A WARWICKSHIRE LAD [Illustration: Birthplace of Shakespeare] A WARWICKSHIRE LAD THE·STORY·OF·THE·BOYHOODOF·WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE by GEORGE · MADDEN · MARTIN Author of "Selina, " "Emmy Lou, " etc. [Illustration] D. APPLETON AND COMPANYNEW YORK LONDON MDCCCCXVI COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY P. F. COLLIER & SON, INC Printed in the United States of America LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Birthplace of Shakespeare _Frontispiece_ PAGE"Will clambered up on the settle to think it all over" 17 "Dad bends to tweak the ear of Will" 23 "'Ay, but those are brave words, Hammie, ' says Gammer" 35 "'Save us! What's that!' cried Gammer" _facing page_ 40 "'Ay, boy, you shall see the players'" 45 "'An' I shall be a player, too, ' ... Says Willy Shakespeare" 53 "His mother stepping now and then to the lattice window" 57 "Bound for Grandfather's at Snitterfield they were" 67 "For instance he knew one Bardolph ... The tapster at the tavern" 73 "Hidden away among the willows ... He spends the morning" 79 "The two have run away ... To wander about the river banks" _facing page_ 86 "He ... Trudged up the path and peered in at the open door" 89 "'When the masterful hand, groping, seizes mine, I shall know it'" 93 "This strange thing called Death.... " _facing page_ 98 "Dad ... Sat staring in moody silence" 101 "Tall, sturdy Will Shakespeare could buy up cattle ... As well as the butcher's son" 109 A WARWICKSHIRE LAD I Little Will Shakespeare was going homeward through the dusk from GammerGurton's fireside. He had no timorous fears, not he. He would walkproudly and deliberately as becomes a man. Men are not afraid. YetGammer had told of strange happenings at her home. A magpie had flownscreaming over the roof, the butter would not come in the churn, an' astrange cat had slipped out afore the maid at daybreak--a cat without atail, Gammer said-- Little Will quickened his pace. Dusk falls early these December days, and Willy Shakespeare scurryingalong the street is only five, and although men are not afraid yet---- So presently when he pulls up he is panting, and he beats against thestubborn street door with little red fists, and falls in at its suddenopening, breathless. But Mother's finger is on her lips as she looks up from her low chair inthe living-room, for the whole world in this Henley Street householdstands still and holds its breath when Baby Brother sleeps. Brought upshort, Will tiptoes over to the chimney corner. Why will toes stump whenone most wants to move noiselessly? He is panting still too with hishurrying and with all he has to tell. "She says, " begins Will before he has even reached Mother's side and hiswhisper is awesome, "Gammer says that Margery is more than any ailin', she is. " Now chimney corners may be wide and generous and cheerful with theirblazing log, but they open into rooms which as night comes on grow bigand shadowy, with flickers up against the raftered darkness of theceilings. Little Will Shakespeare presses closer to his mother's side. "She says, Gammer does, she says that Margery is witched. " Now Margery was the serving-maid at the house of Gammer Gurton'sson-in-law, Goodman Sadler, with whom Gammer lived. Mother at this speaks sharply. She is outdone about it. "A pretty talefor a child to be hearing, " she says. "It is but a fearbabe. I wonder atGammer, I do. " And turning aside from the cradle which she has been rocking, she liftssmall Will to her lap, and he stretching frosty fingers and toes alltingling to the heat, snuggles close. He is glad Mother speaks sharplyand is outdone about it; somehow this makes it more reassuring. "Witched!" says Mother. "Tell me! 'Tis lingering in the lane after darkwith that gawky country sweetheart has given her the fever that herbetters have been having since the Avon come over bank. A wet autumn ismore to be feared than Gammer's witches. Poor luck it is the lubberfolkaren't after the girl in truth; a slattern maid she is, her hearthunswept and house-door always open and the cream ever a-chill. Thebrownie-folk, I promise you, Will, pinch black and blue for less. " Mother is laughing at him. Little Will recognizes that and smiles back, but half-heartedly, for he is not through confessing. "I don't like to wear it down my back, " says he. "It tickles. " "Wear what?" asks Mother, but even as she speaks must partly divine, for a finger and thumb go searching down between his little nape and thecollar of his doublet, and in a moment they draw it forth, a bit ofwitches' elm. "Gammer, she sewed it there, " says Will. A little frown was gathering between Mother's brows, which was makingsmall Willy Shakespeare feel still more reassured and comfortable, whensuddenly she gave a cry and start, half rising, so that he, startledtoo, slid perforce to the floor, clinging to her gown. Whereupon Mother sank back in her chair, her hand pressed against thekerchief crossed over her bosom, and laughed shamefacedly, for it hadbeen nothing more terrible that had startled her than big, purringGraymalkin, the cat, insinuating his sleek back under her hand as hearched and rubbed about her chair. And so, sitting down shamefacedly, she gathered Will up again and called him goose and little chuck, as ifhe and not she had been the one to jump and cry out. But he laughed boisterously. The joke was on Mother, and so he laughedloud, as becomes a man when the joke is on the women folk. "Ho!" said Will Shakespeare. "Sh-h-h!" said Mother. But the mischief was done and Will must get out of her lap, for littleBrother Gilbert, awakened, was whimpering in the cradle. Will clambered up on the settle to think it all over. Mother had startedand cried out. So after all was Mother afraid too? Of--of things? Hadshe said it all to reassure him? The magpie had flown screaming over thehouse for he had seen it. So what if the rest were true--that the cat, the cat without the tail stealing out at daybreak, had been--what Gammersaid--a witch, weaving overnight her spell about poor Margery? He knewhow it would have been; he had heard whispers about these things before;the dying embers on the hearth, the little waxen figure laid to meltthereon, the witch-woman weaving the charm about--now swifter, fastercircling--with passes of hands above. [Illustration: "Will clambered up on the settle to think it all over"] Little Will Shakespeare, terrified at his own imaginings, clutchedhimself, afraid to move. Is that only a shadow yonder in the corner, nowcreeping toward him, now stealing away? What is that at the pane? Is it the frozen twigs of the old pippin, orthe tapping fingers of some night creature without? Will Shakespeare falls off the settle in his haste and scuttles toMother. Once there, he hopes she does not guess why he hangs to her soclosely. But he is glad, nevertheless, when the candles are brought in. II But these things all vanish from mind when the outer door opens and Dadcomes in stamping and blowing. Dad is late, but men are always late. Itis expected that they should come in late and laugh at the women whochide and remind them that candles cost and that it makes the maid testyto be kept waiting. Men should laugh loud like Dad, and catch Mother under the chin and kissher once, twice, three times. Will means to be just such a man when hegrows up, and to fill the room with his big shoulders and bigger laughas Dad is doing now while tossing Brother Gilbert. He, little Will, hewill never be one like Goodman Sadler, Gammer's son-in-law, with a lean, long nose, and a body slipping flatlike through a crack of the door. And here Dad bends to tweak the ear of Will who would laugh noisily ifit hurt twice as badly. It makes him feel himself a man to wink backthose tears of pain. [Illustration: "Dad bends to tweak the ear of Will"] "A busy afternoon this, Mary, " says Dad. "Old Timothy Quinn from outWelcombe way was in haggling over a dozen hides to sell. Then Burbagewas over from Coventry about that matter of the players, and kept me sothat I had to send Bardolph out with your Cousin Lambert to Wilmcote tomark that timber for felling. " Now for all Master Shakespeare's big, off-hand mentioning thus of facts, this was meant for a confession. Mary Shakespeare had risen to take the crowing Gilbert, handed back toher by her husband, and with the other hand was encircling Will, holdingto her skirt. She was tall, with both grace and state, and there was achestnut warmth in the hair about her clear, white brow and nape, and inthe brown of her serene and tender eyes. These eyes smiled at JohnShakespeare with a hint of upbraiding, and she shook her head at himwith playful reproach. Little Will saw her do it. He knew too how to interpret such a look. HadFather been naughty? "You are not selling more of the timber, John?" asked Mother. "Say the word, Mistress Mary Arden of the Asbies, " says Father grandly, "and I stop the bargain with your Cousin Lambert where it stands. 'Tisyours to say about your own. Though nothing spend, how shall a man liveup to his state? But it shall be as you say, although 'tis for you andthe boy. He is the chief bailiff's son--his Dad can feel he has givenhim that, but would have him more. I have never forgot your people felttheir Mary stepped down to wed a Shakespeare. I have applied to theHerald's College for a grant of arms. The Shakespeares are as good asany who fought to place the crown on Henry VII's head. But it shall bestopped. The land and the timber on it is Mistress Mary Shakespeare's, not mine. " But Mary, pushing little Will aside clung to her husband's arm, and thewarmth in her tender eyes deepened to something akin to yearning as theylooked up at him. With the man of her choice, and her children--withthese Mary Shakespeare's life and heart were full. There was no room forambition for she was content. Had life been any sweeter to her as MaryArden of the Asbies, daughter of a gentleman, than as Mary Shakespeare, wife of a dealer in leathers? Nay, nor as sweet! But she could not make her husband see it so. Yet--and she looked up athim with a sudden passion of love in that gaze--it was this big, sanguine, restless, masterful spirit in him that had won her. From thenarrow, restricted conditions of a provincial gentlewoman's life, shehad looked out into a bigger world for living, through the eyes of thismasterful yeoman, his heart big with desire to conquer and ambition toachieve. Was her faith in his capacity to know and seize the essentialin his venturing, less now than then? Never, never--not that, not that! "Do as you will about it, John, " begs Mary, her cheek against his arm, "only--is it kind to say the land is mine? We talked that all out once, goodman mine. Only this one thing more, John, for I would not seem everto carp and faultfind--you know that, don't you?--but that Bardolph----" "He's a low tavern fellow, I allow, Mary--of course, of course. I knowall you would say--his nose afire and his ruffian black poll ever beingbroken in some brawl, but he's a good enough fellow behind it, anduseful to me. You needs must keep on terms with high and low, Mary, tohold the good will of all. That's why I am anxious to arrange thismatter with Burbage to have the players here, if the Guild willconsent----" "Players?" says Will, listening at his father's side. "What areplayers?" "Tut, " says Dad, "not know the players! They are actors, Will--players. Hear the boy--not know the players!" But Mother strokes his hair. "When I told you a tale, sweet, this verymorn, you went to playing it after. I was the Queen-mother, you said, outside the prison walls, and you and Brother were the little Princesin the cruel tower, and thus you played. You stood at the casement, twogentle babes, cradling each other in your arms, and called to me below. So with the players, child, they play the story out instead of tellingit. But now, these my babes to bed. " III The next day things seem different. One no longer feels afraid, whilethe memory of Gammer's tales is alluring. Will remembers, too, thatgreens from the forest were ordered sent to the Sadlers for the makingof garlands for the Town Hall revels. Small Willy Shakespeare slippedoff from home that afternoon. Reaching the Sadlers, he stopped on the threshold abashed. Theliving-room was filled with neighbors come to help--young men, girls, with here and there some older folk--all gathered about a pile ofgreens in the center of the floor, from which each was choosing his bit, while garlands and wreaths half done lay about in the rushes. But, though his baby soul dreams it not, there is ever a place andwelcome for a chief bailiff's little son. They turn at his entrance, andMistress Sadler bids him come in; her cousin at her elbow praises hiseyes--shade of hazel nut, she calls them. And Gammer, peering to findthe cause of interruption and spying him, pushes a stool out from underher feet and curving a yellow, shaking finger, beckons and points him toit. But while doing so, she does not stay her quavering and garrulousrecital. He has come, then, in time to hear the tale? "An' the man, by name of Gosling, " Gammer is saying, "dwelt by achurchyard----" Will Shakespeare slips to his place on the stool. Hamnet is next to him, Hamnet Sadler who is eight, almost a man grown. Hamnet's cheeks are red and hard and shining, and he stands square andlooks you in the face. Hamnet has a fist, too, and has thrashed thebutcher's son down by the Rother Market, though the butcher's son isnine. Here Hamnet nudges Will. What is this he is saying? About Gammer, hisvery own grandame? "Ben't no witches, " mutters Hamnet to Will. "Schoolmaster says so. Saysthe like of Gammer's talk is naught but women's tales. " Whereupon Gammer pauses and turns her puckered eyes down upon the twourchins at her knee. Has she heard what her grandson said? WillShakespeare feels as guilty as if he had been the one to say it. "Ay, but those are brave words, Hammie, " says Gammer, and she wags hersharp chin knowingly; "brave words. An' you shall take the bowl yonderand fetch a round o' pippins from the cellar for us here. Candle? La, you know the way full well. The dusk is hardly fell. Nay, you're notplucking Judith's sleeve, Hammie? You are not a lad to want a sisterat elbow? Go, now! What say you, Mistress Snelling? The tale? An' WillyShakespeare here, all eyes and open mouth for it, too? Ay, but he's therascalliest sweet younker for the tale. An' where were we? Ay, the fatwoman of Brentford had just come to Goodman Gosling's house---- [Illustration: "'Ay, but those are brave words, Hammie, ' says Gammer"] "Come back an' shut the door behind you, Hammie; there's more than a nipto these December gales. I' faith, how the lad drumbles, a clumsylob---- "As you say, the fat woman of Brentford, one Gossip Pratt by name, an' atwo yards round by common say she was, an' that beard showing on herchin under her thrummed hat an' muffler, a man with score o' years tobeard need not be ashamed of--this same woman comes to GoodmanGosling's, him as dwelt by the churchyard. But he, avised about herdealings, sent her speedily away, most like not choosing his words, himbeing of a jandered, queazy stomach, an' something given to tongue. Foran hour following her going, an' you'll believe me--an' I had it fromhis wife's cousin a-come ten year this simple time when I visited mysister's daughter Nan at Brentford--his hogs fell sick an' died to thenumber o' twenty an' he helpless afore their bloating and swelling. "Nor did it end there, for his children falling ill soon after--apretty dears they were, I mind them, a-hanging of their heads to see astranger, an' a finger in mouth--they falling sick, the woman ofBrentford come again, an' this time all afraid to say her nay. An'layin' off her cloak, she took the youngest from the mother's breast, dandling an' chucking it like an honest woman, whereupon it fella-sudden in a swoon. "An' Goodwife Gosling seizing it, an' mindful of her being awitch-woman, calling on the name of God, straightway there fell out ofthe child's blanket a great toad which exploded in the fire like anygunpowder, an' the room that full o' smoke an' brimstone as nonecould--Save us! What's that!" cried Gammer. [Illustration: "'Save us! What's that!' cried Gammer"] What, indeed! That cry--this rush along the passageway! WillShakespeare, with heart a-still, clutches at Gammer's gown as therefollows a crash against the oaken panels. But as the door bursts open, it is Hamnet, head-first, sprawling intothe room, the pippins preceding him over the floor. "It were ahind me, breathin' hoarse, on the cellar stairs, " whimpersHamnet, gathering himself to his knees, his fist burrowing into hiseyes. Nor does he know why at this moment the laughter rises loud. ForHamnet cannot see what the others can--the white nose of Clowder, theasthmatic old house-dog, coming inquiringly over his shoulder, her tailwagging inquiry as to the wherefore of the uproar. But somehow, little Will Shakespeare did not laugh. Instead his cheeksand his ears burned hot for Hamnet. Judith did not laugh either. Judithwas ten, and Hamnet's sister, and her black eyes flashed around on themall for laughing, and her cheeks were hot. Judith flung a look atGammer, too, her own Gammer. And Will's heart warmed to Judith, and hewent too when she sprang to help Hamnet. Hamnet's face was scarlet yet as he fumbled around among the rushes andthe greens for the pippins, and this done he retired hastily to hisstool. But three-legged stools are uncertain, and he sat him heavilydown on the rushes instead. Whereupon they laughed the louder, the girls and the women too--laugheduntil the candle flames flickered and flared, and Gammer, choking overher bowl, for cates and cider were being handed round, spilled the drinkall down her withered neck and over her gown, wheezing and gasping untilher daughter snatched the bowl from her and shook the breath back intoher with no gentle hand. IV Meanwhile Will plucked Hamnet now blubbering on his stool, by thedoublet. But Hamnet, turned sullen, shook him off. Perhaps he did notknow that Will and Judith had not laughed. But since Hamnet saw fit toshake him off, Will was glad that just then, with a rush of cold air anda sprinkling of snow upon his short coat, Dad came in. His face wasruddy, and as he glanced laughingly around upon them all, he drew deepbreath of the spicy evergreens, so that he filled his doublet andclose-throated jerkin to their full. "Good-even to you, neighbors, " says Dad. "An' is it great wonder the boywill run away to hie him here? The rogue kens a good thing equal to hiselders. But come, boy; your mother is even now sure you have wandered tothe river. " And Dad, with a mighty swing, shoulders Will, steadying him with a palmunder both small feet; then pauses at Mistress Snelling's questioning. "Is it true, " she inquires, "that the players are coming?" Sandy-hued Mistress Sadler stiffens and bridles at the question. TheSadlers, whisper says, are Puritanical, whereas there are those whohold that John Shakespeare and his household, for all they are observantof church matters, have still a Catholic leaning. Fond of genial JohnShakespeare as the Sadler household are, they shake their heads oversome things, and the players are one of these. "Is it true they are coming?" repeats Mistress Snelling. "Ay, " says Dad, "an' John Shakespeare the man to be thanked for it. ComeTwelfth Day sennight, at the Guild Hall, Mistress Snelling. " "Am I to see them, Dad?" whispers small Will, his head down and an armtight about his father's neck as they go out the door. "Ay, you inch, " promises Dad, stooping, too, as they go under thelintel beneath the penthouse roof, out into the frosty night. The starsare beginning to twinkle through the dusk, and the frozen path crunchesunderfoot. On each side, as they go up the street, the yards about thehouses stand bare and gaunt with leafless stalks. "Yes, " says Dad. "Ay, boy, you shall see the players from between Dad'sknees. " [Illustration: "'Ay, boy, you shall see the players'"] And like the old familiar stories we put on the shelf, gloating thewhile over the unproven treasures between the lids of the new, straightway Gammer's tales are forgot. And above the wind, as it whipsscurries of snow around the corners, pipes Will's voice as they trudgehome. But his pipings, his catechisings, now are concerned with thisunknown world summed up in the magic term, "The Players. " V And Dad was as good as his word. First came Christmastide, with allMaster Shakespeare's fellow burgesses to dine and the house agog withpreparation. No wonder John Shakespeare had need of money to live up tohis estate, for next came the Twelfth Night revels with the mummers andwaits to be fed and boxed at the chief bailiff's door. And MaryShakespeare said never a word, but did her husband's bidding cheerfully, even gayly. She had set herself to go his way with faith in his power towrest success out of venture, and she was not one to take back herword. The week following, John Shakespeare carried his little son to see theplayers. "And was it not as I said?" Mother asked, when the two returned. "Didnot the child fall asleep in the midst of it?" "Sleep!" laughed Dad, clapping Will, so fine in a little green velvetcoat, upon the shoulder. "He sleep! You do not know the boy. His cheekswere like your best winter apples, an' his eyes, bless the rogue, areshining yet. An' trotting homeward at my heels, he has scarce had breathto run for talking of it. 'Tis in the blood, boy; your father beforeyou loves a good play, an' the players, too. " And Will, blowing upon his nails aching with the cold, stands squarelywith his small legs apart, and looks up at Father. "An' I shall be aplayer, too, when I'm a man, " says Willy Shakespeare. "I shall be aplayer and wear a dagger like Herod, an' walk about an' draw it--so----"and struts him up and down while his father laughs and claps hand toknee and roars again, until Mistress Shakespeare tells him he it is whospoils the child. [Illustration: "'An' I shall be a player, too' ... Says WillyShakespeare"] But for Will Shakespeare the curtain had risen on a new world, a worldof giant, of hero, of story, a world of glitter, of pageant, ofscarlet and purple and gold. And now henceforth the flagstoned floorabout the chimney was a stage upon which Mother and Brother and Kitty, the maid, at little Will's bidding, with Will himself, played a part; astage where Virtue, in other words Will with the parcel-gilt gobletupside down upon his head for crown, ever triumphed over Vice, in theperson of dull Kitty, with her knitting on the stool; or where, according to the play, in turn, Noah or Abraham or Jesus Christ walkedin Heaven, while Herod or Pilate, Cain or Judas, burned in yawning Hell. VI But as spring came, the garden offered a broader stage for life. TheShakespeare house was in Henley Street, and a fine house it was--toofine, some held, for a man in John Shakespeare'scircumstances--two-storied, of timber and plaster, with dormer-windowsand a penthouse over its door. And like its neighbors, the house stoodwith a yard at the side, and behind, a garden of flowers and fruit andherbs. And here the boy played the warm days through, his motherstepping now and then to the lattice window to see what he was about. And, gazing, often she saw him through tears, because of a yearning loveover him, the more because of the two children dead before his coming. [Illustration: "His mother stepping now and then to the lattice window... "] And Will, seeing her there, would tear into the house and drag her bythe hand forth into the sweet, rain-washed air. "An' see, Mother, " he would tell her, as he haled her on to the swardbeyond the arbor, "here it is, the story you told us yester-e'en. Hereis the ring where they danced last night, the little folk, an' here isthe glow-worm caught in the spider's web to give them light. " But something had changed Mary Shakespeare's mood. John Shakespeare, chief bailiff and burgess of Stratford, was being sued for an old debt, and one which Mary Shakespeare had been allowed to think was paid. Thereupon came to light other outstanding debts of which she had notknown which must be met. John Shakespeare, with irons in so many fires, seemed forever to have put money out, in ventures in leather, in wool, in corn, in timber, and to have drawn none in. And now he talked of amortgage on the Asbies estate. "Never, " Mary told herself, with a look at little Will, at toddlingGilbert at her feet, with a thought for the unborn child soon to addanother inmate to the household--"not with my consent. When the timecomes they are grown, what will be left for them?" She was bitter about the secrecy of those debts incurred unknown to her. And yet to set herself against John! Wandering with the children down the garden-path, idly she plucked a redrose and laid its cheek against a white one already in her hand. Akingdom divided against itself. She sighed, then became conscious of the boy pulling at her sleeve. "Tell us a story, Mother, " he was begging, "a story with fighting an' asword. " "A story, Will, with fighting and a sword?" Never yet could she say thechild nay. She held her roses from her and pondered while she gazed. Andher heart was bitter. "There was an Arden, child, whose blood is in your veins, who fought andfell at Barnet, crying shrill and fierce, 'Edward my King, St. Georgeand victory!' And the young Edward, near him as he fell, called to aknight to lay hand to his heart, for Edward knew and loved him well, andhad received of him money for a long-forgotten debt which young Edward'sfather would not press. So Edward called to a knight to lay hand uponhis heart. But he was dead. 'A soldier and a knight, ' said he who wasafterward the King, 'and more--an honest man. '" Then she pushed the boy aside and going swiftly to the house ran to herroom; and face laid in her hands she wept. What had she said in thebitterness of her feeling? What--even to herself--had she said? Yet money must be had, she admitted that. But to encumber the estate! She shrank from her own people knowing; she had inherited more of herfather's estate than her sisters, and there had been feeling, and herbrothers-in-law, Lambert and Webb, would be but upheld in theirprophecies about her husband's capacity to care for her property. Shewould not have them know. "Talk it over first with your father, John, "she told her husband, "or with your brother Henry. Let us not rushblindly into this thing. You had promised anyhow, you remember, to takeWill out to the sheep-shearing. " VII So the next morning John Shakespeare swung Will up on the horse beforehim, and the two rode away through the chill mistiness of the dawn, Willkissing his hand back to Mother in the doorway. Bound for Grandfather'sat Snitterfield they were. So out through the town, past the scatteringhomesteads with their gardens and orchards, traveled Robin, the stoutgray cob, small Will's chattering voice as high-piped as the bird-callsthrough the dawn; on into the open country of meadows and cultivatedfields, the mists lifting rosy before the coming sun, through laneswith mossy banks, cobwebs spun between the blooming hedgerows heavy withdew, over the hills, past the straggling ash and hawthorn of thedingles. And everywhere the cold, moist scent of dawn, and peep and callof nest-birds. [Illustration: "Bound for Grandfather's at Snitterfield they were"] And so early has been their start and so good stout Robin's pace, thatreaching the Snitterfield farm, they find everything in the hurly-burlyof preparation for sheep-shearing. So, after a hearty kissing by thewomenfolk, aunts and cousins, Will, with a cake hot from the bakingthrust into his hand, goes out to the steading to look around. AtSnitterfield there are poultry, and calves, too, in the byre, andlittle pigs in the pen back of the barn. Then comes breakfast in thekitchen with the farm-hands with their clattering hobnailed shoes andtarry hands, after which follows the business of sheep-washing, whichWill views from the shady bank of the pool, and in his small heart he isquite torn because of the plaintive bleatings of the frightened sheep. But he swallows it as a man should. There is a pedler haunting thesheep-shearing festivals of the neighborhood. The women have sent forhim to bring his pack to Snitterfield, and Dad bids Will choose a pairof scented gloves for Mother--and be quick; they must be off forStratford before the noon. Dad seems short and curt. Grandfather, his broad, florid face upturnedto Dad astride Robin, shakes his hoary head. "Doan' you do it, sonJohn, " says Grandfather; "'tis a-building on sand is any man who thinksto prosper on a mortgage. Henry and I'll advance you a bit. After which, cut down your living in Henley Street, son John, an' draw in thepurse-strings. " VIII But baby years pass. When Will Shakespeare is six, he hears that he isto go to school. But not to nod over a hornbook at the petty school--notJohn Shakespeare's son! Little Will Shakespeare is entered at King's NewCollege, which is a grammar-school. But, dear me! Dear me! It was a dreary place and irksome. At first smallWill sat among his kind awed. When Schoolmaster breathed Will breathed, but when Schoolmaster glanced frowningly up from under overhanging browslike penthouse roofs, then the heart of Will Shakespeare quaked withinhim. But that was while he was six. At seven, when the elements of Latingrammar confronted him, Will had already found grammar-school anexcellent place to plead aching tooth or heavy head to stay away from. At eight, a dreary traveling for him to cover did his "_SententiaePueriles_" prove, and idle paths more pleasing. At nine, he had learned to know many things not listed atgrammar-school. For instance, he knew one Bardolph of the brazen, fierynose, the tapster at the tavern. It was Bardolph who drew him out fromunder the knee and belaboring fists of one Thomas Chettle, anothergrammar-school boy, who had him down, behind High Cross in the RotherMarket. [Illustration: "For instance, he knew one Bardolph ... The tapster atthe tavern"] "In the devil's name, " said Bardolph, setting him on his feet, "withyour nose all gore an' never an eye you can open--what do you mean, boy, to be letting the like of _that_ come over you?" "That" meant ThomasChettle, his fists squared, and as red as any fighting turkey, held offat arm's-length by Bardolph. "Come over me!" cries Will, with a rush at Thomas, head down, for allhis being held off by Bardolph's other hand. "Who says he has come overme?" Now the matter stood thus. The day before, Will Shakespeare hadfollowed a company of strolling mountebanks about town instead of goingto school. And Thomas Chettle had told Schoolmaster, and he had toldFather. When Will reached home the evening before, Dad was telling asmuch to Mother and blaming her for it. "An' Chettle's lad admits Willhad ever rather see the swords an' hear a drum than look upon hislessons----" This Father was saying as Will sidled in. Will heard him say it. And soThomas Chettle had to answer for it. "Come over me!" says Will to Bardolph who is holding him off andcontemplating him, a battered wreck. "Come over me!" spitting blood anddrawing a sleeve across his gory countenance, "I'd like to see him doit!" Will Shakespeare was not one to know when he was beaten. IX A year or two more, and school grew more irksome. Father fumed, andMother sighed and drew Will against her knee whereon lay new littleSister Ann while little Sister Joan toddled about the floor. "Canst notseem to care for your books at all, son?" Mother asked, brushing Will'sred brown hair out of his eyes. "Canst not see how it frets Father, whowould have his oldest son a scholar and a gentleman?" He meant to try. But hadn't Dad himself let him off one day to trampat heels after him and Uncle Henry in Arden Forest? Will Shakespeare ateleven is a sorry student. There comes a day when he is a big boy near thirteen years old. It is atime when the soft, hot winds of spring and the scent and the pulse ofgrowing things get in the blood, and set one sick panting for the woodsand the feel of the lush green underfoot and the sound of running water. Not that Will Shakespeare can put it into words--he only knows that whenthe smell of the warm, newly turned earth comes in at the schoolroomwindow and the hum of a wandering bee rises above the droning of thelesson, he lolls on the hacked and ink-stained desk and gazes out atthe white clouds flecking the blue, and all the truant blood in hissturdy frame pulls against his promises. Then at length comes a day when the madness is strong upon him and hehides his books, his Cato's _Maxims_, or perchance his _ConfabulationesPueriles_, under the garden hedge, and skirting the town, makes his wayalong the river. And there, hidden among the willows and green aldersand rustling sedge, he spends the morning; and when in the heat of theday the fish refuse to nibble, he takes his hunk of bread out of hispocket and lies on his back among the rushes, while lazy dreams flitacross his consciousness as the light summer clouds rock mistily acrossthe blue. [Illustration: "Hidden among the willows ... He spends the morning"] And, the wandering madness still upon him, in the afternoon he skirtsabout and tramps toward Shottery. It is no new thing to go to Shotterywith or without Mother for a day at the Hathaways'. There always hasbeen rebellion in the blood of Will Shakespeare, and there is a slender, wayward, grown-up somebody at Shottery who understands. Ann Hathaway hasstayed often in Stratford with the Shakespeare household. Mother lovesAnn; Father teases and twits her; the young men, swains and would-besweethearts, swarm about her like bumblebees about the honeysuckle atthe garden gate. And when she is there, Will himself seldom leaves her side. He has oftbeen a rebellious boy, whereat Mother has sighed and Father has sworn;but Ann, staying with them, and she alone, has laughed. She hasunderstood. And there have been times when this tall brown-haired young person hasseized his hand, as if she too had moments of rebellion, and the twohave run away--away from the swains and the would-be sweethearts, theLatin grammar and the scoldings, to wander about the river banks and thelanes. [Illustration: "The two have run away ... To wander about the riverbanks. "] X So this afternoon Will tramped off to Shottery. There was aconsciousness in the back of his mind of wonderful leafiness andembowering, of vines and riotous bloom about Ann's home. He opened thewicket and trudged up the path, and peered in at the open door. Ann, within the doorway, saw him. She looked him in the eye, then up at thesun yet high in the sky, and laughed. And he knew she understoodit--truancy. [Illustration: "He ... Trudged up the path and peered in at the opendoor"] Perhaps she understood more than the fact, perhaps she understood thefeeling. She threw her work aside, needle stuck therein, and clapped awide straw hat upon her head and taking his hand dragged him down thepath and out the gate and away--along the Evesham road. But she lectured him nevertheless, this red-cheeked boy with the full asyet undisciplined young mouth and the clear, warm hazel eyes. "You tell me that I, too, throw my work down and run away? Ay, Will, there's that hot blood within me that sweeps me out every now and thenfrom within tame walls and from stupid people, and makes me know it istrue, the old tale of some wild, gypsy blood brought home by a soldierHathaway for wife. But there is this difference, if you please, sir;I throw down my work because I have fought my fight and conquered it, ammistress of what I will in my household craft. Think you that I love themolding of butter and the care of poultry, or to spin, to cut, to sew, because I do them and do them well? It is not the thing I love, Will--itis in the victory I find the joy. I would conquer them to feel my power. Conquer your book, Will, stride ahead of your class, then play your filltill they arrive abreast of you again. But a laggard, a stupid, or amiddling! And, in faith, the last is worst. " They walked along, boy and young woman, she musing, he looking up withyoung ardor into her face. "You--you are so beautiful, Ann, " the boyblurted forth, "and--and--no one understands as you do. " She laid a hand on his shoulder and turned her dark eyes upon him. Teasing eyes they could be and mocking, yet sweet, too. Ah, sweet andtender through their laughter! "Shall I tell you why I understand, Will Shakespeare, child?" Was shetalking altogether to the boy, or above his head--aloud--as to herself?"I am a woman, Will, and at nineteen most such are already wife andmother, and I am still unwed. Shall I tell you why? We are but soulswandering and lonely in the dark, Will, other souls everywherearound, but scarce a groping hand that ever meets or touches ouroutstretched own. In all life we feel one such touch, perchance, or two. The rest we know no more than if they were not there. My father, great, simple, countryman's soul, I knew, Will, and Mary Shakespeare I know. Would she might learn she could do more with John through laughter, dearheart; but the right is ever stronger with Mary than the humor of thething. My father and Mary I have known. And you, you I knew when in yourrage you fell upon the maid, baby that you were at five, and beat herwith your fists because she wantonly swept your treasures--a rosepetal, a beetle wing, a pebble, a feather--into her kitchen fire. I knewyou then, for so I had been beating at fate my life long. I knew you, Will, and, dear child, always since I have watched and understood. Rebelif you will; be free; but to be free, forget not, is to be conquerorover that within self first. " Will caught her hand; he whispered; his voice burned hot with a child'sjealousy. "'Tis said you are to wed Abraham Stripling, Ann, an' that the foreigndoctor who wants to wed you, broke Abra'm's head with his pestle. " Ann Hathaway laughed; her eyes were mocking now; she backed againstthe lichened trunk of a giant elm by the roadside, a young, beauteousthing, and looked at the boy in scorn. "I to marry Abraham Stripling!Child though you are, you know me better than that. Did I not just tellyou I am free now--free? That I have held fast to my duty, and so cometo where I might be free? Have held them at bay--family, cousins, elders, sweethearts--until now, the rest married and gone, and the tasksas they gave them up come to be mine, my mother needs me, and my lifemay be my own--and free. For who has come to wed me? Did I not just sayI was--I am--free? A soul groping lonely in the dark? No man's hand hasreached toward mine that I, a woman and a weakling, could not shake off. When the masterful hand, groping, seizes mine, I shall know it, and I--Iwill kiss it with my lips--and--and follow after. " [Illustration: "'When the masterful hand, groping, seizes mine, I shallknow it'"] She came back to him as one from an ecstasy. "And now, child, go onhome. It is late. And hurry or Mary will be fretting. You have had yourcake and eaten it. Now go pay for it. 'Discipline must be maintained, 'says your Welsh schoolmaster. And sure he will flog you. " XI But no one at home had missed him. The Henley Street house was full ofhurry and confusion when he arrived. No one noticed him. The neighborscame in and out, Mistress Sadler and Mistress Snelling, and the foreigndoctor who would like to wed Ann, or passed on up to a room above, wherelittle sister Annie, named for Ann Hathaway, lay dying of a suddencroup. And all since morning, since Will stole away. He knows this thing called Life, this deep inbreathing, this joy ofshout, of run, of leap, of vault. He knows--strong healthy younganimal--he knows this thing. But the other--this strange thing calledDeath: the darkened room; Father with his head fallen on his breaststanding at the lattice gazing out at nothing; Mother kneeling, one armoutstretched across the bed, her head fallen thereon, and MistressSadler trying to raise and lead her away; and this--this waxen whitenessframed in flaxen baby rings on the pillow--this little stiffening handoutside the linen cover? Will Shakespeare cries out. He has touched little sister Annie's handand it is cold. [Illustration: "This strange thing called Death.... "] XII And after that, things went worse in the Shakespeare household. All ofJohn Shakespeare's ventures were proving failures. Debt pressed on everyside. There began talk again of a mortgage on the Asbies estate, andthis time none could say nay. Dad went about with his head sunk on his breast, and at home sat staringin moody silence. [Illustration: "Dad ... Sat staring in moody silence"] "Don't, Mary, don't, " he would say to Mother, putting her hand on hisshoulder. "Take the children away. Instead of the name their fatherwould have left them, 'John Shakespeare, Gentleman, ' they are to readit--what?" "John, John, " said Mother, "is there no more then in it all--our love, our lives--than pride?" Pride! Will Shakespeare by now knew what it meant, and his heart wentout to his father. He had felt the sting of this thing himself. It hadbeen the year before. Dad had taken him behind him on his horse toKenilworth, to see the masks and fireworks given by the Earl ofLeicester in the Queen's honor. The gay London people come down with thecourt had sat in stands and galleries to witness the spectacle of thewater pageant, breathing their perfumed breath down upon the countrypeople crowding the ground below. And Will Shakespeare among these, atsight of the great Queen, had cheered with a lusty young throat andthrown his cap up with the rest. Will Shakespeare was the once chiefbailiff's son. He was the son of Mary Arden of the Asbies. Though henever had thought about it one way or another, he had always knownhimself as good as the best. And so at Kenilworth, standing with the crowd and looking up at thejeweled folk in fine array casting their jokes and gibes down at thetrammel, he had laughed, too, as honest as any. But when the time camefor the water pageant, Dad had given him a lift up and a boost to thebranches of a tree. And he had heard what she said, the lady upon whomhe had from the first fixed his young gaze, the dark lady, with thejewels in her dusky hair, breathing lure and beauty and glamour. As hestraddled the limb of his high perch that brought him so near her, heheard her cry out, her head thrown backward on her proud young throat:"Ah, the little beast, bringing the breath of the rabble up to ournostrils. " And it was something like to what burned in young Will Shakespeare'ssoul then that Dad was feeling now. Will, big boy that he was, laid ahand on Dad's hand. Father looked up; their eyes met. Dad threw an arm about his shoulder and drew him close--father and son. Something passed from the older to the younger. The boy squared hisshoulders. The man in Will Shakespeare was born. How best could he help Dad? So the lad pondered, meanwhile digging thesense piecemeal out of his _Ovid_ for the morrow's lesson. "_It is the mind that makes the man, and ourstrength--measure--vigor_"--any one of the three words would do--"_ourmeasure is in our immortal souls_. " Why--why is there truth in books? Had Ovid lived and been a man, a manwho knew and fought it out himself? Will Shakespeare caught sight of a great and glorious kingdom he had notvisioned before. The schoolmaster hitherto had talked in riddles. XIII Yet a year after this Will Shakespeare, just awakened to a love ofletters, threw his books down. Mother's brown hair, as she leaned overher new child, Edmund, showed lines of gray. Dad, the day's trade over, sat brooding at home, and scarce would hie him forth, the fear ofprocess for debt hanging over him. Tall sturdy Will Shakespeare could buy up cattle and trade for hides aswell as the butcher's son in Rother Market. Will Shakespeare threw downhis books and went forth into the world--a man. [Illustration: "Tall, sturdy Will Shakespeare could buy up cattle ... Aswell as the butcher's son"] A man? A man, yes; once his stripling days of hot blood are over, daysof rustic rout, of fight and wrestle, of deer-stealing, of wanderingswith strolling players; a man, husband to Ann Hathaway, father ofchildren, son of Mary Arden of the Asbies, Gentlewoman--of JohnShakespeare, failure, who would be Gentleman; a man, this WilliamShakespeare, gone up to London to do a part in the world. In the world?This world wherein all is gain and nothing loss, does one but make itso; all is garnering; all is treasure; all, if so one deem it, ispageant, poetry, and drama; the rustic, the maid, the gammer, thetapster, the schoolboy, the master; the lubberfolk, the witch, thefairy, the elf, the goblin; the fat woman of Brentford, the man dwellingby the churchyard, Snelling, Sadler, Bardolph, Clowder, the old dog; themummer, the wait, the revel, the cates and ale, the player strutting thestage as Herod; the sheep-shearing, the pedler, the glove; the whiterose and the red; the Princes in the tower; St. George and victory;king, knight, soldier; the Avon sweetly flowing in its banks; theforest; the clouds rocking across the blue; stripling; the foreigndoctor; queen, courtier, lady; love, life, death; hope, struggle, despair; pride, ambition, failure; vision, striving, achievement;wisdom, philosophy, contemplation; into the world where all is gain andnothing loss, does one make it so, went William Shakespeare ofStratford, to conquer.