In this Memorial Building are many photographs and paintings of celebrated actors and actresses in Shakespearean rôles, as well as a very fine library. There is so much to be seen here—so much detail—that our friends only took a very hasty look about, and then went up into the tower to see the view. Stretched out below them, the quaint little town of Stratford and the lovely green meadows through which the Avon flows, made a very effective picture!
It was now late afternoon, and the sun was getting lower and lower. They did not feel like doing any more real sight-seeing, yet it was still too delightful out-of-doors to return to the hotel, so Mrs. Pitt, who always had some fascinating plan ready, suggested that they walk through the Weir Brake.
“What’s that, Mother? You never took us there!” exclaimed Barbara.
“Didn’t I? Well, I’ll show it to you, and I am sure you will like it, too,” their mother promised. “Come on! We’ll cross this little foot-bridge, and go along the opposite bank.”
The view of Holy Trinity Church from across the river is very charming. The luxuriant foliage almost hides it except for the old gray spire, which rises most gracefully above the tree-tops. They strolled happily along over the rough field, Betty stopping sometimes to gather a few attractive blossoms to add to her bunch of wildflowers. The light was wonderfully soft and lovely, and the sun had gone down only to leave behind it a sky glorious in its tints of pink and lavender, with the deep blue still remaining above.
“Now, we’re coming to the Weir Brake!” announced Mrs. Pitt triumphantly. “Take care, Barbara! Don’t trip over that stump!”
They followed their guide over a stile, across a field where the smell of new-mown hay was sweet, through some bars, and finally along a narrow, rough path on a steep bank close to the Avon. This was the beginning of the Weir Brake, where Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway may perhaps have done their courting, as Mrs. Pitt suggested.
The Avon is narrow at this point, and flows rather swiftly. The sunset sky was reflected in its waters, which were overshadowed by willow trees, rushes, and ferns. On the bank was a tangle of underbrush and wild flowers, and above, the great trees,—the elms, of which Shakespeare so often speaks. As they rambled on and on, the trees seemed to grow larger, and more and more gnarled and picturesque.
“Oh! Can’t you just see Titania and Oberon and all the other fairies dancing here and playing games about these trees! It looks exactly like a stage-setting for ‘As You Like It’ or ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream,’” exclaimed Betty, who was fascinated with what she saw. The evening was just dark enough to produce a weird but beautiful effect of shadows under the elm trees.
“I’m rejoiced that it appeals to you so, Betty!” cried Mrs. Pitt. “That’s just as I always feel! It seems as though you could actually touch spots of which Shakespeare must have been thinking when he wrote certain passages. And it is a fact that he did often have this or similar places in mind; for, although the scene of ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ was supposed to be in Greece, Shakespeare allowed his characters and his entire background to be as absolutely English as he was himself. You know that in olden times, the Forest of Arden covered much of Warwickshire; even these old trees with which we are now surrounded, are remnants of that splendid woodland which is so familiar to us through Shakespeare. It was surely in just such a scene that Titania and the other fairies danced, and where Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and the rest came to practice their play,—those so-called Athenians, who were so exactly like Stratford tradesmen of Shakespeare’s day. Certainly it was under just such trees that Hermia, and Helena, Lysander, and Demetrius wandered!