The tragedian needed no second invitation, but with a “There-what-did-I-tell-you!” expression of countenance accompanied William Shakespeare to the table by the window.
“This is my friend Burbage,” said the playwright to the brown and handsome Egyptians. “Not of much account as an actor, I am afraid, but without a superior in the handling of a tankard with a toast in it or in tossing off a cup of sack either before or after supper.”
Gervase and Anne rose from the table and bowed respectfully to the tall, grave and dignified tragedian who yet had a subtle light of humor in his eye.
Now the name of William Shakespeare was already familiar to Gervase. He had heard his kinsman speak of him with high approval. Moreover Gervase had sat on the stage at the theater and seen him perform in a number of his own plays. To be sure he was nothing great as an actor, but those who could judge of such things, his cousin Harry to wit, were of opinion that he was without a peer as a deviser of plays.
But whatever the man was or whatever he was not, in the estimation of Gervase he was undoubtedly a very agreeable follow. He had given them a delightful breakfast. He had regaled them with free and lively discourse. Also he had depicted the life of an actor—particularly of one who had the good fortune to be taken into the Lord Chamberlain’s Company—in most glowing colors. Nor had even this contented him. He had ended by making them a formal offer to join that famous band.
They should have clothes of a good style and quality; their cheer should be abundant; they should be comfortably housed and cared for; and during the first year of their apprenticeship they should receive a tester a day. The whole craft of the theater should be taught them; they should tread the boards of the Globe; and, with due diligence, upon a day they might hope to play before the Queen at Richmond or Greenwich.
It was an alluring prospect that the actor had painted with a lively and glowing fancy. And now that Burbage had seen these singularly attractive youths and had learned that Shakespeare had set his heart on securing them for the Lord Chamberlain’s Company, they had the tragedian’s wiles of speech to combat.
Gervase was tempted sorely. The hard life of the road was growing intolerable. Food was scarce, beds hard and often to seek; they were continually exposed to the weather in all its inclemency; they were haunted by a constant sense of peril. Should they exchange all this discomfort for the happier prospect that was now dangled before them?
It was a grave problem and one that called for much hard thought.
“’Tis the finest profession in the world,” said the tragedian, with the light of enthusiasm in his eyes, “and you, with your looks and address, are bound to rise in it. Twenty years ago I was by trade a carpenter, and as for Will here he was even less than that.”