Walter Arderne, who felt that no a.s.semblage could be complete which wanted the presence of his friend, no hour enjoyed but in his company, had brought him again to Clopton, where he mingled in the scene, not so much a guest as a spectator. And yet unknown as unmarked, or, if regarded, perhaps but calling forth a pa.s.sing remark upon his good looks, how greatly did that youth feel himself the superior of all there, elevated as some of them were in station. The fineness and acuteness of organic sensibility made him alive to all the mighty world of ear and eye. Nothing escaped him; and yet feeling this within himself, and in strength of mind a demiG.o.d, in profundity of view a prophet,[3] he moved amongst the throng, as if unconscious of being more than the most una.s.suming servitor in attendance. Gentle and open in manner as a child.

[Footnote 3: Schegel's estimate of Shakespeare.]

The good Sir Hugh welcomed him to his house, and presented him to two of his oldest friends, as one to whom he owed much. "A goodly lad," he said, "and of exceeding promise; a ripe and ready wit, sirs. By 'r Lady, but he hath the knack of making me laugh till my face is like a wet napkin. Nay, and he inditeth rhymes, too, it would do you good to hear.

A poet, I'll a.s.sure ye, sirs, already, and a rare one, too. Go thy ways, lad; go thy ways. 'Fore Heaven we owe thee much, and hope to requite it."

"A young friend," said Arderne, to one of the ladies with whom he danced, and as he pointed the unconscious poet out to her, whilst standing at the lower end of the hall. "A young friend who, though in humble life, seems to me of somewhat extraordinary character, and in whom I am greatly interested. He unites in his genius the utmost elevation and the utmost depth; and the most foreign, and even irreconcilable properties subsist in him together. I cannot describe to you the delight I experience in the companionship of that youth." The lady glanced her eye towards the part of the hall indicated by Walter Arderne, as he mentioned his friend. It was but a glance, and she observed the person indicated. The words humble life was, however, quite sufficient to destroy all interest in the bosom of the beauty, for Clara de Mowbray (albeit she was both lovely and amiable) partook, in some sort, of the pride of her race. Added to this, she was the victim of an unrequited pa.s.sion, and save for the tall handsome form and expressive features of her partner, she had no eyes.

"I should have imagined, from all I have this night beheld," she said, "there was but one in this room, nay, in this world, who could take up even a moment of your care or thoughts, fair sir. This new-found friend must, indeed, be a rare specimen, if he can wean your eyes for a moment from Charlotte Clopton. But that, indeed," she added, with a sigh, "is as it should be; she is, I think, to-night more beautiful than ever!"

Walter sighed, and unconsciously his glance wandered in search of his betrothed. "You are a shrewd observer, lady," he said, looking full in her expressive face,--and indeed, except Charlotte Clopton, whose beauty was of a different character, Clara de Mowbray was one of the most beautiful women in the county. "You are a great observer, lady," he said, "and yet you have failed to observe how much your own beauty excites admiration from all present to-night. Nay, I am not blind myself, however much I may lie under the imputation with which you have charged me."

"To love is no such heavy sin, Sir Arderne," said the lady, "an if it were so, you would indeed require sufficing penance and absolution, since you are a very votary to the blind G.o.d."

"And she to whom my vows are given," he said, "is she not worthy of an emperor's love?"

"She is worthy of the love of him who seeks her hand," said Clara, somewhat sadly. "She is my dear and early friend, and I could not wish greater happiness to her than in that store. Unless the emperor were Walter Arderne, and the empire he inherited here in Warwickshire. I conclude Charlotte would scarce become an empress."

"You speak not this as you think," said Arderne, doubtfully, yet delighted at so much confirmation from one of the intimate friends of his beloved Charlotte.

"I speak as I feel," said Clara; "I know the worth of both, and how well both deserve; and yet methinks youth and valour should not altogether succ.u.mb to Cupid. Were I a man, I should seek for action and to be worthy in _deed_."

The youth gazed with increasing admiration upon the radiant face of the lady. He almost doubted whether its exceeding loveliness did not equal that of his betrothed.

"Ah," he said, gaily, turning towards his new friend, who at the moment approached, "give us a.s.surance, gentle Shakespeare, we that are in love; and teach this lady to respect the pa.s.sion."

Shakespeare looked full at the lady; he seemed struck with the beauty of her face and form. "Love, first learned in a lady's eyes," he said, gaily,

"Lives not alone immured in the brain; But with the motion of all elements, Courses as swift as thought in every power; And gives to every power a double power, Above their functions and their offices, Never durst poet touch a pen to write, Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs."

"That is indeed a singular being!" said the lady, gazing after the youth as he pa.s.sed through the crowd and quitted the room. "Who and what is he?"

"'Tis him of whom I just now spoke," said Arderne; "but come, let us seek Charlotte Clopton; I thought I saw her leave the room but now to seek the purer air of the gardens. I will tell thee more of our acquaintance with this youth as we go."

It was a bright and lovely night, and, with all the freedom and licence of the age, many of the younger guests had sought the pleasure-grounds and gardens of the Hall, whilst their more staid guardians and parents held converse within doors.

Here and there was to be seen a group seated or reclined upon the velvet turf, whilst others paced up and down the terrace, or disappeared and were lost in the dark walks, till the joyous strains of the orchestra within again recalled them to the dance.

If the quick eyes of love had enabled the lady Clara to observe the object to which Walter Arderne's thoughts were that night fixed, the same observation had failed in shewing her on whom the affections of her rival was centred.

Indeed, although Charlotte Clopton, both from her beauty and her position as the heroine of the night, was necessarily the observed of all observers, and her hand sought for by every cavalier in the room, those who looked closely at her might have observed a tinge of melancholy in her countenance, and a restlessness about her which shewed she was not in the enjoyment of her own content. To herself hardly dared she own it, as her restless glance traversed the room, but she felt that one minute's conversation with her romantic friend,--nay, one word, or but an exchanged glance,--would be worth all the gallant speeches she endured from the gayer cavaliers by whom she was surrounded.

This new friend, however, had not once approached her on that night. He had studiously kept in the background, and although he had, un.o.bserved, caught sight of her, he had even carefully avoided those parts of the room in which she was engaged with her various partners and friends.

Nay, the pleasure he experienced in the gay and festive scene, like that of the fair Charlotte, was tinged with an occasional melancholy; a soft and dreamy sadness mingled with the brighter thoughts called into play by the sight of beauty and the strains of music.

With such feelings he quitted the house, and pa.s.sed into the gardens of the Hall, those lovely grounds looking, as they did, so fair and soft, in the bright moonlight. And how often do we find it thus in life! How oft do we see the most worthy wending his way unnoticed, un.o.bserved, unappreciated, and unknown, whilst the giddy, the frivolous, the vain, and even the vile, are sunning themselves in the smiles of patronage and favour, playing their fantastic tricks, and swollen with the success their cringing falsehood has attained, whilst patient merit, scorning the rout, pa.s.ses on unsought.

The night, as Lorenzo words it, was but the daylight sick, "it looked a little paler." The youthful poet threw himself upon a gra.s.sy bank, shadowed by trees, and as the sounds of music crept upon his ears,

"Soft stillness, and the night, Became the touches of sweet harmony."

And what indeed were the thoughts and imaginings the scene and hour gave rise to?--Thoughts softened by the sweet breath of a summer's night, loaded with perfume, and bearing harmony from the distance. At such moment the mind reverts to days long past, or even revels in the fabled ages of the early world. In such a night as this,

"When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees And they did make no noise; in such a night, Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls And sighed his soul toward the Grecian tents Where Cressid lay."

And,

"In such a night, Stood Dido with a willow in her hand, Upon the wild sea-banks, and waved her love To come again to Carthage."

It was whilst Shakespeare remained thus sequestered and alone, and in the indulgence of the thoughts produced by such a situation, that the company had sought the gardens; and the walks, and alleys, the green slopes, and mossed banks, became suddenly peopled with bright forms, and which in a moment gave another and gayer aspect, and a totally different turn to the entire scene. The stillness, and the sweet touches of distant music, and which had so stolen upon his heart, was now changed to the sounds of laughter and loud conversation. In the shaded walks were now to be seen some tall form, clad in brave attire; his jewelled hat and gay plume bent down as he conversed with the lady at his side, and, in the open s.p.a.ce before him, the different groups lent a l.u.s.tre to the gardens which only gay costume and forms of beauty can give. As he remarked the scene before him, the joyous and sportive throng thus revelling in happiness,--the very heavens "thick inlaid with patinos of bright gold," he presently observed a dark and ominous cloud slowly and stealthily mounting, as it were, from the south. It seemed to emerge from the distant woods like a pall, and--as if emblematic of the short-lived days of mortals--gradually stole over one side of the heavens.

Yes, that flaunting throng was like the pleasures of the world. "Those clouds were like its coming cares." Whilst he watched their slow development, a light footstep approached, and Charlotte Clopton stood before him.

Was it his fancy, or was it that the silver brightness falling on the spot on which she stood, gave an ethereal appearance to the beautiful girl, a ghost-like and shadowy look, which, for the moment, struck him with a sort of awe? He arose from his rec.u.mbent posture, and, as he did so, he observed she was unusually pale. Nay, as he gazed upon that sweet face and form, he could not help seeing that it was with difficulty she kept herself from falling.

"I fear me, lady," he said, (struck with sudden alarm,) "you are not well?"

"A feeling of illness has indeed come over me," said Charlotte, "and which I cannot entirely shake off. I thought the air of the gardens would have taken it away, but it has not done so."

"Suffer me to lead you in," said Shakespeare, taking her hand, "perhaps some cordial will restore you?"

"Not so," said Charlotte; "I have sought this spot as I knew it was a favourite one with you. I felt you would be here, and that I must see you. I know not wherefore, but a presentiment of evil is upon me. I feel as if I spoke to thee this night for the last time."

There was a wildness in the manner of Charlotte Clopton, as she said this, which increased the anxiety of her admirer, and, as he saw that she was really suffering from some sudden feeling of illness, he again entreated her to seek the house. She, however, again refused. "I have sought this opportunity to speak to you," she said, "for I felt I must do so; nay, I feel as if I should die unless I unburthened myself to one I so highly esteem, one to whom I owe so much, one so n.o.ble and so good; nay, were it to any but to thee, (generous and sweet in disposition as thou art, William Shakespeare,) I should shame to say so much. But well I know that none can know thee and refrain from loving; can trust thee and repent."

To say that the youthful poet could hear this from a being so beautiful, and not forget all the resolutions he had previously made to subdue and conceal his pa.s.sion, would be to describe one of those over-perfect mortals existing only in the imagination of the prudish.

William Shakespeare was no such perfection of a hero; he had sought to quench his love's hot fire,

"Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason."

The intense feelings of youth, however, and which in after-life led him so forcibly to pourtray the pa.s.sion he felt, now completely overcame all his prudential resolves.

The being he had thought so much above him, and in secret loved, had confessed her feelings. He was instantly lost to every thing but his love for her. Its hopelessness, its seeming treachery towards his new and generous friend, all were forgotten as he gazed upon Charlotte and returned her vows. And yet, what was this love, so pure, so unselfish, so unlikely ever to meet with reward? It rather lacked, even at its commencement, the rapturous intoxication of hope, and seemed, even at the moment of its mutual confidence, to partake of the bitterness of certain disappointment.

Whilst the various groups had been enjoying themselves in the grounds, the heavens had become gradually overcast, till one entire portion was mantled with the darksome veil now rapidly extending; distant rumbling peals, too, like the sound of heavy ordnance from afar, and large heavy drops of rain, gave notice of the coming storm. This, together with the renewed sound of music, warned the revellers around again to seek the shelter of the Hall, and, as Charlotte Clopton heard her name called, the lovers too felt that they must part. Yet still they lingered, and had more to say.

The voice of Martin, however, calling upon Charlotte, who had now been suddenly missed from amongst the guests, and sought for in the house, recalled them to the necessity of separating. Their parting seemed a sad one, and although the feeling of illness Charlotte had previously felt had now partially left her, she still felt a sensation of langour and a weight upon her spirits she could not account for.

Her lover observed this, and that her cheek, ordinarily so full of bloom, was deadly pale, giving her dark brown tresses a still darker shade, and he parted from her with an ill divining soul.

In his present frame of mind Shakespeare felt no longer any desire to witness the gaieties within doors, and yet he found it impossible to tear himself away from the gardens. He loved to breathe the neighbouring air, and as he listened to the music, he tried to fancy her he loved still adding to the grace and beauty of the a.s.semblage.

Whilst he thus remained lost in his own thoughts, the threatened storm suddenly burst forth. The thunder crashed over head, and the lightning darted along the walks and alleys of the gardens, and then came the rain, rushing upon the earth like a cataract, suddenly bursting bounds.

These sounds were mingled with the tread of horses' hoofs as they clattered into the stable-yard, and then came a short and rapid word of command. A few minutes more and the music ceased; rapid and hurried footsteps were heard, as of guests suddenly departing, coupled with lamentations and sounds of alarm. The mirth of the a.s.semblage seemed suddenly to have been marred, and their good cheer spoiled, and such indeed was the case.

In the very midst of the revel, and whilst the festive cup was drained around to the health of Sir Hugh and his fair child, that child had again been seized with illness and fainted.