"It may be we will hear both," said the Queen, "but in truth Ess.e.x is hardly to be entrusted with command. His impetuosity requireth a bridle, my Lord, rather than a spur. He is the soul of chivalry, but rash as he is brave; and see you there now," she said, turning and looking after Ess.e.x, "I reproved him but with one word, and his choler is aroused even towards us, his benefactress."

The Queen turned now to a tall, gaunt, but exceedingly n.o.ble looking old man, his costume partaking both of the soldier and the courtier. "Sir Thomas Lucy," she said, "we have heard of your gallantry during the action with the Armada. We thank, in your presence, all those gentlemen of fair Warwickshire for their alacrity in fitting out ships, and their bravery in fighting them. We heard of you Sir Thomas, in the hottest part of the battle."

"And where your Highness shall ever find me when the foes of England are to be met," said the old knight, proudly, and at the same time rearing his head as he watched the progress of the royal Tudor, Presently, however, the countenance of Sir Thomas underwent a slight change, he seemed to start at some name her Majesty p.r.o.nounced. His pale iron-gray visage became flushed; nay, had Sir Thomas received an insult in the presence, the expression of his countenance could not have more instantly changed. Slowly and with contracted brows, his eyes rested upon the person Her Majesty was speaking to, and that, indeed, not five paces from where he himself stood. He was fixed--astonished. He could scarcely believe his eyes.

"What! Master Shakespeare," said the Queen, as her eagle-eye caught sight of the poet standing amongst a crowd of officials, "and so thou too hast come to Court? We have not ourself yet seen thy last poem--thy Tarquin and Lucrece, but Raleigh and Ess.e.x have repeated some pa.s.sages to us."

Shakespeare bent his knee and presented a small roll of paper to the Queen, which she received graciously, and after glancing at it, "'tis well," she said, "we will, good William, be present." She then gave the poet her hand to kiss and pa.s.sed through the door.

As Shakespeare rose from his knee he was immediately accosted and congratulated by the Earls of Ess.e.x and Southampton, whilst many others of the Court came about him.

Sir Thomas Lucy, meanwhile, continued to exhibit the utmost astonishment. The countenance of the poet he could hardly mistake. The name, too, he had caught the sound of, and in the person of one apparently on the most familiar terms with the grandees of Elizabeth's court, nay, one who was received with favour by the haughty Tudor herself, he saw the individual who had broke his park, stolen his deer, and decamped to avoid punishment for his offence.

Whilst, therefore, Shakespeare stood amidst the glittering throng, Sir Thomas still continued rapt in astonishment. Proud as he himself was, he felt (in common with all country squires), that removed from his own little domain, and transplanted into the wondrous world of fashion of London, he was but a "cypher in the great accompt." But a small mite indeed, helping to swell the grandeur of the court.

"A subst.i.tute shines brightly as a king Until a king be by, and then his state

Empties itself (as doth an inland brook,) Into the main of waters."

"A parliament member," he muttered to himself, as the lampoon kept recurring to his mind, and as he watched the courtiers, so interested and so joyous, whilst in the influence of Shakespeare's wit. "It must be him--I am sure it's him--I know it's him--A justice of peace," he muttered: "at home a poor scarecrow. And on such terms here at court too! In London an a.s.s," he continued, as he approached somewhat nearer, and took a more keen survey of the unconscious poet. "Yes, it is him sure enough; and yet--I'll make bold to make sure," and Sir Thomas accosted Sir Christopher Hatton, and inquired somewhat tartly, the name of the gentleman who seemed to keep the Lords Ess.e.x, Bacon, Leicester, and Sir Walter Raleigh, in such exceeding mirth.

"His name?" said Hatton, who was himself hastening to the feast of wit, "Why, it's our Shakespeare, man--The gentle Will--Knowest thou not Will Shakespeare, the very element of wit and pleasantry?"

"Shakespeare!" said Sir Thomas. "Shakespeare! Thank you. Sir Christopher. Shakespeare! the element of wit and pleasantry! And what may be the present calling of this element of whit?" he inquired.

"His calling; why, he's an actor, Sir Thomas--a poet, and a right good one. A player, sir, and a writer of plays; one, too, who keeps us amused.

"Oh!" said Sir Thomas, "'Tis so, is it? Good!--an actor--a mummer--a morisco."

"Come, Sir Thomas," said Sir Christopher, "I'll make him known to thee; I'll a.s.sure you he's a rare fellow, this Will Shakespeare."

"I thank you, la," said the knight truly. "I hold not acquaintance with mummers and wild moriscos. Farewell, Sir Christopher, I am away to Warwickshire. An a.s.s, quotha. Well, this 'tis to have deer, and parks, and warrens--this 'tis to be a player. The world's turned athwart.

Farewell, Sir Christopher, (he continued hurriedly to the dancing favorite,) fail not to come to Charlecote, we'll kill the buck there--eh?" And so Sir Thomas left the palace.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

SIR THOMAS LUCY IN LONDON.

The more Sir Thomas Lucy heard, during his sojourn in London on the subject that had so startled him at Court, the more he wondered.

It was but a few days after he had caught a glimpse of the Warwickshire lad, whom he had hunted from his native town, that he found the name of William Shakespeare in the mouths of almost all he met. That his name should be at all subject of conversation at this precise moment, was indeed astonishing, considering the habits and pursuits of the generality of the Londoners. The warm citizens of London were for the most part a staid and grave set. The more juvenile were rude and rough; fond of athletic sports and out-door pastimes. They loved to see the bear tug and hug the hound; to witness the cruel conflict 'twixt mastiff and monkey; to see the bull driven to madness; or to shout over the bout at quarter-staff. Added to these pastimes it must be owned, however, that the patience with which they could sit at a (so-called) theatrical exhibition, and listen to the long-winded orations, speeches, and mysteries then in fashion, and which had been handed from their more ignorant ancestors, was a perfect marvel; for except that the fool or clown uttered here and there a conceit, a theatrical exhibition was a weary business. Shakespeare, who had now spent some time, in a sort of apprenticeship, amongst the players, had already altered this style; and just before the invasion of the Spaniards, he had perfectly astonished the town by producing a piece of his own writing--a play, which, albeit in our own time it is in comparison but slightly regarded, possessed in Elizabeth's day peculiar attractions. This play, which was called Pericles, had greatly delighted the Court and the city. It in some sort partook of the style of production most suited to the taste of the time, and prepared the way for more perfect productions.

It is not therefore matter of so much surprise, that just at this precise moment, when the fierce revelry consequent upon the dispersion of the Armada was beginning to pall upon the "monster with uncounted heads," the circ.u.mstance of William Shakespeare being about to produce another play, should make some stir.

As Sir Thomas pa.s.sed through the Golden Chepe, he found, by the conversation of many whom he met, that the Queen intended to be at the Blackfriars Theatre that afternoon.

Now Sir Thomas had never in his life been inside a theatre in London. He had seen mysteries, mummeries, morris-dances, and Christmas revels in his own hall at Charlecote. But other sort of dramatic representation, in common with others of his cla.s.s, he had no conception of or care for.

"Diccon," he said to one of the attendants who walked behind him (for Sir Thomas always promenaded the town with half-a-dozen serving men at his back,) "What is this play we heard my Lord Keeper speaking of?"

"Marry, Sir Thomas, it is a play written, I be informed, by one Sampson Beakspere of this town."

"Ah," said Sir Thomas, "Beakspere, said ye? Art sure that is the name?"

"One cannot be sure of anything, an it so please ye, in this sink of iniquity," said Diccon, "where lying, thieving, and every sort of villany existeth in open daylight. Nay, one cannot be sure of finding one's throat hale and sound in the morning when one lays down at night.

By the same token, at the hostel where I lay, they cut off the badge containing the three silver pike-fish from all our sleeves."

"_Beak_speare," said Sir Thomas, merely glancing at the denuded coat sleeve of his head serving-man. "Art sure it is not _Shake_speare, Diccon?"

"I cannot tell your honour. Beakspere was the name I understood, but it may probably be Shakespeare. Nay, I should not be surprised even if it was the very fellow who stole your honour's deer and stuck up bills against our park-gates. Nothing is too bad for this town and the people in it. I would we were fairly back in Warwickshire."

Sir Thomas looked hard at his serving-man, so unusually talkative in his presence. "Amongst other things they do in this town, Diccon," he said sharply, "it seems they have taught you to drink more strong beer before breakfast than your brains can bear. Go to, sirrah; less circ.u.mstance when you answer." And the stately knight held his way along Chepe.

On this morning he was intending to pay a visit to an old friend residing at Dowe-gate, and afterwards to take boat, at Styll-yard, and cross over to Bank-side, there to see the bear-bayting, and accordingly his serving-men turned down Bucklersbury, traversed Canwick Street, and completely bewildered themselves in East Chepe.

These thoroughfares were somewhat strait and exceedingly intricate in Elizabeth's day, whilst the encroaching stories of the houses grazed the plumes on the tall knight's castor, as he walked, so much so that he was fain to hold down his head. By which proceeding he, ever and anon, run full b.u.t.t against some tall fellow or other, receiving such abuse as rather kept his philosophy from rusting.

"How now, thou mandrake, thou thin-faced gull!" said a tall man, dressed with great bravery, and who, accompanied by several others, was advancing from the water side; "how mean ye by that? Thou hast run thy hatchet visage full in my breast, and murdered my ruff, thou a.s.s!"

"I cry ye mercy, fair sir," said Sir Thomas, who was always the gentleman. "I am as ready to make amends, as I have unconsciously offended."

"Offended, quotha," said the gallant, as he stood pluming himself, like a bird, and pinching out his crushed ruff, which starched with yellow starch stood out a foot at least from his neck. "Thou hast murdered my ruff, I tell thee, and shalt duly answer it."

"Of a verity," said Sir Thomas, "an I have endamaged thy ruff I will pay thy laundress coin wherewith to re-stiffen it. An I have ruffled thine honour I will give the reparation with my rapier, always presuming thou art a gentleman of coat armour, and fit opponent for my poor person, for thy language, to say sooth, is foul, and thy manner coa.r.s.e even for this foul town."

"How speakest thou,--a gentleman and fit opponent for thee? Betake thee straight to thy weapon. Know I am a gentleman to the Earl of Leicester."

"Diccon," said Sir Thomas, sheathing his half-drawn rapier and stepping aside, "this is thy business. Tell this caitiff, that the language and behaviour of a menial should be at least civilized when he encounters a gentleman."

"Wilt not fight with me?" said the bully, who, together with his fellow, now rudely pressed upon the knight's party.

"Not willingly will I fight with a scavenger," said Sir Thomas, "the quarrel shall be a good quarrel, for I will fasten it upon the Earl thy master. I stand aside here--smite him, Diccon--well, Diccon--lay on my men all, and clear a pa.s.sage. I would pa.s.s on."

Upon this the followers of Sir Thomas threw the round targets they carried on their left arms, before their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and, spreading out over the whole width of the thoroughfare, drew their blades, and advancing upon the rude followers of the Earl of Leycester bore them back, so that Sir Thomas pa.s.sed on his way to the bear-bayting.

CHAPTER XLIX.

THE THEATRE OF THE BLACKFRIARS.

In our times the profession of an actor presents a picture of uninterrupted drudgery and discomfort. In Elizabeth's day such was not the case. There was not then that continual craving after novelty, that constant production of pieces, written for the hour and the topic of the day, which gives an actor no rest. In comparison to our own race of actors (excellent as many of them are for the sort of work they have to do,) the actors of Elizabeth's day were a company of magnificoes, "proper fellows of their hands," and "tall gentlemen in their own esteem."