounded?" inquired Clara.
"It appears not," said Anne. "The expedition, with the exception of some smaller ships separated from them in a storm, sailed along the coast o£ Virginia, where they found the remains of a colony previously planted there by Sir Walter Raleigh, and which had almost gone to decay. The miserable remnant of adventurers," continued Anne, "who were found by Sir Francis Drake at this place, and who are described to have appeared more like living mummies than Christian men, abandoned their settlement, and prevailed on Sir Francis Drake to bring them to England."
"And have no further tidings been since heard?" inquired Clara.
"Nothing certain. A small portion of the fleet which separated from Drake's squadron after this, and sailed along the coast of Florida, inflamed with rage against the Spaniards and the riches they had already gained, after a short cruise, returned with an account of their having observed a wreck near Raleigh's ruined colony;[9] and that they had even seen some individuals apparently again located there. They had, however, steadily pursued their course without inquiry; albeit they judged this wreck to have been one of the ships Walter Arderne had held command in."
"So then," said Clara, "these unfortunate men may have been left to perish, exposed to all the vicissitudes of war and climate, and half-naked in an enemy's country!"
"'Tis to be feared so," returned Anne, "although the dreadful mortality which the climate produced amongst Drake's followers is but a feeble restraint on the avidity and sanguine expectation of the young adventurers of England; nay, other expeditions are said to be about to set sail; should it be so, that coast may be again visited."
"And this you have learnt from your lover?" said Clara.
"I have, lady; he loves to talk to me in our walks about the wonders seen in these islands of the sea in the far West. I would you could hear him describe what he has learnt from one or two of the youths who have adventured and returned: how they have seen and landed upon islands inhabited by people of wondrous appearance; islands full of strange sounds, and in which the most ravishing melody floated in the air, the musicians being spirits and invisible to sight."
"Methinks," said Clara, "I should much like to hear your lover's account of such wonders."
"Nay, so interested is he in these accounts, and the riches to be found on the Spanish main, that had I not over-ruled his design, he would himself have adventured this year with Martin Frobisher."
"I have heard something of Frobisher's former expedition," said Clara. "What were the particulars?"
"Nay, I can but inform you as I have learned it from the lips of others," said Anne.
"They set out, I have heard," said Clara, "for the purpose of discovering a passage to Cataia, in the Indies, by the north-west seas. I do not myself quite understand such matters, but I believe they sailed beyond Friesland, where they came in sight of land inhabited by strange and savage people. In this land they discovered some black substance like sea-coal, and on their return showed it to a goldsmith in London, and he found it to be rich in gold ore, was't not so?"
"It was, lady," said Anne; "this encouraged Martin Frobisher to make a second voyage, when he freighted two vessels home with this black stone, and his project is now so risen in credit that he is about to set sail a third time, with fifteen goodly vessels; nay, had I not used my influence, as I before said, William Shakespeare had surely adventured amongst the crew."
"And so would you as surely have lost a lover, as he would have lost his venture," said Clara. "I have no opinion of these wild schemes—and yet I have half a mind to fit out an expedition and venture myself in quest of a treasure."
"You, lady!" said Anne; "but you are not serious?"
"I was never more so," said Clara.
As she said this, Clara rose from her seat—a hint to her visitor that the interview had lasted long enough.
"Yet stay," she said, as Anne was about to depart. "We have been long friends, Anne Hathaway, and if I find the choice you have made a worthy one, I will befriend you both. One thing I have forgotten to mention, and that is the report I have heard of this match between you and young Shakespeare being disapproved of by your father. Is that also true?"
"My lover is at present poor," said Anne.
"Enough," said Clara. "Farewell, Anne, I intend leaving Shottery for some time, but when I return, remember you have a friend in me. Here," she continued, "is a present I had intended to have given you after your marriage. Take it now, as we shall not meet again for many months. I leave Shottery to-morrow."
And so the friends parted.
The fair Clara remained buried in thought for some time after the departure of Anne Hathaway.
At length she arose from her seat, and her eye fell upon the sonnet she had received from Martin. "The verse is indeed beautiful," she said. "Happy, happy Anne, how much is thy lot to be envied! In thy rank in life there is little impediment to the affections. Thou lovest and art beloved again: there is no drawback in regard to inequality, or matching in degree. The village lad loves and chooses his mate as the turtle, unembarrassed by wealth or worldly interest. This youth must, however, be in mind at least far superior. Well, thy prospect is a happy one! Whilst mine, alas! he I love is perhaps lost in the watery wastes of unknown seas—perhaps starving on some desert shore."
As Clara thus indulged her melancholy thoughts, she rang a small silver bell, and desired her attendant to summon to her presence the steward or major-domo of her household.
"Hubert," she said, "I am about to leave Shottery for London. My horses have of late had but idle times, and an excursion will do them good. I ride with twenty followers."
The orders of Clara were law with Hubert. He therefore bowed; and she continued, "I take this strong escort," she said, "because I shall have great charge with me in gold and diamonds. To you I will at once confess the purpose of my journey to London, and my farther intentions when there. I am about myself to fit out an expedition to the coast of Florida, and in person to visit the strange lands said to exist in the New World."
"In choosing amongst my people," she continued, "pick out those youths who you think would be likely to volunteer for such an exploit."
"And when do we depart, lady?" inquired the steward.
"The day after to-morrow," said Clara.
And again the steward bowed, and then withdrew.