Those guests who were apart from the sort of ordinary, or common table, were at the upper end of the room, and on either side the chimney. They carried on their conversation amongst each other, and were, for the most part, strangers to the town.

At one of the smaller tables, placed quite up in the corner of the room, were seated a party of four individuals, and two of them being natives of the town of Stratford-upon-Avon, our readers are already acquainted with.

This company consisted of Lawyer Grasp; a rich client, for whom he was professionally employed; a member of the Temple, with whom he was in consultation; and Master Doubletongue.

Besides these, there were also four or five other persons seated upon the long bench beneath the window, and they also carried on their occupation apart from either the guests at the supper table, or the other parties in the room. Some two or three were deeply engaged in play, rattling the dice and staking their coin with an eagerness equal to the absorption of their comrades who watched the game.

Such being the mixed nature of the a.s.semblage, as two fresh guests entered the room and made their way to the upper end of it, the conversation of the various parties formed a sort of confused jargon, very like the cross-reading of a modern newspaper.

Such as it was, it seemed greatly to interest the late arrivals, and, as they stood with their backs towards the fire-place, they lent an attentive ear, more especially to the conversation of Grasp and his small party, and a look of intelligence ever and anon pa.s.sed between them.

The table at which Grasp sat was covered with the produce of his eternal blue bag, and, as his quick moving fingers pointed to the various doc.u.ments and deeds, he held forth with his accustomed volubility whilst every now and then a roar from the table, or a dispute amongst the dicers, interrupted his dissertations.

"Here," he said to the Temple lawyer, "here we have the matter duly executed. And here," he continued, "I will prove our right."

"Stay," said the Temple lawyer, "if I remember rightly, there is no mention of this place in the Conqueror's survey."

"A fico for the Conqueror and his survey," cried Grasp; "trouble not yourself upon that subject; mark and perpend--from Geoffrey Clinton it descended to the Verduns in marriage with Leosceline, daughter of that same Geoffrey, as did also the manors of Brandon, and I take it--"

"On my word," roared a tall Alsatian-looking fellow at the long table, "I take it that this Romeus and Julietta, or whatever else 'tis called, is the most exquisite piece ever submitted to a crowned head."

"A pestilence seize Romulus and Julia," said Grasp; "how that fellow bawls. And now, sirs, that name Anselm de Clinton, of whom I was before speaking, was first enfeoffed thereof."

"Up with his heels then," cried one of the dicers, as he threw. "Play.

Ha! seven by Old Paul's. More sack, drawer!"

"The fiend sack those dicers," said Grasp, "marry and amen; as I was saying, good sir, by a mult.i.tude of testimonies I can prove--"

"A lie, knave, throw again." "Ha! ha!" roared another of the gamblers.

"They are certified to hold it," continued Grasp, "of that family by the service of half a knight's fee, and they of the Earls of Warwick. Now my client here--"

"A cheater, I'll be sworn. A murrain take thee!" cried another of the gamblers.

"But how said ye," inquired the Temple lawyer, "that you became opposed to this Arderne? Methinks, when I last consulted you, you were employed and trusted by him."

"At first, _only_ at first," said Grasp. "In virtue of my having informed him of his good fortune he did employ me,--entrusted me with management of his estates, and I did but eject--"

"Cheatery, villany!" cried the dicer. "I'll not restore a dernier."

"Pshaw," said Grasp, "I did but eject one or two of the poorer tenants, and put relatives of mine own into their holdings, when he ejected both them and myself. This, my good sir, I liked not, and, as upon careful examination I found one I thought more nearly related to the deceased, and the will distinctly says next of kin. I forthwith sought out my client; there now is our case."

"The case is a good case, an exceeding good case, and so I said from the first," said the Templar. "You have this Arderne fairly upon the hip, an he pay not he must to jail, unless you give him time."

"Not a day, not an hour," said Grasp; "we got a verdict in a former suit, and he shall incontinent to prison."

"Such is the law of a verity," said the Templar, emptying his gla.s.s, filling his pipe, and turning now to regard the guests at the ordinary, as they seemed getting up a dispute upon the subject of the play they had witnessed.

"I perfectly agree with you," said a person who sat opposite to the tall Alsatian, "in so far as regards the excellence of the play we have this night seen. But in respect of its newness to the world there I disagree."

"How?" cried the other fiercely, "dost mean to affirm that such exquisite portraits as that lady who loved the youth Romeo, that brilliant Mercutio, and that hot-brained Tybalt were ever drawn by mortal man before? Didst ever behold any thing so like reality as that loquacious, secret, obsequious nurse, or the little Peter who carried her fan? Didst ever--"

"Pshaw," said the other, "I quarrel not with your nurse, neither do I take exception at Peter,--what I say I will maintain with my rapier here or elsewhere. And thus it is: the subject-matter of that play is not new to the world. 'Tis manifestly constructed upon the novel of Italy, written by Luigi da Porto, a Venetian gentleman now deceased--gainsay that who will." And the student rose, drew up his tall form, twisted his mustachio, and looked fiercely around.

"We shall a.s.suredly have a riot here," said Grasp, looking up from the copy of a will he was perusing. "I like it not."

"Nay," said Doubletongue, "'tis but a controversy upon a play. I saw the greater portion of it myself, and came away to my appointment here.

'Twas but a paltry performance methought, full of bombast and fustian."

"Was it not then liked?" inquired the Temple lawyer.

"'Fore Heaven, I cannot answer for that," said Doubletongue. "I only know it liked me not."

"Methinks," said the Templar, "you are hard to please, good Master Doubletongue. Master Shakespeare is somewhat of a favourite here."

"Who, said ye?" exclaimed Grasp, looking over his gla.s.ses, and speaking with great rapidity. "Master Shakespeare--methinks I ought to know that name. Comes he from Warwickshire? Is he to be met withal? Canst tell me aught of Master Shakespeare? 'Fore Heaven, I have matter on hand with Master Shakespeare, an' his name be William, and he cometh from Stratford-upon-Avon."

"I pr'ythee settle one thing at a time, my good Grasp," said the London lawyer. "Permit me to glance at that testament you was perusing once more."

"Here 'tis," said Grasp. "Nay, you shall find that I do hear a brain; whoso trusts to Lawyer Grasp shall be--."

"Ruined, hip and thigh," cried one of the dicers, hurling the dice-box at the head of his opponent, whilst, at the same time the disputants at the ordinary being also pretty well flushed, a general riot immediately ensued, and swords being drawn the whole room became a scene of confusion.

The two guests who had last entered took advantage of this scene to press close upon the table at which Grasp and his party had been seated.

They were both clad in the costume of sea-faring men of the period, their sea-caps so completely drawn over their heads that their features were not discernible, though one appeared a slight youth, and the other a middle aged and powerful man.

As Grasp, in some alarm, seized upon his blue bag and withdrew more into the corner, the elder of the strangers, as if to keep from the fray, seated himself in the chair the lawyer had left, and whilst he puffed out huge volumes of smoke from his pipe, abstracted from amongst the papers the will the Templar had been perusing. Handing it then to his youthful companion, the latter seized a pen, and, un.o.bserved, wrote a codicil to it. He then restored it to its place, and as the riot increased and Grasp seized upon his papers and thrust them into his bag, the pair took an opportunity of withdrawing as quietly as they had entered.

CHAPTER LII.

THE PLAYER IN HIS LODGING.

All that Shakespeare had lately seen and gone through made considerable impression upon his mind. In the short period during which the national convulsion we have described was taking place, it seemed to him that he had lived whole years.

Those events, and the great men which the stirring times had produced, seemed indeed to have pa.s.sed before the poet, for the very purpose of finishing and perfecting the great mind of the man.

He sat himself down on his return to London, and, as he thought over the past experience of his life, such a chaos of bright thoughts and wondrous images presented themselves before and seemed to overflow his brain, that, at first, it seemed utterly impossible to turn them to shape.

Already had his "muse of fire" given him employment at various times, and even taken a dramatic shape; nay, the room he inhabited was filled with fragments--unfinished beginnings; and one or two of the novels of the period had been partially dramatized and then cast aside, after the inspiration which called them forth had, in other pursuits, been forgotten.

His avocations as a player had too frequently led him into scenes of revelry. His way of life was still desultory. He knew not his own value.

And whilst his brilliant wit and companionable qualities had kept him too much among the society of men in his own cla.s.s, he had failed to carry out any of his bright conceptions. His companions hunted him, haunted him, took him from his own thoughts, and dragged him, even when satiated with revelry, into more company; for what party was complete amongst them that had not in it _that one_--that "foremost man of all the world."

His poetry was beginning to be appreciated ere the national danger had fully occupied men's minds, and so fully employed them that all else for the time being was necessarily forgotten. He had written a poem peculiarly suited to the taste of the age, and which was greatly the fashion amongst the gay cavaliers of Elizabeth's Court. This he had dedicated to Lord Southampton, a n.o.bleman, whose acquaintance he had made on the boards of the theatre. Added to this, some sonnets, which had almost by accident found their way into circulation (for no man was more careless or thoughtless of his own works than William Shakespeare) were greatly admired. Nay, the Queen had been so much struck with one or two of them, that she had shewn favour to the poet; and spoken words of encouragement in his ear.