Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

"For they shall yet belie thy happy years

That say thou art a man,"

is pressed by the Duke to own that his eye "hath stay'd upon some favour." Viola, who is enamoured of the Duke, punningly replies,-"A little, by your favour;" and being still pressed to describe the "kind of woman," she says, of the Duke's "complexion" and the Duke's "years." Any one who in the stage representation of the Duke should do otherwise than make him a grave man of thirty-five or forty, a staid and dignified man, would not present Shakspere's whole conception of the character. There would be a difference of twenty years between him and Viola. No wonder, then, that the poet should make the Duke dramatically exclaim,—

And wherefore?--

"Too old, by Heaven! Let still the woman take
An elder than herself: so wears she to him,

So sways she level in her husband's heart."

66

For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,

Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,
Than women's are."

The pathetic counsels, therefore, which Shakspere is here supposed to breathe in his maturer years, have reference only to his own giddy and unfirm fancies. We are of opinion, as we have before stated with regard to this matter, that, upon the general principle upon which Shakspere subjects his conception of what is individually true to what is universally true, he would have rejected instead of adopted whatever was peculiar in his own experience, if it had been emphatically recommended to his adoption through the medium of his selfconsciousness. Shakspere wrote these lines at a time of life (about 1602) when a slight disparity of years between himself and his wife would have been a very poor apology to his own conscience that his affection could not hold the bent; and it certainly does happen, as a singular contradiction to his supposed "earnestness in pressing the point as to the inverted disparity of years, which indicates pretty clearly an appeal to the lessons of his personal experience,"* that at this precise period he should have retired from his constant attendance upon the stage, purchasing land in his native place, and thus seeking in all probability the more constant companionship of that object of his carly choice of whom he is thus supposed to have expressed his distaste. It appears to us that this is a tolerably convincing proof that his affections could hold the bent, however he might dramatically and poetically have said,

"Then let thy love be younger than thyself,

Or thy affection cannot hold the bent:

For women are as roses; whose fair flower,
Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour."

The season is not the most inviting for a journey on horseback of more than

Life in 'Encyclopædia Britannica.'

thirty miles, and yet William Shakspere, with two youthful friends, must ride to Worcester. The families of Shakspere and of Hathaway are naturally desirous that the sanction of the Church should be given within the customary period to the alliance which their children have formed. They are reverential observers of old customs; and their recollections of the practice of all who went before them show that the marriage, commenced by the trothplight, ought not to be postponed too long. Convenience ought to yield to propriety; and Christmas must see the young housekeepers well settled. A licence must be procured from the Bishop's Court at Worcester. Fulk Sandells and John Rychardson, the companions of young Shakspere, substantial yeomen, will cheerfully be his bondsmen. Though he is a minor, and cannot join in the bond, they know that he will faithfully perform what he undertakes; and that their forty pounds are in no peril. They all well know the condition of such a bond. There is no pre-contract; no affinity between the betrothed; William has the consent of Anne's friends. They desire to be married with once asking of the banns; not an uncommon case, or the court would not grant such a licence. They desire not to avoid the publicity of banns; but they seek a licence for one publication, for their happiness has made them forget the lapse of time: the betrothment was binding indeed for ever upon true hearts, but the marriage will bless the contract, and make it irrevocable in its sanctity. And thus the three friends, after tender adieus, and many lingerings upon the threshold of the cottage at Shottery, mount their horses, and take the way to Worcester.

Fulk Sandells and John Rychardson (as the marks to the marriage-bond testify) were not lettered persons. But, nevertheless, they might have been very welcome companions to William Shakspere. The non-ability to write did not necessarily imply that their minds had not received a certain degree of cultivation. To him, who drew his wondrous knowledge out of every source -books, conversation, observation of character-no society could be wholly uninteresting. His genial nature would find objects of sympathy in the commonest mind. That he was a favourite amongst his own class it is impossible to doubt. His mental superiority would be too great to be displayed in any assumption; his kindliness of nature would knit him to every heart that was capable of affection - and what heart is not? and what heart is not? Unintelligible would he be, no doubt, to many; but, as far as it is possible to conceive of his character, he would be wholly remote from that waywardness which has been considered the attribute of genius-neither moping, nor shy, nor petulant, nor proud; affecting no misanthropy, no indifference to the joys and sorrows of those around him; and certainly despising the fashion through which

"Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness."

Assuredly the intellect of Shakspere was the most healthful ever bestowed upon man; and that was one cause of its unapproachable greatness. The soundest

LIFE.

2 T

King John, Act IV., Scene I.

273

judgment was in combination with the highest fancy. With such friends, then, as Fulk Sandells and John Rychardson, would this young man be as free and as gladsome as if they were as equal in their minds as in their worldly circumstances. To a certain extent he would doubtless take the lead; he must of necessity have been the readiest in all discourse in his own circle ;—the unconscious instructor of his companions; one that even age would listen to with reverence. To the young he would have been as a spirit of gladness lighted upon the earth, to make everything more bright and beautiful amidst which he walked. A sharp gallop over Bardon Hill shakes off the cold of the grey morning; and as the sun shoots a sudden gleam over a reach of the Avon, the young poet warms up into a burst of merriment which brings his friends in a moment to his side. He is full of animation. All the natural objects around furnish him with a theme. The lapwing screams, and he has a story to tell which is not the less enjoyed by his hearers because Ovid had told it before him; a hare runs towards them on the road, and he has a laugh for the superstition that ill-luck is boded-mingled with a remark, which is more for himself than his listeners, that "there is more in this world than is known to our philosophy." They hold their course gallantly on through Bidford and Salford; pausing a moment to look upon that fine old monastic house, which has become deserted since the dissolution of the abbeys. There were once state and

[graphic][merged small]

wealth within its walls. Its tenants are scattered or perished: and if some solitary nun shall still endure, she will at last find a resting-place amongst the poorest no requiem will be sung for her, such as she has heard sung for her sisters.

[graphic][merged small]

They rest for an hour or two at Evesham. Well known is that interesting town to William Shakspere; and he has many traditions connected with its ruined abbey, which have a deep interest even for those who look not upon such matters with the spirit of poetical reverence. Onwards again they ride through the beautiful vale, unequalled in its picturesque fertility. As they catch the first glimpse of the bold Malvern hills the young poet's eye is lighted up with many thoughts of the vast and wonderful of nature; for, to the inhabitants of a level and cultivated country even the slightest character of mountainous scenery brings a sense of the sublime. Nearer and nearer they approach these hills, and still they are indistinct, though apparently lifted to the clouds; and he watches that blue haze which hangs around them, as if in their solitudes there was something to be found more satisfying than in the pent-up plains. Pershore is reached; a magnificent work, like Evesham, made desolate by changes of opinion, urged on by violence and rapacity. The spires and towers of Worcester are soon in view. An hospitable inn there receives them. They are weary; and their business is deferred to the morrow. The morning comes; and the young men are surprised at the readiness of the official persons to promote their object. The requisite formalities are soon accomplished. The morning is passed in looking over the wonders of that interesting city-rich in monuments of the past which time and policy have spared. The evening sees the travellers on their way homeward. Sunday comes; and the banns are once asked. On Monday is the wedding.

2 T2

275

It is scarcely necessary to point out to our readers that the view we have taken presupposes that the licence for matrimony, obtained from the Consistorial Court at Worcester, was a permission sought for under no extraordinary circumstances;-still less that the young man who was about to marry was compelled to urge on the marriage as a consequence of previous imprudence. We believe, on the contrary, that the course pursued was strictly in accordance with the customs of the time, and of the class, to which Shakspere belonged. The espousals before witnesses, we have no doubt, were then considered as constituting a valid. marriage, if followed up within a limited time by the marriage of the Church. However the Reformed Church might have endeavoured to abrogate this practice, it was unquestionably the ancient habit of the people. It was derived from the Roman law, the foundation of many of our institutions. It prevailed for a long period without offence. It still prevails in the Lutheran Church. We are not to judge of the customs of those days by our own, especially if our inferences have the effect of imputing criminality where the most perfect innocence existed.*

[merged small][graphic][merged small]
« ZurückWeiter »