From Gretna Green to Land's End: A Literary Journey in England.Bates, Katharine Lee
General
From Gretna Green to Land's End: A Literary Journey in England.
Bates, Katharine Lee
England -- Description and travel
Next to the Guild Hall stands the Guild Chapel, whose former frescoes
of the Day of Judgment must have made deep impression on the "eye of
childhood that fears a painted devil"; and over the way from the Guild
Chapel is New Place. On this site in the time of Henry VII rose the
Great House, built by a Stratford magnate and benefactor, Sir Hugh
Clopton,--he who gave the town that "fair Bridge of Stone over Avon."
In 1597 Shakespeare, who could hardly have been in London a dozen
years, had prospered so well, albeit in the disreputable crafts of
actor and playwright, that he bought the estate, repaired the mansion
then in "great ruyne and decay," and renamed it New Place. Yet
although it was his hour of triumph, his heart was sorrowful, for his
only son, his eleven-year-old Hamnet, "jewel of children," had died
the year before. At least another decade passed before Shakespeare
finally withdrew from London and settled down at New Place with the
wife eight years his senior, a plain country woman of Puritan
proclivities. In his twenty years of intense creative life,
"The inward service of the mind and soul"
must have widened beyond any possible comprehension of hers, nor can
his two daughters, unlettered and out of his world as they were, have
had much inkling of the career and achievements of "so rare a wonder'd
father." His parents were dead. Their ashes may now mingle with little
Hamnet's in some forgotten plot of the elm-shadowed churchyard. Of his
two daughters, Susanna, the elder, had married a Stratford physician,
and there was a grandchild, little Elizabeth Hall, to brighten the
gardens of New Place. As I lingered there,--for the gardens remain,
though the house is gone,--my eyes rested on a three-year-old lass in
a fluttering white frock,--no wraith, though she might have
been,--dancing among the flowers with such uncertain steps and tossing
such tiny hands in air that the birds did not trouble themselves to
take to their wings, but hopped on before her like playfellows.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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