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Paul McFedries
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Manning
Shelter Island
Front matter
Preface
Acknowledgments
About This Book
About the Author
Index
front matter
Preface
In today’s world, lots of people crave the experience of
expressing themselves online. They can do that through
fixed-format media such as Facebook, X (formerly Twitter),
and Instagram, but for many people, these sites are too
restrictive. Instead, they prefer to build their own presence
on the web, and the way to do that with the maximum
amount of freedom and creativity is to learn HTML and CSS.
Acknowledgments
The English essayist Joseph Addison once described an
editor as someone who “rides in the whirlwind and directs
the storm.” I don’t know if that’s true for editors in some of
the more sedate publishing nooks (novels, cookbooks, and
such), but I think it applies perfectly to the rigors of
computer-book editing. Why? Well, the computer industry
(and the web in particular) is so exacting that even the
teensiest authorial (or editorial) lapse could result in a book
that sows confusion and consternation rather than certainty
and delight.
I’m assuming that you have a life away from your computer
screen, so Web Design Playground is set up so that you
don’t have to read it from cover to cover. If you want to
know how to add an image to your web page, for
The Web Design Playground also gives you access to all the
book’s example files, which you can customize and play
with as your creativity moves you. To facilitate
experimentation and to reinforce the overall sense of play,
the book’s tutorial chapters also offer numerous hands-on
exercises that direct you to use the Playground to modify
the provided code in various ways. This helps you not only
learn the material but also see the range of what’s possible.
If you want to download all the book’s example files, go to
the book’s GitHub repository at
https://github.com/paulmcfe/wdpg2-example-files, click the
green Code button, and then click Download ZIP.
Prothalamion.
This was the house of Althorpe, and now also of Marlborough; but
however this may be, his parentage was obscure enough. He is said by
Fenton to have been born in East Smithfield, near the Tower of
London, in 1553; but the parish registers of that time are wanting, and
we have no clew to trace more accurately the locality. He was admitted
as sizer, the lowest order of students, at Pembroke Hall, Cambridge, in
the year 1569; he took the degree of Bachelor of Arts in January, 1572-
3, and that of Master of Arts in June, 1576, in which year he was an
unsuccessful candidate for a fellowship, according to some of his
biographers, though others deny this. On quitting the University, he
went to reside with his relations in the north of England, but how he
was supported does not appear. These relations, it would appear
probable, from the communication of a Mr. F. C. Spenser, in the
Gentleman's Magazine of August, 1842, quoted by Craik, in his Spenser
and his Poetry, were the Spensers, or Le Spensers, of Huntwood, near
Burnley, Lancashire, part of which lay united on a little property, still
called Spenser's, at the foot of Pendle Hill. This derives confirmation
from the fact of Spenser having a son called Lawrence, and of the
names of Edmund and Lawrence abounding in the registries of this
Lancashire family, as well as of that family only spelling the name with
an "s." Here he fell in love with a lady, whom he celebrates under the
name of Rosalind, and who deserted him; this is said to be the cause
of his writing the Shepherd's Calendar, in which he complains of this
faithless mistress. Others, again, think she was a maiden of Kent, a
Rose Lynde, the Lyndes being an old family in that county, where he
went on his acquaintance with Sir Philip Sidney while in the south; but
this can not at all agree with the letter of his friend, Gabriel Harvey, to
him. To Sir Philip he was introduced by this old college friend, Gabriel
Harvey, and dedicated to him the Shepherd's Calendar. If it be true that
the dedication was the cause of introduction, this must have been
solicited and decided upon while the poem was only in progress; for it
appears pretty clearly that he wrote part of the Calendar at Penshurst;
especially the eleventh eclogue, in which he laments the death of a
"maiden of great blood," supposed to have been a daughter of the Earl
of Leicester. In the tenth eclogue he lauds the Earl of Leicester as "the
worthy whom the queen loves best;" so that he was now got into the
very high-road to preferment, and does not appear to have been
backward to walk diligently in it. Leicester and Sidney, near kinsmen as
they were, were just the two men of the whole kingdom to push the
fortunes of a poet. With this early and regular introduction to these two
powerful men (powerful in politics and literature, and in favor with the
queen), it is difficult to weave in a belief of the fine story of Spenser's
pushing his own way with the ninth canto of the first book of the Faërie
Queene. It is a pity this should not be true, yet how can it? The story
goes thus: One morning Spenser, determined to try his fortune with Sir
Philip Sidney, the courtier most celebrated of the time for his
intellectual accomplishments, and for his generous disposition, went to
Leicester House, an entire stranger, carrying with him this canto of his
great poem, in which is contained the fine allegory of Despair. He
obtained admission to Sidney, and presented his MS. for his
approbation: that great lover and judge of poetry had not read far
before he was so much struck with the beauty of a stanza, that he
ordered fifty pounds to be given to the author; proceeding to the next
stanza, he raised his gift to a hundred, which sum he doubled on
reading a third, and commanded his steward to pay instantly, lest he
should be induced, by a further delay, to give away his whole estate.
Pity so fine a story was not true! some imaginative person must have
pleased himself with fancying how such a thing might have been.
However, Spenser was now a regular inmate of Leicester House, and at
Penshurst; so that that latter sweet place has the honor of being as
well the haunt of our great romantic poet as of the high-hearted
Sidney. By Leicester and Sidney Spenser was introduced to Queen
Elizabeth, who, it is said, on his presenting some poems to her,
conferred on him a gratuity of a hundred pounds. If this be true, it is
so unlike Elizabeth's parsimony that we must set it down as a wonder.
Yet it is to this fact that Lord Burleigh's dislike to the rhymer, as he
called Spenser, is attributed. He deemed the grant so extravagant as to
neglect its payment till he received a repetition of the order from his
mistress, with a reproof for his delay. There were, there is no doubt,
plenty of causes for Burleigh's dislike of Spenser. In the first place, he
had not a spark of poetry in his constitution. To him it was sheer
nonsense, idle and childish nonsense. But, besides this, Spenser was
brought forward by the very party of whom Burleigh was most jealous
—Leicester. He appeared at court as the particular friend of Leicester
and Sidney; and the incautious poet is said to have aggravated the
dislike of Burleigh by some satirical rhymes, which were assiduously
carried to the clever but cold-blooded minister. There has not been
wanting active vindication of Burleigh, and the discovery of a patent
granting him a pension of fifty pounds a year, dated 1590-1, which he
enjoyed till his death in 1598-9, has been said to be sufficient
refutation of all that has been alleged against Burleigh in Spenser's
case. But how does this at all remove the statements of Burleigh's
dislike of Spenser and reluctance to his promotion? Not in the least. It
merely shows that Spenser had friends, and an interest in the queen's
good-will, powerful enough to overrule the minister's opposition. It
may, and most likely is, just as true, that on the grant of this pension
Burleigh declared "the pension was a good example, too great to be
given to a ballad-maker;" and that when the queen ordered him a
hundred pounds, he replied, "What! all this for a song?" These facts
are so entirely in keeping with Burleigh's character that we can by no
means doubt them. Indeed, Spenser himself has put the truth past a
doubt. What means,
"To have thy prince's grace, yet want his peeres'?"
What those lines at the close of the sixth book of the Faërie Queene?
The portrait is certainly a noble one, and limned with the colors of
divine poetry. The anonymous but able author leads us justly to notice
that, in the Legend of Artegall, the thirteen stanzas opening the first
canto of the fifth book "relate to the hapless condition of the Ladye
Irena—her tears and her troubles; tears that, alas! have not yet ceased
to flow down, and troubles that to the present hour are convulsing her
bosom. For Irena is Ireland; and she sends her supplications across the
ocean to Gloriana, the Queen of Faërie, the great and good Elizabeth of
England, beseeching her to come over and help her. Artegall is the
personification of equity and justice; and this is the boon which poor
Irena looks for, and hopes to receive at her sister's hand."
Artegall, or, in other words, Lord Grey, passes over to Ireland, and
encounters Pollentè, or Gerald, earl of Desmond, "who was in rebellion
against Elizabeth at the time of Lord Grey's appointment to the chief
authority in Ireland, and perished miserably in consequence. His
prodigious wealth and power would amply bear out such an
appellation. His lands extended one hundred and fifty miles in the
south of the kingdom, stretching from sea to sea, and comprising the
greater portion of the counties of Waterford, Cork, Kerry, and Limerick.
We read of his being able to bring together, by his summons, six
hundred cavalry and two thousand footmen; and of these, nearly five
hundred were gentlemen of his own kindred and surname. His castles
were numerous, and scattered over this large tract of country in well-
chosen places, for its defense and protection; and it is curious that
attached to one of them is a tale of blood not unlike what you will find
Spenser describing. A few miles above the sea, on a bold cliff
overhanging one of the deepest parts of the beautiful River Blackwater,
stand the battered remains of the earl's Castle of Strancally. Attached
to this strong-hold is a murderous device, which we had often
previously heard of, but never till then beheld. The solid rock had been
pierced with a large well-like aperture, communicating with the river;
and the neighboring peasants will tell you, that the unwary, when
decoyed within the castle, were tied hand and foot, and flung down the
murder-hole: the rapid river hurried by, and soon carried away their
gasping shrieks, and the dead told no tales. We have every respect for
these local traditions, and esteem them in a thousand instances
valuable guides; notwithstanding, we place no faith in the present
horrible legend, which is wholly at variance with the received character
of the Earl of Desmond. It may be that such things were told to him,
even in Spenser's days; and it is certain that, about the close of the
year 1579, his Castle of Strancally was taken by the Earl of Ormond,
the president of Munster; a capture which could be easily transferred to
the poet's hero, Artegall."
Lord Grey was recalled, in consequence of representations of cruelty
and oppression in his administration. "The queen was persuaded by
these insinuations, and his recall took place when he had scarcely
completed his second year. With this event the fifth book of the Faërie
Queene concludes: and the poet there enters at large into the facts of
the case. Artegall is summoned away to Faërie Court, and on his way
thither meets with two ill-favored hags—'superannuated vipers,' as
Lord Brougham would term them—whom he knows to be Envy and
Detraction. These are painted in language that makes the grisly
creatures live before you. Every hue and feature of their vile
countenances is preserved—their slavering lips, their tireless tongues,
their foul and claw-like hands. We remember nothing in Milton or Dante
that surpasses this powerful personification."
Spenser, as we have already stated, accompanied Lord Grey home, and
here came in for a share in the partition of the vast estates of the
vanquished Earl of Desmond. The plan now devised for more securely
attaching Ireland to the British crown was called the Plantation of
Munster. The scheme, which was first put in operation on this vast
confiscated territory of the Earl of Desmond, is thus described in
Smith's History of Cork:
"All forfeited lands to be divided into manors and seigniories,
containing 12,000, 8000, 6000, and 4000 acres each, according to a
plot laid down. The undertakers (those who got these grants) to have
an estate in fee-farm, yielding for each seigniory of 12,000 acres, for
the first three years, £33, 6s., 8d. sterling, viz., from 1590 to 1593, and
from Michaelmas, 1593, £66, 13s., 4d. sterling, and ratably for every
inferior seigniory, yielding upon the death of the undertaker the best
beast as an heriot; to be discharged of all taxes whatsoever, except
subsidies levied by Parliament. Bogs, mountains, &c., not to be
included till improved, and then to pay a half-penny for each English
acre. License to the undertakers to transport all commodities, duty
free, into England for five years. That none be admitted to have more
than 12,000 acres. No English planter to be permitted to convey to any
mere Irish. The head of each plantation to be English; and the heirs
female to marry none but of English birth; and none of the mere Irish
to be maintained in any family there.
"Each freeholder, from the year 1590, to furnish one horse and
horseman, armed; each principal undertaker for 12,000 acres, to
supply three horsemen and six footmen, armed; and so ratably for the
other seigniories; and each copyholder one footman, armed. That, for
seven years to come, they shall not be obliged to travel out of Munster
upon any service; and after that time, no more than ten horsemen and
twenty footmen out of one seigniory of 12,000 acres, and so ratably;
and such as serve out of Munster to be paid by the queen.
"That the queen will protect and defend the said seigniories, at her
own charge, for seven years to come. All commodities brought from
England for the use of the same seigniories to be duty free for seven
years."
There was to be a complete English population established on these
lands in this manner: "For any seigniory containing 12,000 acres, the
gentleman was to have for his own domain 2100 acres; six farmers,
400 acres each; six freeholders, 100 acres each; and lands to be
appropriated for mean tenures of 50, 25, and 10 acres, to the amount
of 1500 acres; whereon thirty-six families, at least, must be
established. The other seigniories to be laid out in like proportion. Each
undertaker was to people his seigniory in seven years." These articles
received the royal signature on the 27th of June, 1586. The following
list of undertakers presents some curious particulars. In the first place,
Sir Walter Raleigh and Arthur Robbins by some means managed at
once to overleap the grand provision, that no undertaker should be
permitted to have more than 12,000 acres: Sir Walter Raleigh getting
42,000, and poor Spenser, poet-like, only 3029! He is just tacked on at
the end like an after-thought.
Acres.
Sir Walter Raleigh 42,000
Arthur Robbins, Esq. 18,000
Fane Beecher, Esq. 12,000
Hugh Worth, Esq. 12,000
Arthur Hyde, Esq. 11,766
Sir Thomas Norris 6,000
Sir Richard Beacon 6,000
Sir Warham St. Leger 6,000
Hugh Cuff, Esq. 6,000
Thomas Jay, Esq. 5,775
Sir Arthur Hyde 5,774
Edmund Spenser, Esq. 3,029
The difference did not consist merely in the quantity either. Some of
their lands, like Sir Walter's at Youghal, on the Blackwater, were
splendid lands; those of Spenser were wild moorlands, facing the
wilder mountains, where the Irish, yet smarting under defeat and
expulsion, the destruction of their great chief, and this plan, which was
to continue that expulsion forever, and plant on their own soil the
hated Saxon, were looking down, ready to descend and take
sanguinary vengeance. Such was the lot which Spenser chose in
preference to the degrading slavery of court dependence. No doubt he
pleased himself with the idea of a new English state, established in this
newly-conquered region; where, surrounded by English gentlemen, and
one of the lords of the soil, he should live a life of content and
happiness, and hand down to his children a fair estate. But in this fond
belief how much of the poet's self-delusive property was mixed! Hear
what the authority I have already made such use of, because I know it
to be good, says: "It was a wild and lonesome banishment at best, for
one who had lived so much in courts, and in companionship with the
rich and high-born. Mountains on all sides shut in the retreat, and in
the midst of the long and level plain between them stood a strong
fortalice of the Earl of Desmond, which was to be the poet's residence,
Kilcolman Castle. Hard by the castle was a small lake, and a mile or
two distant, on either side, a river descended from the hills. In position,
likewise, it was insecure, forming, as it did, the frontier of the English
line in the south, and the contiguous hills affording lurking-places for
the Irish kerns, whence they could pour down in multitudes to plunder.
In the insurrectionary warfare that shortly succeeded, these mountain
passes became the scene of many a skirmish; and the first object of
the commander of the English forces, when he heard of any partial
outbreak, was to send off a detachment of light-armed troops to
occupy them in the name of the queen."
But, overlooking all these hazards, Spenser came hither full of bright
views of the future. "The sunshine of the years to come," says the
author we have been quoting, "were to atone for the darkness and the
gloom of life's morning." His poetry, which had been previously of a
pastoral cast, became now imbued with the wildness of the sylvan
solitude around him: wood-nymphs and fairies were inhabitants he
could summon up at will, and with them the hill-tops about him were
peopled. Such names of places and things as his musical ear
pronounced inharmonious were exchanged for others which quaint
fancy suggested, and which read more sweetly in his tender verse. He
sang sweet strains of the bridal or separation of his rivers; told how
their stern sires, the mountains, ofttimes forced their unwilling
inclinations, and brought about a union which the water-nymph
detested; and how sometimes she, in her faithful attachment to the
one she loved, effected her wish by a circuitous course, or even sought
beneath the earth's surface the waters dear to her bosom. Before an
imagination so vivid the iron desolateness of Kilcolman vanished; and
in its stead a fairy world arose to gladden the eyes of the dreamer with
its bowers of bliss, and enchanted palaces, and magnificence more
gorgeous than the luxuries of Ind.
"The Ballyhowra Hills, which formed the northern boundary of the
poet's retreat, appeared in this new world under the feigned title of the
Mountains of Mole; while the highest of them, which, like Parnassus,
has a double summit, was dignified by the name of "Father."
Sometimes Spenser seems to have extended the name of Mole to the
entire range of hills which run along the northern and eastern limits of
the county of Cork, and divide it from Limerick and Tipperary. In one
place he speaks of a river rising from the Mole, and thence styled by
him Molana; which undoubtedly takes its origin from the Tipperary
Hills. The plain in which his castle stood was rebaptized in Helicon by
the name of Armulla Dale. Of his two streamlets, one was suffered, for
a special purpose, to retain its original name of Bregoge, i. e., false, or
deceitful:
"'Bregog hight
So hight became of his deceitful traine;'
and the other, the Awbeg, was specially appropriated to himself by the
name of Mulla:
"'And Mulla mine, whose waves I whilom taught to
weep.'
Perhaps Spenser might revel here till his castle was fitted up for his
reception; perhaps it might be a retreat at times from the more open
perils of the desolate Kilcolman; and a sweet change from moorland
wildness to a sort of Italian richness and softness of scenery.
The way was still enchanting. Now down into the Valley of the
Blackwater, among mills and rocks, and resounding waters; now aloft
again, overlooking the white house of Rennie on its precipice, and
opposite to it spreading out the woods and mountains of Ballynahoolly.
Now arose a bare district of hedgerows without trees, and little brown
huts, with geese, and goats, and swine. Now, again, passing some
gentleman's park, with its ocean of trees, and under a sort of tunnel
rather than avenue of beeches, which are planted on banks, so that
they meet close above, sometimes for half a mile, and which at night
are as dark as a dungeon. Then, again, I passed between hedges of
cider-apple, all grown into trees, and giving the country—for the fields
right and left were inclosed with the same—a very wild look; and I
came out on bare heights, and with view of far-off bleak and brown
mountains. Near Doneraile, I saw the ocean of green woods belonging
to Lord Doneraile's park and domain lying before me in the valley, and
passed through it for a mile or more in highest admiration of the
splendid growth and richness of foliage of its beeches, its superb
wayside ashes, and its other trees. Surely where it is allowed to
produce trees, Ireland does exhibit them in a beauty and prodigality of
growth which is almost unrivaled by those of England. To this
contributes, not merely the fertility of the soil, but the moisture of the
atmosphere.
About two miles beyond Doneraile I found, on a wide plain, the ruins of
Kilcolman. These ruins have frequently been drawn and engraved, and
the views we have of them are very correct. Indeed, so vividly were
the features of the scene impressed on my mind by the views, and by
reading of it, that I seemed to know it quite well. Its old black mass of
wall catches your eye as soon as you have passed the woody
neighborhood of Doneraile, standing up on the wild moorland plain, a
solitary object amid its nakedness. A tolerable highway, newly
constructed, leads up near to it, along which you advance amid
scattered Irish cabins, and their usual potato plots. To reach the castle,
you have to turn to the left up one of those stony lanes that threaten
to jolt a car to pieces, and then have to scale a gate belonging to the
farm on which the ruin stands, and advance on foot, through a farm-
yard, and along the lake side. The remains of the castle, which consist
only of part of the tower, at the southernmost corner, stand on a green
mound of considerable extent, overlooking the lake, or rather a winding
sort of pond, overgrown with potamogeton. On one side, masses of
limestone rock, on which the castle, too, stands, protrude from the
banks, and on the other extends the green marsh, and the black peat
bogs, with their piles of peat stacks. To the north, at about a mile's
distance, stretch those brown moorland mountains, called by the
natives the Ballyhowra Hills, but dignified by Spenser with the name of
Mole. Of either of these names the peasants seemed to know nothing,
but assured me the one nearest to the castle eastward was called
Slieve Ruark. Southward, at a couple of miles' distance, stands another
somber-looking tower, the remains of an ancient castle, which they
called Castle Pook. On a hill, nearer Doneraile westward, are also the
ruins of an abbey; so that, probably, in Spenser's time, this scene
might be well wooded; these places inhabited by families of the English
settlers; and might form some society for him; but at present, nothing
can be more wild, dreary, and naked than this scene, and the whole
view around. Turn which way you will, you see nothing but naked
moorlands, bare and lonely, or scattered with the cabins and potato
plots of the peasantry. To the northeast stands, at perhaps half a mile's
distance, a mass of plantations, inclosing the house of a Mr. Barry
Harold; and that is the only relieving object, except the distant mass of
the woods of Doneraile Park, and the bare ranges of mountains that
close in this unpicturesque plain at more or less distance.
As I stood on the top of the massy old keep, whose walls are three
yards thick, and its winding stairs of slippery gray marble, I seemed to
be rather in a dream of Spenser's castle, than actually at it. The sun
was hastening to set, and threw a clear shining light over the whole
silent plain, and thousands of pewets and of rooks from Lord
Doneraile's woods spread themselves over the green fields near the
weedy water, and seemed to enjoy the calm dreamy light and stillness
of the scene. The hour and the scene naturally brought to my mind the
melodious stanza of Mickle, which has special reference to this solitary
memorial of the history both of Ireland and its troubles, and the
English poet of fairy-land and his fate:
Looking round over this stripped and lonely landscape, over the
"looming flats," over the dark moorland hills that slumber to the north
and east, and then far away to more distant but equally sterile
mountain ranges, a strange feeling crept over me of the force of events
which could compel, nay, make it desirable for the most imaginative
spirit of the age, next to Shakspeare, to quit the British capital, the wit
and intelligence of Elizabeth's court, to sit down in this wilderness, and
in the face of savage and exasperated foes, the poetical eremite, the
exile of necessity. But, perhaps, the place then was not so shorn of all
embellishment as now. The writer I have quoted seems to imagine that
Spenser, by the sheer force of fancy, not only peopled this waste with
fauns and nymphs, but clothed it with trees, and other charms of
nature. But we must remember that since then, ages of devastation, of
desertion, and of an exhausting system, have gone over this country.
Then this castle stood fair and complete, and no doubt had its due
embellishment and garniture of woodland trees. The green alder not
only overhung the Mulla, but this lake very likely, and a pleasure bark
might then add its grace and its life to the view from the castle
windows. Todd calls it "the woody Kilcolman," on what authority I know
not, and supposes that Spenser calls his first-born son Sylvanus on that
account, as its heir. Here he spent twelve years, and, from every thing
that we can learn from his poetry, to his own great satisfaction. We can
not suppose, therefore, that he found the place without some native
charms, far less that he left it without those which planting and
cultivation could give it. As Sir Walter Raleigh planted and embellished
his estate at Youghal with laurels and other evergreens, there is little
doubt that Spenser would do the same here. He would naturally feel a
lively and active interest in raising that place and estate, which was to
be the family seat of his children, to as high a degree of beauty and
amenity as possible. Though busily engaged on his great poem, the
Faërie Queene, there is evidence that he was also an active and clever
man of business; so much so, that Queen Elizabeth, in preference to all
those more aristocratic and more largely land-endowed gentlemen,
who were settled with him on the plantations of Munster, had, the very
year of his expulsion hence by the Irish rebels, named him to fill the
office of sheriff of the county of Cork. That he asserted his rights,
appears from a document published by Mr. Hardiman, in his Irish
Minstrelsy, showing that he had a dispute with his neighbor, Lord
Roche, about some lands, in which, by petitions to the Lord-chancellor
of Ireland, it appeared that Edmund Spenser had made forcible claim
on these plow-lands at Ballingerath, dispossessed the said Lord Roche,
had made great waste of the wood, and appropriated the corn growing
on the estate. And the decision was given against Spenser. Spenser
was, therefore, evidently quite alive to the value of property.
If we look at what Doneraile is, a perfect paradise of glorious woods,
we may imagine what Kilcolman would have been if, instead of being
laid waste with fire and sword by the Irish kerns, and left to become a
mere expanse of Irish rack-rent farms and potato grounds, it had been
carefully planted, cultivated, and embellished, as the estate of the
descendants of one of the proudest names of England.
As it is, it stands one more lonely and scathed testimony to the evil
fortunes of poets:
yet who, themselves, of all men, are still shown by a wise Providence
to be "pilgrims and sojourners on the earth, having no abiding city" in
it. Their souls have a heaven-aspiring tendency. They can not grasp the
earth; it escapes from their hold, and they leave behind them, not
castles and domains, but golden foot-prints, which, whoever follows,
finds them ever and ever leading him upward to the immortal regions.
Let us, then, at this moment, rather endeavor to look at the happiness
which Spenser enjoyed here for ten bright years, than at the
melancholy finale. Here he worked busily and blissfully at his great
poem. Forms of glory, of high valor and virtue, of female beauty and
goodness, floated richly through his mind. The imperial Gloriana, the
heavenly Una,
the sweet Belphœbe, the gallant Britomart, and the brave troop of
knights, Arthur the magnanimous, the Red-Cross Knight, the holy and
hardly-tried, the just Artegall, and all their triumphs over Archimagos,
false Duessas, and the might of dragon natures. This was a life, a labor
which clothed the ground with golden flowers, made heaven look forth
from between the clouds and the mountain tops, and songs of glory
wake on the winds that swept past his towers. Here he accomplished
and saw given to the world half his great work—a whole, and an
immortal whole as it regarded his fame and great mission in the world
—to breathe lofty and unselfish thoughts into the souls of men; to
make truth, purity, and high principle the objects of desire.
Here, too, he married the woman of his heart, chosen on the principle
of his poetry, not for her lands, but for her beauty and her goodness.
Nothing is known of her, not even her name, except that it was
Elizabeth, that she was eminently beautiful, and of low degree. Some
conjecture her to be of Cork, and a merchant's daughter, but Spenser
himself says she was a country lass. Thus, in the Faërie Queene:
Raleigh was enchanted with the poem. He was just returned from a
voyage to Portugal, and was now bound for England. He was, it
appears, himself weary of his own location, for he soon after sold it to
the Earl of Cork. He pressed Spenser to accompany him, put his poem
to press, and by means of its fame to win the more earnest patronage
of Queen Elizabeth.
In fact, they knew nothing accurately, but, like the people at Lissoy, by
Goldsmith, would insist on his death and burial on the spot.
But the desolated spot possesses an interest stronger than the
possession of the poet's dust. It was the scene of his happiest hours—
hours of love and of inspiration. Here the Faërie Queene grew in
heavenly zeal, and here it was suddenly arrested by the howl of savage
vengeance, and the flames which wrapped the poet's heart in ruin.
Wordsworth.
SHAKSPEARE.
There are two reasons why I proposed to omit the homes and haunts
of Shakspeare from the present volumes; the first, because I have
found it impossible to include the dramatic poets in the compass of
these two, and must reserve them for a third; and the second, because
I have already, in my Visits to Remarkable Places (vol. i.), devoted a
considerable article to almost the only place where his homes and
haunts still remain, Stratford-upon-Avon. A very little reflection,
however, convinced me that an entire omission of the haunts of this
great national poet from these first two volumes would be received as
a disappointment by a numerous class of readers. Shakspeare is not
merely a dramatic poet. Great and peerless as is his dramatic fame, the
very elements, not of dramatic art and fame alone, but of universal
poetry, and that of the highest order, are so diffused throughout all his
works, that the character of poet soars above the character of
dramatist in him, like some heaven-climbing tower above a glorious
church. Every line, almost every word, is a living mass of poetry; these
are scattered through the works of all authors as such exponents of
their deepest sentiments as they can not command themselves. They
are like the branches, the buds, the flowers and leaves of a great tree
of poetry, making a magnificent whole, and rich and beautiful as nature
itself, down to its minutest portions. To leave out Shakspeare were,
indeed, to play Hamlet with the part of Hamlet himself omitted; it were
to invite guests, and get the host to absent himself. In the Walhalla of
British poetry, the statue of Shakspeare must be first admitted and
placed in the center, before gradations and classifications are thought
of. He is the universal genius, whose presence and spirit must and will
pervade the whole place.
And yet, where are the homes and haunts of Shakspeare in London?
Like those of a thousand other remarkable men, in the accidents and
the growth of this great city they are swept away. Fires and renovation
have carried every thing before them. If the fame of men depended on
bricks and mortar, what reputations would have been extinguished
within the last two centuries in London! In no place in the world have
the violent necessities of a rapid and immense development paid so
little respect to the "local habitations" of great names. The very
resting-places and tombs of many are destroyed, and their bones, like
those of Chatterton, have been scattered by the spades of the
unlettered laborer.
We may suppose that Shakspeare, on his coming up to London, would
reside near the theaters where he sought his livelihood. The first
appears to have been that of Blackfriars. It has long been clean gone,
and its locality is now occupied by Play-house-yard, near Apothecaries'
Hall, and the dense buildings around. Play-house-yard derives its name
from the old play-house. In Knight's London, it is suggested that this
theater might be pulled down soon after the permanent close of the
theaters during the Commonwealth, by the Puritans; but the real old
theater of Shakspeare must, had that not been the case, have perished
entirely in the fire of London, which cleared all this ground, from
Tower-street to the Temple. If Shakspeare ever held horses at the
theater door on his first coming to town, it would be here, for here he
seems to have been first engaged. The idea of his holding horses at a
theater door, bold and active fellow as he had shown himself in his
deer-stealing exploits, and with friends and acquaintances in town, has
been scouted, especially as he was then a full-grown man of twenty-
three. The thing, however, is by no means improbable. Shakspeare was
most likely as independent as he was clever and active. On arriving in
town, and seeing an old acquaintance, Thomas Green, at this theater,
he might, like other remarkable men who have made their way to
eminence in London, be ready to turn his hand to any thing till
something better turned up. Green, who was a player, might be quite
willing to introduce Shakspeare into that character and the theater; but
it had yet to be proved that Shakspeare could make an actor of himself,
and, till opportunity offered, what so likely to seize the attention of a
hanger about the theater as the want of a careful horse-holder for
those who came there in such style, which appears was then common
enough. We have the statement from Sir William Davenant, and
therefore from a cotemporary, admirer, and assumed relative. We are
told that the speculation was not a bad one. Shakspeare, by his
superior age and carefulness, soon engrossed all this business, and had
to employ those boys, who had before been acting on their own
account, as his subordinates; whence they acquired and retained, long
after he had mounted into an actor himself, within the theater, the
name of Shakspeare's boys. That he became "an actor at one of the
play-houses, and did act exceedingly well," Aubrey tells us. He is
supposed to have acted Old Knowell in Ben Jonson's "Every Man in his
Humor;" and Oldys tells us that a relative of Shakspeare, then in
advanced age, but who in his youth had been in the habit of visiting
London for the purpose of seeing him act in some of his own plays,
told Mr. Jones, of Tarbeck, that "he had a faint recollection of having
once seen him act a part in one of his own comedies, wherein, being to
personate a decrepit old man, he wore a long beard, and appeared so
weak and drooping, and unable to walk, that he was forced to be
supported, and carried by another person to a table, at which he was
seated among some company who were eating, and one of them sang
a song." This is supposed to have been in the character of Adam, in
"As You Like It," and hence it has been inferred, in connection with his
acting the Ghost in Hamlet, and Old Knowell, that he took chiefly old or
elderly characters.
Every glimpse of this extraordinary man, who, however much he might
have been acknowledged and estimated in his own day, certainly lived
long before his time, is deeply interesting. That he was estimated
highly we know from Jonson himself:
When the two monarchs under whom Shakspeare lived admired and
patronized him, we may be sure that Shakspeare's great merits were
perceived, and that vividly, though the age had not that intellectual
expansion which could enable it to rise above its prejudices against a
player, and comprehend that Shakspeare's dramas were not merely the
most wonderful dramas, but the most wonderful expositions of human
life and nature that had ever appeared. People were too busy enjoying
the splendid scenes presented to them by this great genius, to note
down for the gratification of posterity the dayly doings, connections,
and whereabouts of the man with whom they were so familiar. He grew
rich, however, by their flocking to his theater, and disappeared from
among them.
In this theater of Blackfriars he rose to great popularity both as an
actor and dramatic author, and became a proprietor. It was under the
management of Richard Burbage, who was also a shareholder in the
Globe Theater at Bankside. To the theater at Bankside Shakspeare also
transferred himself, and there he became, in 1603, the lessee. There
he seems to have continued about ten years, or till 1613; having,
however, so early as 1597, purchased one of the best houses in his
native town of Stratford, repaired and improved it, and that so much
that he named it New Place. To this, as his proper home, he yearly
retired when the theatrical season closed; and having made a
comfortable fortune, when the theater was burned down in 1613,
retired from public life altogether.
Bankside is a spot of interest, because Shakspeare lived there many
years during the time he was in London. It is that portion of Southwark
lying on the river side between the bridges of Blackfriars and
Southwark. This ground was then wholly devoted to public
amusements, such as they were. It was a place of public gardens, play-
houses, and worse places. Paris Garden was one of the most famous
resorts of the metropolis. There were the bear-gardens, where
Elizabeth, her nobles, and ladies used to go and solace themselves with
that elegant sport, bear-baiting. There, also, was the Globe Theater, of
which Shakspeare became licensed proprietor, and near which he lived.
The theater was an octagon wooden building, which has been made
familiar by many engravings of it. In Henry the Fifth, Shakspeare
alludes to its shape and material:
It was not much to be wondered at that this wooden globe should get
consumed with fire, which it did, as I have already stated, in 1613.
Shakspeare's play of Henry VIII. was acting, a crowded and brilliant
company was present, and among the rest Ben Jonson, when in the
very first act, where, according to the stage directions, "drums and
trumpets, chambers discharged," cannons were fired, the ignited
wadding flew into the thatch of the building, and the whole place was
soon in flames. Sir Henry Wotton thus describes the scene in a letter to
his nephew: "Now, to let matters of state sleep, I will entertain you at
present with what happened this week at the Bankside. The king's
players had a new play, called All is True, representing some principal
pieces from the reign of Henry VIII., which was set forth with many
extraordinary circumstances of pomp and majesty, even to the matting
of the stage; the knights of the order, with their Georges and garters;
the guards, with their embroidered coats, and the like; sufficient, in
truth, within a while, to make greatness very familiar, if not ridiculous.
Now, King Henry making a mask at Cardinal Wolsey's house, and
certain cannons being shot off at his entry, some of the paper or other
stuff wherewith one of them was stopped, did light on the thatch,
where, being thought at first but an idle smoke, and their eyes more
attentive to the show, it kindled inwardly and ran round like a train,
consuming within an hour the whole house to the very ground. This
was the fatal period of that virtuous fabric, wherein yet nothing did
perish but wood and straw and a few forsaken cloaks; only one man
had his breeches set on fire, that perhaps had broiled him, if he had
not, by the benefit of a provident wit, put it out with bottle ale."
Fires seem to have menaced Shakspeare on all sides, and he had
narrow escapes. As there is no mention of his name in the accounts of
the Globe Theater in 1613, nor any in his will, it is pretty clear that he
had retired from the proprietorship of the Globe before, and escaped
that loss; but in the very year after it was burned down, there was a
dreadful fire in Stratford, which consumed a good part of the town, and
put his own house into extreme danger.
These were the scenes where Shakspeare acted, for which he wrote his
dramas, and where, like a careful and thriving man as he was, he made
a fortune before he was forty, calculated to be equal to £1000 a year at
present. He had a brother, also, on the stage at the same time with
himself, who died in 1607, and was buried in St. Savior's Church,
Southwark, where his name is entered in the parish register as
"Edmund Shakspeare, a player."
The place where he was accustomed particularly to resort for social
recreation was the Mermaid Tavern, Friday street, Cheapside. This was
the wits' house for a long period. There a club for beaux esprits was
established by Sir Walter Raleigh, and here came, in their several days
and times, Spenser, Shakspeare, Philip Sidney, Jonson, Beaumont and
Fletcher, Massinger, Marlowe, Selden, Cotton, Carew, Martin, Donne,
Wotton, and all the brave spirits of those ages. Here Jonson and
Shakspeare used to shine out by the brilliancy of their powers, and in
their "wit combats," in which Fuller describes Jonson as a Spanish
great galleon, and Shakspeare as the English man-of-war. "Master
Jonson, like the former, was built far higher in learning; solid, but slow
in his performances. Shakspeare, with the English man-of-war, lesser in
bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about, and
take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his wit and his
invention." Enough has been said of this celebrated club by a variety of
writers. There can be no doubt that there wit and merriment abounded
to that degree, that, as Beaumont has said in his epistle to Jonson, one
of their meetings was enough to make up for all the stupidity of the
city for three days past, and supply it for long to come; to make the
worst companions right witty, and "downright fools more wise." There
is as little doubt, however, that, with Jonson in the chair, drinking would
be as pre-eminent as the wit. The verses which he had inscribed over
the door of the Apollo room, at the Devil Tavern, another of their
resorts, are, spite of all vindications by ingenious pens, too indicative of
that.
There is not any reason to believe that Shakspeare, lover of wit and
jollity as he was, was a practical upholder of this pernicious doctrine.
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