CHAPTER XXXI
IN THE TWINKLING OF AN EYE
In a garden near the old bear-yard, among tall rose-trees which wouldsoon be in bloom, a merry company of men were sitting around a tablewhich stood in the angle of a quick-set hedge beside a path graveledwith white stones and bordered with mussel-shells.
There was a house hard by with creamy-white walls, green-shutteredwindows, and a red-tiled roof. The door of the house was open, showing alittle ruddy fire upon a great hearth, kindled to drive away the damp;and in the windows facing the garden there were lights shining warmlyout among the rose-trees.
The table was spread with a red damask cloth, on which were a tray ofraisins and nuts and a small rally of silver cups. Above the table anapple-tree nodded its new leaves, and from an overhanging bough alantern hung glowing like a great yellow bee.
There was a young fellow with a white apron and a jolly little whisperof a whistle on his puckered lips going around with a plate of cakes anda tray of honey-bowls; and the men were eating and drinking andchatting together so gaily, and seemed to be all such good friends, thatit was a pleasant thing just to see them sitting there in theircomfortable leather-bottomed chairs, taking life easily because thespring had come again.
One tall fellow was smoking a pipe. He held the bowl in one hand, andkept tamping down the loose tobacco with his forefinger. Now and againhe would be so eagerly talking he would forget that his finger was inthe bowl, and it would be burned. He would take it out with a look ofquaint surprise, whereat the rest all roared. Another was a fat, roundman who chuckled constantly to himself, as if this life were all a joke;and there was a quite severe, important-seeming, oldish man who said,"Hem--hem!" from time to time, as if about to speak forthwith, yet neverspoke a word. There was also among the rest a raw-boned, lanky fellowwho had bitten the heart out of an oat-cake and held the rim of it inhis fingers like a new moon, waving it around while he talked, until thelittle man beside him popped it deftly out of his grasp and ate itbefore the other saw where it was gone. But when he made out what wasbecome of that oat-cake he rose up solemnly, took the little man by thecollar as a huntsman takes a pup, and laid him softly in the grasswithout a word.
What a laughing and going-on was then! It was as if they all weregrowing young again. And in the middle of the row a head popped over thequick-set hedge, and a most stentorian voice called out, "Here, here! Goslow--I want a piece of that!"
They all looked up, and the moment they spied that laughing face andcloak of Holland cloth, raised a shout of "What, there!" "Well met!""Come in, Ben." "Where hast thou tarried so long?" and the like; whilethe waiter ran to open the gate and let the stranger in.
A quiet man with a little chestnut-colored beard and hazel eyes, whichlit up quickly at sight of the stranger over the hedge, arose from hisplace by the table and went down the path with hands outstretched togreet him.
"Welcome, welcome, hurly-burly Ben," said he. "We've missed thee fromthe feast. Art well? And what's the good word?"
"Ah, Will, thou gentle rogue!" the other cried, catching the hands ofthe quiet man and holding him off while he looked at him there. "Howthou stealest one's heart with the glance of thine eye! I was going togive thee a piece of my mind; but a plague, old heart! who could chidethee to thy face? Am I well? Ay, exceedingly well. And the news? Jove!the best that was baked at the Queen's to-day, and straight from theoven-door! The thing is done--huff, puff, and away we go! But comeon--this needs telling to the rest."
They came up the path together, the big man crunching the mussel-shellsbeneath his sturdy tread, and so into the circle of yellow light thatcame down from the lantern among the apple-leaves, the big man with hisarm around the quiet man's shoulders, holding his hand; for the quietman was not so large as the other, although withal no little manhimself, and very well built and straight.
His tabard was black, without sleeves, and his doublet was scarletsilk. His collar and wrist-bands were white Holland linen turned looselyback, and his face was frank and fair and free. He was not old, but hishair was thin upon his brow. His nose and his full, high forehead wereas cleanly cut as a finely chiseled stone; and his sensitive mouth had acurve that was tender and sad, though he smiled all the while, a glimpseof his white teeth showing through, and his little mustache twitchingwith the ripple of his long upper lip. His flowing hair waschestnut-colored, like his beard, and curly at the ends; and hismelancholy eyelids told of study and of thought; but under them thekindly eyes were bright with pleasant fancy.
"What, there, all of you!" said he; "a good investment for your ears!"
"Out with it, Will!" they cried, and whirled around.
"The Queen hath made Lord Hunsdon chamberlain," the big man said.
An instant's hush fell on the garden. No one spoke; but they caught eachother by the hand, and, suddenly, the silence there seemed somehowlouder than a shout.
"We'll build the new Globe play-house, lads, and sweep the Banksideclean from end to end!" a sturdy voice broke sharply on the hush. Andthen they cheered--a cheer so loud that people on the river stoppedtheir boats, and came ashore asking where the fire was. And over all thecheering rose the big man's voice; for the quiet man was silent, and thebig man cheered for two.
"Pull up thy rose-bushes, Will," cried one, "and set out laurels intheir stead--thou'lt need them all for crowns."
"Ay, Will, our savor is not gone--Queen Bess knows salt!"
"With Will and Ben for meat and crust, and the rest of us for seasoning,the court shall say it never ate such master pie!"
"We'll make the walls of Whitehall ring come New Year next, or TwelfthNight and Shrove Tuesday."
"Ay, that we will, old gossip! Here's to thee!"
"Here's to the company, all of us!"
"And a health to the new Lord Chamberlain!"
"God save the Queen!"
With that, they shook each other's hands, as merry as men could be, andlaughed, because their hearts ran short of words; for these were youngLord Hunsdon's men, late players to the Queen in the old LordChamberlain's troupe; who, for a while deprived of favor by _his_ death,were now, by this succession of his son, restored to prestige at thecourt, and such preferment as none beside them ever won, not even theEarl of Pembroke's company.
There was Kemp, the stout tragedian; gray John Lowin, the walking-man;Diccon Burbage, and Cuthbert his brother, master-players and managers;Robin Armin, the humorsome jester; droll Dick Tarlton, the king offools. There was Blount, and Pope, and Hemynge, and Thomas Greene, andJoey Taylor, the acting-boy, deep in the heart of a honey-bowl, yet whoone day was to play "Hamlet" as no man ever has played it since. Andthere were others, whose names and doings have vanished with them; andbeside these--"What, merry hearts!" the big man cried, and clapped hisneighbor on the back; "we'll have a supper at the Mermaid Inn. We'llfeast on reason, reason on the feast, toast the company with wit, andcompany the wit with toast--why, pshaw, we are good fellows all!" Helaughed, and they laughed with him. _That_ was "rare Ben Jonson's" way.
"There's some one knocking, master," said the boy.
A quick tap-tapping rattled on the wicket-gate.
"Who is it?" asked the quiet man.
"'Tis Edmund with the news," cried one.
"I've dished him," said Ben Jonson.
"'Tis Condell come to raise our wages," said Robin Armin, with a grin.
"Thou'lt raise more hopes than wages, Rob," said Tarlton, mockingly.
"It is a boy," the waiter said, "who saith that he must see thee,master, on his life."
The quiet man arose.
"Sit down, Will," said Greene; "he'll pick thy pocket with a dolefullie."
"There's nothing in it, Tom, to pick."
"Then give him no more than half," said Armin, soberly, "lest hesquander it!"
"He saith he comes from Stratford town," the boy went on.
"Then tell him to go back again," said Master Ben Jonson; "we've suckedthe sweet from Stratford town--be off with his seedy dregs!"
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"Go bring him in," said the quiet man.
"Nay, Will, don't have him in. This makes the third within themonth--wilt father all the strays from Stratford town? Here, Ned, givehim this shilling, and tell him to be off to his cony-burrow as fast ashis legs can trot."
"We'll see him first," said the quiet man, stopping the other's shillingwith his hand.
"Oh, Willy-nilly!" the big man cried; "wilt be a kite to float all thedraggle-tails that flutter down from Warwickshire?"
"Why, Ben," replied the quiet man, "'tis not the kite that floats thetail, but the wind which floats both kite and tail. Thank God, we'vecaught the rising wind; so, hey for draggle-tails!--we'll take up allwe can."
The waiter was coming up the path, and by his side, a little back,bareheaded and flushed with running, came Nicholas Attwood. He hadfollowed the big man through the fields from the gates of theFalcon Inn.
He stopped at the edge of the lantern's glow and looked arounduncertain, for the light was in his eyes.
"Come, boy, what is it?" asked Ben Jonson.
Nick peered through the brightness. "Master Will--Master WillShakspere!" he gasped.
"_Well, my lady_," said the quiet man; "_what wilt thou have of me_?"
Nick Attwood had come to his fellow-townsman at last.
Over the hedge where the lantern shone through the green of theapple-leaves came a sound of voices talking fast, a listening hush, thena clapping of hands, with mingled cries of "Good boy!" "Right, lad; donot leave her till thou must!" and at the last, "What! take thee home tothy mother, lad? Ay, marry, that will I!" And the _last_ was the voiceof the quiet man.
Then followed laughter and scraps of song, merry talking, and goodcheer, for they all made glad together.
* * * * *
Across the fields beyond the hedge the pathway ran through Paris Garden,stark and clear in the white moon-shine, save here and there where thefog from the marsh crept down to meet the river-mist, and blotted outthe landscape as it went. In the north lay London, stirring like atroubled sea. In the south was drowsy silence, save for the crowing ofthe cocks, and now and then the baying of a hound far off. The smell ofbears was on the air; the river-wind breathed kennels. The Swanplay-house stood up, a great, blue blank against the sky. The sound ofvoices was remote. The river made a constant murmur in the murk beyondthe landing-place; the trees moved softly.
Low in the west, the lights of the Falcon Inn were shrunk to pin-pricksin the dark. They seemed to wink and to shut their eyes. It was too farto see the people passing by.
On a sudden one light winked and did not open any more; and through thenight a faint, far cry came drifting down the river-wind--a long, thincry, like the wavering screech of an owl--a shrill, high, ugly sound;the lights began to wink, wink, wink, to dance, to shift, to gather intoone red star. Out of the darkness came a wisp of something moving inthe path.
Where the moonlight lay it scudded like the shadow of a windy cloud, nowlost to sight, now seen again. Out of the shadow came a man, with handsoutstretched and cap awry, running as if he were mad. As he ran helooked from side to side, and turned his head for the keener ear. He waspanting hard.
When he reached the ditch he paused in fault, ran on a step or two, wentback, stood hesitating there, clenching his hands in the empty wind,listening; for the mist was grown so thick that he could scarcely see.
But as he stood there doubtfully, uncertain of the way, catching thewind in his nervous hands, and turning about in a little space like ananimal in a cage, over the hedge through the apple-boughs a boy's clearvoice rose suddenly, singing a rollicking tune, with a snapping offingers and tapping of feet in time to its merry lilt.
Then the man in the mist, when he heard that clear, high voice, turnedswiftly to it, crying out, "The Skylark! Zooks! It is the place!" andran through the fog to where the lantern glimmered through the hedge.The light fell in a yellow stream across his face. He was pale as aghost. "What, there, within! What, there!" he panted. "Shakspere!Jonson! Any one!"
The song stopped short. "Who's there?" called the voice of the quietman.
"'Tis I, Tom Heywood. there's to-do for players at the Falcon Inn.Gaston Carew hath stabbed Fulk Sandells, for cheating at the dice, asdead as a door-nail, and hath been taken by the watch!"