One Dagger for Two by Philip Lindsay

Author:Philip Lindsay [Lindsay, Philip]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780091203405
Amazon: 0091203406
Goodreads: 10034130
Publisher: Hutchinson
Published: 1974-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter XI

POVERTY AND PEACE

It was not until March with its clatter of winds had blown the wet cold of February aside, had flung the clouds from the face of heaven to reveal a faint blue misty vault, a tremulous haze of bleached colour; it was not until the snow had flown up north on the backs of hunched-up clouds, dragging the rain like a filmy robe in its wake, that Marlowe flung his purse on the table in a small tavern in Cheapside, uptilted it to show only white money — a sixpence, a threepence, a twopence, three farthings: not even a groat — all flat silver coins, no twinkle of gold in the small heap.

“That finishes it,” said Marlowe. “How much have we? Not a shilling! I’ll buy three pounds of steak, a pound each, and spend the rest on raisins. Then we can all go home and start work again.”

“Work?” muttered Nashe — that meant a pamphlet for the printer — Peele groaned at the thought of his wife and child waiting with hungry bellies and open hands: he would have to finish that abominable Greek translation a West Countryman had commissioned.

A pound of meat each and their purses crammed with raisins, the three friends, still quite drunk, bade each other a sorrowful good-bye, and homeward crawled, each to begin his period of hunger and thirst.

Fortunately, Marlowe had paid a year’s rent in advance out of his winnings at Madame Cotton’s, so that he had only food to worry about. That did not worry him very much. He was well used now to going for days without a bite, and, when his belly seemed to gripe him with hot pincers, of hurrying off to cozen a meal out of some wealthy friend. He had many wealthy friends, old University acquaintances, people he had met at Ralegh’s, but he avoided them, as their untroubled lives made him jealous and he was embarrassed by his own poverty.

That was Marlowe’s life, the life of the average literary man of the day; a few careful fellows like Chapman and Shakespeare husbanded their paltry earnings, but most of them were like Marlowe, Nashe, Peele and Kyd. Money that comes suddenly in rather large sums goes as swiftly as it comes, it loses its value. But large sums were rare and came only from patrons. For a play one rarely got more than ten pounds and was lucky to get that; two pounds was the average for a dedication; the same for a whole pamphlet, sometimes with a pottle of wine thrown in; instead of money, occasionally a writer received about twenty copies of his own book and hawked them for whatever price he could get.

Whatever any man earned was usually spent communally; they paid each other’s rents when possible, fed each other and bought drinks for each other; then they all rushed back to their dens to tighten their belts and cramp their stomachs leaning over tables trying to write. Marlowe hated the existence, but there was no escape from it.

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