The clay had risen brightly. A few individuals passed between various parts of the house, domestics of the place, or half military retainers lounging to and fro, as if claiming, by virtue of the buff-coats, steel caps, and broad swords, with which they were accoutred, an exemption, except when in attendance on their Lord, from all care and occupation. But a numerous group issuing suddenly from the archway, summoned these idlers from their strollings, and communicated an instantaneous life and vivacity to the scene.
The personage who, among this group, must instantly have been distinguished as the principal, as well from the deference paid to him, as from his manner and demeanour, was a man of apparently not more than thirty years of age, and of an aspect, which, at the first sight, seemed noble and prepossessing. In stature, he was somewhat above the middle size; well shaped, and rather strong set. His features, though handsome — almost beautiful, were to close examination scarcely attractive, wearing an expression of strong, but suppressed passion. Clusters of dark and curling hair strayed from beneath his jewelled cap, which was adorned by a heron’s plume fastened by a clasp of gold. His eyes were bright and black; too much so to be pleasing, and the same sinister cast which dwelt in his features, was communicated to their glance. — He wore a dress of the fashion generally adopted by the superior classes of the time, consisting of a doublet of dark satin, slashed with salmon coloured silk, fitting tight to his body, and joined to hose of the same materials, puffed out according to the prevailing mode. — His boots were of blue Spanish leather, and a short cloak of deep purple velvet, richly embroidered, and fastened by a massy golden clasp, hung from his shoulders, and completed the ordinary articles of his wearing apparel. — In addition to these, his hands were now clothed with hawking gloves, and his closed fist supported a lordly gerfalcon, completely attired with her embossed hood and knotted jesses, on the varvels attached to which was stamped the figure of a mermaid, the armorial bearing of the family. The legs of the hawk were hung with Milan bells, — jingling with a silver sound at every motion of the bird.
But the attention with which a spectator would have beheld the handsome appearance and commanding frame thus presented to his view, was speedily claimed by a new object. A beautiful female, whose exquisite figure was betrayed to admiration by the riding habit in which she was enveloped, suddenly issued from the gateway, following the gallant whom we have described. Her head attire, of black velvet, was richly ornamented; and being depressed in the middle rose on either side, so as distantly to resemble a reversed crescent, a fashion then generally followed, though in the present instance far from attaining the extravagant pitch to which it was frequently carried, forming a subject for abundant animadversion from the satirists of the day, who loudly declaimed against the horned head dresses of the ladies. Her jet black hair escaping from beneath this covering, and scorning the restraint of the silken bands, that vainly endeavoured to confine them, clustered around her temples, and straying to her neck, rested on a throat with whose whiteness they were deeply and beautifully contrasted, and whose purity was only to be equalled by the forehead, which her head dress partly exposed to view. The similitude of her features to those of the individual who had preceded her, plainly indicated their affinity; but though the lineaments of her countenance strikingly resembled those of her brother, their freedom from the repulsive cast with which his were shaded, rendered them far more engaging. The same firm resolution that dwelt in his aspect was perceptible in hers, but tempered with a gentle and subdued expression, amounting almost to melancholy, and seeming to indicate the faculty of passive and unwearying endurance, as the look of the brother betokened active and restless boldness. Her dark eyes, bright rather than brilliant, beamed with an expression so pensive, and yet so lovely, that the heart of the beholder borrowed for a moment its tone from their glances, and became itself enamoured of sadness.
She also bore upon her hand a hawk, a tercel gentle restrained by silken jesses. Sir John Chiverton, her brother, assisted her as she mounted the chestnut steed, whose curving neck and pawing feet denoted the impatience with which she awaited her rider; and so gracefully and easily did its mistress govern the animal, that its motions seemed instinctively to harmonize with every wish of the lovely equestrian. A slim greyhound bounded by her side, and a variety of domestics were in attendance, to lend assistance in the progress of the sport.
The celebrity of hawking at this period, as an amusement peculiarly set apart for, and eagerly followed by the gallant, the wealthy, and the noble, added to the excessive difficulty of training, and consequent value of the hawks, rendered the falconer an officer of some estimation in the household of families of rank. Incessant watchfulness, unwearying perseverance, and skill acquired by long practice, often failed of success in reclaiming the bird from its native wildness. The individual who held this station in the hall of the Chivertons was a thin ancient man, his features charged with an inordinate expression of self-importance. He was dressed in a suit principally consisting of blue cloth, ornamented with silver; wore a broad brimmed drab hat, turned up in front, and was distinguished by a silver chain hanging from his neck, and supporting a badge of the same metal, on which was engraved the figure of a hawk, bearing on its breast an escutcheon, charged with the mermaid of the family. Two inferior attendants, who followed under his direction to search for and raise the game, were dressed in a similar style, though in less ornamented habiliments.
Along with the Knight were several personages who seemed to hold a middle station between friends and retainers; a class to whom he afforded the freedom of his hall, with perhaps a further occasional extension of his liberality, to enable them to ruffle in their gay cloaks and slashed doublets, in return for which he tacitly claimed, and they readily rendered, their services whenever occasion might require their exercise. These too were his ordinary associates when disposed for company; some could tell a merry tale, others commanded a good song, and the dice and draught board filled up intervals of idleness. They sat above the salt on ordinary days, and when the board was surrounded by their superiors, were well content to sink a step; willing to compound their state for the substantial enjoyments of Chiverton Hall, and desiring nothing more than the continuance of a mode of life requiring little exertion and less thought; though its easy course was liable to interruption, when their host called for their services. Yet as these calls were not frequent, and their recurrence always uncertain, their anticipation was never permitted to disturb the indolent luxury of the present.
A few retainers of another class, stout men at arms, whose steel caps and buff jerkins denoted their station, strolled about, desirous to be spectators of a sport then in such high repute, and mingling with the other attendants, composed a varied group, and by their heavy slinging step, and the careless boldness of their demeanour, contrasted with the officious activity, and obsequious servility, of the accompanying domestics.
It was a gallant sight, to see so goodly a company, as they passed the open court before the entrance of the hall, and sallied forth in quest of their amusement into the sloping plain that lay to their right. The rich dresses of the riders, mounted on fair steeds that bounded along, their studded harness flashing in the sun, and their reins jingling and chiming with the silver melody of the hawk’s bells; the towering plumes waving in every breeze, the light laugh and quick repartee of the horsemen, lent life and excitement to the scene; whilst the numbers that followed in the rear, the attendants and men at arms, added to the diversity of the picture, and increased by their rude and joyous mirth, the giddy whirl of enjoyment, that dwelt in the light minds of most of the partakers of the festivity.
They had ridden not more than two or three hundred yards, when the falconer approaching to the Knight of Chiverton, with a tone and manner, in which respect for his master was blended with a manifest conceit of himself, informed him, that would the gentles determine whose hawk should first fly, he would venture to say, that a fall of woodcocks might be found among the moist grou
nd to the right.
“What say ye then gallants,” said the Knight, “whose bird shall first adventure the striking of a woodcock?”
“Who my Lord,” replied the young man who rode near him, the plaitings of his ruff, and adjustment of his well combed and anointed hair, studied to the very perfection of critical nicety, “who shall hesitate to give place when beauty stands to take the lead? The Lady Ellice’s tercel hath a soaring wing, and a steady eye. — Let it take precedence.”
“Well Ellice,” said the knight, “you see you are designed to lead our sports to-day, for no one seems to object to this courteous gentleman’s proposal — but God’s santy,” continued he, turning towards the last speaker, “thou connest thy words so daintily, my sister is fain to blush at the commendation thou bestowest in words, as soaring as thou reportest her own gentil-hawk. — Why — I swear thou art in love, man, and hast painfully perused some huge romance, or book of dainty devices, whence thou wouldst gather language and eloquence, to persuade thy mistress to take delight in thy lack lustre eye, and pear coloured beard. Can any throw light on this matter — knows any man the Oriana that hath captured the heart of this Amadis?”
“Oh! my Lord,” exclaimed in answer a lively youth, “the history of his affections is well known. A peerless rustic, the divinity of a cottage, came athwart his eye shot, as practising in solitude his choicest steps, he sought to charm the fauns and satyrs with his gallant lavoltas. So he came in a cinque-a-pace; loved with a look, wooed with words culled from choice ballads, and hath ever since wandered with braced arms, the blind God’s very meacock, as melancholy as a black hawk.”
“And as choleric as a russet one,” interrupted another.
“Aye,” resumed the previous speaker, “and moreover, to cause it to be well with him in the damsel’s eye, he hath laid out a fair moiety of his worldly treasure, in tricking himself out, as fine as a new painted post at a sheriff s door — pray God he be not soon more intimate with the sheriff’s followers, than the sheriffs worship.”
“A catastrophe not unlikely,” said he, who had before spoken, “for the other half of his estate flies fast, in welted gowns and falling bands to adorn the lovely Rusticana.”
A reply of some sharpness was rising upon the lips of the indignant Vivian, when a sudden cry from the falconer, interrupting the conversation, arrested the attention of the party. In a moment the woodcocks were on the wing, and the fair Ellice, loosing the jesses from her fingers, and removing the hood, with which the eyes of the hawk were veiled, cast him off in pursuit of his prey.
Taking an upward direction, the bird soared above the terrified fugitives, and hung over them as if selecting his prey. It was in vain that they dispersed in every varied direction; the piercing eye of the falcon had singled out its quarry, which, as if conscious of his fate, flew at first wildly and fearfully, until driven to use every art to elude the near approach of its enemy, it rose and fell; now rising, as if to hide itself in the clouds from the ken of the falcon, and again, sinking to the earth to seek some friendly brake to shield it from destruction; but, wherever it turned its wearied wing, the hawk followed with rentless perseverance, true as its shadow. At length, the devoted bird, espying a covert, which if gained, might haply secure a safe retreat from danger, dived rapidly downwards to take possession of the seat of refuge. It was a vain attempt, for the quick sight of the enemy anticipated its purpose, and the tercel, stooping down from its high flight, descended with a resistless swoop upon the fated quarry; planting its strong talons in the back of its prey, it clove open with its beak, the skull of the victim, thereby terminating the aerial chase, whilst the falconer, hastening to the spot, for the party had followed as near as possible the direction which the birds had taken, disengaged the hawk from his prey, feeding, and rewarding him, and commanding his two followers, in the meantime, to look out for fresh prey for the Knight’s gerfalcon, which was next to fly. During this interval, several of the followers, not actively engaged in the sports of their superiors, were imitating at humble distance their diversions, for having discovered a flock of larks, a hobby hawk, carried by the leader of the men at arms, was flown, and hanging over the terrified birds, who crowded fearfully to the ground, detained them in that position, until a net was drawn over the flock, which, incapacitated by terror, became an easy prey to the sportsmen.
A nobler object of pursuit than had yet been raised, awaited the Knight’s gerfalcon. A loud and exulting shout announced the discovery of a stately heron, which, roused from his station on the edge of a spreading pool, swung open his long wings, and sailed through the air; his feathery crest streaming as he flew, and his pursuer, eager for the attack, beating his strong path after the lordly prey. For some time, the same scene ensued, which had previously taken place in the chase of the woodcock; but in the middle air, when hardly pressed by the falcon, the heron turned upon his antagonist, and shooting forth his long neck, aimed at the hawk with his sharp bill a blow, which had it taken effect, would probably have decided the contest in favour of the pursued; but the falcon, accustomed to such encounters, evaded the stroke, and gaining a new advantage from the unsuccessful attack of its opponent, pressed on so fiercely, that the heron, unable to sustain the conflict, once more betook itself to flight. Blinded with its wounds, and distracted with terror, the fugitive rushed downwards through the air, with all the velocity it could command. The consequences of this movement were such as could be neither anticipated nor guarded against. The heron in its wild and misgoverned descent had approached near the party of the Chivertons, when suddenly varying from the right line, which its precipitous course had hitherto taken, and turning off in an oblique direction, it dashed itself in flying, against the head of Ellice’s steed, and ere it had recovered itself from the interruption its enemy the falcon had arrested its further progress, and a fierce struggle ensued. Terrified at the unexpected attack, the horse sprung away, and enraged by the flapping wings of the birds, speeded away with such ungoverned violence, that the endeavours of the gentle rider to restain her courser were wholly fruitless. But with that presence of mind, of which her countenance bespoke the habitual possession, she succeeded in retaining her seat, and in avoiding the branches of the trees, with which the plain was thinly scattered.
In following the flight of the hawks, the party had left the hall at a considerable distance. To this Ellice now drew near, when her steed taking a different direction, rushed furiously towards the sloping ground which led to the brink of the river. Her cries for assistance were unheard, and there seemed indeed scarce a possibility of such assistance reaching her. Her brother, with those of his company who had hastened with hopes of arresting the progress of her steed, were compelled to take a circuitous route, fearful of urging her horse to still greater speed by pursuing its footsteps, and were far behind. The horse arrived at the sloping bank of the stream, bounded down it; and in a moment more, his plunge in the waters sounded in the ears of his fainting rider, who exhausted by her previous terror and fatigue, and despairing of succour, sank into insensibility, and falling from her saddle, was about to be borne away by the waters of the river.
From the imminent peril in which she was thus involved, at the only moment when aid would not have been too late, a deliverer was at hand to rescue the seemingly devoted girl. When returning consciousness at length unclosed her streaming and languid eyelids, she found herself supported upon a stone bench, rudely constructed, and sheltered by the overhanging arch of a small and rocky cave. This had formerly been the residence of a hermit, who by long perseverance in a life of abstinence and rigorous penance, had acquired among the few rude inhabitants of the district a reputation of more almost than mortal sanctity. Even after the death of the venerated anchoret, the hermit’s house, by which name the cell was generally known, was frequented by comers from surrounding parts of the country; nor are there wanting, as is well known to the professed collectors of marvellous legends, sundry traditional anecdotes of feats, little less tha
n miraculous, performed, as well during the life, as after the death of its inhabitant, at the secluded cave. Superstition outlives its objects, and a long succession of years were unable entirely to divest the spot of the degree of veneration to which it had attained.
The aspect of the place itself was indeed such as not to be beheld without feelings of interest, deepening almost into awe. The cave was excavated in a rock, which rising perpendicularly to the height of about twelve feet, bounded the lower extremity of a sloping hollow, whose width extended to some half dozen yards. The pious ingenuity of ancient tenants had sculptured the face of the rock with rude mouldings and imagery, interspersed with Biblical sentences carved in a gothic, and now almost unknown character. Many of these were defaced and illegible by time, or the interstices filled up with accumulations of dark and thick moss. The summit of the stone was crowned with stunted oaks, and the clinging arms of the giant ivy winding along the brink, sported amid the crumbling ornaments and inscriptions, a wild contrast of vitality and decay. The sombre gloom of antiquity seemed to hang over the spot, and to consecrate it to silence and to solitude.
The entrance to the cell was a narrow doorway, which, except a small aperture on the left, formed the only passage for light into the habitation. The sole apartment of which this place of penance consisted, was devoid of furniture or ornament; a stone seat hewn in the native rock ran round the chamber, and a semi-circular recess in the extremity contained a rude altar of the same material, surmounted with a pedestal, formerly the support of a crucifix, which the hand of the spoiler had long since destroyed. But desolate and chilling as was the aspect of the spot, marks of an inhabitant were yet discoverable. A jug of water stood upon the altar, and a few glimmering ashes cast from a corner of the apartment a dim and fitful gleam. A heap of dry leaves, and some logs of wood, lay at a short distance.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 2
