Evening star., 1925-05-22
Continued from Yesterdays starl

Perhaps it was because he was not
entirely of the city, not entirely of the
country that he wrote we'll of neither
The Woman Killed With Kind
ness" =. the "Shoemaker's Holiday
Mistress Montjoy's babble again
No. he never could equal either
Haywood or Dekker in their chosen
fields. he told himself. Once in an at
tempt to rewrite Three Ladies From
London" he had essayed to paint the
town and once. in "Cardenna," the
country. But he had failed; failed so
la me entably that he gave over the
blurred, confused, halfwritten things,
the one TO Haywood, the other to
Fletcher. He himself liked to write of
lands SO far away, of times so long
go or of countries and ages so en-
tirely imagined that no critic could dis
pute his fancyings. Such a fantasy his
new play was TO be! If ever 1t came
into existence at all God, how
tortured he was with its formlessness
and vagueness, An island. Some
where? No. Nowhere. An island
floating between sea and sky. An
island airy nd gossa meF S a cloud,
as delicateiy ina gined as q vision.
And on it three beings. A maiden. A
slim, pure. virgin thing, Mira ndola
Miraia? Mirouda? No. Mira nda. Yes,
that was it. miranda. And an old
man. a wiseacre. a sa sags-Prospero, an
old man who had egorised that island
in Il breath, could Danish it in an eye
wink, we are of such stuff as
dreams are made of and our little life
is rounded with sleep" AL
ready some of the lines were drifting
into his head. And then for contra ST
with those two, unnamed as yet, un-
hodied-for. strain mind and soul as
he would, he could not see him-an
ugly, missha pen creature. hobgoblin
leprechaWn, eargoyle. The whole thing
should be a finn of fasry--a work to
make the Nights Dream seem of
the earth and clodlike. The name was
clear. "A Summers Tale
And that was all,
That had been all for three months.
The island and the three people on il
and the name, "A Summers Tale"
Perhaps it was too much of fairy.
At an" rate, it hung impalpable,
dry ether of his mind. Months,
months, months. it had been since
that fiery uprushing torrent of the
spirit had made precipitation. Moth
ing he had done would produce more.
Not thinking until his brain turned.
Not reading until his eyes ached. Not
walking the lanes about Stratford
until his legs cramped with fatigue.
Not talking until he hated the town
and every soul in it. Not dreaming.
Not cuysing. So now to see what
London would do--the London which,
at his appearance, had opened her
gate, tempted him with the clue to
success and then, by the mere poison
GUS hap that Anne Davenant visited
there her sister Howell, fed like a
cold-craEsd. thirst-crazed monster on
the fires and dews of his youth.
1T seemed 10 Shakspere that he
had been walking long time, so fast
and so painfully had his thoughts
sped. Yet. IN reality. it had been but
few moments from Silver street TO
Cheapside and along Cheapside to the
Mermaid Tavern. Only an occas sionai
figure now and then had passed him
on the street, and now he entered
silent courtyard. Hooded wagons
made vague, looming shapes under
sprinkle of stars. In the shadows
horses fretted with hoof- -pawings and
tail-SwiSllinGs. ! white cat flashed
from uader his feet. But no human
stirred and the inn was quiet. He
made off al an angle toward the left
and at. corner room on the first
floor knocked with a peculiar and
vibrant tattoo. Without waiting for
summons to enter he opened the door
and stood on the threshold of fair
sized room, light in color, heavily
raftered, with big easement windows
on two walls and vast fireplace at
one end.
His appearance produced an instant
of petrifaction among the half circle
of men sitting about the fire. Then,
BY God, 'tis Wiil,' exclaimed the
huge creature who was the keystone
of their arch. He raised his unwieldy
bulk off the double-siZed stool which
supported il and padded like hurry
ing bear toward the door. 1t was a
bear hug. TOO. TO which he subjected
Shakspere. and after the embrace
was over he patted him on shoulders,
arms and back with his monstrous
paws. "Gsd's wounds, m glad to see
YOU. Marry. You smell Of the coun-
try. lad--cloyer and uewmOwn hay.
The others. except one who sat
writing in a corner. crowded about
Shakespeare. That other was tall,