xt705q4rjk05 https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt705q4rjk05/data/mets.xml Martin, George Madden, 1866- 1916  books b92-235-31281130 English D. Appleton, : New York : Contact the Special Collections Research Center for information regarding rights and use of this collection. Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 In literature Warwickshire lad  : the story of the boyhood of William Shakespeare / by George Madden Martin. text Warwickshire lad  : the story of the boyhood of William Shakespeare / by George Madden Martin. 1916 2002 true xt705q4rjk05 section xt705q4rjk05 














A WARWICKSHIRE LAD

 




































Birthplace of Shakespeare

 
         A
WARWICKNSHIPY
       LAD
 THE- STORTYOFTiEBOTHOOD
 OF-WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE,

 GEORGE NADDEN-NAPTI
 Author oJOelina7EmyLoutc. v




 D. APPLETONluvCOMPAT
N EW  2Ro MCCCCuLQNDON

 














           COPYRIGHT, Q1t6, BY
     D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

COPYRINHT, 1903, BY P. F. COLLIER & SON, INC






















Printed in the United States of America

 
    LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


Birthplace of Shakespeare   . . Frontispiece
                                       PAGE
"Will clambered up on the settle to
    think it all over" .17
"Dad bends to tweak the ear of Will" .    23
"'Ay, but those are brave words, Ham-
    mie,' says Gammer" .35
" 'Save us! What's that!' cried Gain-
    mer"   . . . . .     facing page   40
" 'Ay, boy, you shall see the players' "  45
"'An' I shall be a player, too,' .
    says Willy Shakespeare"   . . .     53
"His mother stepping now and then to
    the lattice window" ....           57
"Bound for Grandfather's at Snitter-
    field they were"......             67
"For  instance  he  knew   one  Bar-
    dolph . . . the tapster at the tav-
    ern..........                      73
"Hidden away among the willows . . .
    he spends the morning" . . . .     79
                    V

 
    LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
                                       PAGE
"The two have run away   .   to wan-
    der about the river banks" . . .
                          facing page  86
"He . . . trudged  up the path  and
    peered in at the open door" . . .  89
"'When the masterful hand, groping,
    seizes mine, I shall know it' " . .  93
"This strange thing called Death . .
                          facing page  98
"Dad . . . sat staring in moody silence"  iOI
"Tall, sturdy Will Shakespeare could
    buy up cattle . . . as well as the
    butcher's son"......   .  .    .  log

 














A WARWICKSHIRE LAD

 This page in the original text is blank.

 I



L ITTLE W I L L SHAKE-
     SPEARE was going home-
ward through the dusk from Gam-
mer Gurton's fireside. He had no
timorous fears, not he. He would
walk proudly and deliberately as be-
comes a man. Men are not afraid.
Yet Gammer had told of strange
happenings at her home. A magpie
had flown screaming over the roof,
the butter would not come in the
churn, an' a strange cat had slipped
out afore the maid at daybreak-a
cat without a tail, Gammer said-
  Little Will quickened his pace.
               9

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



  Dusk falls early these December
days, and Willy Shakespeare scurry-
ing along the street is only five, and
although men are not afraid yet
  So presently when he pulls up he
is panting, and he beats against the
stubborn street door with little red
fists, and falls in at its sudden open-
ing, breathless.
  But Mother's finger is on her lips
as she looks up from her low chair
in the living-room, for the whole
world in this Henley Street house-
hold stands still and holds its breath
when Baby Brother sleeps. Brought
up short, Will tiptoes over to the
chimney corner.   Why will toes
stump when one most wants to move
noiselessly He is panting still too
                I0

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



with his hurrying and with all he has
to tell.
  "She says," begins Will before he
has even reached Mother's side and
his whisper is awesome, "Gammer
says that Margery is more than any
ailin', she is."
  Now chimney corners may be
wide and generous and cheerful
with their blazing log, but they open
into rooms which as night comes
on grow big and shadowy, with
flickers up against the raftered dark-
ness of the ceilings.  Little Will
Shakespeare presses closer to his
mother's side. "She says, Gammer
does, she says that Margery is
witched."
  Now Margery was the serving-
                II

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



maid at the house of Gammer Gur-
ton's son-in-law, Goodman Sadler,
with whom Gammer lived.
  Mother at this speaks sharply.
She is outdone about it. "A pretty
tale for a child to be hearing," she
says. "It is but a fearbabe. I won-
der at Gammer, I do."
  And turning aside from the cradle
which she has been rocking, she lifts
small Will to her lap, and he stretch-
ing frosty fingers and toes all tingling
to the heat, snuggles close. He is
glad Mother speaks sharply and is
outdone about it; somehow this
makes it more reassuring.
  "Witched !" says Mother. "Tell
me! 'Tis lingering in the lane after
dark with that gawky country sweet-
                I 2

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



heart has given her the fever that
her betters have been having since
the Avon come over bank. A wet
autumn is more to be feared than
Gammer's witches. Poor luck it is
the lubberfolk aren't after the girl
in truth; a slattern maid she is, her
hearth unswept and house-door al-
ways open and the cream ever
a-chill. The brownie-folk, I promise
you, Will, pinch black and blue for
less."
  Mother is laughing at him. Lit-
tle Will recognizes that and smiles
back, but half-heartedly, for he is
not through confessing.
  "I don't like to wear it down my
back," says he. "It tickles."
  "Wear what" asks Mother, but
                13

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



even as she speaks must partly di-
vine, for a finger and thumb go
searching down between his little
nape and the collar of his doublet,
and in a moment they draw it forth,
a bit of witches' elm.
  "Gammer, she sewed it there,"
says Will.
  A little frown was gathering be-
tween Mother's brows, which was
making small Willy Shakespeare
feel still more reassured and com-
fortable, when suddenly she gave a
cry and start, half rising, so that he,
startled too, slid perforce to the
floor, clinging to her gown.
  Whereupon Mother sank back in
her chair, her hand pressed against
the kerchief crossed over her bosom,
                '4

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



and laughed shamefacedly, for it had
been nothing more terrible that had
startled her than big, purring Gray-
malkin, the cat, insinuating his sleek
back under her hand as he arched
and rubbed about her chair. And
so, sitting down shamefacedly, she
gathered Will up again and called
him goose and little chuck, as if he
and not she had been the one to jump
and cry out.
  But he laughed boisterously. The
joke was on Mother, and so he
laughed loud, as becomes a man
when the joke is on the women folk.
  "Ho!" said Will Shakespeare.
  "Sh-h-h !" said Mother.
  But the mischief was done and
Will must get out of her lap, for lit-
                Is

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



tle Brother Gilbert, awakened, was
whimpering in the cradle.
  Will clambered up on the settle
to think it all over. Mother had
started and cried out. So after all
was Mother afraid too    Of -of
things Had she said it all to reas-
sure him The magpie had flown
screaming over the house for he had
seen it. So what if the rest were
true-that the cat, the cat without the
tail stealing out at daybreak, had
been-what Gammer said a witch,
weaving overnight her spell about
poor Margery He knew how it
would have been; he had heard
whispers about these things before;
the dying embers on the hearth, the
little waxen figure laid to melt there-
                i6

 





























"Will clambered up on the settle to think it all
                    over"

 This page in the original text is blank.

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



on, the witch-woman weaving the
charm  about-now    swifter, faster
circling-with passes of hands above.
  Little Will Shakespeare, terrified
at his own imaginings, clutched him-
self, afraid to move. Is that only a
shadow yonder in the corner, now
creeping toward him, now stealing
away
  What is that at the pane Is it
the frozen twigs of the old pippin,
or the tapping fingers of some night
creature without
  Will Shakespeare falls off the set-
tle in his haste and scuttles to Moth-
er. Once there, he hopes she does
not guess why he hangs to her so
closely. But he is glad, nevertheless,
when the candles are brought in.
                19

 

II



B     UT these things all vanish from
     mind when the outer door
opens and Dad comes in stamping
and blowing. Dad is late, but men
are always late. It is expected that
they should come in late and laugh at
the women who chide and remind
them that candles cost and that it
makes the maid testy to be kept wait-
ing.
  Men should laugh loud like Dad,
and catch Mother under the chin
and kiss her once, twice, three times.
Will means to be just such a man
when he grows up, and to fill the
                20

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



room with his big shoulders and big-
ger laugh as Dad is doing now while
tossing Brother Gilbert. He, little
Will, he will never be one like
Goodman Sadler, Gammer's son-in-
law, with a lean, long nose, and a
body slipping flatlike through a
crack of the door.
  And here Dad bends to tweak the
ear of Will who would laugh noisily
if it hurt twice as badly. It makes
him feel himself a man to wink back
those tears of pain.
  "A busy afternoon this, Mary,"
says Dad. "Old Timothy Quinn
f rom out Welcombe way was in
haggling over a dozen hides to sell.
Then Burbage was over f rom Coven-
try about that matter of the players,
                2 1

 
A WVARWICKSHIRE LAD



and kept me so that I had to send
Bardolph out with your Cousin
Lambert to Wilmcote to mark that
timber for felling."
  Now for all Master Shakespeare's
big, off-hand mentioning thus of
facts, this was meant for a confes-
sion.
  Mary Shakespeare had risen to
take the crowing Gilbert, handed
back to her by her husband, and with
the other hand was encircling Will,
holding to her skirt. She was tall,
with both grace and state, and there
was a chestnut warmth in the hair
about her clear, white brow and
nape, and in the brown of her serene
and tender eyes. These eyes smiled
at John Shakespeare with a hint of
                22

 































"Dad bends to tweak the ear of Will"

 This page in the original text is blank.

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



upbraiding, and she shook her head
at him with playful reproach.
  Little Will saw her do it. He
knew too how to interpret such a
look. Had Father been naughty
  "You are not selling more of the
timber, John" asked Mother.
  "Say the word, Mistress Mary Ar-
den of the Asbies," says Father
grandly, "and I stop the bargain
with your Cousin Lambert where it
stands. 'Tis yours to say about your
own. Though nothing spend, how
shall a man live up to his state But
it shall be as you say, although 'tis
for you and the boy. He is the chief
bailiff's son-his Dad can feel he has
given him that, but would have him
more. I have never forgot your peo-
                25

 
.A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



ple felt their Mary stepped down to
wed a Shakespeare. I have applied
to the Herald's College for a grant
of arms. The Shakespeares are as
good as any who fought to place the
crown on Henry VII's head. But it
shall be stopped. The land and the
timber on it is Mistress Mary Shake-
speare's, not mine."
  But Mary, pushing little Will
aside clung to her husband's arm,
and the warmth in her tender eyes
deepened to something akin to
yearning as they looked up at him.
With the man of her choice, and her
children-with these Mary Shake-
speare's life and heart were full.
There was no room for ambition for
she was content. Had life been any
               26

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



sweeter to her as Mary Arden of
the Asbies, daughter of a gentleman,
than as Mary Shakespeare, wife of
a dealer in leathers Nay, nor as
sweet!
  But she could not make her hus-
band see it so. Yet-and she looked
up at him with a sudden passion of
love in that gaze-it was this big,
sanguine, restless, masterful spirit in
him that had won her. From the
narrow, restricted conditions of a
provincial gentlewoman's life, she
had looked out into a bigger world
for living, through the eyes of this
masterful yeoman, his heart big with
desire to conquer and ambition to
achieve. Was her faith in his ca-
pacity to know and seize the essen-
                27

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



tial in his venturing, less now than
then Never, never-not that, not
that I
  "Do as you will about it, John,"
begs Mary, her cheek against his
arm, "only-is it kind to say the land
is mine We talked that all out
once, goodman mine. Only this one
thing more, John, for I would not
seem ever to carp and faultfind-
you know that, don't you-but that
Bardolph-"
  "He's a low tavern fellow, I al-
low, Mary-of course, of course. I
know all you would say-his nose
afire and his ruffian black poll ever
being broken in some brawl, but he's
a good enough fellow behind it, and
useful to me. You needs must keep
                28

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



on terms with high and low, Mary,
to hold the good will of all. That's
why I am anxious to arrange this
matter with Burbage to have the
players here, if the Guild will con-
sent_ "
  "Players" says Will, listening at
his father's side. "What are play-
ers"
  "Tut," says Dad, "not know the
players! They are actors, Will-
players.  Hear the boy-not know
the players!"
  But Mother strokes his hair.
"When I told you a tale, sweet, this
very morn, you went to playing it
after. I was the Queen-mother, you
said, outside the prison walls, and
you and Brother were the little
                29

 
   A WARWICKSHIRE LAD
Princes in the cruel tower, and thus
you played. You stood at the case-
ment, two gentle babes, cradling
each other in your arms, and called
to me below. So with the players,
child, they play the story out instead
of telling it. But now, these my
babes to bed."

 
ITT



T     HE next day things seem dif-
      ferent. One no longer feels
afraid, while the memory of Gam-
mer's tales is alluring. Will remem-
bers, too, that greens from the forest
were ordered sent to the Sadlers for
the making of garlands for the Town
Hall revels. Small Willy Shake-
speare slipped off from home that
afternoon.
  Reaching the Sadlers, he stopped
on the threshold abashed. The liv-
ing-room was filled with neighbors
come to help-young men, girls,
with here and there some older
                31

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



folk--all gathered about a pile of
greens in the center of the floor, from
which each was choosing his bit,
while garlands and wreaths half
done lay about in the rushes.
  But, though his baby soul dreams
it not, there is ever a place and wel-
come for a chief bailiff's little son.
They turn at his entrance, and Mis-
tress Sadler bids him come in; her
cousin at her elbow praises his eyes
-shade of hazel nut, she calls thcm.
And Gammer, peering to find the
cause of interruption and spying
him, pushes a stool out from under
her feet and curving a yellow, shak-
ing finger, beckons and points him to
it. But while doing so, she does not
stay her quavering and garrulous re-
                32

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



cital. He has come, then, in time to
hear the tale
  "An' the man, bv name of Gos-
ling," Gammer is saying. "dwelt by
a churchyard- "
  Will Shakespeare slips to his place
on the stool.
  Hamnet is next to him, Hamnet
Sadler who is eight, almost a man
grown.  Hamnet's cheeks are red
and hard and shining, and he stands
square and looks you in the face.
Hamnet has a fist, too, and has
thrashed the butcher's son down by
the Rother Market, though the
butcher's son is nine.
  Here Hamnet nudges Will. What
is this he is saying About Gammer,
his very own grandame



33



3

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



  "Ben't no witches," mutters Ham-
net to Will. "Schoolmaster says so.
Says the like of Gammer's talk is
naught but women's tales."
  Whereupon Gammer pauses and
turns her puckered eyes down upon
the two urchins at her knee. Has
she heard what her grandson said
Will Shakespeare feels as guilty as
if he had been the one to say it.
  "Ay, but those are brave words,
Hammie," says Gammer, and she
wags her sharp chin knowingly;
"brave words. An' you shall take
the bowl yonder and fetch a round o'
pippins from the cellar for us here.
Candle La, you know the way full
well. The dusk is hardly fell. Nay,
you're not plucking Judith's sleeve,
               34

 





























"'Ay, but those are brave swords, Hammie,' says
                Gammer"



-i9Q I . .

 This page in the original text is blank.

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



Hammie You are not a lad to want
a sister at elbow Go, now! What
say you, Mistress Snelling  The
tale An' Willy Shakespeare here,
all eyes and open mouth for it, too
Ay, but he's the rascalliest sweet
younker for the tale.  An' where
were we Ay, the fat woman of
Brentford had just come to Good-
man Gosling's house-
  "Come back an' shut the door be-
hind you, Hammie; there's more
than a nip to these December gales.
I' faith, how the lad drumbles, a
clumsy lob-
  "As you say, the fat woman of
Brentford, one Gossip Pratt by
name, an' a two yards round by com-
mon say she was, an' that beard
               37

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



showing on her chin under her
thrummed hat an' muffler, a man
with score o' years to beard need not
be ashamed of-this same woman
comes to Goodman Gosling's, him as
dwelt by the churchyard. But he,
avised about her dealings, sent her
speedily away, most like not choos-
ing his words, him being of a jan-
dered, queazy stomach, an' some-
thing given to tongue. For an hour
following her going, an' you'll be-
lieve me an' I had it from his wife's
cousin a-come ten year this simple
time when I visited my sister's
daughter Nan at Brentford-his
hogs fell sick an' died to the number
o' twenty an' he helpless afore their
bloating and swelling.
                38

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



  "Nor did it end there, for his
children falling ill soon after-a
pretty dears they were, I mind them,
a-hanging of their heads to see a
stranger, an' a finger in mouth--they
falling sick, the woman of Brentford
come again, an' this time all afraid
to say her nay. An' layin' off her
cloak, she took the youngest from the
mother's breast, dandling an' chuck-
ing it like an honest woman, where-
upon it fell a-sudden in a swoon.
  "An' Goodwife Gosling seizing it,
an' mindful of her being a witch-
woman, calling on the name of God,
straightway there fell out of the
child's blanket a great toad which
exploded in the fire like any gun-
powder, an' the room that full o'
                39

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



smoke an' brimstone as none could-
Save us! What's that!" cried Gam-
mer.
  What, indeed! That cry-this
rush along the passageway! Will
Shakespeare,  with  heart a-still,
clutches at Gammer's gown as there
follows a crash against the oaken
panels.
  But as the door bursts open, it is
Hamnet, head-first, sprawling into
the room, the pippins preceding him
over the floor.
  "It were ahind me, breathin'
hoarse, on the cellar stairs," whim-
pers Hamnet, gathering himself to
his knees, his fist burrowing into his
eyes.
  Nor does he know why at this mo-
                40

 






































- I



  7:






  ;z







I   p


'! I

 This page in the original text is blank.

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



ment the laughter rises loud. For
Hamnet cannot see what the others
can-the white nose of Clowder, the
asthmatic old house-dog, coming in-
quiringly over his shoulder, her tail
wagging inquiry as to the wherefore
of the uproar.
  But somehow, little Will Shake-
speare did not laugh. Instead his
cheeks and his ears burned hot for
Hamnet.   Judith  did not laugh
either. Judith was ten, and Ham-
net's sister, and her black eyes
flashed around on them all for laugh-
ing, and her cheeks were hot. Ju-
dith flung a look at Gammer, too,
her own Gammer. And Will's heart
warmed to Judith, and he went too
when she sprang to help Hamnet.
                4'

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



  Hamnet's face was scarlet yet as
he fumbled around among the rush-
es and the greens for the pippins, and
this done he retired hastily to his
stool. But three-legged stools are
uncertain, and he sat him heavily
down on the rushes instead.
  Whereupon they laughed the
louder, the girls and the women too
-laughed until the candle flames
flickered and flared, and Gammer,
choking over her bowl, for cates and
ci'der were being handed round,
spilled the drink all down her with-
ered neck and over her gown, wheez-
ing and -gasping until her daughter
snatched the bowl from her and
shook the breath back into her with
no gentle hand.
                42

 
IV



M    EANWHILE Will plucked
       Hamnet now blubbering on
his stool, by the doublet. But Ham-
net, turned sullen, shook him off.
Perhaps he did not know that Will
and Judith had not laughed. But
since Hamnet saw fit to shake him
off, VWill was glad that just then, with
a rush of cold air and a sprinkling of
snow upon his short coat, Dad came
in. His face was ruddy, and as he
glanced laughingly around upon
them all, he drew deep breath of the
spicy evergreens, so that he filled his
                43

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



doublet and close-throated jerkin to
their full.
  "Good-even to you, neighbors,"
says Dad. "An' is it great wonder the
boy will run away to hie him here
The rogue kens a good thing equal
to his elders. But come, boy; your
mother is even now sure you have
wandered to the river."
  And Dad, with a mighty swing,
shoulders Will, steadying him with
a palm under both small feet; then
pauses at Mistress Snelling's ques-
tioning.
  "Is it true," she inquires, "that the
players are coming"
  Sandy-hued Mistress Sadler stif-
fens and bridles at the question. The
Sadlers, whisper says, are Puritan-
                44

 











































" 'Ay, boy, you shall see the players' "



v - t3


"t  



is2,5,-

 This page in the original text is blank.

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



ical, whereas there are those who
hold that John Shakespeare and his
household, for all they are observant
of church matters, have still a Catho-
lic leaning. Fond of genial John
Shakespeare as the Sadler household
are, they shake their heads over some
things, and the players are one of
these.
  "Is it true they are coming" re-
peats Mistress Snelling.
  "Ay," says Dad, "an' John Shake-
speare the man to be thanked for it.
Come Twelfth Day sennight, at the
Guild Hall, Mistress Snelling."
  "Am I to see them, Dad" whis-
pers small Will, his head down and
an arm tight about his father's neck
as they go out the door.
                47

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



  "Ay, you inch," promises Dad,
stooping, too, as they go under the
lintel beneath the penthouse roof, out
into the frosty night. The stars are
beginning to twinkle through the
dusk, and the frozen path crunches
underfoot. On each side, as they go
up the street, the yards about the
houses stand bare and gaunt with
leafless stalks.
  "Yes," says Dad. "Ay, boy, you
shall see the players from between
Dad's knees."
  And like the old familiar stories
we put on the shelf, gloating the
while over the unproven treas-
ures between the lids of the new,
straightway Gammer's tales are for-
got.  And above the wind, as it
                48

 
   A WARWICKSHIRE LAD

whips scurries of snow around the
corners, pipes Will's voice as they
trudge home. But his pipings, his
catechisings, now are concerned with
this unknown world summed up in
the magic term, "The Players."

 

V



A     ND Dad was as good as his
11    word. First came Christmas-
tide, with all Master Shakespeare's
fellow burgesses to dine and the
house agog with preparation. No
wonder John Shakespeare had need
of money to live up to his estate, for
next came the Twelfth Night revels
with the mummers and waits to be
fed and boxed at the chief bailiff's
door. And Mary Shakespeare said
never a word, but did her husband's
bidding cheerfully, even gayly. She
had set herself to go his way with
faith in his power to wrest success
               so

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



out of venture, and she was not one
to take back her word.
  The week following, John Shake-
speare carried his little son to see
the players.
  "And was it not as I said" Moth-
er asked, when the two returned.
"Did not the child fall asleep in the
midst of it"
  "Sleep I" laughed Dad, clapping
Will, so fine in a little green velvet
coat, upon the shoulder. "He sleep!
You do not know the boy.     His
cheeks were like your best winter
apples, an' his eyes, bless the rogue,
are shining yet. An' trotting home-
ward at my heels, he has scarce
had breath to run for talking of it.
'Tis in the blood, boy; your father
                5'

 
A WVARWICKSHIRE LAD



before you loves a good play, an'
the players, too."
  And Will, blowing upon his nails
aching with the cold, stands square-
ly with his small legs apart, and looks
up at Father.  "An' I shall be a
player, too, when I'm a man," says
Willy Shakespeare. "I shall be a
player and wear a dagger like
Herod, an' walk about an' draw it-
so " and struts him up and down
while his father laughs and claps
hand to knee and roars again, until
Mistress Shakespeare tells him he it
is who spoils the child.
  But for Will Shakespeare the cur-
tain had risen on a new world, a
world of giant, of hero, of story, a
world of glitter, of pageant, of scar-
                52

 

























r



" 'An' I shall be a plaver, too' . . . says Willy
                 Shakespeare"

 This page in the original text is blank.

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



let and purple and gold. And now
henceforth the flagstoned floor about
the chimney was a stage upon which
Mother and Brother and Kitty, the
maid, at little Will's bidding, with
Will himself, played a part; a stage
where Virtue, in other words Will
with the parcel-gilt goblet upside
down upon his head for crown, ever
triumphed over Vice, in the person
of dull Kitty, with her knitting on
the stool; or where, according to the
play, in turn, Noah or Abraham or
Jesus Christ walked in Heaven,
while Herod or Pilate, Cain or
Judas, burned in yawning Hell.

 
VI



B     UT as spring came, the garden
      offered a broader stage for life.
The Shakespeare house was in Hen-
ley Street, and a fine house it was-
too fine, some held, for a man in John
Shakespeare's circumstances - two-
storied, of timber and plaster, with
dormer-windows and a penthouse
over its door. And like its neigh-
bors, the house stood with a yard at
the side, and behind, a garden of
flowers and fruit and herbs. And
here the boy played the warm days
through, his mother stepping now
and then to the lattice window to see
                56

 

































"His mother stepping now and then to the lattice
               window    . . ."

 This page in the original text is blank.

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



what he was about. And, gazing,
often she saw him through tears, be-
cause of a yearning love over him,
the more because of the two children
dead before his coming.
  And Will, seeing her there, would
tear into the house and drag her by
the hand forth into the sweet, rain-
washed air.
  "An' see, Mother," he would tell
her, as he haled her on to the sward
beyond the arbor, "here it is, the
story you told us yester-e'en. Here
is the ring where they danced last
night, the little folk, an' here is the
glow-worm caught in the spider's
web to give them light."
  But something had changed Mary
Shakespeare's mood. John Shake-
                59

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



speare, chief bailiff and burgess of
Stratford, was being sued for an old
debt, and one which Mary Shake-
speare had been allowed to think
was paid. Thereupon came to light
other outstanding debts of which she
had not known which must be met.
John Shakespeare, with irons in so
many fires, seemed forever to have
put money out, in ventures in leather,
in wool, in corn, in timber, and to
have drawn none in. And now he
talked of a mortgage on the Asbies
estate.
  "Never," Mary told herself, with
a look at little Will, at toddling
Gilbert at her feet, with a thought
for the unborn child soon to add
another inmate to the household-
                6o

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



"not with my consent. When the
time comes they are grown, what
will be left for them"
  She was bitter about the secrecy
of those debts incurred unknown to
her. And yet to set herself against
John!
  Wandering with the children
down the garden-path, idly she
plucked a red rose and laid its cheek
against a white one already in her
hand. A kingdom divided against
itself.
  She sighed, then became conscious
of the boy pulling at her sleeve.
  "Tell us a story, Mother," he was
begging, "a story with fighting an' a
sword."
  "A story, Will, with fighting and
                6I

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



a sword" Never yet could she say
the child nay. She held her roses
from her and pondered while she
gazed. And her heart was bitter.
  "There was an Arden, child,
whose blood is in your veins, who
fought and fell at Barnet, crying
shrill and fierce, 'Edward my King,
St. George and victory!' And the
young Edward, near him as he fell,
called to a knight to lay hand to his
heart, for Edward knew and loved
him well, and had received of him
money for a long-forgotten debt
which young Edward's father would
not press. So Edward called to a
knight to lay hand upon his heart.
But he was dead. 'A soldier and a
knight,' said he who was afterward
               62

 
A WARWICKSHIRE LAD



the King, 'and more-an honest
man.' "
  Then she pushed the boy aside
and going swiftly to the house ran
to her room; and face laid in her
hands she wept. What had she said
in the bitterness of her feeling
What-even to herself-had she
said
  Yet money must be had, she ad-
mitted that. But to encumber the
estate!
  She shrank from her own people
knowing; she had inherited more of
her father's estate than her sisters,
and there had been feeling, and her
brothers-in-law, Lambert and Webb,
would be but upheld in their
prophecies about her husband's ca-
                63

 
   A WVARWICKSHIRE LAD

pacity to care for her property.
She would not have them know.
"Talk it over first with your father,
John," she told her husband, "or
with your brother Henry. Let us
not rush blindly into this thing.
You had promised anyhow, you re-
member, to take Will out to the
sheep-shearing."

 
VII



SO the next morning John Shake-
     speare swung Will up on the
horse before him, and the two rode
away through the chill mistiness of
the dawn, Will kissing his hand back
to Mother in the doorway. Bound
for Grandfather's at Snitterfield they
were.  So out through the town,
past the scattering homesteads xvith
their gardens and orchards, traveled
Robin, the stout gray cob, small
NNill's chattering voice as high-
piped as the bird-calls through the
dawn; on into the open country of
meadows and cultivated fields, the
        5       6S

 
A  \VARNVICKSI[RE, LAD



mists lifting rosy before the corning
sun. through lanes with mossy banks,
cobwebs spun between the blooming
hedgerows heavy with dev, over
the hills, past the straggling ash and
hawthorn of the dingles. And every-
where the cold, moist scent of dawn,
and peep and call of nest-birds.
  And so early has been their start
and so good stout Robin's pace, that
reaching the Snitterfield farm, they
find everything in the hurly-burly of
preparation for sheep-shearing. So,
after a hearty kissing by the women-
folk, aunts and cousins, Whill, with a
cake hot from the baking thrust into
his hand, goes out to the steading to
look around. At Snitterfield there
are poultry, and calves, too, in the
                66

 













I,



"Bound for Grandfather's at Snitterfield they w-vere"



     -7: -'\
   . I   ,
   j ;

t                        ,
,,- -4, ,     4       , 'i
        lllll          1.



    m ii    -)z--
W                ;zIt,

 This page in the original text is blank.

 
A NVARXVICKSIAIRE LAD



bvre, and little pigs in the pen back
of the barn. Th1 n comes breakfast
in the kitchen with the farm-hands
with their clattering hobnailed shoes
and tarry hands, after which follows
the business of sheep-w ashing, which
Will views from the shady bank of
the pool, and in his small heart he is
quite torn because of the plaintive
bleatings of the f rightened sheep.
But he swallows it as a man should.
There is a pedler haunting the
sheep