CHAPTER LVIII.
STRATFORD AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD.
After absence from a well-known locality how fresh and verdant seems every spot there. The mind which has dwelt, again and again, upon every nook and corner, unmarked perhaps and unappreciated whilst in the neighbourhood, becomes enamoured absolutely of trivialities and trifles. How well doth the exile, eating the bitter bread of banishment, perhaps breathing the hot air of the tropics, many, many thousand leagues from the quiet village in which he first drew breath—how well doth he recollect, and dwell with fondness upon each street or lane of the village suburb, the school-boy spot, the home the wanderer longs for with an undying desire!
And if such be the case, how anxiously, and even sadly, do we think upon those relatives and friends domesticated in the far-away home, and see them in their old-accustomed places. Relations so dear and friends so esteemed, yet, perhaps, never again to be met with in life, and therefore more cherished in our thoughts.
And Shakespeare had oft-times felt this anxiety during the time his self-exile lasted. In his own mind he had resolved that, until he had "name and fame," he had "nothing at Stratford." Those dearly loved friends should not again look upon the unthrift younker; and unless the man redeemed the courses wild of the youth, he would no more return.
How far he had already succeeded our readers have seen; and even the little world of Stratford began to feel pride in him they had before so lightly regarded.
Master William Shakespeare, it was affirmed amongst the wise-acres of the Falcon Inn, had indited two several poems, some said three, of such exceeding merit, that they had afforded exceeding delight to the grandees and gallants of Elizabeth's court. Sonnets, too, innumerable, had fallen amongst the fair dames of the palace, like the perfumed flowers blown by the sweet south.
Nay, William Shakespeare was said to be a favourite with the Queen herself. Two plays he had also produced—plays of most exquisite fancy. The Adonis of the Court,—the "wealthy-curled darling of the land," the favourite Essex, was his personal friend. My Lord Southampton his patron. And more than this, than these, than all, William Shakespeare had made money, thriven, purchased property, become a proprietor of one of the theatres in London.
"'Fore Heaven, I wonder what made him ever go away from us?' said Master Mumble, the head-bailiff.