CHAPTER XLIV.
THE BOAR'S HEAD IN EAST CHEAP.
Whilst London, and indeed all England, was thus aroused by this sound of deadly preparation, a gay and jovial party sat carousing in one of the apartments of an antique tavern in East Cheap.
They sat around a huge table situated in the centre of the apartment, and which was indifferently well furnished with savoury viands and generous wines; and a single glance sufficed to proclaim them the choice spirits of the tavern. Daring, reckless blades, companions who daffed the world aside, men heeding nothing, caring for nothing, dreading nothing, and to whom the spirit of the times was peculiarly delightful. They loved action, those revellers. Their lives were made up of the false fleeting excitement of some four hours' exhibition before the flickey foot-lights of a theatre. They were indeed actors all, but their vocation was over for the time amidst the excitement of the coming war.
And as they sat at supper at one of their old haunts, the Boar's Head in East Cheap, they aroused the neighbourhood with their revelry. Amongst them, however, was one whose voice in an instant caused attention. When he spoke their clamour ceased, and whilst some envied, others wondered at, and one or two even disliked (for amongst men of this sort there is ever a something of jealousy) all listened to and sought to catch his slightest remark. Nor was it at all surprising that such should be the case, for this man, who had joined their company, and become an actor about a couple of years before, had made an extraordinary impression upon them all. He had come amongst them a stranger, a fugitive, and in distress. He had taken the meanest, the most subordinate parts in the dramatic representations then performing; but his words, appearance, and manners had been instantly recognized as something uncommon.
Amongst those men, and whom he had accidentally, and as if by a sort of fate, at once fallen in with, were some who read character deeply and instantly, who caught peculiarities and appreciated talent at a glance.
Such then is the association in which we again, after a brief interval look upon Shakespeare. The actor's of Elizabeth's day—a jovial racy set—men who could play the parts assigned them in the inn yard, or with the hawthorn-bush for a scene, and trust to their own good acting and energy to keep their audience amused.
And these men had Shakespeare astonished by the genius and talents he possessed, whilst his conversation displayed the wildest sallies of fancy, the most brilliant wit, and the utmost depth of observation. In fact, he had become their oracle, their adviser, their leader. He had already altered and improved some of the rude scenes of their dramas, shewn them how to put them effectively upon the stage, taught them to suit the action to the word, and in short shewn a taste and genius for the profession that at once astonished and delighted all.
To many it will doubtless appear strange and startling thus to mark Shakespeare down to a period of our island history, which for stirring import had never been exceeded, to find him thus, with his companions of the theatre, on the eve of so terrific an encounter as was then about to take place "between two mighty monarchies," to behold him a living, breathing man, at a moment when all England was aroused to beat off the invader from her shores, or fall and perish miserably beneath the yoke.
The feeling of the thousands then in arms was as of one man; not an islander stood enranked with iron upon his breast, but owned a heart as brave and true as the weapon by his side; nay, every right arm felt a limb of steel, and each fist, as it grasped the rapier's hilt, was ready to rain its storm of blows upon the crests of the overweening Spaniard, and smite him dead upon the earth he came to invade. And such will it always be in "this sceptered isle."