Notes & Queries response: If Shakespeare wrote for the masses, why is his work now an intellectual preserve?
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| image generated by Craiyon |
His fingertips absently probed a dewy rosette of deep-pink petals, forcing the flower head down under his touch. He continued to dawdle along the brick fringe of the earth bed until his trailing hand strayed from the rose. The stem sprang back to its approximate original position, oscillating stiffly, hither and yon, between converging poles, shaking off old raindrops. A blackbird, that had been hopping around on the damp topsoil, silently took to the air.
“Shale from the Norwegian fjord beds, preserved in its own water,” said Southwell.
The blackbird alighted as a silhouette on the wiry branch of a nearby quince tree, where it scattered a rising alarm call across the ornamental gardens.
Southwell was a fellow of the Unified Wells. Two years before, he had been made a Knight of the Loft in recognition of his long and faithful service to the Crown. Along with the title, he had been awarded the deeds to Carden House – a small estate, where he had resided as a tenant for over a decade. After taking ownership, he had immediately turned his attention to deepening the woeful moat around the property, and expanding its course into the grounds via a network of sunken aqueducts.
With the encouragement and support of his twin sisters, he had established, in the western wing of the large house, a school where the orphaned children of high-born families, who had been left without means, were educated.
“A nest of traitors in waiting,” Mourton had called it.
“We aim to nip in the bud any impulse in that direction,” Southwell advised him.
Mourton had remained unconvinced: “That kind of instinct festers. It is impervious to kindness,” he counselled.
Southwell's cheek pressed against his fur collar, as he glanced across his shoulder. The boy, Alasdair, who under his instruction had been trailing them at a distance, was attending to the unsettled rose. He thought better of him for it.
“The stones are smooth and flat, and they are easily cut to shape,” he continued. “They have a natural oil coating that makes them a good material roof for tiles. I noted, on my previous visit to Boothbye Hall, that the building is beset by leaks; none in the chambers that you graciously set aside for me, but elsewhere on the estate.”
“And the purpose of this...This...”
Echarde made a repetitive outward gesture with his rose-scented hand, as if he was attempting to coax the desired word from its hiding place in thin air.
“Gift. It is a gift.”
“You will not be too insulted if I confirm that the contents of the barrels are as you have described them to me.”
Southwell did not reply, but his bushy eyebrows dipped and he looked troubled.
“From past experience, your generosity is seeded with clauses,” said Echarde, gruffly. “One must root around in the conversation to lay them all bare. I have neither the time, nor do I have the inclination, to do that at present.”
“They are your property now. You may do with them whatever you please,” declared Southwell. “When you make your departure, I must insist that you leave with two of my horses, to replace the pair whose hooves spread foam when they were immersed in water. They will be kept apart until the fungal infection can be burned out with heated splints. I hope the gesture will not trouble you, or cause you any measure of suspicion.”
“It is very generous,” said Echarde. “Has the plague troubled these parts much?”
“It is continually being brought here from elsewhere,” said Southwell. “We test all hooved animals as soon as they arrive. We have set aside a barn for any who we find are afflicted. So long as we remain diligent, it will not take here and make asses of us.”
He stooped to inhale the fragrance of a yellow rose. In the corner of his eye, he watched Alasdair turn and take his leave.
“Your doves have been found roving far afield,” said Echarde. “One was discovered recently, beheaded by a raven, at Westminster Palace. Around its ankle there was a small brass cylinder of the kind that might be used to convey a short message.”
“And was any message found?”
“None to my knowledge.”
“The doves were driven from here this May past, under instruction from the Crown,” said Southwell. “Those that would not leave of their own accord were shot. Any work the survivors do is either for themselves, or for new masters.”
“May-haps the slain bird was reliving an old journey; one that only you would know about.”
Their attention was diverted by the sparrow chatter of female voices, rising above the topiary ahead of them. A quartet of young girls crossed a broad division in the path. Their dresses were speckled with Lenten ash that had been liberally sprinkled across the October pews.
“As you can see, the only birds I entertain here are song thrushes,” said Southwell.
“The two on your your coat of arms have come down and multiplied,” said Echarde. “You hold firm to the old traditions, I see.”
Southwell cast a concerned glance in the direction of the departing girls, who continued to move as one towards the house.
The blackbird alighted as a silhouette on the wiry branch of a nearby quince tree, where it scattered a rising alarm call across the ornamental gardens.
Southwell was a fellow of the Unified Wells. Two years before, he had been made a Knight of the Loft in recognition of his long and faithful service to the Crown. Along with the title, he had been awarded the deeds to Carden House – a small estate, where he had resided as a tenant for over a decade. After taking ownership, he had immediately turned his attention to deepening the woeful moat around the property, and expanding its course into the grounds via a network of sunken aqueducts.
With the encouragement and support of his twin sisters, he had established, in the western wing of the large house, a school where the orphaned children of high-born families, who had been left without means, were educated.
“A nest of traitors in waiting,” Mourton had called it.
“We aim to nip in the bud any impulse in that direction,” Southwell advised him.
Mourton had remained unconvinced: “That kind of instinct festers. It is impervious to kindness,” he counselled.
~
Southwell's cheek pressed against his fur collar, as he glanced across his shoulder. The boy, Alasdair, who under his instruction had been trailing them at a distance, was attending to the unsettled rose. He thought better of him for it.
“The stones are smooth and flat, and they are easily cut to shape,” he continued. “They have a natural oil coating that makes them a good material roof for tiles. I noted, on my previous visit to Boothbye Hall, that the building is beset by leaks; none in the chambers that you graciously set aside for me, but elsewhere on the estate.”
“And the purpose of this...This...”
Echarde made a repetitive outward gesture with his rose-scented hand, as if he was attempting to coax the desired word from its hiding place in thin air.
“Gift. It is a gift.”
“You will not be too insulted if I confirm that the contents of the barrels are as you have described them to me.”
Southwell did not reply, but his bushy eyebrows dipped and he looked troubled.
“From past experience, your generosity is seeded with clauses,” said Echarde, gruffly. “One must root around in the conversation to lay them all bare. I have neither the time, nor do I have the inclination, to do that at present.”
“They are your property now. You may do with them whatever you please,” declared Southwell. “When you make your departure, I must insist that you leave with two of my horses, to replace the pair whose hooves spread foam when they were immersed in water. They will be kept apart until the fungal infection can be burned out with heated splints. I hope the gesture will not trouble you, or cause you any measure of suspicion.”
“It is very generous,” said Echarde. “Has the plague troubled these parts much?”
“It is continually being brought here from elsewhere,” said Southwell. “We test all hooved animals as soon as they arrive. We have set aside a barn for any who we find are afflicted. So long as we remain diligent, it will not take here and make asses of us.”
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| image generated by Craiyon |
“Your doves have been found roving far afield,” said Echarde. “One was discovered recently, beheaded by a raven, at Westminster Palace. Around its ankle there was a small brass cylinder of the kind that might be used to convey a short message.”
“And was any message found?”
“None to my knowledge.”
“The doves were driven from here this May past, under instruction from the Crown,” said Southwell. “Those that would not leave of their own accord were shot. Any work the survivors do is either for themselves, or for new masters.”
“May-haps the slain bird was reliving an old journey; one that only you would know about.”
Their attention was diverted by the sparrow chatter of female voices, rising above the topiary ahead of them. A quartet of young girls crossed a broad division in the path. Their dresses were speckled with Lenten ash that had been liberally sprinkled across the October pews.
“As you can see, the only birds I entertain here are song thrushes,” said Southwell.
“The two on your your coat of arms have come down and multiplied,” said Echarde. “You hold firm to the old traditions, I see.”
Southwell cast a concerned glance in the direction of the departing girls, who continued to move as one towards the house.
“If they sense I am not keeping watch, they lay down a sash of fabric across their pew to keep their dresses from becoming blemished. I quietly discourage it,” he said.
He called out to one of them:
“Olwyn, if you are to travel with the body of your uncle, you must prepare yourself to take communion at the door to the carriage.”
The path had taken them around the side of the house where the waning glare of the western sun had fractured into needles of light. Some boys were dragging the rain covers off some wet carcass shot that had been laid out to dry naturally in the open air.
“Salvaged from the wreck of The Dunstan,” said Southwell.
“It has come to this,” said Echarde, ruefully.
“The floor of the treasury is visible for the first time in one-hundred years,” said Southwell. “We must do all that we can with whatever means we still have.”
Echarde continued to study the boys as they worked. His jaw went from side to side. His lips pressed firmly together.
He called out to one of them:
“Olwyn, if you are to travel with the body of your uncle, you must prepare yourself to take communion at the door to the carriage.”
The path had taken them around the side of the house where the waning glare of the western sun had fractured into needles of light. Some boys were dragging the rain covers off some wet carcass shot that had been laid out to dry naturally in the open air.
“Salvaged from the wreck of The Dunstan,” said Southwell.
“It has come to this,” said Echarde, ruefully.
“The floor of the treasury is visible for the first time in one-hundred years,” said Southwell. “We must do all that we can with whatever means we still have.”
Echarde continued to study the boys as they worked. His jaw went from side to side. His lips pressed firmly together.
“The feathers that are worn by the young men in their hats, in pairs forming a 'V': This is how the youth choose to present themselves?” he enquired.
“I do not pay close attention to the details of their attire, so long as they are well-presented.” said Southwell.
“I do not pay close attention to the details of their attire, so long as they are well-presented.” said Southwell.
“You are surely aware of the fashion among young gentlemen for ferrymen sleeves. The frill added to the end of the right sleeve, upon which the common born worker wipes away the sweat and grime from his brow and attends to the sorry business of his nose. Many a young man of means seeks to imitate the attire of their inferiors.”
“Elsewhere maybe, but not here,” assured Southwell. “I encourage every boy who enters my tutorage to raise his outlook, and not to dwell upon where he might fall if fortune were to fail him.”
“Be sure to take your afternoon pellets,” he called out to the boys.
“It is a medicinal – it sharpens the young mind,” he said to Echarde.
“I have heard it said that you teach from the works of Shakespeare as if they were books in the Bible itself.”
Southwell nodded.
“This way,” he said, indicating a path along the river bank. The leaf-fall, deposited by the columns of oaks that flanked both sides of the channel, had almost completely obscured the surface of the water under an overlapping jigsaw of browning leaves.
“Before Shakespeare there was an overlap between the minds of men and the minds of beasts,” said Southwell. “In his wake, even the actions of men at their most bestial are infused with poetry and purpose. He laid the path that we all should heed and follow to reach our higher selves. You could call that a kind of secular religion.”
“The peasantry increasingly ignore the faded call of the bard,” said Echarde. “They gravitate towards watered-down renderings of his writings, delivered to them by the pens of lesser individuals.”
“I impart to the young men and women under my tutelage the value of it,” said Southwell. “That it is worthy of the struggle. They who aspire in a downward direction will find their level eye-deep in the snake treacle. Those who are of more refined tastes and ambitions will always want to elevate themselves above the sweetened quagmire.”
“Elsewhere maybe, but not here,” assured Southwell. “I encourage every boy who enters my tutorage to raise his outlook, and not to dwell upon where he might fall if fortune were to fail him.”
“Be sure to take your afternoon pellets,” he called out to the boys.
“It is a medicinal – it sharpens the young mind,” he said to Echarde.
“I have heard it said that you teach from the works of Shakespeare as if they were books in the Bible itself.”
Southwell nodded.
“This way,” he said, indicating a path along the river bank. The leaf-fall, deposited by the columns of oaks that flanked both sides of the channel, had almost completely obscured the surface of the water under an overlapping jigsaw of browning leaves.
“Before Shakespeare there was an overlap between the minds of men and the minds of beasts,” said Southwell. “In his wake, even the actions of men at their most bestial are infused with poetry and purpose. He laid the path that we all should heed and follow to reach our higher selves. You could call that a kind of secular religion.”
“The peasantry increasingly ignore the faded call of the bard,” said Echarde. “They gravitate towards watered-down renderings of his writings, delivered to them by the pens of lesser individuals.”
“I impart to the young men and women under my tutelage the value of it,” said Southwell. “That it is worthy of the struggle. They who aspire in a downward direction will find their level eye-deep in the snake treacle. Those who are of more refined tastes and ambitions will always want to elevate themselves above the sweetened quagmire.”
He cast his eyes in the direction of the setting sun. across the slow-moving mosaic on the water, towards a low range of distant hill barrows that were referred to as the Mossy Scots.
“The river has leafed over along this stretch as is the want of the season. Special rods are required for fishing. I am thinking about having these trees cleared away. I do wonder why it has not been done before.”
“That is because you do not know who planted the trees,” said Echarde. “They are the fruits of the King's, Great, Great, Grandfather. He sequestered acorns all along this stretch when he was just a boy. You would be ill-advised to cut a single bough. My suggestion; Wait for a strong wind to blow through and push them over.”
“It is an echo of something in my childhood,” Southwell ruminated. “My mother would toss an unpicked game bird – a duck or a pheasant – into the pot. When the feathers loosened and matted the surface, she would skim them off. My father used to sell them to a hat maker in the Liberties.”
Echarde wiped a fleck of moisture from his eyelid. He stared accusingly at the river, then up at the sky as more fine drops fell.
“The weather has its foot in,” said Southwell. “The boys always learn more in the winter when the evenings are close.”
“I imagine the cold will see to those fake wisps you cultivate.”
“The people in these parts call them faerie sparks,” said Southwell. “They are actually a strain of beetle. We have the means by which to breed them indoors. Every boy and girl keeps a jar at their desk. When they flare as one, they create a foundation for permanent knowledge in the mind of the observer. All who pass through here will leave able to recite Hamlet from beginning to end, and know the full meaning of it. As we sow the contours of understanding in the mind, so the diet of the mind transforms the body, that it may serve its purpose.”
Echarde's hand went back and forth through the fine rain, searching for something with more substance over which he could exert his will.
I hope this is of help.
“The river has leafed over along this stretch as is the want of the season. Special rods are required for fishing. I am thinking about having these trees cleared away. I do wonder why it has not been done before.”
“That is because you do not know who planted the trees,” said Echarde. “They are the fruits of the King's, Great, Great, Grandfather. He sequestered acorns all along this stretch when he was just a boy. You would be ill-advised to cut a single bough. My suggestion; Wait for a strong wind to blow through and push them over.”
“It is an echo of something in my childhood,” Southwell ruminated. “My mother would toss an unpicked game bird – a duck or a pheasant – into the pot. When the feathers loosened and matted the surface, she would skim them off. My father used to sell them to a hat maker in the Liberties.”
Echarde wiped a fleck of moisture from his eyelid. He stared accusingly at the river, then up at the sky as more fine drops fell.
“The weather has its foot in,” said Southwell. “The boys always learn more in the winter when the evenings are close.”
“I imagine the cold will see to those fake wisps you cultivate.”
“The people in these parts call them faerie sparks,” said Southwell. “They are actually a strain of beetle. We have the means by which to breed them indoors. Every boy and girl keeps a jar at their desk. When they flare as one, they create a foundation for permanent knowledge in the mind of the observer. All who pass through here will leave able to recite Hamlet from beginning to end, and know the full meaning of it. As we sow the contours of understanding in the mind, so the diet of the mind transforms the body, that it may serve its purpose.”
Echarde's hand went back and forth through the fine rain, searching for something with more substance over which he could exert his will.
I hope this is of help.
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| image generated by Craiyon |
~
This is my response to a question that appeared on the Notes & Queries page of The Guardian website on the 4th June, 2023.
The Guardian is apparently no longer happy to host my comments on their site, so it is appearing here instead.
This blog is obviously not affiliated with The Guardian. Its reference to a question that appeared in Notes & Queries is presented here under the terms of fair use.
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