Book._ GopightN - Hs_- COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. WILL SHAKESPEARE OF STRATFORD AND LONDON WILL SHAKESPEARE OF STRATFORD AND LONDON A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS BY MARGARET CROSBY MUNN NEW YORK DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 1910 StaWpearfo Copyright, 1910, by MARGARET CROSBY MUNN All rights, including dramatic rights, reserved by Margaret Crosby Munn Published, May, 1910 (QCI.D 21180 o I To SfttB George Frederick Munn APOLOGIA To the Spirit of William Shakespeare // the light of an obscure Imagination Has touched for a moment some aspects of Your Veiled Life, Let its reverent apology be that the dream, Whether false or true, was unsought, And that it was noble enough not to be allowed To perish unrecorded. The vital and illuminated portrayal of Hamlet of Johnston Forbes-Robertson was the direct in- spiration of this play. In some subtle and inexplic- able manner the genius of the actor revealed to one listener, at least, the heart and soul of Shakespeare, even more, if possible, than that of Hamlet, and so to my friend, the Player, I record my grateful ac- knowledgment. M. C. M. WILL SHAKESPEARE A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY William Shakespeare Earl of Southampton Earl of Essex William Herbert (called Lord Herbert, after- wards Earl of Pembroke) Sir Thomas Lucy Bailly — Chief Constable of Stratford Taverner — Second Constable of Stratford Foulke Sandells \ Friends of the mother of John Richardson J Anne Hathaway c Ca , y j- Stratford Lawyers Heminge } p Greene ) J Prtw Dumpser } PageS ° f Southaffl P ton Mistress Elisabeth Vernon, cousin of the Earl of Essex. Anne Hathaway, afterwards Anne Shakespeare Countess of Rutland Lady Bridget Manners, daughter of Countess of Rutland Phillida: Gentlewoman in waiting. to Elizabeth Vernon Lords, Ladies, Players, Gentlemen-in-wait- ing, Pages, Constables, Yeomen, Huntsmen, Pikemen and Villagers. ACT I The Caging of the Phoenix 1582 A Forest Glade in Charlecote Park, the coun- try-seat of Sir Thomas Lucy, near Stratford-on- Avon. ACT II The Flight 1586 Interior of the home of Shakespeare in Strat- ford-on-Avon ACT III [Twelve Years Later] The Lure of Elisabeth May, 1598 The Inner Court of the London House of the Earl of Southampton. ACT IV The Pyre — The New Phoenix Rises from the Ashes June, 1598 The Terrace and Garden of the Country House of the Earl of Southampton. The action of the play takes place between the years 1582 and 1598. Four years are supposed to have elapsed be- tween Acts I. and II. ; twelve years between Acts II. and III. ; four weeks between Acts III. and IV. ACT I THE CAGING OF THE PHOENIX 1582 ACT I THE CAGING OF THE PHOENIX 1582 Scene: \A Forest Glade in Charlecote Park, the country seat of Sir Thomas Lucy, near Stratford-on-Avon. A background of forest vistas. At left back a stream, sug- gested by low sloping banks. At left front the tangled roots of great oaks and beeches, and small rocks and mounds of moss appear above the sloping ground. Forest trees -flank each side of the stage. At the right, between an avenue of trees there is a space of greensward and then more trees. The whole scene suggests a remote sylvan soli- tude. The glimpses of sky and the long shadows indicate that the hour is near sunset. A man's voice is heard at left. Before the curtain rises men's voices are calling loudly to each other.) 2 WILL SHAKESPEARE TAVERNER [From a distance.] Where Away? Bailly! I'm lost! BAILLY [Enters clambering over roots and rocks at left front.] I'm here, come on ! TAVERNER [Nearer."} Come where? BAILLY Here Fool! TAVERNER [Enters stumbling and climbing with difficulty over the roots, etc.] Well said, but fool no more! BAILLY How will you compass that? WILL SHAKESPEARE 3 TAVERNER [Groaning.] My back! My legs! When young I wished to be a forester. My father balked my will. [Still stumbling and clambering.'] These twisted roots And knife-edged rocks have won my mind to his More than five years of well-planned argu- ment! This poaching lad may trap and catch and kill The deer, the fish, the birds of Charlecote Park Till all this Forest-land is still and void, But I'll not hunt him more! I'll be no more A constable. I'll tell Sir Thomas so. I will resign. BAILLY Resign? You speak with courage! What shall you do for work? How live? How eat? 4 WILL SHAKESPEARE TAVERNER Think you I'll be a constable forever? / have ambitions. I'm an ambitious man. I'm going to be a miller! Look through the trees [Enter from back six or seven yeomen armed with pikes and staves.] Where come our Guard! [Taverner goes to meet yeomen and they greet each other.] BAILLY No parleying, my friends. Bestow yourselves deep in the wood's green Heart, Crouch in the underbrush, hide behind rocks; Be very still and secret, but be keen. We'll keep this place — Go you to right and left, So every point be guarded quite, and when You hear three whistles, let you loose to me, Like gulls that swoop together to one spot WILL SHAKESPEARE 5 Upon the sea, where floats the silly fish. Be off! THE YEOMEN Ay surely, sir. BAILLY Stay not too near. Note well ! Be hidden, and lie close to earth, So your dun doublets and green caps and cloaks Mingle with leaf and earth and grow to- gether. Be off, remember well my words! [The yeomen go to right and left and back and disappear. Voices are heard at left. Bailly listens.] What's that? TAVERNER A woman's voice. No fear! BAILLY A hopeless fool! Deep voices sound between the higher tones — 6 WILL SHAKESPEARE A flute and two bass-viols! Some gypsy-folk Wander the wood, seeking to pitch their tents. They'll not stop here; these trees are massed too thick. We'll hide, and when they pass we'll keep our watch Until the deer and does come down to drink; Then shall we catch our stag. [Goes to back as voices approach.] Be quick! They come! [Bailly and Tavemer disappear entirely amidst the trees at back. , Enter has- tily Anne Hathaway followed by Foulke Sandells and John Richardson, both elderly men, through the clearing where the stream is supposed to How at left back.] ANNE HATHAWAY [Turning indignantly on Sandells and Richardson.'] Let me alone ! Why do you follow me ? WILL SHAKESPEARE 7 SANDELLS Why do you follow him ? ANNE Why question me? You well know that I will not answer you. I scarce escaped the village street this noon, When in the lane that leads to Charlecote wood, Your shadows fell upon the sunny road Before my eyes. Your footsteps followed mine. At ejyery turn I looked and hard behind Panting for bceath, with curious eyes, you came. This wood is free to rest or walk or — weep. Yet in this solitude you spy me out. 'T is infamous! RICHARDSON Your mother bade us come. That is our warrant. That our whole ex- cuse. 8 WILL SHAKESPEARE If such needs be. [to Sandells.] An open question, Foulke? This wood is free, as Anne most justly says! For us to stray in — as it is for her. SANDELLS Your mother bade us come and bring you home. ANNE [Scornfully. ] My mother dreams ! RICHARDSON To wake you from your dream! That you a woman grown and ripe in years Should spend your life in wasteful worship of A Boy! — ev'n worse, a pestilential thief! A Law-Defier, — twice whipt and once in prison. An empty purse — an empty house — an empty head ! Beggared in all that makes life rich and full WILL SHAKESPEARE 9 Yet of such mad and wanton mirth fulness, That he goes singing through the village streets His eyes oft skyward fixed, his step so light That one might dream he'd chanting mount to heaven, Like any meadow-lark! ... a public shame ! SANDELLS Anne, he speaks truth; you must give up this lad. RICHARDSON This marriage shall not be, your mother swears. See him no more. See that you give him up. ANNE [With restrained anger.'} How then resign that one possesses not? There is no thought of marriage. I am free. io WILL SHAKESPEARE RICHARDSON You play with words. To what does dal- liance lead? [They both draw near her where she stands in centre.~\ Before you we would place the steely shield Of our protection. Lead you to solid ground. And all this may be if you give him up. ANNE [With intensity of anger and drawing back toward left; they follow.] For once, I'll speak, Sandells and Richardson. Does it protect me that you spy on me, Distract my only hour of quietness, Tear from my heart its sacred woman's veil And peep upon its bleeding? O I could laugh If anger did not make me nearer tears! Beggared he is? What of it? We are rich. An empty head devoid of all but song? My head counts pennies all day long at home ! WILL SHAKESPEARE n Place me on solid ground? I know no ground That's firm except my love. It bears me well. [Advances swiftly toward the two men who draw away terrified.'] Go tell my mother I obedience owe To none. I cannot be coerced or led — And opposition to my fixed will Turns all my blood to poison in my veins. Hate of your meddling consumes me now — Go — go — my rage is mounting to my brain, Hardening my heart. Had I been left alone Good might have come. Peace to my moth- er's life, Prosperity to him I love. . . . All's gone! [Turns to left back and flings herself down near one of the moss-covered mounds and leans against it, covering her face with her hands, trembling. Sandells and Richardson stand con- fused in centre watching her.] 12 WILL SHAKESPEARE SANDELLS Shall we speak more? RICHARDSON Since that she was a child, Her mood once turned to anger changes not. SANDELLS We'll go. RICHARDSON I'll tell her mother what she says. SANDELLS Facing her anger all my mind was changed. RICHARDSON The truth she spoke cut deep into my heart, And made our studied preachment lies. SANDELLS Suppose — she marries him? What harm would come? WILL SHAKESPEARE 13 In very truth her mother's rich for three. He might quit poaching if his purse were full, And we'd be free from warding of the maid! RICHARDSON The mating of an eagle and a hawk! Cage him and he would die, and she would plunge Her talons in his heart. This should not be! She is a woman too — these fifteen years — He — in the very prime of callowness! SANDELLS There's no solution else. RICHARDSON [Hastily.] She's stirring! Let us go! SANDELLS It is the way of wisdom! i 4 WILL SHAKESPEARE RICHARDSON Follow me! We'll all rehearse unto her mother. Come! [Exit — Richardson and Sandells softly at left front.] ANNE [Raising her arms with a wild gesture.] Will! Will! Will! Will! [She again buries her head on her arms and lies still. A pause follows. The greensward between the long avenue of trees at right is more brightly lighted by sunlight than the centre and left of the stage which is more shaded by the trees. At the furthest end of this sunlit avenue a youth about seventeen or eighteen years old enters. His air is that of joyous irre- sponsibility. He comes to front very slowly with a loitering step, constantly stopping and looking up into the trees as if watching the birds. He has a gun WILL SHAKESPEARE 15 and fishing-rod and tackle slung on his back. About half-way down the ave- nue there is a clump of flowers grow- ing at the foot of a large tree. He stops and bends to look at them. Then he lifts off his gun and fishing- rod and lays them on the grass behind the tree. He gathers the flowers and after carefully examining them he kisses them and puts them in the belt of his doublet and goes on slowly to front. All the while he is singing.'] SHAKESPEARE [Sings.] O love me not when I am dead ! [When low lies heart and head.] O praise me not when I am gone ! [The years are hastening on.] The crowns of love and happiness That would my eager spirit bless, Give to me now, nor do thou wait Until it be too late, too late! i6 WILL SHAKESPEARE [While he sings he pauses frequently to stoop and look at -flowers and herbs, and then goes on again. He comes to front and turning to cross, sees Anne Hathaway at left back. He raises his hands and lets them fall in half- amused, careless surprise.'] Again the stormy Anne! [Goes nearer.] How low she lies, poor Petrel ! Beaten down Into the deepest hollow of the waves By the wild tempest she herself creates. I'll blow my gentlest breeze and bring a calm ! [He goes softly to back and bends over Anne, standing beside her so that his face is seen.] She's sleeping! — While her face is wet with tears And wrung by violence within — Sleep! Sleep ! Poor tortured soul! In thy sea-depths There lies the Pearl of Peace — while thou art still WILL SHAKESPEARE 17 'Twill slowly rise, milk-white and luminous And spread a tranquil balm! Sleep! Sleep! [He withdraivs and goes toward the tree where his gun is lying. Before he reaches it, Anne stirs and raising her head sees him. She hurriedly rises- stands irresolutely,— then smoothes her hair with her hands and goes toward Shakespeare who does not yet see that she has waked.'] ANNE [In a slightly supplicating tone.] Will! [then louder] Will! SHAKESPEARE [Turning quickly.] Your sleep was short. Pray Heaven it was sweet. ANNE [Coming nearer to him.] Why are you wandering in the wood to-day? 18 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE I have a tryst. ANNE [Impulsively, and with suspicion.'] A tryst? What village maid Pursues you to the heart of Charlecote Park? SHAKESPEARE [With simplicity and humor. ] None Anne, save you. ANNE [With impatience.] Men make not trysts with men. ' SHAKESPEARE With no man's son am I pledged here to-day. ANNE [With growing irritability."] You veil the truth with double answering. WILL SHAKESPEARE 19 SHAKESPEARE [With mischievous simplicity.'] I speak the simple truth. Nor doth maid nor man Entice me here. [Anne looks relieved. ] And yet I trysting come! [Anne again is angry.] The truth perturbs your mind. Let me try Fancy now. [He speaks with mystery, drawing close to her.] A Dryad haunts this wood; she loves a Faun. Her steps tread down the earth beneath her feet As do a Queen's the footstool for her state. Her parted, burnished, brown-gold, curling hair Shadows her whitest forehead and her brows Lie sternly level over proud, deep eyes, That know their rule over men's roving hearts. Her lips, a rose's petals, nobly carved. 20 WILL SHAKESPEARE Fulfil her eyes despotic ravishing: And with her comes the fragrant, woodland breath Of sylvan glades recessed, and hidden pools Where she has loved and dreamed through thund'rous nights. ANNE [With fierce jealousy.] You speak of a real woman. Is't not true? SHAKESPEARE Who is more real than she of whom I dream ? Last night by starlight I lay musing here She fled to me and wept. Her faun was false, A Nixie's thrall. Her vengeance I've as- sumed. The Faun and I will fight at set of sun. Ev'n now I think I see his leaf-crowned head Peering upon me from behind that oak, And hear the drawing of his bow — [He advances with sudden swiftness to WILL SHAKESPEARE 21 'Anne and takes her arm and points to a tree at right near front.~\ There! There! ANNE [Who has listened and looked as if un- der a spell, screams and hides her face on his arm.~\ pity — save me ! I am terrified. SHAKESPEARE [First laughs lightly — then as she moves from him and he sees her frightened face he becomes grave. ,] 1 ever am at fault with you. I thought To bring your smiles. Instead, I rouse your fears. [Still more gravelyJ] My idle fantasy must not delay Your homeward-tending steps. See! The sun sinks! Your mother watches for you; you must go. [He leads her gently to left and she, as 22 WILL SHAKESPEARE if still under a spell, yields. Suddenly she stops and again speaks with sus- picion."] ANNE True, it is late. Why then stay here alone? SHAKESPEARE I never am alone. ANNE [Violently.] You falsify! I spied you quite alone this very hour. SHAKESPEARE A vast procession endlessly denies Along the tortuous avenues of my brain. This wood would be the highway of the world If they should throng its aisles. Lovers and queens, Kings, courtiers, fairies, maids, spirits of earth, And Heaven, are crowding here. [Touches head.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 23 Some not far day, They'll steal into my heart and live. ANNE [With dense bewilderment.] My word! I understand you not. SHAKESPEARE Delay you not. ANNE With hard discourtesy you drive me hence. SHAKESPEARE Not so. But have it so if so you will. [Urges her gently to left."] ANNE Cruel ! You suffer not — you know not grief. SHAKESPEARE I suffer, yet am not unhappy, Anne. How pertinently you half speak the truth. 24 WILL SHAKESPEARE ANNE Danger still hed'ges you. Your father mourns — He is no more an alderman, 'tis said. SHAKESPEARE They've dragged his robe of office from his back That was so straight with pride; for a just fine Last week he could not even four pence pay. ANNE I'll pay his fines. Such trouble should not be. [She takes out her purse and offers him money. ] SHAKESPEARE Put up your purse. I'll slave or sin for him, But I'll not weep! Something is singing here — [Touches breast.'] That hidden in this fooling life I lead, WILL SHAKESPEARE 25 There is a magic, and a mystery- Waiting some kiss of fate to spring to birth And wrap me in its glow and ecstasy. That is reality — this mere trifling play. [Anne listens bewildered.'] Go now. No longer stay your steps. Go now. ANNE You are a boy. Yet in your eyes and voice You are a master, and I must obey. [Exit Anne. Shakespeare leads her away and then returns and springs gaily toward the tree behind which his gun and fishing-rod are lying. ~\ SHAKESPEARE Come now, my trysting deer! My father waits Hungering sore. My trespass wins him strength. I'll seek my traps hid deep in brush and brake. 26 WILL SHAKESPEARE [Exit Shakespeare carrying gun, etc., at left back near stream. The sound of horses and carriage approaching by the grassy avenue at right is heard. A little boy's voice speaks, just out of sight. A travelling carriage somewhat splendid in color and ornament is driven into the grassy space between the trees at right. The postilions turn on their horses and watch while the door of the carriage is Hung open and a little boy about nine years old tries to get out. Two men inside the coach, dressed in the most fashionable cos- tume of the period, try to prevent his alighting. He wears a courtier's cos- tume of pale blue satin with a plumed hat, and curls of golden auburn fall on his shoulders.'} EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON [Struggling with the two men.~\ I pray you, gentlemen, hinder me not! WILL SHAKESPEARE 27 I'll walk awhile beside the stream. [He frees himself and springs out of the carriage.} FIRST GENTLEMAN [Follows him.] My Lord, Lord Burleigh waits for you at Kenilworth. SECOND GENTLEMAN [Also getting out of carriage.'] We are in honour bound to hasten there And place you in his arms without delay. SOUTHAMPTON My guardian tells his wishes all to me, And I obey them — when my pleasure suits. Then he is happy too and all is well. [Looks up the river and claps his hands.] I see a darling swan that slowly floats Just — just beyond the turning of the stream! [Both the gentlemen roughly take his hands and try to lead him back to the carriage.] 28 WILL SHAKESPEARE FIRST GENTLEMAN Come, come, Lord Southampton, the car- riages Outstrip us by five miles. We must press on. [Southampton shakes himself free and speaks passionately.'] SOUTHAMPTON I tell you if my Guardian were but by He would be happy if I rested here In this dear wood. I would be here alone. [To postilions.] Drive on a little space. Quite out of sight. [The carriage drives on just out of sight.] [To Gentlemen.] Follow the carriage, you, else I shall tell Lord Burleigh how you laid rough hands on me. But if you will be kind and grant my wish [Coaxingly.] My little, little wish, I'll silence keep. My word of honour! WILL SHAKESPEARE 29 [The two gentlemen who have looked alarmed, confer together and then fol- low the carriage, first bowing low.] FIRST GENTLEMAN Humbly, we obey. [Exit gentlemen, Southampton stands in centre. Shakespeare enters from left back carrying gun in his hand. He stops in surprise at the sight of Southampton who looks at him with the same surprise."] SHAKESPEARE More beautiful than was my Dryad! Gods! He is not real ... I know he is not real! SOUTHAMPTON Who are you ? Will you shoot me with your gun? Fve read of robbers — [Comes closer.] May I see your cave? If you will hide me there, be very sure My guardian will a royal ransom pay. 30 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE How exquisite, how fair his fashioning — Heaven's own best make! How tripping sweet his speech! Lovelier than all my dreams! He must have strayed From some far, magic palace. [With half mocking gaiety, ,] Little Prince Of Fairyland, my gun is but a: toy That I do sometimes — play a little with — As you yourself do sometimes play, mayhap, With that most splendid sword slung at your side. Tell me, if it so please your gracious will, Whence do you come and whither do you go? SOUTHAMPTON You speak as did the players at the Queen's Great birthday feast last year, — but gentlier. I go to Kenilworth. I come from London. SHAKESPEARE How rudely he dissolves my dream; And yet WILL SHAKESPEARE 31 The charm remains! Merely to Kenilworth He goes! SOUTHAMPTON I'm tired of Kenilworth! Instead I would stop here with you in this green wood, Swim in that deep, clear stream, follow its curves And touch the whitest feather of that swan. Then gather flowers wild and sweet, like those You wear. The loveliest I've ever seen! SHAKESPEARE [Removing flowers from his belt.'] Will then your Highness take with you these flowers ? The only homage I can offer now ! I heard once, or perhaps I — merely — dreamed — Of one sweet, weakling soul — She drowned for grief!— 32- WILL SHAKESPEARE Who gathered flowers like these, — it may ha,ve been — And gave them ev'n as I do now, — and told Their names with fancies such as these — [He gives the flowers one by one to Southampton.] Here is Tender Forget-me-not, and here Narcissus, 'T was named for him who died in ages gone For love of his own beauty. So might you. And Violets that mean Love and Death — and one Small, sweet, Blush Rose to nestle at your heart. [Southampton looks bewildered at his words but takes the flowers. ~] SOUTHAMPTON [Looking at Howers.~\ Lovelier than those they plant in Kenilworth ! SHAKESPEARE In Kenilworth what pastimes will refresh, WILL SHAKESPEARE 33 And with what royal comrades shall you meet? SOUTHAMPTON I'll play at Bowls and Tennis and I'll see The Lady Bridget Manners. SHAKESPEARE Bridget Manners! Sweet powers of Melody! But what a name! Manners should mate with — something musi- cal! But is she kind, this Bridget? Does your suit To her fare sweetly? Unfold now your heart. SOUTHAMPTON [Pouting."] She flouts me. SHAKESPEARE Ah! How more than passing strange That any little maid so hard should be, 34 WILL SHAKESPEARE When I a man am wax to my heart's core With one note of your voice's piercing sweet ! [Enter from right back, timidly, the two gentlemen in waiting."] FIRST GENTLEMAN [Humbly.'] My Lord of Southampton, the hour is late. SECOND GENTLEMAN Indeed, we fear Lord Burleigh's wrath, my Lord. The while this woodland hind stands parley- ing. SOUTHAMPTON I'll keep my promise, and I will come now. [The two gentlemen look at Shakespeare rudely.] Salute this gentleman. He is my friend. He gave me these sweet flowers and he speaks WILL SHAKESPEARE 35 Something as does the Queen, when she com- mands And every one obeys. [The gentlemen unwillingly bow, remov- ing their hats, and Shakespeare re- turns the bow carelessly but with equal courtesy, Southampton holds out his hand to Shakespeare who takes it in his and kisses it J] You have been kind To me — I wish I could be kind to you ! SHAKESPEARE Remember me, when to your Fairyland You come. [Exit Southampton and the two gentle- men in waiting at right back. Shake- speare stands gazing after them as if in a dream. The sun-light has grown dimmer and more golden. *A crackling sound is heard in the bushes by the stream at left back. Shakespeare draws his hand over his eyes as if he 36 WILL SHAKESPEARE were waking from sleep. Then with his gun in his hand, held ready to shoot, he steals swiftly and silently to the stream and crouches down by the bushes, in sight of the audience, close to where the sound is still heard. A pause.} SHAKESPEARE [Speaks softly.] It is a doe! I'm sorry for't. I can't betray the curious innocence Of those broad brows, that gentle, liquid gaze. I'll catch it with a noose and take it home; And when my father's hunger's fierce within him, If that he will, he'll kill it for himself. So — So — [He unlooses a rope slung with his fish- ing tackle and making a noose throws it and catches the doe and leads it toward the front centre of the stage. WILL SHAKESPEARE 37 From the back, from behind the most distant trees, Tavemer and Bailly rush forward and catch Shakespeare by the arms. Shakespeare still holding the leash flings them both off and with the doe runs to back. Bailly puts his whistle to his lips and whistles once loudly. ] SHAKESPEARE [Laughing as he begins to run, after throwing off the two men!\ A merry chase! Your sturdy legs Against my long ones! {Immediately after Bailly blows his whistle, three or four constables and yeomen run forward from behind the trees at back. Shakespeare sees them and turns abruptly to left. Bailly whistles a second time and two or three more appear from left near the stream. Shakespeare turns to right but as he runs toward it Bailly whistles a third 38 WILL SHAKESPEARE time and several more run forward at right. All surround Shakespeare.'] SHAKESPEARE Ah! I'm caught! I'm caught! [He struggles with the men and throws them off.] The odds against me are by far too strong. But you, at least, shall go unhurt and free. Go little Gentleness! [He releases doe and pushes it toward left back toward the stream. The doe slips between the yeomen and disap- pears at the same spot where it first appeared. Taverner has been scram- bling to his feet and rubbing his back and head. He rushes forward as the men again seize Shakespeare.] TAVERNER Disarm him! Bind him! [To Shakespeare, shaking his fist in his face.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 39 You Infamy! You murderous young Fiend! You threw me down! Flung me, a man of Place Upon the ground! Bind him without delay. [The men hesitate and then tie Shake- speare's hands behind his back, after taking his gun, etc., from him. Shakespeare submits. He wears an ex- pression of alert but impersonal irtr terest in what is happening.'] BAILLY [Coming forward.] Why do you bind him? He cannot escape. A CONSTABLE 'T was Master Taverner commanded us. BAILLY That's foolishness. Unbind forthwith his hands. [To Taverner.] It shames strong men to bind a slender youth. [The men obey.] 40 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE [Smiles. To Bailly."] Why, Sir, you have a fine sense of propor- tion, And I thank you. [He shakes hands with several of the men in succession.'] Well met Colin, — Robin — Tame hunting for you, friends, with twenty hounds Full cry upon a solitary hare! [Enter hastily Sir Thomas Lucy from back, accompanied by a farm bailiff, yeomen and huntsmen. All make way for him. He looks about the group and sees Shakespeare.] BAILLY Sir Thomas Lucy ! SIR THOMAS [To Bailly.] You have trapped your stag! Your whistles borne upon the evening air WILL SHAKESPEARE 41 Came to the open meadows where I walk At close of day, and told the game was caught. [Goes to Shakespeare and speaks sternly. ] Your thieving vagabondage now shall cease. No more in Stratford nor in Charlecote Park Shall you, a public nuisance, go at large. You shall be whipt again, — prisoned again, — And when your term of durance has an end You shall be banished from this country side To wander outlawed in some distant land. SHAKESPEARE [Earnestly, as if agreeing with hint.] Most wisely said! Yet sterner than is need- ful. [While Sir Thomas speaks, Anne Hatha- way has re-entered at left, followed by Sand ells and Richardson. All three look anxious and agitated. Anne hears all that Sir Thomas says. As he stops 42 WILL SHAKESPEARE speaking she goes swiftly to Shake- speare with a cry of intense grief.] ANNE All this I could have saved you from ! Ah me ! [She sinks at his feet, fainting. Shake- speare and Sandells bend over her and try to revive her. One of the con- stables brings water from the stream in a cup.] SIR THOMAS Who is this woman ? RICHARDSON 'T is Anne Hathaway, Daughter of Richard Hathaway — SIR THOMAS Of Shottery. If memory serves me right he died last year; I held him in my high esteem and trust: WILL SHAKESPEARE 43 A prosperous man. — How comes his daugh- ter here? [What is this out-at-elbow scamp to her? RICHARDSON Your Worship, Tis a most unlucky case. She loves him, and is fain to marry him. SIR THOMAS His bride shall be the chain that fetters him. RICHARDSON [Insinuatingly.] If that your Worship would a moment hear — ! [Sir Thomas silently assents.] RICHARDSON 'Tis one of those strange cases that defy The will of man — th' opposing of events. She loves him and is fain to marry him. She may not be turned from him. But in truth Her mother's rich in gold and loves her child ! 44 WILL SHAKESPEARE Anne's of full age — in fact these long years past! If Will were freed, she'd surely marry him. If that the penalties your Worship names Could be transformed by magic of your will To fines, that could be paid in solid coin To be disbursed for prospering the town She'd gladly pay them all. Sandells and I Come now from conference in the wood with her. Hearing the turmoil, we returned together. SHAKESPEARE [Who has overheard what Richardson has said, starts away from Anne Hatha- way and draws near Sir Thomas and Richardson.] Enough! I'll bear my punishment alone. SIR THOMAS [To Shakespeare. ] Silence is seeming in a prisoner. [To Richardson, in a lower tone.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 45 There's wisdom in your thought; but there's no edge In money that will clip this Eaglet's wings. [Shakespeare seems about to speak, when Richardson silences him by a gesture.] RICHARDSON [Aside to Sir Thomas.] If you will grant me, sir, a moment's speech With this unruly youth, my words may tame, Where whips and bars have maddened to more wildness. SIR THOMAS Most willingly. [Richardson goes to Shakespeare and draws him to front centre.] RICHARDSON Listen! Here is your chance. The last youth offers you. An open door 46 WILL SHAKESPEARE To freedom, honour, peace, prosperity. Anne's heart is yours, why not your life for her? Her mother will consent, to silence tongues. If these things do not move your will per- verse, Bent on mere wantonness of idling sport; — Think of your Father where he mourning sits, Bereft of place and fortune ere life's close. Before it be too late repair his loss, And bring a happy end to all this pain. [Shakespeare listens with close but im- personal attention.'] SHAKESPEARE I would these things could move me; they dp not. [At this moment Anne wakens from her faint and moans. Richardson goes to her and Shakespeare turns to look.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 47 ANNE Alas, Will! [Shakespeare starts, goes to her, and bends over her. Anne looks up at him piteously and speaks with intensity. .] Banished. Then life's stopped for me ! So let me die. [Shakespeare looks at her with pro- found pity. Then he slowly moves away from her toward front. As Anne sees him go she moans again, holds out her hands toward him with a des- perate movement and then sinks back in apparent unconsciousness. Shake- speare stands in front looking for- ward."] SHAKESPEARE Imprisoned I was free — 1 Though caged, my steps were never turned aside From that free Highway of the Soul, whence I 48 WILL SHAKESPEARE Looked forth upon the Vision of the World, And up into the Treasury of Heaven. But there are airless prisons of this life, Where living men and dead are chained to- gether : Where white-winged birds are caged with beasts that crawl And burrow in the slime. Such do I fear; Such are some marriages that I have known. The flower-covered traps — Gold and Re- pute — They catch me not. Even my father's grief Does not compel the bondage of my life That dimly knows the trailing comet's flight. [With a sudden change looking toward Anne."] But this poor woman — beaten, torn and crushed By violence of passion, by her unsought — A helpless target, struck in th' core of being By the barbed, wandering shaft of Love — She calls — she calls for largesse from my heart ! WILL SHAKESPEARE 49 \_A short pause."] There is a blindness in the soul of man When all the Powers of Darkness have their way. We dream — we wake — and Life belies our dream. 'T was perfect — and there's nothing here to match it. Yet ever onward must we fare and live, And act; blindly spring forward in the dark, Or rot in self -reproachful, base inaction. What is my outer life worth now to me? Whipt, prisoned, banished, all because I play with any passing toy for joy of being, And for the lack of — Stars and Goddesses! [The sun sinks out of sight."] That blindness — It is on me now — Only one path to tread, one thing to do. A worthless life! But if it save another's, And make it bloom, it has some right to be. \_He goes quickly to Anne, and kneeling on one knee beside her, takes her hand. She wakens and looks at him. H? 50 WILL SHAKESPEARE speaks lightly and with gracious court- esy.'] If that a life so tattered and so slight, So out of all repute held good by these, — [Indicates the group standing near — Sir Thomas, Sandells and Richardson. .] Can mend and strengthen yours, why then — 'tis yours. ANNE WHat do you mean? I do not understand? [Sandells and Richardson look de- lighted.] SIR THOMAS [Laughing.] Wise Youth! He chooses Marriage Bells, instead Of clanking chains. Kisses for stinging lashes. ANNE [In dazed wonderment.] You'll marry me? WILL SHAKESPEARE 51 SHAKESPEARE It seems my destined fate: And I believe that one day it shall be. [Yeomen and constables crowd around shaking his hands and smiling.'} SIR THOMAS iWitH this most fortunate conclusion, Friends, Let us each homeward go. The twilight falls. To-morrow in the town we'll ratify With pen and seal what here is merely speech. [All go out of wood at back and left. The yeomen and constables first. 'As the younger yeomen go, they sing.] Song. Sunlight dietH, Daylight flieth, Homeward now! Leave the furrow, leave the plough, Rest beneath the bending bough. 52 WILL SHAKESPEARE After toiling, Rugged moiling, Follows rest. Homing swallows find the nest, Find we each the True-Love's breast. By the gleaming River's streaming, Waits the maid. Dost thou linger ? Art affrayed ? Hasten! Clasp her — undismayed! [Then follow Sir Thomas Lucy and the farm bailiff. Then Sandells and Rich- ardson. Shakespeare has helped Anne to rise to her feet. She looks revived and seems to question him earnestly and he to answer. At last she smiles and turns to follow the others. Shakespeare stands motionless as if in deepest thought. ] ANNE [Holding out her hand.] Come, Will! WILL SHAKESPEARE 53 [Shakespeare turns quickly and takes her outstretched hand and they go to- gether a few steps. Then Anne stops suddenly."] You say that you will marry me, But will you love me? SHAKESPEARE I'll be patient with you. Be patient then with me. [They go on a little further. Shake- speare turns and looks toward the oak to which he pointed when he spoke of the faun with whom he was to fight. ~\ Farewell my Dryad! [They go.] [Yeomen repeat second verse of song softly, in the distance, as the curtain descends.] After toiling, Rugged moiling, Follows rest. Homing swallows find the nest, Find we each the True-Love's breast. 54 WILL SHAKESPEARE CURTAIN Note — First Act — The difficulty of bringing a live doe on the stage in the first act can be overcome easily by not having it appear on the stage, but having the noise in the bushes heard, and a portion of the body of a live or stuffed doe seen in the distance in the bushes. Shake- speare can go into the bushes and noose it, and afterwards can untie it and release it in the same way. ACT II THE FLIGHT 1586 Note — Second Act — As the orchestra comes to the end of the interlude between Act I and Act 2, it plays the refrain of an old spinning song — the violins imitating the whir of the wheel. The music ceases just before the cur- tain rises. While the curtain is still down, the thump and whir of a spinning wheel is heard, and an old woman's voice sings a song to the same refrain which the orchestra has been play- ing; the curtain comes up while she. is singing, showing a dark room. ACT II THE FLIGHT 1586 Scene i. [Before the curtain rises a wo- man's voice is heard singing to the whir and thump of a spinning wheel. ~\ Song He kissed me once upon the lips And since that time my heart has burned, As the wild bee who honey sips He left me and has ne'er returned. Ah wellaway! I'll braid my love-locks like a crown, My shoes upon my feet I'll bind — I'll seek him far as London-town, I'll seek — but shall I ever find? Ah wellaway! 57 58 WILL SHAKESPEARE [As the song ceases the curtain rises. The scene is living-room of the house of Shakespeare in Stratford-on-Avon. The room is almost dark. At the back in the centre is a wide door. On either side is a large square window. All open directly on street, but are closed and darkened by heavy wooden shut- ters, through whose chinks the early daylight gleams. Enter from door at right Anne. She looks older with lines of ill-temper \and discontent on her forehead.'} ANNE [Groping her way to the nearest window.'] How dark it is ! [She throws open the wooden shutters and the window, and the white morn- ing light, without sunlight, fills the room. Through the window is seen the village street and opposite houses. The walls of the room are hung with WILL SHAKESPEARE 59 an arras of painted cloths, much faded and tattered. It is simply furnished with old wooden cupboards, tables, chairs and settles. There are doors at the right and left. At the left there is a large fire-place where a few embers smoulder. Anne stands at the win- dow.] How damp and chill! One would swear it were March not May! [She goes to the other window and -flings open the shutters with a powerful movement. All her actions are strong, sudden, energetic. She shivers and goes to the fire. She speaks with anger.'] The fire nigh out and no wood! The careless oaf! [She goes to the door at right.] Will! [She goes to the arras to straighten its folds and as she twitches it with sharp jerks the portion she touches comes off 60 WILL SHAKESPEARE in her hand. She flings it to the floor.] Plague on these wretched rags! All's rotting here. There's not a woman of family in Stratford who has not had new cloths since two years back and these were old when I wore pinafores! Will! [Enter Shakespeare from right. He looks but slightly older than before. As he enters the sunlight floods the village street and shines into the room.] SHAKESPEARE [Going to the window and looking out.] There is magic working with the gray church tower — no stone remains; naught but gold tracery against a sapphire sky. Look, Anne! ANNE [Speaking with quick energy.] There lacks time for looking out of window. I go to Shottery this hour. WILL SHAKESPEARE 61 SHAKESPEARE Wherefore? ANNE That my mother should longer nourish our children makes my body tingle with shame. She has harboured them now two months. I go to Shottery to fetch them home. SHAKESPEARE \He has listened with a half frown, but smiles as he speaks. ,] 'Tis sweeter when they're here ! ANNE Sweeter! Can we think of sweetness when they are to be fed and clothed? I sent them to my mother that they might prosper by her bounty. But she is old. She wearies even of their play ! Last week her pale face smote me and the neighbors' eyes when they see me here alone, make my brain burn and breed a madness in me, 62 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE They might have rested here. ANNE And starved! You speak too easily. Five to feed even when we count not your father and your mother. SHAKESPEARE [Lightly.'] You speak too largely. There has ever been enough for all. ANNE You seem to think our children should be content with food and clothing. SHAKESPEARE [With mischief.'] There is scripture warrant for that ! ANNE You seek to anger me. WILL SHAKESPEARE 63 SHAKESPEARE Ah, no! Believe me, no! ANNE No man in all Stratford has done so little for his children as you ! Indeed you do noth- ing! You are in truth your father's son. SHAKESPEARE [He has listened with an air of detach- ment.] What do my father and my mother now ? ANNE Your mother spins and sings old songs in the upper room. Out in the garden in the sun your father sits idle. His eyes stare, yet see nothing; for I passed before him now and though he looked, he saw me not. SHAKESPEARE [He opens door at right near front. r A glimpse of a garden is seen. He looks out.~\ 64 WILL SHAKESPEARE I see him . . . His hands lie on his knees as if they rested. Their burdens are laid down; but the blurred eyes do not rest. There is no immortal hope before, nor no rich harvesting of joys behind. It is age's listlessness not its repose! ANNE [Who has not listened.] I talked with Dame Calverly yesterday when we were cheapening ribbons with the pedler from Henley. Her husband has sent their daughter to London to see the sights and their two sons to Oxford to study at the University. And mine have naught before them! SHAKESPEARE [With amused pity.] How ingeniously your brain weaves nets to trap your thoughts and torture them! Their ages mounted up upon each other count not to six years. There surely is yet time before such matters press ! WILL SHAKESPEARE 65 ANNE [Violently.'] You are of all living men most maddening! You delay and postpone. You are forever playing at quoits and bowls — drinking and laughing with the village idlers. What have I or your children to hope for from you? SHAKESPEARE [Kindly, taking her chin in his hand and looking into her eyes.] Know you not that no one hour is like an- other, no year like that which follows it ? And so with men and women. I am not now what I shall be. Nor you — Nor you! Last even- ing when we walked we saw the bare, brown meadows by the river. You said that in Au- gust they would be yellow with grain. [He plucks a small branch from a rose vine grow- ing by the window.] Why are there no roses on this vine? ANNE You mock me. The time for roses is not yet. 66 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE [With sudden intensity.'] You do not ask the rose to bloom before its time. You do not rifle the mould of its seeds when it has been newly planted. You do not tear the seedlings up to see their roots whether they grow or not. How do you know what grows in me? What seeds sown by a hand more skilled than our poor wits can wot of may be ready to blossom in my soul? [He speaks gently.] If I may but have time — stillness — twilight and dark and dew of the sky — sunlight and noon: and be untouched as are the seeds you plant! ANNE [Blankly mystified.] Now, now, you seek to puzzle me — to lead me aside from what is urgent. [Angrily.] Most urgent do I say. SHAKESPEARE [Half aside.] She cannot understand. WILL SHAKESPEARE 67 ANNE [She speaks with still quicker energy than at first, looking at the clock.'] Seven o'clock; and I must be back by noon for dinner! [She goes to the cupboard at right and opens it.] Here is cold pasty and oaten bread and cakes. Meagre fare for six! But so the chil- dren have enough I care not for myself. [Goes toward street door at back.] I go, Will, good-day! [Shakespeare is at front; he searches in his pocket and takes out a key unseen by Anne. He fingers it with an air of abstraction. Anne goes. In the door- way, she turns.] And Will — at five this morning the maid and I cleaned the upper rooms and freshly made all the beds. Fetch you the wood. Do not let the fire go out as yesterday. These May-days grow chill at night, and the children come! 68 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE You shall have a royal fire! ANNE Good-day. SHAKESPEARE [In a gay, half -singing voice. ] Heaven go with you! [Anne goes. He slips key in his pocket and goes out of door at left. He re- turns at once carrying a great armful of -firewood. He piles it with extreme care beside the fire-place.^ If I am perfect there can be no reproach! I know not why — but — anger which turns a man into a beast is even more loathsome in a woman. [Lightly. ,] Just or unjust we look to them for gentleness whether they feel it or not! Yet there's a kind of secret justice in our feeling. For they will ever tune us to their own key — if they but knew it! \_A log rolls from the pile. He replaces it.~\ Keep WILL SHAKESPEARE 69 your place, Trifler! Know you not this is grave work and our greatest part? Since we belong to the Noble Order of Husbands we must please her, or the way roughens too much for further progress. [He stands at a little distance and looks with satisfaction at the pile of wood.] She will have a royal fire ! [He glances at the clock.] She will be now on the road to Shot- tery. All's still! This hour is very friendly. [He goes to the cloth hanging at right and drawing it aside unlocks with the key he still holds a small door in a cup- board set in the wall and from it takes a manuscript.] ANNE [Returning to the door but not looking in.] Will! [He starts and replaces the manuscript and closes the drawer hastily.] Will ! Forget not the fire ! Have you laid the fire? Have you piled the wood? Answer, I go. yo WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE [Absently -fingering the key.~\ I've piled it mountains high! ANNE 'Tis well — for yesterday we froze. Good- day! This time I go. [Shakespeare goes to the door, looks after her. Then he re-opens the drawer. He takes out the manuscript and goes to table at front and sits, turning over the pages of the manu- script.] SHAKESPEARE Words are our only immortal things! Any fool can hammer the noblest marble statue in the world to dust, but the Gods themselves cannot destroy a word, once the same fool has said it! [The embers on the hearth flicker brightly and go out.'] I ever believe that these words of mine WILL SHAKESPEARE 71 shall be spoken, so magically — as it were so enchantingly handled, — that their own value will be doubled. For singleness is nothing! They have a kind of life of their own on the page — but let them be spoken by resolute lips that marry each word as they touch it and all the world shall feast at the wedding banquet! Yet a playwright who passed through Strat- ford once — an old man — with a beard — he must have known! said to me that players were such fools that the bitterest moment one who writes for them can have, is to hear his own words stupidly spoken — in discord — out of tune and sense! Yet, there are those who command the speaking and moving magic. I could not myself! But that Godlike little boy I met in the wood four years ago; — our common tongue in his mouth became a novel and precious tune that fed the heart. Ah! — I cannot think upon him! My senses so sicken to see and hear him again! . . . Yet there still must be such ! \He turns the pages of the manuscript.'] All's been said and J2 WILL SHAKESPEARE played — from Athens to London! Yet the Heart of Things remains, for every man to find the answer to his own. \He writes. Village boys and girls pass in the street. They peer into the win- dow and seeing Shakespeare writing point and jeer at him, laughing with each other. He does not observe them. Bailly and Taverner, the constables, followed by two men, one middle- aged, spare and scholarly, the other of the same type, but younger, come to the door, look in, and knock loudly. ,] SHAKESPEARE [Starting from his chair. ,] O for a few hours of quietness ! [He goes to the door.] What is your wish ? Whom do you seek? [The men enter."] TAVERNER We seek your father, my young Feather- WILL SHAKESPEARE 73 SHAKESPEARE .What commerce have you with my father? BAILLY That is our concern, and not for your ques- tioning. SHAKESPEARE [Speaking with courtesy. ,] Mayhap then, I can guess : somewhat touch- ing his estate or moneys brings you here. My father is old in truth lacks force to carry him- self — far less the weight of his affairs. Such I purpose to lay upon these shoulders, which have at least the virtue of strength! TAVERNER Ah, AH — I remember, I do well! You had ever a folly for turning fine phrases, even while you cut a calf's throat for your father, when he purveyed meat for the township. 74 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE [Springing toward him and catching him by the throat.~\ Liar! {Then shaking him by the shoulder as if he were a puppy, and trying to laugh.~\ Know you not whole armies of constables have been swept from the earth for less than that? TAVERNER Help! Help! Murder is being done! [Three pikemen with long pikes rush into the room from the street and stand close to Taverner. The two lawyers have shrunk into the corner and now come forward.] Now, now, Master Leatherby and Master Swales, do you see? Did I not rehearse how he flung me down in the wood four years ago — like a brigand, like an assassin, a murderer. It is just as I have always said — " Save a man from the gallows and he will cut your throat." WILL SHAKESPEARE 75 MASTER LEATHERBY Most wisely said, indeed! SHAKESPEARE [Still trying to laugh.] Is this a comedy, or a mystery play? In- form my ignorance that I may split with laughter or be duly awed as the quality of the piece may demand. BAILLY The images suit! [To Tavemer.'] Enough of playing the Injured! [To Shakespeare.] Briefly, Master Will, we are come, not without regret in the hearts of such of his townsmen as know, perforce, of the matter, with a warrant for your Father's arrest and due restraint by the law. SHAKESPEARE [With mingled incredulity and anger. ] A mad world! 76 WILL SHAKESPEARE BAILLY One of necessity, you should say. SHAKESPEARE We'll argue that. \He quickly crosses the room and as he passes the door to the garden he stum- bles against a chair, which closes the door. He locks it, putting one hand behind him, still facing the others, who do not see what he has done, and hides the key in his doublet.'] A pretty Game! As merry as New Cut, and as provoking as Primero! And these gentle- men, [to lawyers,] can each take a hand — and so all will pass the day pleasantly. The stakes to be our Golden Opinions of each other, the prize a general Amnesty — in which all share. Including of course, my father. Merely as the host of the gamesters, who make so free with his house — such as it is. Come, come, The Game! The Game! WILL SHAKESPEARE 77 [He motions them to sit down around the table. He sits — leaning on the table, while the others stand surprised around it. To Master Leatherby.~\ How, most erudite sir, can that which has not strength to resist be restrained? Answer. [To the other Lawyer. ,] Keep a precise record, sir, of the play, for each point counts. BAILLY [Gravely. ,] The comedy of which you spoke, is of your own playing, now, Master Will. Where hides your father? SHAKESPEARE Before I answer, in all seriousness and kindness tell me, as briefly as may be, what legal warrant there is for thus seeking to bring my father into custody? TAVERNER Have I not foresight beyond the common? Prevising these questions I brought Master 78 WILL SHAKESPEARE Leatherby to convince Young Featherhead of our procedure according to law. Your docu- ments, Master Leatherby. LEATHERBY [Producing a legal paper and reading in a 'dry, monotonous voice.] "This indenture Witnesses that John Shakespeare of Strat- ford on Avon in the county of Warwick is indebted to sundry persons hereafter named for the sum of sundry pounds of current English money, hereafter set forth, and that he must doe, cause, knowledge and suffer to be done and knowledged, all and everie such further lawful and reasonable acte and actes thing and thinges, devise and devises assur- ances and conveyances whatsoever — " SHAKESPEARE Enough, enough — I believe anything you wish without further assurance! LEATHERBY [Looking at him over his spectacles and WILL SHAKESPEARE 79 continuing in the same manner.'] "As also the saide John Shakespeare and his heirs and assignes, and everie of them, of and from. all former bargaynes, sales, leases, joyntures, dowers, wills, statutes, recognizances, writ- inges, obliagtory ffynes, entyles " — SHAKESPEARE [Moving chairs with some noise and con- fusion.'] You fatigue yourself, sir. Be seated. Refresh yourself, I entreat — and you, sir — and you — and you ! — [He opens a cupboard and brings out a tankard of ale, mugs and cakes. [ He pours out the ale and offers it to the lawyers and constables and pikemen. They accept it half-astonished and after drinking a little of it their stern expressions relax and they seat them- selves at the table, all but the pikemen who stand in the corner and drink and talk in whispers.] 80 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE Now, Worshipful Sirs — What sums are needed to free my father from this process? [To Leatherby who produces another long document.} No longer weary yourself, Noble Sir. [To Bailly.] You are no doubt acquainted with the facts? Spare Master Leatherby. His breath should be reserved for matters worthier its spending. [Leatherby looks pompously gratified.'] BAILLY [Taking a slip of paper from his pocket and reading.] For the Asbies Estate. For interest on the mortgage held by John Lam- bert, twenty pounds ; to John Brown of Strat- ford for money loaned, ten pounds; to the Town of Stratford for debts for the Strat- ford Theatre, forty pounds. To sundry other private persons whose names I need not now set forth, forty pounds. In all one hundred and ten pounds. [After a pause and looking with sympathy at Shakespeare.] You WILL SHAKESPEARE 81 understand, Master Will, that his fellow townsmen hold your father in respect and high consideration, but they have waited many years and all suffer. I regret both for him and yourself that such troubles should be. SHAKESPEARE I thank you. There is no fence for ill for- tune. [While Bailly has spoken, he has carefully noted each item on a slip of paper.] Were all this paid anon, he would go free? ALL [With the exception of Taverner.~\ Yes ! Yes ! TAVERNER [Laughing jeeringly.'] Anon? Two anons and a by-and-by, makes a while and a half! [The others try to silence him.~\ Anon! It's now that's needful. Anon, he asks? Shameful asking should have shameful nay! 82 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE [Without appearing to notice him.] If full payment could be assured for all public and private debt within a reasonable time, would such time be granted by the law? [To Master Leath&rby.'] Vouchsafe your valued judgment, Gracious Sir. LEATHERBY {Who has been enjoying the ale.~\ A rea- sonable time — Yes — Yes — There should be no justice without mercy. SHAKESPEARE I pledge myself to pay these sums within two years from this date and in the interval to pay such interest as may be deemed suffi- cient both by the town and those private per- sons who have been at loss. TAVERNER He promises like a Lover to his Maid! What security can he give? I ask that of WILL SHAKESPEARE 83 you all? Seven hands in the dish here. Two in the purse and that an empty one, and an Idler at the fore. Ha, ha! They that have not worked in heat must linger in frost ! Ha, ha! [Shakespeare appears as if he had not heard Taverner.] BAILLY [Losing his temper."] Silence — Flea! [To Shakespeare.] We know your love of uprightness of dealing; that you are gentle and honest, of an open, free and frank dis- position; but that some security should be as- sured is a necessity that you must under- stand. [To Leatherby.] Kindly explain this point to Master Will, sir. [Leatherby produces from his bag an- other document. Shakespeare hastily fills his mug with ale.] SHAKESPEARE I neglect your comfort. No proof is nec- essary. Your honored word suffices. 84 WILL SHAKESPEARE [Leatherby bows affably and drinks. Shakespeare sits motionless with an expression of anxious thought. 'All wait silently."] BAILLY If due security could be given I doubt not that your proposal would be acceptable to the town and the private persons (touching mem- orandum) herein set forth. SHAKESPEARE [Showing his despair.] Security? Alas! I have none. LEATHERBY [Having finished all the ale on the table.] Then the law must proceed. What we came for should be done. [He stands and the con- stables also rise.] Take us to your father. SHAKESPEARE {Passionately and springing from his chair and standing with his back to the garden door.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 85 You may not see him! [The constables, lawyers, and pikemen rush tozvard hint.] LEATHERBY "May not" is said not to the law. BAILLY He hides in the garden! Out of our path! You presume on our patience. [He attempts to push Shakespeare aside.'] SHAKESPEARE S'death! I'll presume yet farther before you pass this door. [They struggle.] The Voice of Shakespeare's Father (without) [He knocks at the door to the garden.] Will! Willi What means this turmoil? Who is within? Open! — [A silence.] SHAKESPEARE Peace, Father! A bout of wrestling for 86 WILL SHAKESPEARE pleasantry with some of the neighbors. 'Tis over. Go you to the pleached alley at the garden end. They go! THE VOICE 'Tis well — I go to the pleached alley. But more stillness were meeter for the honor of my house. [All stand silent and surprised.'] SHAKESPEARE [With passion.] Is it justice or reason to put a man in gaol who is too feeble to stir abroad? When the heart acheth the whole body is aworse and my father is weighted by lassitude. A helplessness that is inert be- cause there is beneath it no stir of hope. I know from words and signs of whose mean- ing I have discernment that he has come not into church for a year for fear of process for debt. All's at an end for him. Youth, man- hood and the mighty tide of ambition that sweeps the middle years. Yet pride still lives WILL SHAKESPEARE Sy in him. Like all wounded and feeble things the sorer to the touch because it has been hurt already. Wound it not still more. Strike it not now so that it die in agony. In his prosperity did he not prosper all? Was it not he who fed the poor and starving when the plague ravaged the town? Was it not he who built a theatre for Stratford that we might have some surprise of laughter, some strangeness of fancy, some grace shaped with Art to turn the stones of our daily lives to bread if but for an hour's space? For which of these things do you prison him? Who has ever had thought to reward him for these gifts? Should not there be some generous handling of him who was generous to all? [He pauses. The men are visibly af- fected.] Suppose an if you do this thing — Suppose you drag this sick and bleeding soul to gaol what gain have you? He shall have no more gold to pay you then than now, and you have stained the records of the town with dark in- 88 WILL SHAKESPEARE gratitude that no time to come can wash white. [He pauses again.'] BAILLY These be true words. [The others assent silently, all but Tav- erner.] SHAKESPEARE And I will pay all. Set this security- aside. Give me but two years' grace and if Fate send not some hooded calamity across my path to strike me before I can see its face, whether it portend evil or good, nothing in life shall stay my triumph. [He covers his eyes with his hand and then removes it looking fixedly for- ward and slightly upward.] BAILLY [With emotion.] Friends, I am for giv- ing him his way. LEATHERBY [Throwing off his dry manner."] WILL SHAKESPEARE 89 Am I a simpleton that I so trust this youth, and without reason? TAVERNER [Despairingly. ] The twist of his tongue turns their stiff brains on their very hinges and oils them so they do not even creak! SHAKESPEARE [With impetuous sweetness."} Give me your trusts, Gentles all. Let me wrap them in my heart — fulfill them with its impulse and its strength and when the fruit of my travail lies in your hands you will be justified. Do you consent? LEATHERBY [Slowly and hesitatingly. ~\ There is no legal warrant for such exception to the law. SHAKESPEARE Do you refuse? LEATHERBY We cannot. po WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE Then let all lie in the secret kindness of your hearts and let me prove my words. BAILLY I will lay all before the town council and in all truth I do believe I will prevail. SHAKESPEARE May the goodness that is Divine refresh your hearts for this sweet faith. Farewell good friends. [They go. He shows them to the door and then walks swiftly to the front.~\ I should be overwhelmed at what the years — their movement and their mystery — wrap around my life, but that I have within assur- ance of strength to match their force, magic for their mystery, freedom beyond bonds. These bonds I seek not to break. I scarce know how they came. Call it human pity — the higher side of that same weakness that wronged another life — or, on the other hand, WILL SHAKESPEARE 91 clutching selfishness that assaulted a man's defenseless side. Man made for woman — woman made for man. The mystery of op- posites — distant and strange, yet dragging into gripping closeness diverse lives. Call it fate, blindness, sex, anything but Love. But when we stood before the altar and the Priest asked pledges, did I not shout them? Let be then. It is as it should be. It cannot be otherwise. See — there am I in the steel- bound cage and for my sin I acquiesce. And then — a brush of heavenly wings, an opening of the heart, all unforeseen — and we are as Gods, fathering unfledged souls, that we who are aware, entertain as angels, kneeling at their feet, bending our ears to catch some lisping of the wisdom and the glory they have newly left. O I should moan and shrink when thought of these sweet young lives that Heaven has given me holds the courts of my brain, were it not that in even balance with their crushing weight is my will to draw forth this life's richest juices for them as I 92 WILL SHAKESPEARE tread its press. To pour out for them wine, distilled from every tree of Knowledge and Life, whose fruit I pluck and eat because all is mine, as I fare on the world's highway. My father and my mother . . . Let me compass peace not in their ken for them. And for my wife — my wife — my wife — Is she then indeed my wife? What the hawk does not hold beneath her iron claw may the Eagle ranging far bring to her bleak holding in the rock? My vision is at fault. There is an emptiness at my heart. I may not see farther. Nor would I. There is balm and calming in the veil of mist that floats at dawn and lifts at last to show a novel splendour. [He uncovers his manuscript and looks at it."] I thought it would be long to finish this but see how it completes itself ! There lacks here but little. Speed, speed! And my apple of Hesperides may ripen by noon! [He writes zvith an expression of joyous content on his face. John Richard- WILL SHAKESPEARE 93 son and Foulke Sandells pass the win- dow at right and after looking in, rap gently at the door which is slightly ajar. Shakespeare continues absorbed in his writing. They push open the door and enter stealthily. They look at each other and then sit in two chairs at left and watch Shakespeare silently for a moment, shaking their heads. They look older and are dressed in black clothes as if for a visit of cere- mony. They cough and shift their chairs somewhat noisily. Shakespeare looks up suddenly and sees them.] SHAKESPEARE [Gaily.] Richardson and Sandells, my ancient Ravens! What does this visit omen? Why this sombre plumage of a morning? Is it a tithe meeting? Or a funeral? Is Dame Fernlow's cat dead? Or Dame Hathaway's black cow? Unfold! 94 WILL SHAKESPEARE RICHARDSON [With injured dignity.'] We bear a message to you from Dame Hathaway. SANDELLS With vast unwillingness. SHAKESPEARE [With a quick frown but speaking with good humor.'] A weighty message — Since two must carry it. What's wrong with my wife's mother? RICHARDSON There's nothing wrong with her. The trouble is with you, young Featherhead. SHAKESPEARE [Turns and faces the two men looking at them piercingly. They both Hinch and look uneasy.] What is the nature of my trouble? Give it a name, I beg. I've read of a man who look- WILL SHAKESPEARE 93 ing up to the sky and seeing a comet feared it, until he heard that it had a name, when he concluded it must be harmless and went into his house again, content! RICHARDSON You must give us, Sandells and me, credit for judgment — wisdom — SANDELLS Tact. SHAKESPEARE O enormous! RICHARDSON [Slowly and impressively.'] Only duty — the sacred obligation of old friendship brings us here. SHAKESPEARE [Looking at the clock and speaking in the same manner.'] Only Duty — the sacred obligation of old prom- ises made to all the Powers that be, force me 96 WILL SHAKESPEARE to tell you that I, (speaks very rapidly) have only two minutes to listen to you. [He stands and moves a step or two toward the two men.] SANDELLS [With uneasiness. ] Tell him, Richard- son. I'll not face Dame Hathaway with her words unsaid. RICHARDSON Dame Hathaway is dissatisfied with your way of life. [Shakespeare looks astonished.] It is four years since you married her daugh- ter and during that time you have idled, lounged, drunk sack with your rude wildrakes and Anne has kept the house and her mother has paid the bills. You have done no work — SHAKESPEARE O pardon me! RICHARDSON Wherefore ? WILL SHAKESPEARE 97 SHAKESPEARE I have worked. RICHARDSON And in what fashion? SHAKESPEARE I have — written. RICHARDSON AND SANDELLS [Laughing sneeringly.~\ Pray what have you written? SHAKESPEARE [Who has been good-humored and careless until this moment becomes suddenly grave and reserved.'] Words. RICHARDSON [Again laughing jeeringly.] Words! — words! And that he calls work! Well Dame Hathaway says there's to be no more 98 WILL SHAKESPEARE of these " words." You must go to work with your hands, like any other honest man, or Anne's Mother's money shall keep you no more — and — ■ SHAKESPEARE [Going to the two men with a swift, irre- sistible movement, takes them by the shoulders, and quickly, but gently, pushes them to the door and out into the street, speaking as he does so, with breaks and pauses as he pushes them.~\ When the Phoenix was consumed — even to ashes — in his own nest — he flew away — up, up, up — into the burning blue of the sky, with new feathers. Such glorious ones! Did you ever read the story? No? Go home then and read it! [The two men stumble over the thresh- old and out into the street and disap- pear hastily, looking timidly over their , shoulders as if to see whether Shake- speare follows or not, Shakespeare WILL SHAKESPEARE 99 looks after them, laughing uncontrol- lably. He waves his hand to them with gaiety and calls.] SHAKESPEARE Come again anon, — to-morrow — to dine! We shall have venison for you and tripe and onions and sack! {He writes again as before. Music of violins, -flutes, haut-boys and horns is heard down the village street and the shouting of boys and girls. People come to the doors and windows of the houses opposite and some come out on the street.'] a boy's voice Hallo! Hallo! [A boy enters street skipping and running. ~] Way! Room! Make way! The Players! The London Players from Kenilworth! [Boys and girls follow him, laughing, skipping and clapping their hands; ioo WILL SHAKESPEARE then a group of villagers, then musi- cians playing, followed by a group of players. They are all men and boys and look shabby, travel-stained and tired. At Shakespeare's door, which stands open, they stop and the leader, a middle-aged man, knocks. Shake- speare has heard nothing and still writes. The knock is repeated more loudly, ,] SHAKESPEARE [Starting.] — who knocks? FIRST PLAYER Gentle, sir, is this mayhap an inn, where we may refresh ourselves? We are most weary — having walked this morning from Kenilworth where we played yesterday for my lords Leicester and Essex. [The other players are grouped about the door behind the -first player. The musicians and villagers stand behind them in the street.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 101 SHAKESPEARE [Going joyously to the door.'] Enter friends! All! For you this is an Inn — and for refreshment! — Why, what there is, is yours ! PETER DUMPSER [A Village Boy] This is no Inn. 'Tis Will Shakespeare's own house! [The players hesitate."] SHAKESPEARE [To boy.] That's enough from you, sir. Silence or you shall have no cakes! — Too truthful Peter Dumpser! [To Players.] I said it was an Inn for you. I entreat you — Brothers — Pass not my door without enter- ing! [The players and musicians yield and enter. The villagers hang back and, after shaking their heads and demur- ring, all go with the exception of io2 WILL SHAKESPEARE Peter Dumpser and one villager who lingers in the street."] SHAKESPEARE Rest — rest. Here are seats for all. [He pulls about the chairs and settles. 'All sit in background. Shakespeare opens doors of cupboards.] All's cold, alas! — But here's game-pie and oaten bread and sack and cheese. [He empties the cupboards and puts dishes and beer mugs and jugs on the table and begins to serve the Players. All take food and eat and drink. Shakespeare gives a double portion to Peter Dumpser.] FIRST PLAYER But, sir, there is no seat for you — and all the pie is gone! SHAKESPEARE When you eat I also am fed! [He sits on WILL SHAKESPEARE 103 the edge of the table.] What did you play yesterday for my Lord of Leicester? FIRST PLAYER A Fairy Masque. SHAKESPEARE [With eager interest.'] And by whom written ? FIRST PLAYER By one Campion. You know his plays? SHAKESPEARE Alas ! I am till now ignorant of his name. FIRST PLAYER Tis a pleasing pastoral and suits in this May time in the open air, with songs com- posed by one of our company here. [Points to a young musician.] SHAKESPEARE [Goes to him and shakes his hand.] I 104 WILL SHAKESPEARE must hear these songs! Your eyes are bright with Love-light. A nightingale, I'll swear to it ! MUSICIAN I thank you. A Hedge Robin, say rather! [Enter, riding by the village street, Heminge and Greene. They dis- mount before Shakespeare's house. A villager who has lingered in the street holds the bridles of their horses, while they enter the door and then leads their horses away. They are richly dressed in courtier's costumes of brilliant satin.] SHAKESPEARE Heminge and Greene! Whether the sub- stance of a dream or flesh and blood, welcome to Stratford again. HEMINGE We pass never your Father's door, Will, WILL SHAKESPEARE 105 without a sight of you, but we thought not to find all our company of the same mind! SHAKESPEARE [Embracing him.'] Ah, Heminge. Your voice! No spirit speaks so soundly. [He embraces Greene.] Welcome, old friend. [Some of the other Players stand and one brings some chairs near front.] SHAKESPEARE [To Players.] My thanks for this cour- tesy. You were the gracious forerunners of old sweetness renewed. These are my fel- low-townsmen. [Drawing close to Heminge and Greene.] Amazing transformation! You left Stratford with empty pockets, meanly clad, and you come back ruffling it in glaring satin suits, on horses like Lords, and I'll swear, with full purses! GREENE [Laughing.] There be many who have 106 WILL SHAKESPEARE gone to London who can tell the same pretty tale. SHAKESPEARE [Touching his ruff and costume.'] On my soul, a ruff of lace like a Lady's. A chain and jewel of amethyst shaped heart-wise graven with tender emblems; a heart with a winged cupid shooting; his arrow guided by a Venus kneeling; a flower-broidered doub- let; Love-Lies-Bleeding with Forget-Me- Nots! [To Heminge.] And you — his match in all these dazzlements! How comes this? HEMINGE Fortune's caprice turns even the way of a poor playwright! Blind like Love! SHAKESPEARE [With eager inter est. ~\ Is it even so? What plays please in London now? GREENE O, anything of the Peep-show order from a Bear-garden to a Dog-fight! WILL SHAKESPEARE 107 SHAKESPEARE [With disappointment.'] No higher soar- ing? HEMINGE Fairy-Masques and spectacles, (so there are satyrs who scramble to make the ground- lings laugh, with songs and music cunningly interspersed) are borne with some show of patience. We played in one such yesterday at my Lord Leicester's at Kenilworth. We play it again in London when June opens. SHAKESPEARE Ah! If I might but see you then! HEMINGE You affect the stage? SHAKESPEARE I lack at this time opportunity to affect anything — except as a kind of curtain-raiser, beer and skittles. But — I have my own mo- ments ! 108 WILL SHAKESPEARE HEMINGE And that way lies salvation! GREENE You would mayhap like to join our fra- ternity ? SHAKESPEARE My imagination is ensnared by your be- witching show of this our puzzling world; for through the noble or jesting words you so pointedly speak and through the mum- mery of your action I read a kind of free translation of the wonderful pageantry of Life that illuminates it — for me! For me. GREENE You have played yourself? SHAKESPEARE Most indifferently in our Village shows. HEMINGE O, we all had a beginning! Others must judge of your talent. WILL SHAKESPEARE 109 SHAKESPEARE I am my own kindest critic. HEMINGE Then from your own showing they must rate you too low for even your modesty. SHAKESPEARE Impossible! For I rank myself, and were I easily capsized I should be completely so by my own pleasure in what I do — when I do it well. HEMINGE Then you do somewhat and well — and what may it be? SHAKESPEARE I am of your craft. GREENE You too! In the circles in which I re- volve no one does anything else. But is no WILL SHAKESPEARE there then no more novel impulse from this fresh plenitude of solitary nature that sur- rounds you than to take to the too-trodden highway of the Playwright? No secret by- path that you alone frequent where you may have raptures of discovery for yourself alone ? SHAKESPEARE Unshared pleasure grows stale. HEMINGE But not so stale as fruit thrown on the market and neither bought nor eaten! I have plays on my shelf that in imagination I saw the public swallowing like manna from Heaven, when, in fact, they spewed them forth and there remained for me but to gather up the fragments! SHAKESPEARE Even if it bloom not for me, let me live always in the perfume of the Rose! I love the theatre! Its air would be sweet to me WILL SHAKESPEARE in even if the flowers in its gardens were not of my planting. HEMINGE Show us of your imaginings — GREENE We entreat you. SHAKESPEARE Do you wish me to fright away the shy Angel of my Thought before I have mas- tered his whisperings? I thought not to un- lock the gate to my garden of unfading flowers until they bloomed as sturdily on their stems as they do in my own mind — but when Opportunity knocks so graciously only Folly would keep it closed. [He uncovers the Mss. and hands it to Heminge."] A Fairy Masque such as you have played even now. A dream I dreamed in the Forest here on a night in Midsummer. ii2 WILL SHAKESPEARE [Heminge turns the pages and reads while Greene looks over his shoul- der.] HEMINGE [Indicating a line.] Excellent fantasy! [They read on.] GREENE Brave notions! HEMINGE A prospering wit! GREENE A Fairy Masque indeed — but not such as we have been playing! Ours was fustian, this cloth of gold, if all the stuff be of this weaving. HEMINGE [Who has continued to read and turn the pages.] Strange witchery! These fairies live — ■ These men and women are the shadows ! WILL SHAKESPEARE 113 SHAKESPEARE In the Fairy World 'tis so. GREENE Never so before, yet true! SHAKESPEARE Should not art, like truth, be inevitable? A great painter draws an arm. Never so drawn before. Yet all the world cries out — "An arm should be like that! It could not be otherwise. ,, HEMINGE The truth from the mouth of a babe! GREENE [To Heminge.] Burbage should see this. HEMINGE {Turning the pages of the Mss. to the end.~\ This is not all ? It will be long to complete it ? 114 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE A few hours of quietness! The end — and one might say a glorification of the whole! Or — I might lay this phantasy aside. I have other plays that might please more. HEMINGE Come with me to London — show this play to Burbage, our manager. There is hunger, know you, in the public stomach — though my dishes lack seasoning to their zest! Come with us! SHAKESPEARE [With sudden reserve.} I know not if that may be. HEMINGE A prudent youth. A vision of failure out- weighs the chances of glory! SHAKESPEARE Not so. [To Greene.] My desires match your words and my impulses rush to marry WILL SHAKESPEARE 115 them. My hopes blossom in the sun of your gracious encouraging. How may I requite it? [Enter Pet&r Dumpser with ale and cakes.] PETER DUMPSER [To Shakespeare.] There's ale for you, Will Shakespeare, for all have drunk save you. SHAKESPEARE You come at a fortunate moment, truthful Peter, a fresh spring where our own well runs dry! [He refills the glasses of the players.] HEMINGE A glass to your London journey and good luck at its end ! ALL The London journey! n6 WILL SHAKESPEARE [All drink laughing and applauding and clinking their glasses. The door to the street at back in the centre is suddenly pushed open and Anne enters. Her face is pale and rigid with excitement and anger. She passes swiftly be- tween the seated players on either side of the door, and goes to front."] ANNE An end to this. This is my home and this my husband. My home not for defilement by pot house carousals. My husband not the comrade of vagabonds. Out — Out all! [The players all rise and stand in con- fused astonishment. Heminge and Greene look at Anne with cold curios- ity. ,] SHAKESPEARE [Springing to Anne, and laying his hand on her arm.~\ Mad — and more blind than mad! Unsay your words, Anne, there's WILL SHAKESPEARE 117 more at stake than your short vision sees! [To players.'] Gentlemen — my friends — a wild mistake! Some lack of understanding in our village-folk, pardonable to your larger experience, is untowardly shared by my — most honoured wife. [To players, but more espe- cially to Heminge and Greene.] She knows not who you are! [To Anne, with pleading intensity.] Speak again, with gentleness. Salve the hurt your wild words cause these generous, kindly folk. [To players.] All's understood my friends. Go not! Be seated, that our pretty comedy of the arts may go on! [The players who have begun to move toward the door yield to his urgency and again sit.] ANNE [With increased anger.] An impudence, — • a cowardice I scarce believe even though my eyes see it? Silly souls! They know they trespass in an honoured house, yet they sit n8 WILL SHAKESPEARE still and say nothing! [To Shakespeare."] Is it not enough that we are ruined by your father's theatre-building madness here in Stratford, that you let your own home be fouled with this draggled flock of the high road? Are you sheep-blooded also that you leave me to play the watch-dog and drive them out upon it again ? [The players rise again, this time indig- nantly, and look anxiously at Shake- speare as if expecting him to resent r Anne's words. He moves to a chair near the table in the foreground and sits looking forward with an air of complete detachment. The players and musicians confer an instant si- lently and go out of the door, [As they cross the threshold Shakespeare springs from his seat and goes to them smiling radiantly.'] SHAKESPEARE [Grasping the hands of Heminge and Greene and some of the others.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 119 A brief farewell! Life leads us through some lying hours, friends, yet truth is lusty! The canker-worm gnaws, but the bud still burns into the rose. Fruition redeems! [Exeunt players and Peter Dumpser, whose head Shake t speare\ caresses as he passes him.'] SHAKESPEARE [Going to Anne and speaking kindly.] Be my friend, Anne, as I am yours. There is no Beauty else. ANNE [Turning angrily from him, and -flinging open the cupboard door.] My children's food taken from their mouths and given to dogs ! [She turns to the •fire-place and sees the grey ashes.] No fire — a chilled house. [She throws some kindlings and logs on the ashes and the fire blazes. She turns fiercely to Shakespeare.] His children's lives forgotten in his wanton pleasure ! l2o WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE [Going to her again and attempting to take her hand.] Poor stormy Petrel ! Is it quite lost the old magic that once stilled the storms which drive your soul so wildly ? Listen, I will tell you all my secret. I feared to start fair hopes in your breast until there were some outward showing that your reason would entertain. [He takes his play from the table.] See, — Here is opportunity, freedom, prosper- ity for you and for our beloved. Know you not that the good will of the gentle, generous folk you have so unworthily driven forth is our safest investiture for our happy fortune? [He gives the play to Anne. She looks at it and recoils.] ANNE A play ? On this, then, you have spent your strength and the precious days and months that might have been given to honest work? Is it not enough that the hard grip of poverty WILL SHAKESPEARE 121 holds us, for that your father wasted his sub- stance for a theatre, that you too should play with the dangerous flame? To the fire let all theatre-scribblings go and burn there end- lessly and no more torment us ! [She flings the manuscript into the Are where it biases for an instant. ] SHAKESPEARE \_Snatching the manuscript from the fire.~\ You know not what you do. You are burn- ing up my life! \He stands at a distance from Anne holding the charred manuscript, trem- bling and pale, looking at her wildly. ~\ Cruel woman ! Ignorance — Inexperience ! The instincts raging, but the heart unborn. No love, no hope for me in you ! ANNE [With frenzy.] O God! Have you not caused me anguish that suffices? Idler, — rob- ber of your children's living, — unnatural 122 WILL SHAKESPEARE dreamer of false dreams! Go — let me not see you more. Or, if you will stay there like a block that understands not your own sin. I will go while my children wait without in the garden and wander the streets till I am free from your presence that so maddens me. [She opens the closed door and rushes out into the now empty street and dis- appears.'} SHAKESPEARE [With intense bitterness.} Give greatness, — shall not greatness be returned? The bards and books have written it, — but O how many lies go masqueing through Time, for hun- gry souls to starve and die upon! Where have I so failed, that set perfection as my mark? We must look to the larger tribunal when the judge of the Hearthstone goes blind. But, when the spring grows bitter, how may the waters of life be sweet? O Life, me- thought you were my friend! Wherefore did'st trap me in this iron web? What Devil- WILL SHAKESPEARE 123 spider lurking at its edge waits to end my struggles with its sting? Yet out beyond my web there lies the world. So mighty in allure- ment, so vast in opportunity. [He stretches out his arms.'] I have a lust for life and love! What do I see here? What do I hear? No Beauty— no Peace — nor no Progressing. There is no longer foothold for me here in mine own place. For their enriching I must leave my father, my mother, and those sweet lives that taught me through my own heart what God's love for men must be. It may be that the same Providence that pushes the fledglings from their nest now flings me forth from mine. I have watched young birds newly fallen again and yet again to earth. Some snatch of my own life caught me from sight of what befel the helpless, pitiable, soft things. Never saw I one fly to safety! Yet before the summer passed, the trees were sweet with song from the young thrushes' throats. Am I — a man — less master of my fate than they? "Come with us," the players said. There i2 4 WILL SHAKESPEARE was a large music in the words. " To Lon- don." A place that breeds such miracles of finished loveliness as was that prince-boy of the forest, must be a soil where lives can grow. Where beats now that gallant young heart ? I'll seek him out ! God makes a patch of blue for us in every sky, — some star, how- ever dim, the night. . [He goes to the cupboard and takes out several manuscripts which he puts with the charred one into a canvas hunting bag hanging on the wall. He empties a wallet at his side on the table. A few coins drop out. He takes one and re- places it in the wallet.] This will buy food. [He leaves the others on the table.] I have often walked thirty miles for pleasure, why not thrice thirty for my life? [He slings his gun and hunting-bag over his shoulder. He goes to the table and writes.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 125 SHAKESPEARE [Writing.'] My father and my mother. — Opportunity to refill our too empty purse takes me to-day to London. There is needful haste so that I may not now say more, but at the first stage of my journey I will write all that your own minds may ask. Give me your trusts and your good patience until my letter come. Your great hearts will greatly wait. Will. [He continues to write on another paper.] Anne : You have bid me go. You wish free- dom from the sight of me. True it is with some, that what the eye seeth not the heart rueth not. So I go. What I win from for- tune shall be yours with but a moiety for my sustaining. Though you know it not, to one goal, — Peace and Prosperity, — from our too separate points we look. The lines converge. When time brings them so close that you 126 WILL SHAKESPEARE know our vision is the same, though differing in degree, I will come again. Will. [He leaves the letters on the table and taking his cap and gun goes to the door.~\ a child's voice [From without the garden door."] Father! Sweet father! Let me in. ANOTHER CHILD'S VOICE Let me come to you father! SHAKESPEARE [With fierce anguish.~\ God blast in hell the fiend that sends those voices to knock at my heart to weaken its resolution — all's dark again! My way as black as night — and I — blind. Yet, if I stay, life perishes in blank- ness like my father's. WILL SHAKESPEARE 127 THE CHILDREN'S VOICES [Without. ] Father! Father! [Shakespeare goes wildly toward the voices, then turning away he covers his ears with his hands and rushes from the house to the street.] CURTAIN ACT II SCENE II Scene]: [Night. In the background large meadow-land, very slightly rolling, with sleeping sheep guarded by sheep-dogs who also sleep. A still stream lighted by moon- light winds across the meadows at a distance in the background. At left, near the back, are the imposing gates of a private park and behind them, at a distance, is seen the shad- owy outline of a Castle or Manor House with dim lights shining in some of its windows. The sky is full of stars and the moonlight lights everything. At the right near the back an old shepherd in a cloak and broad hat watches the sheep, leaning on his staff. There is a group of trees behind the shepherd but far enough away for his -figure, turned away from the audience, to be clearly out- 138 WILL SHAKESPEARE 129 lined against the moonlit plain. Enter from right Shakespeare, walking wearily. ] SHAKESPEARE Can lead be quicksilver, or night be day! How then can all this dead weight in my heart Be turned again to light and life and song? [He stops and looks toward the mead- owsJ] This is a sweet land! Full of rest and peace; With grassy meads and waters clear as Heaven. I'll lie among those quiet lambs and sleep, And let the Master-Shepherd lead my soul Up to the stars for Light. [He goes a few steps further and sees the shepherd who has been hidden from him by the group of trees. ] Ev'n here a taint! A shepherd of this earth to reckon with. Hola, my friend! THE SHEPHERD [Startled.] Who comes? He has a gun, i 3 o WILL SHAKESPEARE A poacher — or a murderous highwayman. What do you, trespasser on private land? Off, or I'll set my dogs on you, or call The castle guard! SHAKESPEARE [Laughing. ] Let your dogs sleep! [He takes off his gun and holds it out to the shepherd."] Take this, It is uncharged. I do not come to poach, And as for robbery — Truth, I lack force For even that — if such were my intent! My ankles bend, my knees are turned to straw. I have walked more than thirty miles to-day. Let me lie there among your sleeping sheep, Share their mute rest and steal away at dawn, And be to you a half-forgotten shade Of night. Do you consent? THE SHEPHERD [Coming nearer and peering into his face.] A wayfarer, WILL SHAKESPEARE 131 And young! [He takes his gun and examines it.] Uncharged. You are an honest man. It is not strange you seemed an evil one. A month ago, upon a night like this, A night of stars, — a man, armed, ev'n as you, Asked me his way, — and yonder in the copse A flight-shoot from the brays, that very night, He killed a pedlar for his gold. At dawn I found the body bleeding in the fern. They caught the killer and this very hour He's swinging at the cross-roads, not far hence. On quiet nights, like this — when a breeze blows This way, you hear the clanking of the chains, Ay, Ay, quite clear! [In the group of trees chains clank.] SHAKESPEARE [Shuddering.] Does murder haunt that copse? I thought to hear of chanting nightingales. 1 32 WILL SHAKESPEARE THE SHEPHERD Nightingales, say you? Ay, there's plenty there But they all sing in June. Whence come you, Sir? And whither go? SHAKESPEARE From Stratford, on the Avon; I go to London. THE SHEPHERD You fare far afield. SHAKESPEARE I seek — a Friend! Not many miles away May one not find the Country-Seat of that Illustrious youth, the Earl of Southampton? THE SHEPHERD Look there — Those are his gates. WILL SHAKESPEARE 133 SHAKESPEARE [With intense eagerness. ] Am I so near? THE SHEPHERD His castle lights shine there. SHAKESPEARE Is he within? THE SHEPHERD He was — he will be — but, look you, he goes At sunrise with his train to London town. SHAKESPEARE Where is he now? THE SHEPHERD Beside the river-bank He wanders with a troop of young court- folk As gay and mad as he. With gray heads too, i 3 4 WILL SHAKESPEARE Old sheep-dogs — like to mine — to keep their lambs From frollicking too far. \ln the distance soft music sounds and ceases.] SHAKESPEARE How wondrously Those floating tones assuage the ear and heart ! I had forgotten there was music in The world. [Another strain is heard.'] THE SHEPHERD O, ay! They even walk to tunes, Dance, sing and play with cup and ball by night, And squander days at cards and dice and bowls. SHAKESPEARE And never tire! WILL SHAKESPEARE 135 THE SHEPHERD If they tire, sir, It is with pleasure. If they weary, sure Tis surfeiting of overmuch enjoyment. SHAKESPEARE There's art far finer, friend, in starving for A joy and feeding with sharp joy upon It, when it comes at last. [Soft music is heard nearer. It ceases again.] THE SHEPHERD [Turning and pointing to the right. ] See where they come! SHAKESPEARE [Looking and speaking eagerly.] He who walks first with curls that burn deep gold, Under the silver moon, is the young Earl,— Is it not so? 136 WILL SHAKESPEARE THE SHEPHERD Ay, he's but fourteen years Yet heighted like a man. The little maid He leads, the Lady Bridget Manners, — whom 'Tis said, he courts in deadly boyish-love. SHAKESPEARE A man's tenacity! Four years ago He lisped in his child-music of this child. [The music, still soft, is heard continu- ously, close at hand. A procession of youths and maidens of from four- teen to sixteen years approach with two or three older men and women and accompanied by musicians play- ing. They wear summer court cos- tumes and Hit across the stage from the right to the left, and enter the gates of the castle. They pass with soft laughter and music, more like a procession of spirits than of human beings. As Southampton passes, WILL SHAKESPEARE 137 Shakespeare springs forward, with outstretched hands as if to touch and hold him. The procession disappears completely behind the gates and wall of the castle. Shakespeare stands in the centre of the stage watching as if expecting it to re-appear.'] THE SHEPHERD They will not come again to-night! Listen — > I have a hut a stone's throw space from here, Rest there — the ground is hard, ev'n for young bones. SHAKESPEARE Not so. I'll sweeter rest beneath the stars. SHEPHERD Well — well — we are all mad when we are young ! [Exit Shepherd to hut."] [Enter hastily from gate an old Lady- in-Waiting, stout and breathless.'] 138 WILL SHAKESPEARE LADY-IN-WAITING {Calling.'] Elisabeth! Elisabeth Vernon! Where has the mad girl gone? Find her I must, Else will her Cousin Essex rail at me. [She hurries into the shrubbery near the gate without seeing Shakespeare, Enter from the group of trees at right, close to where Shakespeare stands, filisabeth Vernon. She is a tall girl of eleven or twelve years wearing a pale green dress of soft silky gauze, clinging closely and not reaching quite to her ankles. Her arms and throat are bare. Her dark hair falls on her shoulders and her head is crowned with a wreath of green leaves. As she sees Shakespeare, she stops and stands staring at him in surprise.] SHAKESPEARE My Dryad come to life! WILL SHAKESPEARE 139 ELISABETH [Looking at him wonderingly, speaks with easy, fearless confidence.] What is a Dryad? SHAKESPEARE Enchanting fearlessness ! [He speaks as if telling a fairy tale to a child. ,] . . . A Dryad is A woodland sylph, born in a hollow tree Needing no shelter but the leaves and sky. ELISABETH What pretty words you speak! But I'm no Dryad ! For I am but Elisabeth Vernon. Now, who are you? SHAKESPEARE A Passionate Pilgrim. ELISABETH [Shaking her head."] I never heard of one before! But though Your speech is strange, I see your gentlehood. l 4 o WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE [With emotion. 1 High Heaven has giv'n you vision far beyond Your world and years. ELISABETH My world? What is my world? SHAKESPEARE You're of the castle and the court. ELISABETH [Joyously.'} Well guessed! [She draws near Shakespeare, speaking confidentially.'] Have you seen anyone pass here? SHAKESPEARE A troop — WILL SHAKESPEARE 141 ELISABETH [Interrupting.'] Ah! They are in the castle! He forgot! [She tears the wreath of green leaves from her head and throws it on the ground, stamping on it with fury.] SHAKESPEARE [With quick anger.] Wanton cruelty! ELISABETH [Looking about in wonder.] Where? Who is cruel? SHAKESPEARE [Picking up the wreath and smoothing the crushed leaves. Elisabeth draws closer, looking at him with surprise.] You — who so wound these gentle, harmless leaves. 142 WILL SHAKESPEARE ELISABETH I wore that crown for Southampton — I waited In the meadow where he said he'd come, And he forgot me quite! SHAKESPEARE [With gay irony.] A fruitless tryst ! This is my love-struck Dryad in very truth! ELISABETH Who walked he with ? A maid with hair like flax? SHAKESPEARE [With mock earnestness.'} The very same! ELISABETH That frozen Bridget Manners! WILL SHAKESPEARE 143 SHAKESPEARE \ln the same manner. ~\ The very same! ELISABETH {Suddenly sobbing.'] He has forgotten me, And no one loves me! SHAKESPEARE Magic there surely is In both her childish hate and love that melts My heart within me! Woodland Child- Princess, / love you and I never shall forget! [Voices within the gate.] Elisabeth ! Elisabeth ! ELISABETH They call! And I must go. 144 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE Once more, farewell my Dryad! ELISABETH [Putting her face close to his.~\ I like you much! Pray come to London soon! [She waves her hand to him and runs toward the gate and disappears in the shrubbery within the gate.] SHAKESPEARE Such beings as that radiant girl and boy Reveal myself to me. I may not think Upon my darlings left behind. Tis ruin. Yet I still love and evermore must love — Love makes a mighty music in my heart And must find noble hearts to answer it A world on which to lavish all its wealth. [He goes toward back near gates. ] I'll wrap myself in dreams of those I've seen, And lying at their castle gates all night I'll wake with dawn and follow in the dust WILL SHAKESPEARE 145 Of their swift speeding hence, as if 'twere clouds 'Round Phoebus' golden chariot wheels, — to London ! [He goes to the gates and lies down near them, using his bag as a pillow.'] CURTAIN END OF ACT II ACT III Twelve Years Later THE LURE OF ELISABETH MAY, 1598 ACT III Twelve Years Later THE LURE OF ELISABETH May, 1598 Scene: [The inner Court of the London house of the Earl of Southampton, The sides of the court at right and left and back are Hanked by the walls of the house of a pinkish cream-colored stone with windows and balconies. The space between these walls is filled by a grass covered court. On the right is a dais with seats, and at the back is an arched opening showing an alley bordered by a high clipped hedge. The extreme fore- ground of the stage is composed of a very low Hat terrace which runs all across the stage from right to left. The front towards the spectators is entirely open. At its farther 149 150 WILL SHAKESPEARE edge are very high, wide arches reaching al- most to the top of the proscenium and sup- ported by four slender columns, one at either side on the extreme right and left and the other two at even distances apart. The char- acters pass across this species of lozv terrace, supposed to be a part of the front portion of the house. Through the lofty arches, all that is enacted in the court is seen. When the curtain rises, lackeys are hanging tapestries and silk hangings over the balconies and plac- ing flowers in the stone vases at the sides of the court and on the dais. Musicians with their instruments enter one of the balconies. Laughing maids lean out of the windows of the house and the lackeys throw flowers at them, which they try to catch. In one of the balconies a page plays with a cup and ball and another teases a parrot on a perch. Across the centre of the green from right to left is a stone wall or barrier about three feet in height. There are arched exits at each side and also a low closed doorway at the left.~\ WILL SHAKESPEARE 151 [Enter Florian from left, hastily yet with conceited grace. He is a slender, fair-haired youth and wears a page's costume of pale blue.'] FLORIAN [Calling to left.] Now follow the rest of you, in Venus' name! [Enter four pages, running. Three wear the same costume as Florian. The fourth, Peter Dumpser, a youth of eighteen, wears the worn clothes of a rustic] FLORIAN Stand there, my sky-larks, and tune your throats. [To musicians in balcony.] A Harmony, Gentlemen, a delectable Harmony of Hautboys and Shawms! FIRST MUSICIAN Which one, gallant Florian? 152 WILL SHAKESPEARE FLORIAN The one you have set to my Lord South- ampton's song to the Lady Bridget Manners. FIRST MUSICIAN We have the music here. FLORIAN We are to salute the Lady Bridget's ears with the same this hour when she comes to see the fighting with swords at the barriers, which my Lord proposes to play to-day be- fore the ladies of the Court. Your words, chaunters ! [The pages produce leaflets with the words of the song.'] FIRST MUSICIAN We are ready, gentle Sir. [They play the opening measure.] FLORIAN [Beating time with a wand.] Now with WILL SHAKESPEARE 153 a softness since the opening words are dolo- rous — yet, as there is a daring courage in the closing stanzas, with a joyful noise through- out. \_All begin to sing to the accompaniment of the musicians."} . Love hath ever wrought me woe, Brought me miseries long ago, Wrung my soul with piercing pain, Furies followed in his train. FLORIAN [Putting his hands over his ears.} O — O — O! Love never wrung the soul of any mortal as you are wringing mine now. This is harmony run mad. Again the first line. THE PAGES [Singing.'] Love hath ever wrought me woe — FLORIAN There is a voice there like a grater. [To 154 WILL SHAKESPEARE Peter Dumpser.'] 'Tis yours. You have no more voice than a peacock, and (observing his costume) without the peacock's excuse of pretty feathers. What do you here? PETER [In a whining voice. ] The Steward bade me present myself to you and you bade me sing. It is true, Sir, I have no voice. I am but endeavoring to make a joyful noise. FLORIAN Who are you? PETER My Lord Southampton's new page. FLORIAN His new page! Then your garments are older than your office. Whence do you come? PETER From Stratford. WILL SHAKESPEARE 155 FLORIAN From Stratford! As far from London as Heaven! Where is your page's dress? PETER The Steward gave it me, but he bade me go to you without delay that you should in- struct me in my duty; so I came as I was. FLORIAN An obedience that has its uses as well as its dangers. Go, put on your habit and return to me here. [Exit Peter. ] FLORIAN [To pages, beating time."] Again. I will take his part. Speak the words with clear- ness, for 'tis a well-penned metre intended to reach the lady's heart through her ears. [All sing.~\ 156 WILL SHAKESPEARE SONG Love hath ever wrought me woe, Brought me misery long ago, Wrung my soul with piercing pain, Furies followed in his train. But at last I snared the Boy, Clipped his wings, and O, the Joy! For Love taught my Love Love's ways, Nights of balm and blissful days. But Alas! the story saddens, For the fickle maiden maddens, Told me plainly she loved Love, Holding him all else above. But we cannot love without Love, Cannot doff him as a glove, We will keep but curb him duly, That my Love may love me truly. [Exeunt Musicians.'} WILL SHAKESPEARE 157 FLORIAN The song is well enough, but I doubt its effect. There is more in love than decorum. I have watched the Lady Bridget, — and if the passion in her run not more to good con- duct than tenderness, then my eye is deceived as I amourously glint it among the ladies of the Court. [Enter Peter Dumpser in a habit like those of the other pages."] [To pages.] Go wait in the ante-chamber while I instruct this Mirror of Truth in a little vital dissembling. [Exeunt pages casting scornful looks at Peter.] FLORIAN What is your name? PETER Peter Dumpser, Sir. FLORIAN Peter Dumpser! Your parents were as 158 WILL SHAKESPEARE cruel as mine, who called me Samuel Swales, — but when my Lord Southampton asked me my name, I answered Florian, whereon he immediately gave me a place in his house- hold. Could he have a Samuel Swales and a Peter Dumpser to carry his love-missives, think you? You shall not be Peter, but Pierre, after the French fashion. PETER Is not my own name good enough for a page, Sir? FLORIAN Good enough for a page! Look you, a page's office may be the first step to that of confidant of a king or the beloved of a prin- cess. PETER How may that be? FLORIAN 'Tis History. I have read it in my Lord's books. There was Hyacinthus who was a WILL SHAKESPEARE 159 kind of page to Apollo, Lord of Music. Apollo so loved Hyacinthus that he turned things about and became his page in turn, even carrying his arrows to the chase. There was Chastelard, page to Queen Mary of Scotland, who, had he not been over-bold, might have been made her consort, for did she not lean upon him in the Dance? There was Ganymede, who was so fair that an eagle car- ried him away to be page to Jupiter, one of the Kings of Heaven. Since knowing this, being rarely beautiful myself, whenever I see an eagle, I hide. [He takes out of a pouch a hand mirror of burnished silver and looks at himself with rapture, arranging his curls.] PETER Can such things be? FLORIAN Printed History. PETER I can hardly believe you! 160 WILL SHAKESPEARE FLORIAN A page has his opportunities. I see what others do not. PETER [Drawing close and looking at his eyes.'] Yet are your eyes no larger than mine! FLORIAN Dolt! It is not the eye, but what looks through it. Listen. All London knows that Lord Southampton courts Lady Bridget Man- ners. Every dog sees that! But I see that — [Here he holds up four -fingers and checks off the names on them] while Southampton ever pursues Lady Bridget, Mistress Elisa- beth Vernon follows Southampton, 'and in his turn, Master Will Shakespeare watches Mistress Elisabeth Vernon with fixed and dreaming eyes — and so there they are like four crows on a wall, each looking after the other. PETER Would that I might see as you do! WILL SHAKESPEARE 161 FLORIAN Behold me. I am still a page, yet when my Lord goes to Court, I am always with the gentlewomen-in-waiting by my good will. There I am in the midst of them, all hot in amity, of look so lovely, smiling to the eye. I gracify the matters with the proudest of them. It is, gentle Florian here and kind Florian there! There is one named Phillida, — a tall, sad-eyed, very perspiring girl, — but with a rare appreciation of me. I have writ her madrigals. Do you think if they were signed Samuel Swales there could be aught of romance about them? But to Court we seldom go now, for my Lord passes his days at the playhouse with the great playwright Master Will Shakespeare, who has become so famous that even the Queen commands him to give one of his plays before her at the Earl of Merton's country seat next month. PETER Is Will Shakespeare become so famous as that? 162 WILL SHAKESPEARE FLORIAN Lord Southampton is foolish enough to think him as great a man as he is himself — but then he is a poet too! But for yourself, Peter, remember well when my Lord asks your name answer boldly Pierre. PETER But that is not true. FLORIAN Truth is out of fashion at court. Were it to come in again the Queen's imagination of herself could never survive it. It once ruled the universe undisputed, but that was ages gone when Adam was but a vapour and Eve a sweet breath of air. No, no, Pierre. Be- lieve me, to lie honorably is one of the first duties of a page. The guests come soon. I have not eaten since morning. By my soul, which I believe has its dwelling in that part which nourishes me, I am hungry! [Enter the other pages.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 163 FIRST PAGE Shall we keep the Court, Sir, as is the cus- tom at this hour? FLORIAN [Angrily] Who bade you intrude on me? Pierre keeps the Court to-day, while I eat. Out — and wait on me when I bid you. [Exit pages with angry looks at Florian and Pierre.] FLORIAN I go. Keep you the Court. If any stranger come, ask him his name and business. If he answer not to your satisfaction, be in the bones of him at once. PETER [Timidly.] How may that be, seeing I have no sword? FLORIAN* Have you not fists and feet? . Speak to 1 64 WILL SHAKESPEARE him a rough speech full of passions with your tongue and let your other members do the rest. Come aside and I will show you the right knock. See — there — and there — and there — [Exeunt Florian and Peter, Florian strik- ing and kicking and tripping Peter up, Petter helplessly parrying his blows.] \Enter Shakespeare and Southampton, walking slowly, their arms around each other's shoulders, their heads 'bent to- gether in earnest talk. They wear Court costumes, Southampton's of more splendid ornament than Shake- speare's. Southampton wears his hair in long golden curls on his shoulders. At centre they stop and separate, Shakespeare still keeping his hand on Southampton's shoulder.'] SHAKESPEARE Beware of Essex. WILL SHAKESPEARE 165 SOUTHAMPTON" [With surprise.'] Say you so, and why? SHAKESPEARE Mistake me not, Southampton, for the man Compels my love; — since Nature hath herself Compounded him of vital elements. Urbanity innate, a noble person, Of courtesy that oft fulfils itself Against the current of his headstrong will. But deep beneath the seeming of such grace, Lie boldness, even to temerity, And arrogance that forces him to rule, Even though that rule be ruin to himself And those swept with him in audacity. SOUTHAMPTON For him the Queen waxes uxorious, Softer than melting honey in the sun, Which Essex' fingers dabble in at will. Such moulding at her years is deep impressed. Essex is safe. i66 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE He draws in over- fast Of the Queen's courtesy — as does a child, Nursed ever by a too indulgent nurse, And he will tire as does the sated child And seek a newer plenty of his own O'er which alone he may have sovereignty, And give of it to whom and when he wills. I speak but from imperious love of you — Trust not his dangerous fondness. Join no scheme Fledged by his rash imagination. Let comets dash their ruin through the spheres, Shine you a radiant light in your own place, Apart and safe. [A fanfare of trumpets is heard without.'] What pleasure claims the hour? SOUTHAMPTON We fight with swords against these barriers I here have raised. I'm tired of dallying WILL SHAKESPEARE 167 With baby sports! Look what a wonderful Sad change there is in our young Londoners. Our ancient wrestling with strong force of arms To wallowing in ladies' laps at cards; Our running steeds and coursing hounds to cosseting In chambers at the levees of the Queen — England's young manhood turned to feeble- ness. So I, to sting virility to life, Again command such foregone games as these ; A saving calling-back of vigorous times When even pleasure taxed men's strength and blood. I lead one band's assault against the other. SHAKESPEARE Who leads against you? SOUTHAMPTON Essex. 168 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE Ah! [He takes Southampton's sword in his hand and touches the point, which is covered by a cap.] Mark this. A harmless button. — If in ardent play- That grows too fierce, such button should be wrenched From off your enemy's swift-th rusted blade, What proud and dear young blood would flow! Have care! For some men keep a special dagger for — Their friends. [Another fanfare of trumpets is heard. ] [Enter Florian.'] FLORIAN The guests approach, my Lord. SOUTHAMPTON Come, Will, And meet them at the outer door with me. WILL SHAKESPEARE 169 [He throws one arm over Shakespeare's shoulders as they go out at right. .] [Exeunt Shakespeare and Southampton, followed by Florian.~\ [Enter Peter.'} PETER [Imitating Florian's movements. ,] There! My left leg around his leg — thus. His head under my arm — thus. My fists pommelling, and my right leg kicking — whatever of his other parts are at my convenience — thus! [Enter two pages.~\ FIRST PAGE He has a fit! Call the Steward! SECOND PAGE He is mad! Lock him in the dark cellar! Steward ! Steward ! 170 WILL SHAKESPEARE PETER Ah, pray you, Sirs, I have no fit. I but practice my defense of the court. FIRST PAGE He is a Natural. SECOND PAGE His defense of the court! He thinks he is in wild Scotland where they kill men for sport at supper. FIRST PAGE And our office is given to him! I shall bite my nails with anger for a week. [Enter third page.] THIRD PAGE My Lord Southampton commands you in the outer court. {Exit third page.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 171 PETER Before you go, tell me what like is my Lord Southampton, for I have not yet seen him. How is he favored? Dark or light? How may I know him? FIRST PAGE [To second page, drawing him aside. ] Now hear how I will set a trap for him that he may never take our honor from us again. [To Peter. ] You may know him by his being a little man, fat and scrubby. His hair is coal black and he wears it short like a priest, and he has a small black mustache on his upper lip, like a Frenchman. He carries no sword but always a green parrot on his left wrist. PETER Now can I never mistake him! SECOND PAGE [Looking down the alley, speaks to the first i}2 WILL SHAKESPEARE page aside. ] Quick! Hide here with me, and see what follows. [The two pages go to right as if to go out, but hide behind a column.] THE PAGES Farewell, Peter! Defend the court, Peter! PETER [Looks about the court, and down the alley at left back.] Someone comes! O — he is a tall man — he carries a sword. A very tall man and of a masterful port. O! O! Hardy as I am, I am very vengeably afraid. [He gradually withdraws backward against the further wall. Southampton appears at end of alley.] PETER Florian said — "speak to him a rough speech full of passions." But I have no passions! O, if my Mother were but here to teach me WILL SHAKESPEARE 173 language! But I will do the best I learned from her. [Enter Southampton.] PETER [Going toward him with a swagger.] Your name, and business, Scullmullion ! SOUTHAMPTON What have we here? Out of my way, monkey. PETER [As if remembering a lesson.] "If he answer not to your satisfaction " [He flies at Southampton and springing on him winds his legs and arms around him, kicking and striking him.] Learn not to trespass in the Earl of Southampton's house! [The two pages behind the column run away.] [Enter Florian.] 174 WILL SHAKESPEARE SOUTHAMPTON Here, Florian ! Help me pull off this Devil- fish, all legs and arms! [Florian pulls Peter away.] SOUTHAMPTON [To Peter.] What do you mean by such lunacy ? PETER [Pointing to Florian.'] He bade me. SOUTHAMPTON What means he, Florian? FLORIAN My Lord, he has lived with sheep and cows all his life and has their understanding of English. I bade him keep intruders from the court, and not knowing your Lordship, this is his reading of my instructing. SOUTHAMPTON Chastise him well, Florian, that he may re- WILL SHAKESPEARE 175 member that well-meant mistakes are as dan- gerous as acts of evil intent. . . . Bestow those seats with more* dignity. Place one on the highest dais as if it were a throne, and wait me here. [Exit Southampton.'} FLORIAN* O Pierre, Pierre, you preserve your own integrity at the expense of that of others, and yet persist in calling your kind of truth a virtue ! [He catches Peter by the collar and strikes him with his wand. Peter half eludes him, running away a few steps, but Florian catches him again.] That was a fine recoil and the slant of your body at this moment better drawn than the leaning tower of Pisa. [Fanfare of trumpets without. The musicians re-enter balcony. Florian releases Peter.] Help me, Pierre! 176 WILL SHAKESPEARE [They arrange the chairs on the dais as Southampton directed. A festal march is played. Enter musicians and guests. S A page calls the names as they enter and take their places on the dais. Southampton enters first and directs them to their places.] PAGE Lord Herbert. The Countess of Rutland. Lady Bridget Manners. The Earl of Rut- land. [Southampton leads all but Lady Bridget Manners to the foremost seats on the lowest steps of the dais. Then he takes Lady Bridget's hand. She has pale golden hair and is dressed in white.] SOUTHAMPTON In Joust and Tourney of our elder custom, There ever was a Queen of Love and Beauty. Fair Sweetest, be our Queen and crown our winning. WILL SHAKESPEARE 177 [He tries to lead her to the chair at the top of the dais.~\ BRIDGET [Drawing back.] My place is by my Mother's side, my Lord. COUNTESS OF RUTLAND Such is my wish, my Lord, and my com- mand. [Lady Bridget takes the chair beside the Countess of Rutland.] SOUTHAMPTON [With impatience and annoyance."] 'Tis fighting against barriers indeed! [During this dialogue, Elisabeth Vernon with a gentlezvoman-in-zvaiting enters at left. Elisabeth advances and then zvithdraws to left and listens with con- centrated attention until Lady Bridget takes her place by the Countess of Rut- land. Elisabeth wears a dress of ruby 178 WILL SHAKESPEARE colored brocade with a front of white and gold and pearls; a standing lace ruff and jewels in her dark hair. The Earl of Essex enters at left and they advance together, the gentlewoman following.'] PAGE Mistress Elisabeth of Vernon, and The Earl of Essex. SOUTHAMPTON Welcome, noble cousins! Essex, stay here. Fair Mistress Vernon, wait ! [Essex stands by the chair on the second step of the dais that Southampton has indicated and Elisabeth Vernon stands alone in centre. 1 SOUTHAMPTON [Pointing to the chair on the top of the dais.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 179 See — where there waits for you a queenless throne ! Have pity, pray you, on our Headless State! ELISABETH [With mocking raillery.'] r A throne a-begging in a world like ours, Where every woman dreams herself a queen! "Twould sure be reckless waste. Where is my crown? SOUTHAMPTON In Love's sweet kingdom 'tis the Queen gives crowns, Wearing them not. Be thou our generous Queen. ELISABETH Risk no fair titles till my reign be tested ! [Southampton leads her to the top of the dais. She sits and intently watches Southampton. The musicians in the balcony continue the festal march while other guests enter. The page continues 180 WILL SHAKESPEARE to announce them, but his voice is drowned by the music. A trumpeter sounds a call to arms. Essex and four noblemen take their places on the far- ther side of the barrier. Southampton and four other noblemen stand in the foreground on the side of barrier nearest to the audience. The pages divest them of their ruffs, cloaks and upper doublets and they stand in their white silk blouses and trunks and hose. The pages give them swords. ,] SOUTHAMPTON [To Herbert, with solicitude.] Where now is Will? I shall not play without him. [Enter slowly down the clipped alley at back, Shakespeare. He passes the others until he comes to Southampton. As he enters, Elisabeth Vernon turns and fixes her eyes upon him, and as he passes her he turns slowly, as if forced WILL SHAKESPEARE 181 to do so, and looks fixedly into her eyes; then passes on.~\ SOUTHAMPTON [Taking a sword from a page and holding it out to Shakespeare.] Fight on my side, Sweet Will, that I may win. SHAKESPEARE Though love is free, I am not of your caste. I am a player, yet — I will not play. All that takes place upon the earth requires A watcher. Let me watch. SOUTHAMPTON [With anger.] A subtle stab And undeserved. Who does not know that Genius Is of the highest, rarest caste of Heaven! SHAKESPEARE We're on the earth ! But be not hurt, South- ampton, 182 WILL SHAKESPEARE Nor weight me with your pity, for I joy In the still watch I keep, more than you can In all your straining play. [The trumpeter sounds a second call to arms. The combatants stand at atten- tion. Shakespeare stands alone at left near front and watches Elisabeth Ver- non. The game begins. Florian and Peter are in the foreground at right. ] FLORIAN* [To Peter. 1 Now there'll be sport! Behold the Lady Bridget. — She's as pure And cool as is a snowdrop in chill March — A Morning Flower! But there above her gleams A Beauty of Mysterious Night. Mark how Her dark regard burns on Southampton, yet He feels it not, as ever low he bends To pluck his white Bud from the Fields of Dawn. [The musicians play. Essex and his men overpower Southampton and his fol- WILL SHAKESPEARE 183 lowers and drive them back from the barrier. But Essex is thrown down by Southampton. Excitement among the guests. The musicians stop play- ing.'] COUNTESS OF RUTLAND The game is over-rough, my Lords, methinks. SOUTHAMPTON Madam, the Queen's great father and your king Much loved the game. ELISABETH Men love not play with toys! Am I called Queen? Then let the game go on. [Shakespeare has watched only Elisa- beth. Now he turns wholly to South- ampton. They fight again. South- ampton and his men overpower Essex and his band. The button on Essex's 184 WILL SHAKESPEARE sword comes off. Southampton tries to elude him, but Essex, in a frenzy of excitement, forces him to fight, and Southampton is suddenly wounded in the right arm. Shakespeare has grad- ually drawn nearer and nearer to Es- sex and Southampton.] COUNTESS OF RUTLAND [Rising.] Witness! I prophesied brutality! ELISABETH [Also rising.] Superb! Ah! how I thrill with ecstasy! A sight worth living for in our tame world! [As Essex's sword button falls off, Shakespeare springs into the grassy arena.] SHAKESPEARE O dangerous Force! Foul play! [He seizes Essex by the arm and wrests his sword from him.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 185 SOUTHAMPTON [Gaily. ] I thank you, Essex. Small wounds may turn great cowards into heroes. ELISABETH [Hurriedly descending from her seat at the top of the dais with a cry of alarm.'] How should I dream that blood was drawn! [She draws close to Southampton. Her voice breaks with emotion. ] ELISABETH He bleeds! [She turns angrily to Essex.] Robert, this is more like a dastard's trick Than noble sport between two gentlemen. ESSEX Lash me not more, my cousin, with your tongue 186 WILL SHAKESPEARE Than does the heart within me, though my hand And hasty head oft play it false! [To Southampton.] Pardon ! SOUTHAMPTON [Laughing.'] How may one pardon when there is no sin ! ELISABETH You bleed! [She tears the soft muslin and lace scarf from her shoulders and binds South- ■ ampton's arm with passionate solici- tude. Essex watches her with an an- gry frown. The guests on the dais are grouped together; some watching Southampton and Elisabeth, some talking together with excitement. Herbert has drawn Shakespeare aside at left and they confer apart, not ob- serving that Elisabeth has bound WILL SHAKESPEARE 187 Southampton's arm. They now come forward. During this scene the pages are rapidly re-dressing the combatants. Elisabeth takes a crimson ribbon from her dress and fastens it on Southamp- ton's arm."] ELISABETH An honor fairly won. Your knights, And you, had triumphed, 'ere my cousin's sword Pierced you with such unlicensed cruelty. [Southampton drops on one knee, takes Elisabeth's hand and kisses it, bending low. Pembroke stands near. Essex and Shakespeare at some little distance observing all that happens.] ESSEX [Turning slightly away sings sneeringly in a low voice, but with great distinct- ness. ] 188 WILL SHAKESPEARE " Every ass Must have his grass, And every fool his favor!" [The group in centre turn to look at Es- sex with confused surprise, as if not catching the words .] SHAKESPEARE And had you won the favor, Essex, speak— Which title would best fit you, fool or ass? ESSEX [Instinctively feeling for his sword, which Shakespeare still holds, and then making a gesture of anger. ] Poets may safely jest with empty scabbards! SHAKESPEARE [Handing him his sword."] While Earls may never trifle with full brains! WILL SHAKESPEARE 189 ESSEX Mine has a memory for more than verses, E'en such as yours, and punctuates reminders With the rash blood of masquerading rustics, As Ireland and Tyrone shall attest. SHAKESPEARE Yet, in a universe where nothing counts Except the soul, I doubt not, Essex, that We two shall meet one day on equal ground. Pray you recall this when you match yourself One day against the masquerading rustic. [While Shakespeare and Essex are talk- ing, Florian helps Southampton dress. A fanfare of trumpets. Enter a page.] PAGE My Lords, the banquet waits ! SOUTHAMPTON Follow me, friends, And drink to skill at arms, and knightliness, To put King Arthur's Table to the blush ! i 9 o WILL SHAKESPEARE [Exit all at right, but the pages, Essex, Elisabeth Vernon and her gentle- woman. The pages begin to dress Es- sex. Essex shows his impatience at being dressed. One page tries to fas- ten a knee ribbon; another kneels, at- taching the clasp of his shoe which has come undone in the game; another tries to put on an upper garment; and a fourth to replace his ruff.] ESSEX [Struggling to free himself."] Off, louts! You finger me and cling like leeches. Off! Off! Out of my way! Out of my way! [He flings the pages aside and springs toward the exit, his cloak hanging from one shoulder, his ruff unfas- tened, and his whole dress in disor- der.'] WILL SHAKESPEARE 191 ESSEX Elisabeth ! [Elisabeth has just reached the exit and turns when she hears his voice. She returns to him.'] ELISABETH I listen, Robert. Speak. ESSEX [With rough vigor, but with great kind- ness.'] Cousin, that I have love for you, you know; That I have pride in you, you guess; and yet All that which pride breeds in my blood for you Is still a warning unforeseen. Should I Unveil my heart, you'd find two images, My wife's and yours, enshrined there each by each; Yet neither form usurps the other's place — - Each holds her own. She first, you next, 192 WILL SHAKESPEARE And claiming both my staunchest champion- ing Should there be need of such. What are your years? For, I forget their sum; — so rich, so large, So lavish is your burgeoning, you seem Even to me, who am of your own race, One of those women, rarest on the earth, Who have no youth, nor age, when woman- hood Has ripened them; and yet — you are a woman With all a woman's weakness — all her fears, And all her heritage of pain. As frail As you are proud. [He speaks with earnest force, taking her hand in his."] You know that in our world There are sharp lines that women such as you May never cross. Once crossed, their white- ness stained, They may no more be white. No more re- turn. WILL SHAKESPEARE 193 Guard yourself strictly. You stand near the throne, Where all eyes stare, and somewhat of seclu- sion, Of quietness and modest dignity, Befits a woman of your rank and place. ELISABETH How glibly men debar a woman from The air of freedom where they take their pleasure ! How you would rend a woman who thus dared To caution you, or hedge about your will, With mean precaution. Robert, know you not God has made women, as well as men, with souls, Bold and impassioned, daring all of life? Born to consume themselves divinely in A passion's flame, yet ever strong enough To fling their passion, quite outworn, aside, If some supreme ambition beckoned them ' On to a fruitfuller field. 194 WILL SHAKESPEARE ESSEX This is indeed A man's stout spirit in a woman's breast. The world has cruel handling for such! Again, what is your age? ELISABETH Past twenty-two! ESSEX {With irony.'] The age of wisdom, Sweet, undoubtedly. Certain the age when elder wisdom counts For naught. No more of mine I'll waste. {Again roughly.'] Of late, I've seen Southampton's eyes on you. ELISABETH [With raillery.] On me! He has but two and they are fixed On Bridget Manners, But you entertain. Speak on. WILL SHAKESPEARE 195 ESSEX His eyes are fixed on her, on you, On every passing woman. Well I know That bold, untrammeled, roving, gypsy eye! The gambler's eye, with women. Marking them As this or that most lucky card, to bring Good fortune, it may be, and pleasure cer- tainly. ELISABETH This of your friend! What then is friend- ship worth, If you so strangely vilify Southampton? ESSEX He is my friend, and I am his, be sure ; His is the spirit and the blood that magnetize Both men and women; for whose sunny touch, Lighting their flesh-dulled Souls, they risk too much 196 WILL SHAKESPEARE Of wisdom and of wisdom's fruitful ways. And yet he is of fair and blameless honor. The brightest star in England's galaxy. But where a woman is concerned, he is A poisoned brand of swift, contagious fire. [He speaks ■fiercely.'] Listen, Elizabeth. Were Southampton To put the honor of one of my race In jeopardy, my hand must redden with His blood. Remember this, for I'll not tear My heart out of its sheath again for you To smile upon its two-edged pride, that cuts Not for myself alone but for my race — And you . . . The campaign into Ire- land Draws ever near, and should it be Then I must leave you here alone Without a kinsman's ward and guarding presence. ELISABETH [Caressingly.'] Ah, Powers above! What nobleness of heart WILL SHAKESPEARE 197 Now wrought upon to pain, without a cause! Go speak these words to Bridget Manners, for Southampton ever hovers over her Pure, fragrant whiteness — the most daring bee That ever boldly pillaged honey, in June's palpitating balm. [She draws near to Essex and peers with mockery and sweetness into his face."] What fierce, sad eyes f ESSEX [Angrily,] Such siren words and ways but anger me. [Elisabeth stands motionless with droop- ing head, all sudden gentleness. She puts her arms about his neck. Essex looks at her a moment and then speaks with tenderness. ,] Forgive me, Beautiful — Most beautiful — Only do not forget! Go to your friends. [He releases her arms — kissing her 198 WILL SHAKESPEARE hands. She smiles into his face with confident strength. Exit Elisabeth with her gentlewoman.'] ESSEX Now could I win Southampton's pledge to go With me to Ireland and hasten the campaign, So might this danger pass. The glittering bait Of Cecil's pending embassy to Paris Has captivated quite his youthful eye, And when the lure of pleasure fills his sight, How may a battle-field dissolve the spell? [Enter Southampton.] SOUTHAMPTON Most fortunately met! When the night falls And all my guests are gone, I pray you, Essex, Meet me here. I would speak with you se- cretly Upon the scheme you late dropped in my ear. WILL SHAKESPEARE 199 ESSEX [With intense eagerness.'] You'll go with me to Ireland? SOUTHAMPTON I swear My blood is half asleep in England now, Sickening at games for ladies — though they be Lilies and roses all, to make men drunk With rich allurement! Briefly, I must go To Paris first with Cecil — then with you To Ireland. Your wild adventure there, Even in thought, quickens my blood and brain. ESSEX When do you go to France? SOUTHAMPTON For yet awhile I am held here. Mere Flower-Bonds, in- deed! 200 WILL SHAKESPEARE Yet not too quickly broken, since my word Is pledged in diverse ways to divers men. Yet I may bring all circuits to a close Before June's dew-steeped nights are gently past. [Sound of music and carousal at right. ] I may not linger now. At ten o'clock I'll meet you here. ESSEX My word on it. At ten, Yonder I'll walk alone in the yew path, Lacking to-day the small neat speech most meet For little ladies' ears at feasts. [Exit Essex by the clipped alley at back. Enter Shakespeare from right. Sound of music and laughter without. ] SOUTHAMPTON Ah, Will! Sweet Will, at sight of you my will dissolves ! I thought to play the Host, but now instead WILL SHAKESPEARE 201 I'll let them laugh and drink of earthly wine; We'll quaff a finer vintage of the soul. Your eyes are clouded, that should be Clear as your mind's un fathomed deeps. Whence comes the cloud? I'll penetrate it too! SHAKESPEARE Who knows where clouds are born? To know them mists, Formed out of air and dew intangible, Dissolving ever into mists again, Is all we need to know. So can we bear Their blinding. SOUTHAMPTON Blind me not with imagery, However fair. Turn your thoughts home- ward now? SHAKESPEARE Not now alone, but ever more and more, For there are loves and griefs too keen and strong 202« WILL SHAKESPEARE To sleep. The cords that bind me there are tightening. They cannot break and soon must draw me back To Stratford — to my children and- — my wife. SOUTHAMPTON Beseech you, go not hence! Illume us here. Too much in this our time by greatness gone Have we been overcast. Greece dead, Rome past — You live! Filling our beauty-craving hearts, Quickening our dying hopes and dead ideals, The age's richness lives within your sway, Joy of the hour and splendor of the past. SHAKESPEARE There's splendor in such homage! Royal State In praise so nobly lavished — so unselfed. What have I to return? Only this truth — You and one other hold my heart — its life To damn or bless. Its only sustenance WILL SHAKESPEARE 203 To give and serve. Should danger menace you, I'd snatch you hence. Should Hatred lurk to strike, It must strike me and spend its venom here, And reach you, if it must, a stingless thing! SOUTHAMPTON [Musingly. ] I and one other hold his heart. But who Can have the power or art so to enslave A King? SHAKESPEARE No art, but power infinite. An orb of fire — so full of light and heat That ev'n her careless rays cause whatsoe'er They fall upon to live and grow and bloom For her alone; for if their light be gone, Such revel of life once known, loss would be death. Fire oft without light like those dark rays Of our known sun, which stream to earth's deep centre, 204 WILL SHAKESPEARE Dark, lightless rays, yet giving life to all, Who dwell upon Earth's surface. A Flame of Life! SOUTHAMPTON In Heaven's truth, some goddess of his dreams ! SHAKESPEARE Dreams are but — dreams! . . . My goddess is — a woman. SOUTHAMPTON This is no sylvan maid nor London courtesan. SHAKESPEARE I said an orb of fire. Orbs dwell beyond our ken In the bright firmament above, to which We lift our aching eyes. SOUTHAMPTON Ah — raves he thus Of soirie court lady or some princess, seen WILL SHAKESPEARE 205 But never yet approached? This well may be. A Poet's fancy, from which poems spring. Dream on your fill and let me share your dream ? SHAKESPEARE In sleep last night I sailed upon the sea And felt its briny spray upon my cheek; Tasted and swallowed it, as 'twere salt tears — A woman's tears — a maddening, bitter-sweet, And I am water-wild to-day, and so Let me alone! SOUTHAMPTON Sweet Will, forgive, I pray. Love should share all — ev'n dreams! SHAKESPEARE This, if a dream, Is one that I must dream alone — alone — To its fore-destined waking; for we wake, 206 WILL SHAKESPEARE Be sure, be very sure, from every sleep, However deep and sweet and long it be. [After short pause. ] How fares your princely suit to Bridget Man- ners? SOUTHAMPTON My flower of dawn! My vestal dove! She's mine! By every timid, virgin sign. And soon ■I'll woo her fresh lips to confess their truth, And take their first love-blossom with my own. [Enter a messenger from the. Globe Theatre. ,] MESSENGER [Obsequiously. ] lYour pardon, noble Lord and Master Will, That I do so intrude — SHAKESPEARE We have stout hearts And survive the intrusion. Speak its cause. [The messenger bows low.~\ WILL SHAKESPEARE 207 MESSENGER The Earl of Merton at whose country seat You purposed with your company to play A fortnight hence, before the Queen and Court, Has sent in haste to say the play must be Next week — 'Tis so the Queen herself com- mands ; To-night our wagons and our company Must start, and this too sudden going hence For the Earl's play and for our month-long tour Has thrown our people into mad confusion. They wildly run about like hens and geese Into whose very midst a fox has sprung. Your steadying presence can alone compel Order and calmness there. SHAKESPEARE Go — Tell my flock I will be with them soon, within an hour. Fly — so their minds may rest! 208 WILL SHAKESPEARE [He gives the Messenger a piece of gold.~\ MESSENGER A generous heart! [Exit Messenger.] SOUTHAMPTON You go — you go to-night? SHAKESPEARE For but a month! SOUTHAMPTON Forget not you are pledged to me in June. Then falls the Masque at Tichfield, where I'll cause Such Faery-Magic to bewitch each sense That you shall dream my dream the only truth ; One mystic night not linked to Fact or Time. I have your 'pledge? You will be with me then? Upon your holy word, than which I count Nothing more sacred. WILL SHAKESPEARE 209 SHAKESPEARE [Laughing.'] Over-earnest heat Over a trifling thing! Am I not pledged? [Enter Florian at back carrying a silver casket. He sings.'] FLORIAN'S SONG Mighty Venus, mightier Love, Help who weareth this Disguise — Help him, Heavenly Powers above! Guard, where deadly peril lies. II Mask his face and mask his heart; Hide him from her dangerous eyes; Shield him, lest Love's fiery dart, Find its Billet and — he dies! 210 WILL SHAKESPEARE SOUTHAMPTON* There singing goes my most familiar sprite. A quaint youth, full of odd imagination. I'll question and he'll something strange reply. Where go you Florian ? Come close and tell. FLORIAN To place this casket in your private room. Thanking your Lordship for your trust in me — Yet knowing well your Lordship fords a stream As well upon a Jackass as a Racer — Or Peter Dumpser would not be my mate ! SOUTHAMPTON What did I say? Bring me the casket here. [Southampton unlocks the casket, while Florian retires to some distance and waits. Southampton takes out a courtier's costume of black with a lace WILL SHAKESPEARE 211 collar and the jewelled chain, star and blue ribbon of the order of the Garter, also a black mask. To Shakespeare.'] I'll whisper in your ear what no one here May know, save only you and Florian. Hide deep my jest. The evening of the Masque I shall be garbed in this mysterious black, Wearing th' insignia of the Star and Garter, And further closely masked in black. There are three Garters living now in Eng- land, And all will come to my June revelry, And thus to mystify my curious guests Will cause confusion and amazing haps; For all these men have plots, amours and schemes. [Laughter of guests approaching is heard.'] A VOICE WITHOUT [At right.] Southampton — Come ! 212 WILL SHAKESPEARE SOUTHAMPTON They call, and I must go! [He touches the costume and casket. ,] Go — place these, Florian, in my cabinet, And bring me here the key. [Voices without, at right."] Southampton — Come ! SOUTHAMPTON] [To Shakespeare.'] You stay an hour? SHAKESPEARE One hour stol'n from time! [Exit Southampton, at right.] SHAKESPEARE [Taking jewels and costume in his hands and examining them, while Florian still waits respectfully at a little dis- tance.] Ah! — What delicious tangles would ensue, WILL SHAKESPEARE 213 If I should clothe myself that Faery night In black, the twin of this — the hat, the mask, The semblance of these gems, this chain — this Star! I pledge the genius of sweet mystery That so I will — no matter what befall! [Florian approaches and with Shake- speare replaces the costume and jewels in the casket. ] I'll bear this with you, Florian; lock it safe. Then speed you with the key back to the Earl. [Exit Shakespeare and Florian zvith the casket by a low door at left that opens directly on a winding, stair.] [Enter Southampton and Bridget Man- ners from right. ] SOUTHAMPTON When have I not thus loved you, Bridget? Dear, I am but young in years, but old in feeling. My love for you has not been yesterday Nor yester year — but always — as you know. 214 WILL SHAKESPEARE Why, then, spend words on what my life has told? Give the sweet answer which my blood fore- tells. BRIDGET Alas, you force hard truth when gentleness Is what I fain would proffer you ! SOUTHAMPTON" Hard truth? BRIDGET How may one make denial sweet? SOUTHAMPTON [Incredulously.] Denial? BRIDGET I am not meant for you, nor you for me. SOUTHAMPTON What folly's here? BRIDGET I must take courage to speak! WILL SHAKESPEARE 215 SOUTHAMPTON [With agitation.] Wherefore this — BRIDGET [Calmly.] You are too volatile, Too young, and something too fantastical For me to trust myself — my life — to you. While that my Mother lives, all might go well; But if she were to die, [which God forefend,] I doubt your carriage of yourself. I speak From observation. SOUTHAMPTON [With violent agitation and anger.] Ah! From observation! O hideous and worldly-wise admission! While I have giv'n you all I had of love — Poured out my heart's whole treasure at your feet, You have been peering, — conning o'er my faults. 216 WILL SHAKESPEARE What are you ? Why, I've hated women that do Such things. BRIDGET And you? Are you perfection's self That none can find a fault? I have been told Of women you have cruelly harmed and left. SOUTHAMPTON What bitterness and hate submerge my soul! BRIDGET If that your love so quickly turns to hate, Was it then ever love? SOUTHAMPT.ON Are you a vixen Whom I thought a dove? Oh, — I have been Deluded by my wealth of tenderness For you. It is not that I have not sinned — I have. But all such sinning is so much The custom of the only world I know, That, in the rash and headlong heats of youth, WILL SHAKESPEARE 217 I scarcely knew it sinning, till I looked Within the Heaven of your purest eyes, And I believed that their divinity Would quite absolve my sins. O God! O God! sweet, first flush of boyhood's bloom and hope! Gone, gone — [He weeps. Then after a short pause speaks again."] 'Tis done — forever done — and you — Be sure that you shall cost me no more tears — And if we meet the morrow, as we may, For streams that long have flowed in paral- lels Are not too quickly parted, you shall feel How cold the night has been. BRIDGET [Calmly.] Such coldness holds Contagion — so 'tis said. Farewell, my Lord. 1 seek my mother, and with her, my home. 2i8 WILL SHAKESPEARE {They bow ceremoniously. Exit Brid- get at right. ,] SOUTHAMPTON No one shall know my hurt, — not even Will- Already it is old as Death, and rots Within my flesh. I'll cut the fester out, And let quick Life refill the empty place With, if need be, a myriad living loves! Give me a woman of blood and fire and heart, However rash or sinning, so she feel! Yes — such a woman as draws near me now! [Enter Elisabeth with a paper in her hand, which she is reading. It begins to grow dark. Southampton bows low to Elisabeth. ,] Lady, why do you veil your eyes' bright beams For filthy ink? ELISABETH [Crushing the paper in her hand.~\ This screed, my Lord, is trash! WILL SHAKESPEARE 219 SOUTHAMPTON I'll wager you so name all words of men. ELISABETH Indeed, I never so named yours, my Lord. You speak me few and write me none at all! SOUTHAMPTON I would not have them crushed, as you have crushed Those writ upon the paper that you hold. ELISABETH Do you so doubt all women? It is sung By every bird on every bush that maids Are wisest when they doubt all words of yours. [Enter Essex from right, .] ESSEX [To Elisabeth, with sternness."] Cousin, I'll see you home. The night is dark. 220 WILL SHAKESPEARE ELISABETH [With gaiety and sweetness.'] Such guardianship were chivalry itself! But I'm companioned here by Lady Rutland, By her daughter and my gentlewoman. I will go hence with them. My carriage waits. ESSEX [Abruptly.] The Gods protect you! You will have your way. [Exit Essex at left.] [It grows darker.] [Enter Herbert. He approaches the table where there are flagons of wine and glasses. He pours and drinks several times. He then goes toward Elisabeth.] HERBERT [To Elisabeth.] Where may I find your Cousin Essex, Lady? WILL SHAKESPEARE 221 ELISABETH [Mockingly.'] He flees our gaiety, and with a frown Departed by that door a moment since. [While Herbert has spoken with Elisa- beth, guests have entered from right with pages, who light them across the court with -flambeaux. The pages then place the flambeaux in sockets at the sides of the court."} GUESTS [To Southampton.] Good-night, my Lord ! SOUTHAMPTON [Going to guests, as Herbert speaks to Elisabeth.] The Stars attend your path ! [To Elisabeth.] Your pardon, Lady! [Exit Southampton zvith guests at left. Lady Rutland and Bridget Manners. 222 WILL SHAKESPEARE cross the court attended by a page with a flambeau.] HERBERT [Who has been again drinking at the table, to Elisabeth.'] I would speak with Essex. ELISABETH Be quick and stay him in the outer court. HERBERT My thanks. [With exaggerated courtesy.] Vouchsafe that I attend you Back to the banquet-hall. ELISABETH [Aside, with raillery. "\ Ah me ! Ah me ! A woman scarce may draw her breath alone! [Exit Elisabeth and Herbert at right."] [Enter Shakespeare from the door open- ing on the stair at left. He holds a WILL SHAKESPEARE 223 paper in his hand on which he is writ- ing. He comes forward and slowly crosses terrace to the right. He stops writing and the lightly held paper slips from his fingers near the column at right front. He stops.~\ SHAKESPEARE Poor Leaf! Thou doest well to fall to earth! The mighty tree that trembling bore thy life Is still forbid by Heaven to nourish thee. My Love is strength unlicensed and fore- doomed To pain. Yet since by its illuming fire I live — along this flaming pathway must My soul, if it be true to truth, be hurled. Great God! — Why should I waste my life in words, When all the force that moves this Universe Of worlds and suns, whirls on my Soul to act? Yet, lest Love-Madness quite destroy my brain, 224 WILL SHAKESPEARE I'll give my passion speech, though its just fruit Be balked and turned to tragedy within. O woe as old as Earth! [With a sudden change. ,] Yet for the Love, The Love, let God be praised! [Enter from right, Elisabeth reading the paper she held in her hand before. She has thrown a long, dark cloak over her shoulders.] SHAKESPEARE Ah! [He steps behind the column near by. Elisabeth sees him and, starting, drops the paper she holds. It falls near the sonnet.] ELISABETH [With mockery.] Do you seek To hide from me? Am I so dread a thing? So to be feared? WILL SHAKESPEARE 225 SHAKESPEARE [Motionless in the shadow of the column and speaking with deep, restrained feeling.'] There are prisoners, Lady, who are forbid to go in th' sun. ELISABETH Who is't has prisoned you? SHAKESPEARE Myself — my life. ELISABETH Why! Life is full of open doors. — Escape! SHAKESPEARE I have no right nor power to break my bonds. ELISABETH Still behind bars ! Shall I release you ? See ! 'Tis simple and as quick as breathing. [She moves swiftly to him and, taking his hand, draws him from the shadow of the column.'] 226 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE [As she takes his hand.] Ah! [He stands motionless again as if in a trance. Elisabeth sees the paper he has dropped and, stooping, picks it up. Shakespeare makes a slight movement to stop her and then stands as be- fore. .] ELISABETH What's here ? This bears my name — there- fore 'tis mine. [She reads. ] To my dark Heaven's Star, Elisabeth. " Farewell, thou art too dear for my possess- ing, And like enough thou knowest thy estimate The charter of thy worth gives thee releas- ing; My bonds in thee are all determinate. For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? [She reads indistinctly. Then clearly again.'] WILL SHAKESPEARE 2.27 So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, Comes home again, on better judgment mak- ing. Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter, In sleep a king, but, waking, no such matter.' ' [Angrily.] [Your dream has carried you too far! Too far! [She tears the sonnet to pieces.] SHAKESPEARE [Springing forward and snatching the torn bits of paper from her hand.~\ Women are all alike! O stay your hand! IYou know not what you tear. When this proud Hall, These shafts of hardest stone, have crumbled quite, And all the pride of Times to come is dead And buried in a too- forgotten past, These words will live. [He stoops and picks up the paper she, dropped.] 228 WILL SHAKESPEARE Let me see what you read So ardently but now and treasured, though You would destroy my verse! [He reads from a small printed sheet. ] The Never-present Writer to the Ever-pres- ent Reader: Be it known to the ladies of this realm that [Here he reads with mocking, ironical emphasis. 1 " The power of cloth of gold is now less powerful than a month agone. An insuffi- ciency of pink satin causes blue satin, with cuts laced with silver, to hold sway. Side sleeves lie flatter to the sight and skirts have a brightness from binding with gold tinsel. Ruffs have become a very refuse unless set with Pearls " [He flings the paper on the table and laughs loudly. ] Ha! Ha! We look and look in women's eyes And plunge our souls into their liquid deeps WILL SHAKESPEARE 229 And dream the heavenly bath holds balm divine, Tinctured with wisdom most celestial, The solvent for our world-tormented lives. We look behind the azure or the gray — The color matters not — the eye is all — And in its depths discern — a Fashion Book! O — O — I could both curse and weep to know For what slight things men stake immortal souls ! ELISABETH [With ironical approval.] Well done! Very well done! Most sharply said ! You whet your cutting wit successfully On yon poor sheet and — me! [She sits on the circular stone bench by the stone table and leans on it, looking up at Shakespeare, who still stands. ,] But, an you please, Have you observed in Pleasance or in Hall, 2 3 o WILL SHAKESPEARE Where these same men, our Lords by nature — wise And strong, — of course! — of course! — Where do they go? Straight to the bird who has the brightest plumes, To her whose wit and beauty are enhanced So richly and so sweetly that they seem A treasure doubly rare. Ah, Master Will! Our Spring is brief; our kingdom — Hearts of men. You curse our eyes — but to your hearts, our road Must lie through yours — fickle and beauty- led! [With a sudden change to gentle earnest- ness.~\ But you are angered — I have torn your verse ! SHAKESPEARE . I angered? Madam, there are times when men Use anger as a sword to kill a pain WILL SHAKESPEARE 237 Within the heart — as sharp as death, yet sweet As honey from the blooms of Paradise. [He Impetuously takes one of the Ham- beaux and places it near the table. He sits on the bench and takes the fashion paper in his hand.] Hidden within these paltry, silly words I'll find another sonnet which will hold My answer and your pardon. [He bends over the paper, marking the words, ] ELISABETH [Taking her writing tablet, which hangs from her chatelaine.'] Sport for two! See — dreaming here for many a day there lie Unwritten missives that await my touch To give them life. [She examines a leaf of the Tablet.] Here's one that bears your name! [She writes. Peter Dumpser enters 232 WILL SHAKESPEARE from right, extinguishes two of the flambeaux, crosses the court and, open- ing the door to the stair that leads to Southampton's room, goes up, leaving the door ajar. He is examining a let- ter which he holds. Neither Shake- speare nor Elisabeth observe him.] SHAKESPEARE [Marking the words in the paper, speaks without raising his head.] Now picture me, a man, playing the child! But in this hour I am but seventeen! Life, pristine and unstained, once more is mine. ELISABETH I've won! I've won the race! My screed is done! SHAKESPEARE We meet at the goal ! I ended ere you spoke. [He draws nearer to her and indicates with his pencil the words he has marked, reading as he does so.~\ WILL SHAKESPEARE 233 a Ah, from what power hast thou this power- ful might With insufficiency my heart to sway? To make me give the lie to my true sight, And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, That in the very refuse of thy deeds There is such strength and warranties of skill, That, in my mind, thy worst all best ex- ceeds ? " ELISABETH [Interrupting.] I'll have no more! Call you this pardon? 'Tis A stern forgiveness ! I am gentler far To you than you to me. [She reads from her tablet.'] "You dazzle my wits. You confuse my un- derstanding. You destroy my ambitions, yet fulfill my dreams. Did your rank in this world match your rank as a poet, there would 234 WILL SHAKESPEARE be a crown on your head and I the first to bow to it. For kings or principalities cannot compel my homage— Only to Heaven and Genius can I kneel.'' SHAKESPEARE [Agitated."] Your words are flames That mount in golden wreathings to my brain ! [A page enters from right and extin- guishes another flambeau, so that the court is lighted only by the moonlight and the flambeau beside the table. The page goes out at back.] SHAKESPEARE [Looks about, starts up, and speaks with still more agitation.] It is deep night; See — every guest has gone! What blasting shame To me if Scandal's mire should foul your name! WILL SHAKESPEARE 235 Where are your people? I will take you hence. ELISABETH [Laughing lightly. ] My carriage and my gentlewoman wait — I will go soon! Rest here and let me speak. What greater shame or sin than 'Twere to kill The budding moment trembling to its bloom? Who knows what this half-veiled, half-dawn- ing hour Holds for us both? You know not how en- slaved And smothered women are. You are so great iYou bring me air. I pray you, let me breathe ! [She sinks back luxuriously in the seat and looks up pleadingly at Shake- speare. He has stood with an air of impatient anxiety. At her last words, he makes a step toward her.~\ 236 WILL SHAKESPEARE ELISABETH [Motioning to the seat beside her.] Sit here and let us talk like two old friends, Who meet upon a summer afternoon. [Shakes pear e sits on the bench.'] Do you remember when almost a child, I went in secret, masked, to hear your plays, My soul then fed upon your mighty words And knew their greatness of itself — and how, Without the Play-House door I spoke with you? SHAKESPEARE [With the same restrained feeling.] Do I remember! ELISABETH Ah! Such stolen hours Give life to leaden days. We'll mark this one By speaking only truth — and swiftly reach A height we else might wait long years to gain. . [A clock without strikes ten.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 237 SHAKESPEARE My hour stolen from time is at an end! A million life-times could not tell the truth, That bursts my heart! ELISABETH [Without noticing his agitation."] I often marvel how that God has made, A country boy — for such you must have been, So greater than our greatest here — speak truth — Do you not weary of the life we lead, Shut in this town, playing the games of self, And pride and gain and love? Do you not long For the sweet breath of hills and fields and flowers — The forest deeps — the simple folk you left? SHAKESPEARE It is not that I love not what I left — » 238 WILL SHAKESPEARE But that old life fell from me like a cloak When once the towers of London smote my eyes, And all her mighty life beat at my heart; And now her noble blood flows in my veins, And I am one with all her great adventure. ELISABETH Is't true that you are married? SHAKESPEARE Fast as church law And as man's law can bind me. ELISABETH And you love — [Your wife? SHAKESPEARE [Starting from the bench, and speaking with agitation.] Can God forgive me if I lie About my truth of truths? Will God for- give me WILL SHAKESPEARE 239 If I speak the truth and free my soul From this relentless flame turned inward to Destroy me? [He withdraws a few steps and puts his hand on his heart looking directly into Elisabeth's eyes.~\ I love you [Elisabeth draws back as if startled but returns Shakespeare's look as if fas- cinated.'] THE VOICE OF ESSEX [Just without at left.] Go tell the Earl Of Southampton I wait him in the court. A PAGE [Without at left.] Good, my Lord. ELISABETH [Springing from her seat and clinging to Shakespeare with fright.] 240 WILL SHAKESPEARE My Cousin Essex comes! His rage would crush me if he finds me here — I thought him gone an hour since. Hide me! THE VOICE OF HERBERT [Without at right.] Is the Earl within? Go seek him. SHAKESPEARE [Taking Elisabeth's hand and with his other hand seising the flambeau.'] Come! [He quickly draws her across the court and opens the door on the stair and draws her after him, closing the door and leaving the stage in darkness as Essex and Herbert enter from opposite sides.] ACT III SCENE II {The scene instantly changes to a small, panelled room lighted by a high standing lamp. A low door at left. Under a massive carved table Florian and Peter Dumpser are strug- gling and quarreling over a letter which Peter holds. On the table stands the silver casket which Florian carried, and an antique vase ■filled with roses. Also flagons of wine and goblets, a dish of fruit, and other viands. Swords and musical instruments and two or three portraits of beautiful women hang on the walls. ~\ FLORIAN [Striking Peter. ] O Treacherous Fox! You boast of your truth and virtue and steal my Lord's letters. Where is your consistency? 241 242 WILL SHAKESPEARE PETER The letter bears my name. FLORIAtf At last a wholesome lie! I have hopes of his honesty. [He snatches the letter from Peter, and reads the inscription.] " For my Lord Southampton." You little Viper! [He strikes him again while Peter whines. ,] If you were any bigger than a Whisper I should fight you to an end! [The door at left opens and Shakespeare stands in the entrance, bearing the flambeau. Behind him Elisabeth Ver- non is seen.] SHAKESPEARE [To Elisabeth, as he sees the pages.] Wait without, I pray you, while I dismiss these inopportune servants. ELISABETH [With gaiety, drawing back into the shadow.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 243 I am invisible! [Shakespeare shuts the door.] SHAKESPEARE [Roughly.'] Out— both of you ! When Lord Southamp- ton learns that you fight in his cabinet he will give you the streets for your brawls. [Florian and Peter crawl from under the table. ] FLORIAN Please you, Master Shakespeare, I brought hither my Lord's casket as you bade me and found Peter Dumpser stealing my Lord's letters. SHAKESPEARE [In a hushed tone of surprise."] Peter Dumpser! FLORIAN* [Giving the letter to Shakespeare.] Read the inscription, Master Shakespeare. Ah, this Field Lily, Pierre, is a little marble tomb of vice ! 244 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE [Taking the letter reads, aloud. ,] " For my Lord of Southampton in his house in Holborn in London. For his page Peter Dumpser." The letter is for Peter, Florian. Go you down the stair. If you are small enough and still enough, you may yet find standing room in this house. And as you pass out, you see and hear nothing. Do you understand my English? [He pushes the un- willing Florian out and past the waiting Elis- abeth.'] [To Elisabeth. 1 Your patience yet a moment, Lady. [He again shuts the door and returns to Peter.] Whence do you come? PETER From Stratford, Sir. SHAKESPEARE [In the same hushed tone of surprise.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 245 Thus do ghosts stand in our path, — to warn us of another world than this in which we live! PETER I knew you, Master Will, when I was but a Patch, but I feared to speak with you now that you are become so great a man. SHAKESPEARE [Grasping his hand.] Country-born, and sunburned even as you, Peter ! But you must follow your yoke-fellow and without delay. I'll speak you again. PETER My letter, Sir? [Shakespeare gives him the letter. Peter continues.] O, Master Will! I cannot read more than my own name. I dare not go to Florian for the spelling out of my letter, and the other pages gibe at me. This is from my mother, I 246 WILL SHAKESPEARE know. The first word I have had from her. Read it me, good Master Will. [He holds the open letter to Shakespeare, who half-unwillingly takes it. ] PETER [Whining.'] 'Tis from my mother! SHAKESPEARE [Good-humoredly.~\ Take your pap, then, while Queens wait. [He reads.] "To my much loved son Peter. The Fever has come to Stratford, though not so fierce as when my mother was young. I fell ill of it and quaked with fear, thinking to die without sight of you. Many have had the Fever and 'tis said Anne Shakespeare, that was Anne Hathaway, is one and hath died a week since. Her children are with her mother at Shottery and are well. I am mending but I would see you, Peter, for I cannot eat nor sleep for lacking sight of you. Come home, WILL SHAKESPEARE 247 Peter, for a space. Ask my Lord to spare you to your mother who is in such need of you." [After a long pause, Shakespeare speaks with awe.~\ Is Anne dead? Can that vivid life be ended? That vital tongue be still? God forgive my sins! I should have gone home before. . . . There will be years before this is a truth to me. PETER O, Master Shakespeare, will my Lord of Southampton let me go to my mother? SHAKESPEARE I will answer to Lord Southampton for you. Go to Stratford as speedily as may be. Here is gold for your journey. \}He gives him a purse. ] PETER [Peeping into the purse."] Never saw I so much gold before. I can never spend it ! 248 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE Stay beside your mother for a fortnight and then come to my Lord Southampton's seat in Titchfield. Look at me. Go to the house of Dame Hathaway in Shottery — and to the house of Anne Shakespeare in Strat- ford and bring me yourself news of — this fever. I write and go myself but I wish more certain and speedy news than the Queen's commands now permit. Do you understand? PETER I will do your bidding, Master Will, and I will bring tidings to Titchfield — if I am not struck by the fever myself, which the Angels forefend ! [Exit Peter.'] SHAKESPEARE [At door. To Elisabeth with sternness.] Enter. [Elisabeth enters. She looks about and claps her hands and laughs.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 249 'Tis Southampton's cabinet! An adventure truly ! SHAKESPEARE Do you trust Yourself alone with me? ELISABETH You are a gentleman. SHAKESPEARE I am a man. And one that never knew Himself to be a man until this hour. ELISABETH [With an attempt at lightness. .] Your eyes are wild. I almost fear you now. {With gravity. 1 And God forgot almost all kinds of fear When He made me. Indeed I do not boast! SHAKESPEARE You asked me but a moment since, To sit and talk like two old friends, who meet 250 WILL SHAKESPEARE Upon a summer afternoon. And now, I bid you stay and speak with me — not like Old friends but like, (for imagery), two flames That tremble upward, ever drawn more near By very virtue of their light and fire. Yearning to fuse in one fierce holocaust Not caring if a world be thus consumed. \He leads her to a seat near the table. She sits. He stands near her, speak- ing rapidly. ,] I told you in the court below I had A wife, (slowly) I had a wife — 'tis said she's dead . . . If I should come to you quite free — with hands As clean as shriven love could make them, with A name quite low — Yet in the years to come With somewhat of a light upon it — Could you Crowned, golden, nimbus-like with love — with love! WILL SHAKESPEARE 251 Such love as I give you, — Could you then dream Of loving too? Of drinking of the wine That Life pours out but once — the wine of Love. ELISABETH [With light gaiety."] Without such dreams how very dull and tame How very flat this life of ours would be! SHAKESPEARE You jest. You know not how such jesting stabs ! ELISABETH Is it not wisest thus to jest with the Impossible ? SHAKESPEARE Enough. I have my sentence. [He goes quickly toward the door.'] ELISABETH [Rising and following him, lays her hand on his arm.] 252' WILL SHAKESPEARE Master Will! {Shakespeare returns.'] I an- swered not the truth ! SHAKESPEARE Tigress! All glowing hues — all softened curves, In motion how alluring your perfection! And yet as you thus clutch again your prey This laceration [He touches his heart] Speaks your touch to be That of the jungle and the hidden lair. ELISABETH [Sits and looks up at him with a sudden air of girlish softness and sweetness.] None ever spoke such cruel words to me! Such needless, cruel words. God's truth it is I love you, Master Will. [Shakespeare snatches the petals from one of the roses and flings them over her. They fall on her head and shoul- ders in a rosy shower.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 253 SHAKESPEARE This joy's too great! This flaming whirl within my brain and heart Blurs all before me. Let me see your eyes. {He sits near her, looking into her eyes as she looks up at him.'] Such lakes of limpid candour! With a light That blinds me. Is't for me or for the love Of love and life? Elisabeth — Could you, A Star, so drop from out your sphere to me? ELISABETH Stars drop through space and none know where they fall. Should I so fall, T' would be to find myself Throned in another Heaven of your love. SHAKESPEARE {With fiery exaltation."] Your words are treasures sought and bought with blood And travail of men's souls, for ages past; Like argosies of spoils from fabled lands — 254 WILL SHAKESPEARE And I am glad of them, as one who finds His Golden Fleece after long quest and war. [He takes her hands in his.] Can such eyes lie? Can the sweet, madding touch Of these delicious hands be false? I'll not believe it, though my heart cries out In blackest doubt that flings me down to hell. [He speaks with impassioned entreaty.'] Is't true that you love me? Search well your heart. ELISABETH [With the same girlish candor.] There's nothing high in me — and yet I love The heights. You lift me to them! SHAKESPEARE [With passionate impatience.] That's not love. ELISABETH Among the men who court me there's not one With whom my life could know a moment's peace. WILL SHAKESPEARE 255 You are so noble — and I trust you so! When men are matched with men — not names or lands — In all our England, who so great as you? SHAKESPEARE [Completely softened, speaks brokenly.'] An unknown, country lad — a scribbling youth Who crawled foot-sore and hungry London streets, With but the visions in his plays for friends And retinue. Can you love such an one? ELISABETH Romance is in it! SHAKESPEARE Trifle not— the truth ! ELISABETH Indeed I love you — or — I know not love! I should be dull if I loved not such greatness ! [Shakespeare draws her to him.'] 256 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE Seal then your words in spirit and in touch That do not lie. [He kisses her. A long kiss on her lips. She repulses him angrily. ,] Now know that you are mine. Mine in the heart's quick beat. Mine in the life! ELISABETH [With anger.'] You dare too far! SHAKESPEARE [Flinging himself on his knees at her feet.] If I too fiercely crushed Those living roses of your lips with mine — Too deeply drained their honey, let my plea For your forgiveness be a life-long thirst. [Elisabeth, half irresolutely, holds out her hand. He kisses it reverently and, rising, stands at a little distance. The door is suddenly opened, and South- WILL SHAKESPEARE 257 ampton enters. He stands in motion- less astonishment as he sees Elisabeth and Shakespeare. ,] SOUTHAMPTON [To Elisabeth, with irony. ~\ Lady — you strangely honor my poor room! [To Shakespeare, with still more biting irony. ] A tryst well-chosen — if surprising! But, You might have barred the door and so averted My rash and most inopportune intrusion! SHAKESPEARE [Advancing impetuously toward him.~\ This hour's too strangely bright, even in Death's awe, For blindness. Southampton I hither brought Lady Elisabeth — untowardly Belated in the court. Guests came and went And shelter from their curious eyes was meet. 258 WILL SHAKESPEARE SOUTHAMPTON [His suspicion entirely disarmed.] Well done! SHAKESPEARE When all below at last have gone Safely attend her home. For I must go. SOUTHAMPTON My life for her protection! SHAKESPEARE [Going to him, takes his hand and speaks with solemnity. ] Thus with you I leave the dearest Treasure of my life. My radiant Pearl of price — long travailed for. For in this hour it is not given to me To stay and love my Pearl. Nor beat my breast And deep bemoan my dead — once close — so close To mine own life! My part is not to wait — WILL SHAKESPEARE 259 To love — or to reflect. But to watch life As it flies past — wrest from its changing mask Its secrets dark or ravishingly bright, And then turn all to Beauty where — look well! You'll find the mirror of your own life's Pageantry. Why do I thus? (With a half smiling, al- most apologetic manner) I can do nothing else! I'm not a peasant — nor a courtier — In the Exchange how weary I should grow! And then — all turns to gold for those I love Who wait at home. I can do nothing else! [With awe and solemnity.'] They say my wife is gone! I cannot stop Th' immutable stern steps of destiny. I know my children safe — Now I must go Fulfil the Queen's command — for that is in The path that I can tread and stumble not. And then to Stratford. But — {he takes Elisabeth's hand) 26o WILL SHAKESPEARE Here is my Love. My love incarnated — whom I must leave — To whom I must return — or else — I die ! For to reach Stratford from the Earl's, Where I must play next week before the Queen, I must pass Titchfield. There to taste again As I do now — a life transcending Life, Transcending even Death. [To Southampton.] So guard my Love — My heart's own friend — whose loyalty I trust More than I trust my own. [Elisabeth and Southampton have lis- tened and watched Shakespeare with silent wonder. A noise of men's voices, speaking loudly, is heard in the passage outside the door. Southamp- ton springs to bolt it, but it is Hung open and Herbert and Essex enter, Herbert laughing loudly. As they enter, Shakespeare tears the short black WILL SHAKESPEARE 261 velvet coat from his shoulders, and gives it to Elisabeth. ] Quick — veil yourself! [Elisabeth wraps the cloak around her head like a hood and veils her face with it, withdrawing against the wall.~\ ESSEX [Angrily.] Southampton! Wanton as ever! HERBERT [Laughing loudly and recklessly.] Ah! ha! Southampton! We wait in the court for your conference on State matters — while you and Will Shakespeare are revelling here! [Going to the table.] By Phoebus! Wine — a banquet — and a Lady! You might have bidden us. [He pours out two glasses of wine and taking one goes toward Elisabeth, staggering slightly.] Your good health, Fair One! [Elisabeth shrinks back against the wall] At least I assume you to be fair! 262 WILL SHAKESPEARE ESSEX [With grim humor. .] A rash assumption. Else, why the hood ? HERBERT Unveil, sweetest, and give his doubt the lie. ESSEX Since ladies of the court, or shy maidens, do not frequent Southampton's room at night, why this reserve? HERBERT [Drawing close to Elisabeth attempts, with drunken assurance, to snatch the cloak from her head.] Tantalize me no longer — mysterious Beauty! [During this scene, Southampton has betrayed great uneasiness. Shake* spear e has remained motionless near Elisabeth, intently listening to and watching Herbert and Essex. As WILL SHAKESPEARE 263 Herbert touches the cloak wrapped about Elisabeth's head, he strikes his hand up and stands between Herbert and Elisabeth, at the same time burst- ing into a peal of laughter.] SHAKESPEARE) Your pardon Herbert, but the situation is laughable as you will confess! [The great sweetness of his manner, and his laughter disarms Herbert's anger and he listens as Shakespeare con- tinues.] As Essex truly says, ladies of the court, or young girls are not found in Southampton's room at night! HERBERT \Loudly echoing his laugh."] Well said! \To Southampton angrily.] Then again, why the veil ? Speak to your Incognita, Southamp- ton, and bid her not spoil sport with such mock mystery. Do your part! Come Laggard ! 264 WILL SHAKESPEARE [He advances toward Southampton with an air of tipsy violence. ,] SHAKESPEARE [Gently resisting his advance. ,] But listen! It is amusing. A novel predicament! Some say Southampton's fault is youth and wan- tonness!" Sure he has grace and gentle sport, as becomes the young! Were he a wolf he might betray a lamb! But even when faults resort to him they become graces! As now — ! This — (He indicates Elisabeth) may be some imprudent Lady of another world than the court — possibly, alas ! of my world — the theatre! For through an unguarded life their manners perforce grow careless. What think you Herbert? HERBERT [With an air of wisdom. ,] I think it likely. SHAKESPEARE And Southampton — being no wolf — would WILL SHAKESPEARE 265 spare^the crimsoning 1 of this lamb's white wool. HERBERT [With irritation.'] Why seek to shelter Southampton, who blushes not at all! SHAKESPEARE Faith ! I love him in such sort that his good report is mine also! HERBERT [Again turning toward Elisabeth.] Why not speak for yourself, Sweet Silence? Are you to be kept hidden even against your own will? I'll soon end that! [He again tries to pass Shakespeare, staggering and almost falling.] SHAKESPEARE [Interposing again between them.] Would you not feel pity if I were to let you hear a tale of this encounter? It is a Romance in one sweet-scented page. [Herbert stops and listens.] What if Southampton and this lady 266 WILL SHAKESPEARE have but looked! But her eyes have magic and they draw him as by a spell. What if they had but spoken — but with tenderness rising in their hearts, drawn upward by his eyes that have the sun's fire in them. What if they but talked in the court when steps came near. Ever-and-ever-more-near. [He ad- vances slowly and mysteriously toward Her- bert] A man's heavy step! He approaches them — nearer — they see him — dark, menacing, and in his hand the glint of steel! [With growing power."} Is it her husband? She must be saved — saved at any hazard ! South- ampton springs forward — catches him by the throat! [With a tremendous outburst.] Thus! [Shakespeare makes a swift dart at Her- bert and catches him by the throat. Elisabeth shrieks. Herbert struggles and curses.] HERBERT Ruffian! Dastard! Unloose me! WILL SHAKESPEARE 267 SHAKESPEARE [Releasing him, bursts into gay laughter. ] Forgive me, Herbert! I am a player and must ever play at life! And when the mood is on — my word, I know not what madness I do! Your pardon! HERBERT [Bewildered and credulous.] Yes — Yes! My pardon willingly and here's my hand. ESSEX [Applauding.] By Heaven! Quite a comedy, and well-played! HERBERT [With sudden irritation.] S'death! But your hands clutched me! [With sudden anger.] You hound, by what right do you thwart the pleasure of gentlemen ? Go back to your Bear Garden! [To Elisa- beth.] And you! So — So — Thus do our eyes drink your beauty. [He eludes Shakespeare by a swift move- 268 WILL SHAKESPEARE ment and snatches the cloak from Elisabeth's head. At the same instant Shakespeare overturns the lamp which falls to the ground with a crash and is extinguished. The stage is dark. As the lamp crashes, Elisabeth screams again. Then all stand silent, ,] SHAKESPEARE [Standing before Elisabeth in the darkness.] Truth, Gentlemen, it is I, not this lady or Southampton whose blushes need shelter, and see how kindly has the darkness done it for me ! For — the truth must out — I have a fancy for her myself! Tis folly sure with South- ampton in the lists! What fortune can my passion have against him whose bosom is en- deared with all hearts! I — who am in dis- grace with fortune and men's eyes. I — who to behold desert am but a beggar born, forced to make myself a motley to the view. He has but to cast his eyes earthward and there's a woman at his feet! [With increasing pas- WILL SHAKESPEARE 269 sion.] While I am alone — and she is to my thoughts as food to life. Gentlemen, at birth the world was given to you, but her love is better than high birth to me. I call for nothing in the Universe save her, my Rose. And so — your indulgence. Be she of the Theatre, of the Markets, or even some Night Wanderer of the streets, 'tis she I love — and by your own sacred loves, hidden in your hearts, I conjure you, spare mine! [All have listened silently as Shakespeare speaks. As he ceases, Herbert sets on the table the still filled wine glass he has held. He lays his hand on Essex's arm and together they silently go out of the room and down the stair. The setting moon now shines directly into the room, so that Shakespeare, Elisa- beth and Southampton and the whole room are clearly seen. Shakespeare continues to speak, but this time much more quietly and directly to Southamp- ton and Elisabeth.] I 270 WILL SHAKESPEARE Thus do we Mummers rend the veil from our own hearts, that the sleeping nobleness in others may be wakened. And, so that end is served, it is well done. Now may Dew from Heaven descend upon you both and keep you stainless and refreshed. [He takes their hands in his.~\ Be true. Be true. Not with the truth that says "I'm true" but winks, half- looks, and with an eyelid's lift betrays a soul and splits a mighty heart; but with the truth that says — " Thou shalt be safe and thy love honored, though my name be stained and blotted from men's minds;" — and lives it out until the death of Time. Farewell ! Fare- well! At Titchfield on the 6th of June I shall be with you. Spurred by such Friendship and such Love, to reach a height, as man among my fellow-men that this our world has never known before. And — who can gainsay my word? — may never know again. [To South- ampton.] When all your guests are gone, safely attend her home. Forget not. And now farewell, my dearest Ones. WILL SHAKESPEARE 271 [He presses Southampton's hand against ^ his heart with both his and abruptly bending low kisses Elisabeth's hand, and goes toward the door. Exit Shake- speare, closing the door. Southampton replaces the lamp and striking a light relights it. Elisabeth has seated her- self by the table. Southampton goes to her and speaks, leaning on the table, ] SOUTHAMPTON [In a hard, half angry tone.~\ Speak truth. Is he mad? ELISABETH But partly so. SOUTHAMPTON Surely it is madness. How very strange he is to-night ! ELISABETH [Striving to speak lightly, .] So poets should be. Is poetry the daily fruit of most men's lives? 2J2 WILL SHAKESPEARE SOUTHAMPTON This hour's full of torment for me. Will you speak truth if I do question you? ELISABETH [Looking unflinchingly in his eyes.] I will. SOUTHAMPTON* Is he — [he stops abruptly. ] He bade me take you safely home. ELISABETH Hark! [She goes quickly to the door and opens it. Loud voices and laughter from the Court belozv and footsteps cross- ing it are heard. She returns to her seat by the table. She sinks into it and leans back with the same aban- donment that she had shown with Shakespeare. ,] We still must wait! There is no haste. WILL SHAKESPEARE 273 SOUTHAMPTON Will you speak truth? I should say, can a woman speak truth? All truth, I mean. ELISABETH I can — I will — to you. SOUTHAMPTON Whether I doubt or believe, I'll question you. Answer you what you will. Is Will Shakespeare mad or do you love him? ELISABETH [She covers her face with her hands in deep agitation.'] O, I believe I do! I love his greatness which few see as I. SOUTHAMPTON Do I not know his greatness? Hell's at work in my life! But we're here in the world. What can come of such love? 274 WILL SHAKESPEARE ELISABETH I do not know. SOUTHAMPTON Could you give your life to him? Could you wed Will Shakespeare, even had he no wife? ELISABETH [Again with agitation.] O — I know not. SOUTHAMPTON And if you do not wed — I am a man — - what then? ELISABETH Shame! Probing to the heart the bud that is not yet a rose! SOUTHAMPTON Damnation! Is life to betray me twice in one day? I will not have it. I've thirsted, in the ages since this afternoon, for this hour. It comes quickly — but — it cheats. WILL SHAKESPEARE 275 Answer again. Are you pledged willingly in any sense that's true, to Will Shakespeare? ELISABETH [With subtle coquetry."] O pledged? No — Pledged is a hard word. But were he another than he is it would be true — all true. SOUTHAMPTON He has deceived himself? ELISABETH Yes. SOUTHAMPTON Then if he is self -deceived and you not pledged, I'll speak: There is no treason. I swear that when I met you in the Court this afternoon my heart was empty as a shell that whispers of the distant sea. That sea of LoVe that often breaks its waves upon a stone. ELISABETH A stone? 276 WILL SHAKESPEARE SOUTHAMPTON A woman can turn stone as easily as breathe . ... at least so Bridget Man- ners can! I've looked upon your beauty all these years. Feasted upon it as I would upon a sun-riped nectarine. My senses would have starved if I'd not seen its richness upon such and such a day. But I was blind. A little vile, yellow, speck of dust between my eyes and sunlight. But when I saw you to- day I — dried, parched by that same dust — knew you could fill my heart up to the brim with life. ELISABETH O too late! Too late! SOUTHAMPTON What do you mean? ELISABETH [With reserve.'] Did I not say to you that maids are wisest when they doubt all words of yours, WILL SHAKESPEARE 277 SOUTHAMPTON [Passionately.] O words — what are words? Look at me. I've starved on a dream and now I'm Life itself for you. We're here, alone, and Life, its very self, no cheat or dream, is pressing close. Will you let it slip away? If you so wish — I'll go. ELISABETH No, No! SOUTHAMPTON [He kneels on one knee close to her knees and takes her hands.] May I kneel here and worship? [Elisabeth does not answer.] How still! Do I displease you so? Do you wish me to leave you? ELISABETH [Closing her eyes and speaking as if drugged.] No! No! 278 WILL SHAKESPEARE SOUTHAMPTON What am I to you? ELISABETH [Slowly opening her eyes and meeting his.~\ The Kingdoms of the World and the Glory of them. SOUTHAMPTON Caught ! [He snatches her in his arms and kisses her violently. She does not rebuke him but reaches out her arms and strains him to her, returning his em- brace and kiss with twofold passion. They release each other and South- ampton stands, looking down upon her upturned face. The door is suddenly opened and Shakespeare enters. He goes toward them J] SHAKESPEARE [With deep, restrained emotion.] Forth from this great Enchantment I could WILL SHAKESPEARE 279 not go to meet the world without one last, dear look. You need not speak. Let but my eyes, my heart embrace you both. [To Southampton.'] My Friend! [To Elisa- beth.'] My Happiness! [As they stand with slightly bowed heads, guilty and silent, he goes toward the door and there stops, hat in hand, looking at them. He calls in a clear voice.] There are my two Angels ! CURTAIN END OF ACT III ACT IV THE PYRE— THE NEW PHOENIX RISES FROM THE ASHES JUNE 1598 ACT IV THE PYRE— THE NEW PHOENIX RISES FROM THE ASHES JUNE 1598 Scene: [Bacchanal music.~\ The Garden and Terrace of TitchHeld, the country seat of the Earl of Southampton. A background of trees and sky. 'Across the back of stage is a stone ivy-grown terrace with a balustrade. A stone stair leads down on either side from the terrace to the foreground of the stage. Trees, flowering shrubs and flowers Hank either side. There is a stone seat at the right. In the centre at back, built against the stone terrace, is a fountain with a semi-circu- lar stone basin with a broad rim. The whole scene has a picturesque and romantic beauty. At the left above, opening on the Terrace, is seen the corner of a vine-covered, stone 283 284 WILL SHAKESPEARE manor-house. The windows of the house are lighted. The moonlight is clear and brilliant. Lighted lanterns of soft light colours hang in the trees. When the curtain rises, nymphs, in -filmy draperies with cymbals and wreaths of flowers, and satyrs and fauns dressed in skins and crowned with green leaves, are moving across terrace and steps and among the shrubs and trees. As the curtain rises they sing to the accompaniment of the or- chestra; as they sing they rush wildly down the steps, the satyrs and fauns striving to catch the nymphs, who elude them, laughing and dancing.'] SONG ALL For this night we are not men Nymphs and Fauns and Satyrs we! SATYRS AND FAUNS Peep at head and feet and then Furry ears and hoofs you'll see! WILL SHAKESPEARE 285 ALL If a stranger cross our path Dare our covert to intrude, Straight we crush him with our wrath Drive him from our sacred wood. FAUNS If a maiden this way come Rightful prey is she of ours; Swiftly do we bear her home To our couch of moss and flowers. ALL For this night we are not men Nymphs and Fauns and Satyrs we! SATYRS AND FAUNS Peep at head and feet and then Furry ears and hoofs you'll see! [Stage Direction — The music for this song is abrupt and rough, and at the end of each verse the cymbals clash wildly. "\ 286 WILL , SHAKESPEARE [At the end of this song the Satyrs and Nymphs and Fauns creep back behind the shrubs and trees and hide.] [Enter Shakespeare dressed in a black costume like the one Southampton has prepared for the Masque. He wears the blue ribbon and star of the order of the Garter. He is unmasked but carries a mask in his hand. He wears also a large black hat and cloak.] SHAKESPEARE [Removing his hat as if for more free- dom.] How clear this air! How magical these flowers ! There is some rare enchantment in this place, Some spirit breathing balms of Joy and Youth. I know not what awaits me here to-night, From Stratford, whence my messenger should come — WILL SHAKESPEARE 287 From Stratford, where I go upon the mor- row; What word of Death — or Life renewed for Anne. I know not whether I am bound or free — [What comes is veiled — but this one thing is sure — This hour is deadly sweet, and brings to me The life of mine own life, Elisabeth! Through all these wasteful, fruitless days and weeks, Love-haunted, love-tormented, I have dragged Body and will to meet each hour's behest. While far across the miles that stretched be- tween My spirit free and swift and strong as fire Has flown and dwelt with her, so leaving me A ravished altar, bankrupt of its flame — A dead man, living still, whose soul survives But in the pleasure of his Mistress' will. Yet now all life sweeps back to fill my life And every step that brings me closer her 288 WILL SHAKESPEARE Makes me tenfold a man — Nearer a god ! [He touches the star and ribbon of the Garter.'] For once a Prince! Though but for one short night, Sweet Heaven, send some princely destiny! [Bacchanal music. The Satyrs and Fauns creep from the bushes and spring upon Shakespeare singing roughly.'] SATYRS If a stranger cross our path, Dare our covert to intrude, Straight we crush him with our wrath, Drive him from our sacred wood. SHAKESPEARE [Joyously.] My old-time Forest-Friends at last! Come on! JVe waited for you long! WILL SHAKESPEARE 289 FIRST SATYR Now throw him down! SECOND SATYR I'll trip his heels! THIRD SATYR I'll twist and break his bones! SHAKESPEARE Come rough or smooth, all's well for me to- night ! [He fights with the satyrs, overpowers them and drives them back to the co- vert of the bushes.'] SATYRS AND FAUNS [Singing mournfully behind the bushes and groaning at the end of each line.'] For to-night we are not men — O! O! O! Fauns and hairy Satyrs we — O! O! O! 290 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE [He advances a few steps."] A mystic night borne from a land of dreams! Are all my visions closing round my path, No dreams but substance of my life at last? [Soft music is hefard. A water Nymph rises slowly from the fountain.] WATER NYMPH [Holding out her arms to Shakespeare. ] Beloved, IVe risen from such far, green depths, Dashing the salt spray from my seeking eyes. Long, long ago — you called me from the sea- 1 ^- I heard and I am come to answer you. SHAKESPEARE [Going nearer to the fountain. He speaks with humour, shuddering.] The women of the sea must be so cold ! WATER NYMPH The women of the earth are ever false! WILL SHAKESPEARE 291 SHAKESPEARE This even from a Water-Fay! WATER NYMPH Trust None! SHAKESPEARE Not even you? WATER NYMPH Trust no one on the earth. Trust me. Deep as the sea my love. Come! Come! [She holds out her arms x beckoning.'] SHAKESPEARE No love of yours for me, nor mine for you! But I can dream a thousand lives in one. Earth, sea, and sky are mine, if so I choose! [He goes quickly to the edge of the fountain. The Water Nymph splashes the water over him and sud- denly sinks down in the water and vanishes laughing, mockingly.] 292 WILL SHAKESPEARE WATER NYMPH [As she sinks.] Deep as the sea my love. Follow me there! [The Satyrs and Fauns echo her laugh- ter softly from the bushes.] SHAKESPEARE Each briny drop a sea-kiss, fresh and strange. Through Dreams and Follies to my Star of Love! [He passes across the stage and goes out through the shrubs and -flowers at right. Enter from terrace above, Elisabeth Vernon and her waiting- woman, Phillida, unmasked, but carry- ing masks.] ELISABETH How long has Florian paid court to you? PHILLIDA A year. ELISABETH And how do you regard this youth? WILL SHAKESPEARE 293 PHILLIDA I trifle with him when that he is near, But when he goes I would that he were back. ELISABETH In your small way you love! You'll play your part. Heed me — Lord Southampton has hidden from me Two days. Love-tokens he has sent to me And written words. But while he's planned this masque, Filling these shaded nooks with Nymphs and Fauns, Making sweet music sound from every bush; He has not let me see his face, nor learn What his disguise to-night. This is a jest To him, to whet this evening's mystery — 4 But 'tis to me sheer torment. When he's gone, I know not where he goes, nor what he does. O Phillida, if you should love a man, 294 WILL SHAKESPEARE Love him, I mean, so you are lost in him, Passed quite from out yourself, your soul and life All at the mercy of his veering will, Then never, never let him from your sight — For if you do, some mischief's sure to come. PHILLIDA I wish that you had never seen his face! Are men so false? ELISABETH Some do not mean to be, And yet are so! Florian will surely know What dress his master wears. Watch here for him, Until he comes — and he is sure to come, For from the casement in the hall above Where we were dallying with the other guests, I spied him speeding toward this very spot Down the Yew path. Garbed like a Faun in Skins, WILL SHAKESPEARE 295 Bearing a silver casket in his arms — Learn all from him. [She points down the alley at left.'] He comes! Dear Phillida, Now fail me not I must have sight and speech Of Southampton to-night. If you should see My Lord, give this into his hands. Fail not! [She gives Phillida a note."} [Exit Elisabeth to house. Phillida goes with her to the top of the terrace. Enter Florian dressed like a Faun, carrying the silver casket.] FLORIAN* [Singing.] Mighty Venus, mightier Love Help who weareth this disguise Help him Heavenly Powers above Guard him from her dangerous eyes! PHILLIDA [She plucks a rose from roses that grow 296 WILL SHAKESPEARE on the Terrace and throws it, striking . Florian who stops and looks up.~\ FLORIAN My Phillida! PHILLIDA What have you in that box? FLORIAN You shall not know. PHILLIDA You swore last week you would do aught I wished. And the first thing I ask you, you deny! FLORIAN Again I swear you — anything — but this ! PHILLIDA Good even ! {She goes toward the house.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 297 FLORIAN Phillida! [He climbs to the top of the Terrace by means of the stone-work of the Foun- tain. Phillida returns. Florian lays the silver casket on the top of the bal- ustrade and sits beside it.] PHILLIDA [Drawing close to him.] How beautiful You are in your Faun's dress! FLORIAN I ever said You'd a rare eye for my fine points! [As he speaks, smiling conceitedly, Phil- lida swiftly opens the casket and snatches the costume from it, examin- ing it before Florian has time to take it from her. Enter Essex in the cos- tume of a Roman warrior. He hides and watches.] 29B WILL SHAKESPEARE FLORIAN You wretch! But sure 'twas not my fault! For man is strong, God stronger, woman strongest! PHILLIDA [Eluding Florian, holds up the costume and ornaments laughing. ] Well I know This is my Lord Southampton's dress to- night [Still eluding Florian who tries to catch her.] Black mask and hose and doublet — and the star And chain and azure ribbon of a knight Of noble orders most august — the Garter! FLORIAN [Snatching the costume and putting it in the box."] I deny your guess! WILL SHAKESPEARE 299 Phillida Your eyes affirm its truth. FLORIAN Now keep the secret you have stolen from me Or I am lost! My Lord awaits. A kiss? PHILLIDA Not one. FLORIAN [With mock tragedy. Kneeling be- seechingly. ] I prithee, maiden, for the good Of my poor soul. [Phillida eludes him and runs to house laughing. ,} FLORIAN My time's not yet but comes — ■ For that lost kiss I'll twenty steal to-night ! [Exit Florian with casket.] 300 WILL SHAKESPEARE ESSEX The waiting woman of Elisabeth, peeping at Southampton's disguise. Great God! No woman's safe from him, nor he from them! He would wed Bridget Manners, eyes Elisa- beth, and lures her maid. Some men should be labelled " Poison " and imprisoned. He even magnetizes me when I am in his pres- ence. Praise Heaven, he goes soon to Paris! [Enter Herbert by the same entrance by which Essex entered.] ESSEX Well met, Herbert! [Enter the two pages who appeared in Act III, one playing with a cup and ball. They sit on the edge of the fountain, not seeing Essex and Her- bert behind the shrubs at right.'] FIRST PAGE [Tossing the ball and trying to catch it in the cup and missing it.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 301 I have it from the steward's wife that Lord Southampton is not to marry Lady Bridget Manners — and more than that! [Herbert steps forzvard as if to silence the pages, but Essex restrains him J] SECOND PAGE You've missed the ball three times. It's my turn. [He takes the cup and ball.~\ What more of my Lord Southampton. FIRST PAGE You'll never guess! SECOND PAGE [Tossing the ball.~\ I know more than I tell. Go on. FIRST PAGE 'Tis said Lord Southampton has courted Mistress Elisabeth Vernon with too much familiarity. The steward's wife had it from Lady Bridget's maid. The maids know it — the court knows it — the Town will know soon 302 WILL SHAKESPEARE — everyone but the Queen — and when she knows there'll be a reckoning! [Essex starts and unsheathes his sword. Herbert again makes as if to stop the talk of the pages but Essex again restrains him and they list&n.~\ SECOND PAGE No news to me ! FIRST PAGE The pride of him! You fool not me with your mock knowledge. SECOND PAGE Do you remember the night of the game of swords a month since in my Lord's house in Holborn. FIRST PAGE Well. SECOND PAGE At ten o'clock, I fell asleep hidden in the alcove of the little stair by the door that leads WILL SHAKESPEARE 303 to my lord's cabinet. At two in the morn- ing [I know, for I heard the bells strike] voices wakened me. Lord Southampton and Mistress Elisabeth came down the stair. At the door to the court she veiled herself and they passed out to the outer court and so to the streets. But I'll warrant you there were soft words and clingings before they left the stair. I saw her face plain. She's a rare Beauty ! FIRST PAGE Why told you not me before? SECOND PAGE I saw Florian beat Peter Dumpser for an- gering my Lord Southampton that same day. I held my peace because I value my skin and my place. But if others know, I'm safe! [A whistle is heard from the house."] The Steward's whistle! Come quick! [Exeunt Pages running. Essex stands motionless with bent head. Then speaks with restrained rage and pain.] 304 WILL SHAKESPEARE ESSEX Herbert is this true? No lies. HERBERT I would have spared you! ESSEX O fooled and gulled! Under my very eyes! Elisabeth! My Pride! The Flower of all our race! Dragged down amid the yery ruck of women who fall in the slime of men's lust. Elisabeth in Southampton's room that night! O blind fool! Under my very eyes! [He pauses as if searching his mentor y.] What meant Will Shakespeare by his fond confession that so moved us? HERBERT The merest mummery, to shelter his idol, Southampton. ESSEX He forewarned me that afternoon that were we matched against each other, he would WILL SHAKESPEARE 305 triumph. [Bitterly. ] But I was an easy dupe. How long have you known? HERBERT I heard it whispered more than a fortnight since. [Two ladies cross the terrace above, talking and laughing and go out at left] ESSEX I see blood on everything. PEMBROKE Have care! Come aside where we may speak unnoticed. [Exit Essex and Herbert."] [Enter Shakespeare. He puts on his mask, draws his hat over his eyes and steps aside as the two ladies re-enter from left.] FIRST LADY How are the mighty fallen ! 306 WILL SHAKESPEARE SECOND LADY She was ever too proud to please me. FIRST LADY [Removing her mask and fanning herself."] I'm warm with dancing! I pity her the more because of her pride. Will Southampton wed her, think you? SECOND LADY If his wooing of her has been so free, why should he? [Exit Ladies.] SHAKESPEARE There's some malicious spite at work ! They speak of Bridget Manners and Southampton. Who would have thought that scandal would stain that snow image! But none escape! [Enter from terrace Phillida. She goes to Shakespeare with a letter in her hand.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 307 PHILLIDA [Giving him the letter. ] My mistress bade me place this in your hands. [She courtesies and goes out at same en- trance.] SHAKESPEARE [With agitation, opens the letter without looking at the address. He looks at the signature.] Elisabeth ! [He reads.] "Cruel Beloved — Your absence from me has been winter, though summer is at our doors." [He passes his hand across his eyes as if to clear them.] Love, what dost thou to mine eyes that they behold and see not what they see 1 ? Do 1 read right? The words all run together like rose-colored flames. [He reads again.] " These June days without you have been but a December night. See how I lay bare my heart, but mighty Love and this dark solitude 308 WILL SHAKESPEARE have mastered its reserves. Seek me without delay this evening, for I can wait alone no more. Elisabeth." ELISABETH [Shakespeare pauses and then kisses the open letter and hides it in his doub- let.'] O Heaven! Have you in all your divine store a gift more princely than this? [He hastily masks himself and draws his hat partly over his eyes as Essex en- ters at right, unmasked. Enter at left Peter Dumpser in traveling costume. ] PETER [At left] Here comes a man with a sword unsheathed. No more fighting for me ! [He climbs the nearest tree and watches Essex and Shakespeare.] ESSEX [Advancing to Shakespeare with blind frenzy.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 309 Southampton, Foul Libertine and Coward! Since your crime cries from the housetops, here on your own land, take its just requital. [He tries to stab Shakespeare with his short Roman sword. Shakespeare parries the blow, but does not return it. Essex continues more wildly. ,] Think you to hide from me? The very air whispered me your disguise. Will you let me kill you like the dog you are? So be it then. [He strikes again. Shakespeare defends himself. Essex's sword pierces his shoulder and in defending another blow, Shakespeare wounds Essex in the right side. Voices and laughter of guests is heard approaching. Essex staggers and falls. Shakespeare at- tempts to help him to rise, but Essex repels him and struggles to his feet. The guests draw nearer."] Curses! Fm helpless. But the end's not now! 310 WILL SHAKESPEARE [Guests are seen at entrance to Terrace, at right. Essex goes toward left with difficulty, staggering and swaying. Exit Essex. Guests go out again."] SHAKESPEARE [He staunches the blood from his wound, laughing.] Ah Southampton ! This dress has stood you in good stead to-night. Better my sturdy blood than the fine wine of yours! But who would have thought Essex would have taken scandal about Bridget Manners so to heart? There's madness spreading in his blood and brain. What more dangerous than the wounded Lion? Where hides Southampton? Some warning's urgent for him. Somewhere in garden or in house he's to be found — and then — my Joy! [Exit Shakespeare at right.] PETER [Descending from the tree.] WILL SHAKESPEARE 311 I would I were safe in Stratford! [Exit Peter at left. Enter Elisabeth and Phillida.'] ELISABETH My lord gave you no answer for me? PHILLIDA People were coming and I feared to be seen of them. I gave the letter into his hands and ran away before anyone spied me. ELISABETH It was wisest so. But there's no peace. Go seek him Phillida through all the Park, and when you find him tell him I wait him in the vine-covered summer-house by the Old Fish Pool. PHILLIDA I'll find him easily. I saw his black dress and blue ribbon but now amid the Masquers in the Pleasance near the house. 312 WILL SHAKESPEARE ELISABETH I breathe with more ease. The darkness that has been around me clears. 'Tis a most fair night! I go to the summer-house, Phil- lida. Send my lord soon. [Exit Elisabeth at left. Bacchanal music sounds. Enter Fauns from right, skip- ping, dancing and singing. They sur- round Phillida and dance around her.~\ FAUNS [Singing."] If a maiden cross our path, Rightful prey is she of ours, Straightway do we bear her home, To our couch of moss and flowers. [Phillida struggles to escape with genuine alarm, but each time she tries to break the ring the Fauns prevent her.] PHILLIDA Let me go! Let me go! Fiends! Devils! WILL SHAKESPEARE 313 FAUNS You're ours! You're ours! PHILLIDA [Struggling wildly with the Fauns. ] Fools — quit your masquerading! I'm on my Lord's business. Let me go! FAUNS She's ours! [Enter Florian, dressed as a Faun. He breaks the ring, lifts Phillida in his arms and carries her off.] FLORIAN She's mine! PHILLIDA [Struggling with Florian.] Ah! You shall rue this Florian. [Exit Florian carrying Phillida at left. Fauns rush off at right, laughing and singing.] 314 WILL SHAKESPEARE [Enter Elisabeth from left back, not the same entrance by which Florian and Phillida have gone out. She calls.~\ Phillida ! Phillida ! Where are you? I would speak with you! [Enter Shakespeare from left still masked and with his hat brim pulled over his eyes. His cloak is thrown back. The Star and chain and ribbon of the Garter show plainly. Elisabeth goes toward him swiftly. ~\ O my Love, why have you remained away from me so long? But no masquerading can hide you from my eyes ! [Bacchanal music. A nymph chased by a Faun runs from left across the stage. Shakespeare has remained silent, only showing by a gesture, his emotion .] Did Phillida tell you that I should wait you in the Summer-house by the pool? [The Nymph and Faun re-enter together, laughing and talking. They pause near Elisabeth and Shakespeare. ,] WILL SHAKESPEARE 315 ELISABETH IS peaking softly. ,] Yes — You are wise to remain masked and silent — so guarding me — for at sight of you I forget all but you. Follow me to the Summer- house. I will go first that there may be no evil eyes to spy, or cruel tongues to slander. [Exit Elisabeth at right, followed by the Nymph and Faun.] SHAKESPEARE God! Can such joy be mine! This ecstasy Is keen and sharp and held me dumb and still Before the splendour of her wondrous self. She bade me follow to the Summer-house Beside the pool. Which house, what pool? O Love, Guide thou my steps to her. Come glorious Hour! And let me live at last! [Exit Shakespeare at right. Florian's voice is heard shouting from Terrace."] 3 i6 WILL SHAKESPEARE Help! Help! Murder has been done! [Enter Florian on Terrace, followed by Phillida. He rushes to centre of top of Terrace shouting and calling, in intense excitement. ] Help! Help! [Herbert and guests rush from house at right and from left to the Terrace, many bearing torches, and stand on either side of Florian. Others enter with torches from right and left below. Florian continues to speak loudly with the same excitement. .] Some one has tried to kill my Lord Essex! A dastardly murder be sure. I found him lying in the shrubbery behind the* house, bleed- ing and still. So still I think him dead ! [Excitement among guests, ,] HERBERT I'll seek and bear him here. TWO GENTLEMEN We'll go with you. WILL SHAKESPEARE 317 [Exit Herbert and gentlemen. The guests crowd around Florian, question- ing him. Enter Herbert and gentle- men from below at right carrying Essex. They lay him on the grass in centre, in front. The guests crowd the stairs from the terrace on either side, with torches. Others with torches are grouped about Essex, Herbert and Florian in centre. ~\ HERBERT! Who has done this? [Enter a guest, dragging with him Peter Dumpser.] GUEST Here is a boy who knows more than he will tell. FLORIAN* That Rat, Pierre! 318 WILL SHAKESPEARE HERBERT [Who has been trying to revive Essex, to Peter.] Do you know aught of this? [Peter is silent.'] HERBERT Come. Speak, Lout. PETER I have had trouble in my Lord Southamp- ton^ house before now. I would liefer be silent, if it please you, my Lord. FLORIAN [With an air of stern virtue.] Speak the truth, Pierre. The whole truth — naught but truth! PETER If Florian bids me tell the truth, I know I may! I have been in Stratford with my mother a month and reached Titchfield this WILL SHAKESPEARE 319 evening. As I came here to the garden seek- ing my Lord Southampton, and Master Will Shakespeare, I saw two men quarrelling and I climbed a tree, thinking that as the quarrel was none of mine, 'twas best I should take no part in it. HERBERT Did you see who fought? PETER I saw my Lord Essex, but the other one wore a black mask. HERBERT What garments did he wear? What was his height? Tell all. PETES He was all in black, but a blue ribbon was drawn across his breast and a great star of diamonds shone upon it. A chain of gold was about his neck, he was of a noble port, and his head was as high as was my Lord Essex's head. [Florian shows dismay at Peter's words.] 3 20 WILL SHAKESPEARE HERBERT [To guests. ] Disperse — search the grounds! Find this masked cut-throat. [Some of the guests go out hastily. Her-' bert bends over Essex.] FLORIAN, [Aside to Peter.'] O Pierre, you witless worm! The black masquer with the ribbon of the garter was my Lord Southampton. You have undone us all ! [He takes Peter aside and scolds him, while Peter expostulates. Herbert and guests re-enter, bringing with them Southampton masked and dressed in costume like Shakespeare's.] HERBERT Unmask, you scoundrel! SOUTHAMPTON What folly is this? By whose insolent in- WILL SHAKESPEARE 321 terference am I dragged here? [He sees Essex.} What's here? HERBERT Your mock ignorance avails not. You were seen by this lad. [He indicates Peter.] SOUTHAMPTON You are all mad. Who has wounded the Earl? HERBERT [To Peter."] Was this he whom you saw? Answer. PETER [Whimpering.'] Indeed he wears the same dress and hat and has the same port and build. HERBERT [To Southampton.] Seek not to escape. [Enter Elisabeth at right. She waits at entrance listening.] 322 WILL SHAKESPEARE SOUTHAMPTON [To Herbert'] Are you mad too ? [Enter Shakespeare front left, masked. Herbert and the guests show their surprise at seeing two black masks dressed exactly alike.] HERBERT An end to this folly — unmask both — or by Heaven there now will be force for force — blood for this blood. [He indicates Essex.] [Shakespeare unmasks and Southampton follows his example. Elisabeth draws near Southampton. Shakespeare kneels beside Essex and puts his hand to his heart.] SHAKESPEARE His Heart beats well. He but swoons. [Imperiously, to the guests.] You crowd too closely. Back that he may have more air, WILL SHAKESPEARE 323 [All fall back but Elisabeth, Southampton, ■Herbert and Florian.~\ A cordial, Florian. [Exit Florian to house. ] ELISABETH [Aside to Southampton.] O Love, was this wisely done ? Had you not kept apart from me these last days, this might have been averted. Why came you not to me earlier? Did not Phillida give my letter into your hands but now? [Shakespeare hears her words. He listens dazed. Enter Florian with a cordial. Herbert takes it from him and stooping forces it between Essex's lips. Shakespeare rises and going a few steps aside, takes out the letter and reads the address, while all watch Essex.] SHAKESPEARE [Reading the address.] To my Lord Southampton. 324 WILL SHAKESPEARE [He stands as if stupefied, his face con- tracted with intense grief. Essex raises himself on his elbow. South- ampton goes to him and Shakespeare crosses to Elisabeth at left front.] " SHAKESPEARE {Showing her the letter.] O Siren, false as hell within! What glory dies through you! [Elisabeth looks in amaze at him and at his dress. Then she cowers, covering her face with her hands.] ESSEX [Pushing aside the cordial.] Let be. You shall not make a babe of me. [He struggles to his feet.] Call my servants. I would be away from this cursed place. [To Southampton.] South- ampton you've hampered me to-night, but our reckoning will come. WILL SHAKESPEARE 325 SOUTHAMPTON [Indignantly.'] 'Fore God, I have not lifted hand against you, nor even seen you this night 'till now. [The guests murmur.] HERBERT [To Southampton.] Are you a liar ! [Shakespeare has stood as if pondering, his head bowed, his face showing pro- found grief. He moves nearer centre.] SHAKESPEARE [At front, imperiously, aside to South- ampton.] Bid your guests go. There is untangling of this snarl, but 'twere better done alone. SOUTHAMPTON [Hesitates — then speaks to guests.] Good Friends, this accident has stopped quite our pleasure. That you may be the sooner in- 326 WILL SHAKESPEARE formed as to its cause and satisfied as to its just repairing, let our Festival end now. [He goes toward guests and attends them to the exit at left back. Elisabeth goes to bench at right and sits, her eyes and face partly shaded by her hand.] FLORIAN [To Phillida as they pass out.] Ah ! Phillida, if you have it in your heart to be kind, be so now, for Pierre has shamed all my training! [Phillida gives him her hand and they pass out at left.] ESSEX [To Herbert.] Your arm. SHAKESPEARE [To Herbert.] That this quarrel may be the more quickly mended, I pray you let me speak with Essex. WILL SHAKESPEARE 327 [Herbert hesitates, then withdraws a few steps. Southampton is at left back with guests, who go out. Elisabeth seated on the bench at right as before. Shakespeare is in centre at front with Essex. 1 [To Essex."] Essex, for Friendship's sake I fought with you, To spare Southampton. Wearing his dis- guise To add another touch of mystery To this night's sport — Not knowing what should come! Your pardon for your wound and mine to you For this — [He indicates his wound.] ESSEX [He turns away impatiently.] Enough. SHAKESPEARE Ah! Wait. You are too quick. 328 WILL SHAKESPEARE I claim your patience still. You would de- stroy Southampton, thus to clear your cousin's name. Tis the world's way! But there's another path Which taken now may better shelter her. Whispers are in the air, blown on the wind Like thistledown. But like the thistledown, To fall to earth, forgot and trampled on, If no one fans the air with scandal's breath. These two, {indicating Southampton and Elisabeth] be sure, or soon or late will wed. For love of her pursue no more revenge. ESSEX I cannot speak upon this now — and yet — My thanks. Herbert, your arm. {Herbert rejoins him. Exit Essex and Herbert at , left, Essex leaning upon Herbert's arm. The guests have all WILL SHAKESPEARE 329 gone. Southampton comes slowly toward centre. He pauses as he draws near Shakespeare and looks at him with anxiety and fear. Elisabeth has risen and stands, her eyes fixed on Shake- speare with a half-terrified expression. Shakes pewe is at centre alone, looking toward front with the same expression of profound grief. ] SHAKESPEARE [Without turning his head.~\ Southampton. [Southampton advances until he stands at Shakespeare's left.~\ You, possessing all that life Can give to man, might have forborne my Love. SOUTHAMPTON" Her beauty conquered me. She was not pledged To you, or any other man. 330 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE You plead As ever plead the darlings of this world — Falsely — and yet as if of pardon sure. Yes — beauty tempted — and your straying youth Has led you in its riot even there. [Looking toward Elisabeth.] Where twofold truth is broken — hers and yours Both false to me. [To Elisabeth. ~\ Come. I would speak with you. [Elisabeth comes toward him slowly with the same half -terrified expression, until she stands on his right. Shakespeare turns to Southampton.] Do you love her? Have care to say what's true, For there is that in me that in this hour Would rise with ruin for you, at a lie. Do you love her? WILL SHAKESPEARE 331 SOUTHAMPTON Ah! Better than my life! SHAKESPEARE How often have I heard you say those words, Each separate time about a different woman! [Southampton attempts to speak, but Shakespeare silences him by a gesture and turns to Elisabeth.'] Do you love him? ELISABETH [Her head is bowed as if in deep shame. Then she raises it and speaks, with an effort and yet with daring.'] I've loved so many — that — I do not know! I thought that I loved you! SHAKESPEARE There speaks the fearless spirit of old blood — • The Truth — ev'n though she shames herself! [To Southampton."] 332 WILL SHAKESPEARE Again — ■ Speak Boy — these moments give you time for thought — What is your love for her? SOUTHAMPTON Once I saw fly A strange, wild bird my falcon could not strike. I watched it soar and thought if I could lure Its beauty to my wrist, touch its fair plumes, And warmly cherish it against my breast, I'd be content — ev'n though it soared away And I must ever win it back again. SHAKESPEARE She is your mate. Wed her. Keep, if you can. [Elisabeth looks startled and makes a motion toward Shakespeare, as if to check him. He turns to her.] And you — again — what is this man to you? WILL SHAKESPEARE 333 ELISABETH [Slowly — as if unwilling to speak, yet unable to be silent. ] He is a Star — the brightest in my sky; There is a constellation where he shines, In this my world, the only world I know, He is a Sun — and where his radiance falls Life blooms, and every hour glows fair and rich With promise to my heart's untamed desires. SHAKESPEARE No other man or life for you. Wed him. [They stand silent as if surprised and shamed. Southampton advances nearer Shakespeare, and then withdraws a few steps and waits, watching Elisa- beth. She does not appear to notice him and he goes out at left. Elisabeth draws nearer to Shakespeare, who stands looking forward with deep sad- 334 WILL SHAKESPEARE ness, but complete detachment from her. She turns away as if awed. Exit Elisabeth at left, but not by the same exit as Southampton. Shakespeare goes to the stone seat at right and sits. The lights on the Terrace and in the shrubbery flicker and go out. The stage is dark except for a gradual, slow lighting of the dark star-strezvn sky, which begins to change to the luminous blue of the early dawn. Petals and Howers of the Howering shrubs fall to4he ground. Shakespeare slowly takes off the star and chain and ribbon of the Garter."] So passes all the Dream and Ecstasy! [Enter quietly and timidly from right Peter Dumpser with a letter. He ap- proaches Shakespeare and gives the letter to him.] PETER The answer to your letter. Master Will WILL SHAKESPEARE 335 SHAKESPEARE [With kindness, but barely noticing Peter.] Ah Peter — safely here again — and met No lions on the way! \He gives Peter money. Peter waits a moment and then as Shakespeare does not seem to be conscious of his presence, he goes out as quietly as he entered. Shakespeare opens the letter and reads."] " To Will, who is my husband, though so long away : I have been sick of the Fever that has ravaged Stratford, but now, praise God's goodness! I am mending and will soon be again in health. Whiles I was sick, by night and day, I thought upon you. O Will, will you come home to us? Your father and mother wait for you. Our girls are well grown and fairer than pride could desire. Your daughters ask for you. Never will I drive you from us again as I did once. The 336 WILL SHAKESPEARE gold you send nurtures us richly, but 'tis you we would see. We wait for your coming. Anne/' [He lays the letter beside him on the seat.] Does anyone On earth desire me? [Enter from left Elisabeth. She comes toward him hesitatingly and stands at a distance, her hands clasped as if in supplication.'] ELISABETH [With almost childlike timidity.] I thought if I Might come to you in deep humility, Confess my falseness and forgiveness ask, This shame and pain that burn my heart would go. SHAKESPEARE [Looking at her as if spellbound.] How wondrous are you now as you stand there ! WILL SHAKESPEARE 337 How dark and false! An angel ever dark And yet to me, loved still — though ever false. ELISABETH I meant not to be false! SHAKESPEARE I see you now As souls barred out of Paradise must see Within its gate, their fair, forbidden Loves. ELISABETH [Goes to him impulsively and kneels by the stone seat. His arm rests on the curved end of it and she bends her head as if to lean it upon his arm. He draws his arm away roughly.'} SHAKESPEARE No potions shall I drink of Siren's tears Distilled from limbecks foul as hell within! ELISABETH [She weeps, covering her face with her hands. ] How pitiless you are! 338 WILL SHAKESPEARE SHAKESPEARE How pitiless You are! ELISABETH [She rises and half turns away.~\ Then un forgiven, must I go! SHAKESPEARE [He springs from his seat. She turns toward him.~\ O for forgiveness — why, that has no part In love! For love is love, and covers all Both good and ill. No more of that! And now For you and me. [Elizabeth sits on the bench. Shake- speare stands near her."] You will go hence from me To meet another life apart from mine, Another man's brand on you, blurring mine. I, to the life my blindness and my fate Made for me years ago. So lest the world Should task you to recite what merit lived In me, that you should love, forget me quite, WILL SHAKESPEARE 339 Lest the wise world should look into your moan r And mock you with me after I am gone! For I, in your sweet thoughts would be for- got, If thinking on me then should make you woe. ELISABETH [Despairingly.'] In gaining Southampton I won the world, In losing you I lost my soul! SHAKESPEARE The soul Is made of stronger stuff! Listen to me. You cast a lure, a magical rose-film Around my life. So potent in its spell I scarcely dared to breathe, lest it should break And I should die. Pushed on, on every side Out of its magic I was thrust. It broke — And in the throes of that dark agony I knew not Death — but strangely greater Life. 340 WILL SHAKESPEARE And that this mighty love I bear for you May bloom for you, I bid you to a tryst In some bright unseen Star, some unknown Star, Where all Heaven's debts are paid to thwarted man. [He pauses — then looks wonderingly about the garden.] That blindness that so cursed my life is gone. See you how vast this garden has become. As if an amphitheatre of the world, All filled with fresh, robust, substantial life — [Elisabeth rises startled."] Life that outlives our brief, tormented span? [He turns toward Elisabeth and lays his hand on her arm and speaks with awe.] We are not here alone. ELISABETH Alas, he raves! His o'ercharged heart has turned his noble mind. What sin to play with such a mighty flame ! WILL SHAKESPEARE 341 SHAKESPEARE See you who come ? ELISABETH No, I see none. SHAKESPEARE Quite blind! \He turns from her. Elisabeth shrinks back in terror; then returns and holds out her arms to Shakespeare. Seeing that he does not seem conscious of her presence, she goes out, her head droop- ing, at right. Shakespeare looks toward the left at back.~\ They come! How strange — and yet so close my heart, Its every throb pulses to give them life. [In the dim light at the back of the stage at right, a shadowy procession of figures pass. They are seen but dimly. They represent Hamlet, Macbeth, Othello, Lear and, last, Prospero. As 342 WILL SHAKESPEARE they pass each stops, turns and looks at Shakespeare, and then passes on. Shakespeare speaks as if dazed and dr earning. ~\ What beautiful, majestic forms are these! That princely youth who pierces to my soul With sad and supplicating eyes. Those kings, Unknown and mighty — that most noble Moor With soul convulsed by an immortal grief. [He advances a few steps nearer the pro- cession of figures.'] Command me, O ye noble ones and great! [He covers his eyes with his hand.~\ I am your servant, and would gladlier Serve you, than any on this earth. [Exit figures, all but Pros per o.~\ Who comes? What gravity of life! What wisdom stored! What passion past! What powers laid aside! Shall be so one day? You make me fear, Grave Shape. In thee I seem to see, the man To come in me. WILL SHAKESPEARE 343 [He clasps his hands as if in prayer.'] " . . . My charms are all o'er thrown And what strength I have's mine own Which is most faint . Now I want Spirits to enforce, art to enchant; And my ending is despair, Unless I be relieved by prayer; Which pierces so that it assaults Mercy itself, and frees all faults" [Exit Prospero. Shakespeare passes his hand across his e'yes as if awakening from a dream.] They're gone! Were they then ever here? I saw them plain. There's that in this I do not understand! They live in me, and I must give them Life, And show their greatness to a listening world. The gift is mine, and I shall hold it fast. [The sky is changing from the clear deep 344 WILL SHAKESPEARE blue of early morning to the rose of dawn. He looks about, .] Elisabeth! Gone too! And yet, still mine! [He. sits on the bench.~\ I know and hold my power in my grasp, Mightier than my hopes. [With a sudden change to keen emo- tion.'] But, O my Heart ! When will the life be sweet? [In the centre of the rose sky near the horizon, a luminous gold light is seen, as if the sun were about to break forth.] I recall once I wandered in the spring in flower-strewn fields, And held my little daughters by the hand; Close, close to me on either side, they walked With baby steps, breast-deep in daffodils. The sun poured beams upon their golden heads, WILL SHAKESPEARE 345 The whole world laughed, and love and joy secure Stole in my heart and asked that they might stay. [He takes the letter in his hand and reads. ~\ "Your daughters ask for you." The day I fled From home, they called — " Sweet Father — let us come To you." Should I have stayed? Has all this pain, This empty heart, come from the following Of what seemed then the only path to tread? Do they still call for me? Is it too late To go to them? [The round disc of the gold light in the sky has grown more brilliant. It be- comes transparent and there is seen within its circle the figures of two young girls of about fifteen and six- teen years. They are standing in a field of tall grass, daffodils and cozv- 346 WILL SHAKESPEARE slips, in golden sunlight. The blue sky is above and behind them. Their yel- low hair falls on their shoulders. They are bending, absorbed in gathering the flowers. Shakespeare rises, turns and sees them. He looks in wondering joy. They raise their heads smiling, as if touched by some loving influence. Shakespeare speaks wtih passionate joy.] My Children! Darling Ones! My Own ! With you to stay my empty heart, [He half turns to front and speaks with triumph. ] I'll make those Shapes Majestic lately here, Immortal in this world. [He turns and holds out his arms to his daughters.] Dear Ones, I come! [The vision vanishes. Sunlight Hoods the scene.] CURTAIN END OF PLAY Note I. — The play is historically accurate as to dates, principal events, etc. In some in- stances, actual conversations between some of the characters have been recorded in old private letters written in Latin, of which but two copies of translations are in existence. Note II. — In the latter part of Act III, and in Act IV, where Shakespeare speaks of his love, he has in several instances been permitted to speak for himself in the words of the son- nets. Where he has done so, the words are in italics. Note III. — To Mr. Roger Laneham, of the Court of Queen Elisabeth, Florian's grateful thanks are due. SHAKESPEARE. An Overture — Fantasia. FOR THE PLAY WILL SHAKESPEARE OF STRATFORD AND LONDON. Synopsis of the Overture — Fantasia. PRELUDE. Sylvan Music — Then Romantic and Passion- ate — Then Sylvan again, which continues for a few moments after the curtain rises. ACT I I. Song for Shakespeare, without accompani- ment. II. Song, Quartette for male voices, no ac- companiment. INTERLUDE Between Act I and Act II Expressing stormy emotion and anger — which dies away into music expressing night and re- pose, and then returns to the stormy emotion — 349 350 WILL SHAKESPEARE Then melts into a spinning song in which the instruments imitate the whir and thump of a spinning wheel. ACT II Scene I I. March for the Players entering Stratford. Interlude Between Scene I of Act II and Scene II, again expressing night and repose which con- tinues after the curtain rises. Love Motif first occurs. Scene II Music for a moonlight procession of young people who drift across the stage with soft laughter in the darkness, lighted only by moon- light. Interlude Between Act II and Act III, representing Splendor of Life and Love. Love motive. ACT III I. Love Song accompanied by orchestra. It is a Quartette for the four parts, Soprano, Alto, Tenor, Bass. II. Music for a procession of guests, or- chestral. WILL SHAKESPEARE 351 Interlude Repeating Love motive, which leads into Revelry music, which continues after the cur- tain rises. ACT IV I. Bacchanal Music. II. Song for Satyrs and Fauns with orchestral accompaniment. III. Love motive and Bacchanal music. Love music. Finale Of Elevated, serious music, Emotional, yet almost Religious in character. AY 26 1910 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Feb. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 /-70/1\ T7a_9111 One copy del. to Oat. Div. MAY 26