CHAPTER II. THE BROKEN GITTERN.
Rousing himself from his indignant revery, Marmaduke Nevile followed oneof the smaller streams into which the crowd divided itself on dispersingfrom the archery-ground, and soon found himself in a part of the holidayscene appropriated to diversions less manly, but no less characteristicof the period than those of the staff and arrow. Beneath an awning,under which an itinerant landlord dispensed cakes and ale, the humorousBourdour (the most vulgar degree of minstrel, or rather tale-teller)collected his clownish audience; while seated by themselves--apart, butwithin hearing--two harpers, in the king's livery, consoled each otherfor the popularity of their ribald rival, by wise reflections on thebase nature of common folk. Farther on, Marmaduke started to beholdwhat seemed to him the heads of giants at least six yards high; but ona nearer approach these formidable apparitions resolved themselves toa company of dancers upon stilts. There, one joculator exhibited theantics of his well-tutored ape; there, another eclipsed the attractionsof the baboon by a marvellous horse that beat a tabor with his forefeet;there, the more sombre Tregetour, before a table raised upon a loftystage, promised to cut off and refix the head of a sad-faced little boy,who in the mean time was preparing his mortal frame for the operation byapparently larding himself with sharp knives and bodkins. Each of thesewonder-dealers found his separate group of admirers, and great was thedelight and loud the laughter in the pastime-ground of old Cockaigne.
While Marmaduke, bewildered by this various bustle, stared around him,his eye was caught by a young maiden, in evident distress, struggling invain to extricate herself from a troop of timbrel-girls, or tymbesteres(as they were popularly called), who surrounded her with mockinggestures, striking their instruments to drown her remonstrances, anddancing about her in a ring at every effort towards escape. The girlwas modestly attired as one of the humbler ranks, and her wimple inmuch concealed her countenance; but there was, despite her strangeand undignified situation and evident alarm, a sort of quiet, earnestself-possession,--an effort to hide her terror, and to appeal to thebetter and more womanly feelings of her persecutors. In the intervals ofsilence from the clamour, her voice, though low, clear, well-tuned, andimpressive, forcibly arrested the attention of young Nevile; for at thatday, even more than this (sufficiently apparent as it now is), there wasa marked distinction in the intonation, the accent, the modulation ofvoice, between the better bred and better educated and the inferiorclasses. But this difference, so ill according with her dress andposition, only served to heighten more the bold insolence of the musicalBacchantes, who, indeed, in the eyes of the sober, formed the mostimmoral nuisance attendant on the sports of the time, and whose hardylicense and peculiar sisterhood might tempt the antiquary to searchfor their origin amongst the relics of ancient Paganism. And now, toincrease the girl's distress, some half-score of dissolute apprenticesand journeymen suddenly broke into the ring of the Maenads, and wereaccosting her with yet more alarming insults, when Marmaduke, pushingthem aside, strode to her assistance. "How now, ye lewd varlets! ye makeme blush for my countrymen in the face of day! Are these the sports ofmerry England,--these your manly contests,--to strive which can bestaffront a poor maid? Out on ye, cullions and bezonians! Cling to me,gentle donzel, and fear not. Whither shall I lead thee?" The apprenticeswere not, however, so easily daunted. Two of them approached to therescue, flourishing their bludgeons about their heads with formidablegestures. "Ho, ho!" cried one, "what right hast thou to step between thehunters and the doe? The young quean is too much honoured by a kiss froma bold 'prentice of London."
Marmaduke stepped back, and drew the small dagger which then formed theonly habitual weapon of a gentleman. [Swords were not worn, in peace, atthat period.] This movement, discomposing his mantle, brought the silverarrow he had won (which was placed in his girdle) in full view of theassailants. At the same time they caught sight of the badge on his hat.These intimidated their ardour more than the drawn poniard.
"A Nevile!" said one, retreating. "And the jolly marksman who beat NickAlwyn," said the other, lowering his bludgeon, and doffing his cap."Gentle sir, forgive us, we knew not your quality. But as for thegirl--your gallantry misleads you."
"The Wizard's daughter! ha, ha! the Imp of Darkness!" screeched thetimbrel-girls, tossing up their instruments, and catching them again onthe points of their fingers. "She has enchanted him with her glamour.Foul is fair! Foul fair thee, young springal, if thou go to the nets.Shadow and goblin to goblin and shadow! Flesh and blood to blood andflesh!"--and dancing round him, with wanton looks and bare arms, andgossamer robes that brushed him as they circled, they chanted,--
"Come, kiss me, my darling, Warm kisses I trade for; Wine, music, and kisses What else was life made for?"
With some difficulty, and with a disgust which was not altogetherwithout a superstitious fear of the strange words and the outlandishappearance of these loathsome Delilahs, Marmaduke broke from the ringwith his new charge; and in a few moments the Nevile and the maidenfound themselves, unmolested and unpursued, in a deserted quarter ofthe ground; but still the scream of the timbrel-girls, as they hurried,wheeling and dancing, into the distance, was borne ominously to theyoung man's ear. "Ha, ha! the witch and her lover! Foul is fair! foul isfair! Shadow to goblin, goblin to shadow,--and the devil will have hisown!"
"And what mischance, my poor girl," asked the Nevile, soothingly,"brought thee into such evil company?"
"I know not, fair sir," said the girl, slowly recovering her self; "butmy father is poor, and I had heard that on these holiday occasions onewho had some slight skill on the gittern might win a few groats from thecourtesy of the bystanders. So I stole out with my serving-woman,and had already got more than I dared hope, when those wickedtimbrel-players came round me, and accused me of taking the money fromthem. And then they called an officer of the ground, who asked me myname and holding; so when I answered, they called my father a wizard,and the man broke my poor gittern,--see!"--and she held it up, withinnocent sorrow in her eyes, yet a half-smile on her lips,--"and theysoon drove poor old Madge from my side, and I knew no more till you,worshipful sir, took pity on me."
"But why," asked the Nevile, "did they give to your father so unholy aname?"
"Alas, sir! he is a great scholar, who has spent his means in studyingwhat he says will one day be of good to the people."
"Humph!" said Marmaduke, who had all the superstitions of his time,who looked upon a scholar, unless in the Church, with mingled awe andabhorrence, and who, therefore, was but ill-satisfied with the girl'sartless answer,
"Humph! your father--but--" checking what he was about, perhaps harshly,to say, as he caught the bright eyes and arch, intelligent face liftedto his own--"but it is hard to punish the child for the father'serrors."
"Errors, sir!" repeated the damsel, proudly, and with a slight disdainin her face and voice. "But yes, wisdom is ever, perhaps, the saddesterror!"
This remark was of an order superior in intellect to those whichhad preceded it: it contrasted with the sternness of experience thesimplicity of the child; and of such contrasts, indeed, was thatcharacter made up. For with a sweet, an infantine change of tone andcountenance, she added, after a short pause, "They took the money! Thegittern--see, they left that, when they had made it useless."
"I cannot mend the gittern, but I can refill the gipsire," saidMarmaduke.
The girl coloured deeply. "Nay, sir, to earn is not to beg." Marmadukedid not heed this answer; for as they were now passing by the stuntedtrees, under which sat several revellers, who looked up at him fromtheir cups and tankards, some with sneering, some with grave looks, hebegan, more seriously than in his kindly impulse he had hitherto done,to consider the appearance it must have to be thus seen walking inpublic with a girl of inferior degree, and perhaps doubtful repute.Even in our own day such an exhibition would be, to say the least,suspicious; and in that day, when ranks and classes were divided withiron demarcations, a young gallant, whose dress bespoke him of gentle
quality, with one of opposite sex, and belonging to the humbler orders,in broad day too, was far more open to censure. The blood mounted tohis brow, and halting abruptly, he said, in a dry and altered voice: "Mygood damsel, you are now, I think, out of danger; it would ill beseemyou, so young and so comely, to go farther with one not old enough to beyour protector; so, in God's name, depart quickly, and remember me whenyou buy your new gittern, poor child!" So saying, he attempted to placea piece of money in her hand. She put it back, and the coin fell on theground. "Nay, this is foolish," said he.
"Alas, sir!" said the girl, gravely, "I see well that you are ashamed ofyour goodness. But my father begs not. And once--but that matters not."
"Once what?" persisted Marmaduke, interested in her manner, in spite ofhimself.
"Once," said the girl, drawing herself up, and with an expression thataltered the whole character of her face--"the beggar ate at my father'sgate. He is a born gentleman and a knight's son."
"And what reduced him thus?"
"I have said," answered the girl, simply, yet with the same half-scornon her lip that it had before betrayed; "he is a scholar, and thoughtmore of others than himself."
"I never saw any good come to a gentleman from those accursed books,"said the Nevile,--"fit only for monks and shavelings. But still, foryour father's sake, though I am ashamed of the poorness of the gift--"
"No; God be with you, sir, and reward you." She stopped short, drewher wimple round her face, and was gone. Nevile felt an uncomfortablesensation of remorse and disapproval at having suffered her to quit himwhile there was yet any chance of molestation or annoyance, and his eyefollowed her till a group of trees veiled her from his view.
The young maiden slackened her pace as she found herself alone underthe leafless boughs of the dreary pollards,--a desolate spot, mademelancholy by dull swamps, half overgrown with rank verdure, throughwhich forced its clogged way the shallow brook that now gives its name(though its waves are seen no more) to one of the main streets in themost polished quarters of the metropolis. Upon a mound formed by thegnarled roots of the dwarfed and gnome-like oak, she sat down and wept.In our earlier years, most of us may remember that there was one daywhich made an epoch in life,--that day that separated Childhood fromYouth; for that day seems not to come gradually, but to be a suddencrisis, an abrupt revelation. The buds of the heart open to close nomore. Such a day was this in that girl's fate. But the day was not yetgone! That morning, when she dressed for her enterprise of filial love,perhaps for the first time Sibyll Warner felt that she was fair--whoshall say whether some innocent, natural vanity had not blended with thedeep, devoted earnestness, which saw no shame in the act by which thechild could aid the father? Perhaps she might have smiled to listen toold Madge's praises of her winsome face, old Madge's predictions thatthe face and the gittern would not lack admirers on the gay ground;perhaps some indistinct, vague forethoughts of the Future to which thesex will deem itself to be born might have caused the cheek--no, not toblush, but to take a rosier hue, and the pulse to beat quicker, she knewnot why. At all events, to that ground went the young Sibyll, cheerful,and almost happy, in her inexperience of actual life, and sure, atleast, that youth and innocence sufficed to protect from insult. And nowshe sat down under the leafless tree to weep; and in those bitter tears,childhood itself was laved from her soul forever.
"What ailest thou, maiden?" asked a deep voice; and she felt a hand laidlightly on her shoulder. She looked up in terror and confusion, butit was no form or face to inspire alarm that met her eye. It was acavalier, holding by the rein a horse richly caparisoned; and though hisdress was plainer and less exaggerated than that usually worn by menof rank, its materials were those which the sumptuary laws (constantlybroken, indeed, as such laws ever must be) confined to nobles. Thoughhis surcoat was but of cloth, and the colour dark and sober, it waswoven in foreign looms,--an unpatriotic luxury, above the degree ofknight,--and edged deep with the costliest sables. The hilt of thedagger, suspended round his breast, was but of ivory, curiously wrought,but the scabbard was sown with large pearls. For the rest, the strangerwas of ordinary stature, well knit and active rather than powerful, andof that age (about thirty-five) which may be called the second primeof man. His face was far less handsome than Marmaduke Nevile's, butinfinitely more expressive, both of intelligence and command,--thefeatures straight and sharp, the complexion clear and pale, and underthe bright gray eyes a dark shade spoke either of dissipation or ofthought.
"What ailest thou, maiden,--weepest thou some faithless lover? Tush!love renews itself in youth, as flower succeeds flower in spring."
Sibyll made no reply; she rose and moved a few paces, then arrested hersteps, and looked around her. She had lost all clew to her way homeward,and she saw with horror, in the distance, the hateful timbrel-girls,followed by the rabble, and weaving their strange dances towards thespot.
"Dost thou fear me, child? There is no cause," said the stranger,following her. "Again I say, What ailest thou?" This time his voice wasthat of command, and the poor girl involuntarily obeyed it. She relatedher misfortunes, her persecution by the tymbesteres, her escape,--thanksto the Nevile's courtesy,--her separation from her attendant, and heruncertainty as to the way she should pursue.
The nobleman listened with interest: he was a man sated and weariedby pleasure and the world, and the evident innocence of Sibyll was anovelty to his experience, while the contrast between her language andher dress moved his curiosity. "And," said he, "thy protector left thee,his work half done; fie on his chivalry! But I, donzel, wear the spursof knighthood, and to succour the distressed is a duty my oath willnot let me swerve from. I will guide thee home, for I know well all thepurlieus of this evil den of London. Thou hast but to name the suburb inwhich thy father dwells."
Sibyll involuntarily raised her wimple, lifted her beautiful eyes to thestranger, in bewildered gratitude and surprise. Her childhood had passedin a court, her eye, accustomed to rank, at once perceived the highdegree of the speaker. The contrast between this unexpected and delicategallantry and the condescending tone and abrupt desertion of Marmadukeaffected her again to tears.
"Ah, worshipful sir!" she said falteringly, "what can reward thee forthis unlooked-for goodness?"
"One innocent smile, sweet virgin!--for such I'll be sworn thou art."
He did not offer her his hand, but hanging the gold-enamelled rein overhis arm, walked by her side; and a few words sufficing for his guidance,led her across the ground, through the very midst of the throng. He feltnone of the young shame, the ingenious scruples of Marmaduke, at thegaze he encountered, thus companioned. But Sibyll noted that ever andanon bonnet and cap were raised as they passed along, and the respectfulmurmur of the vulgar, who had so lately jeered her anguish, taught herthe immeasurable distance in men's esteem between poverty shielded byvirtue, and poverty protected by power.
But suddenly a gaudy tinsel group broke through the crowd, and wheelinground their path, the foremost of them daringly approached the nobleman,and looking full into his disdainful face, exclaimed, "Tradest thou,too, for kisses? Ha, ha! life is short,--the witch is outwitched bythee! But witchcraft and death go together, as peradventure thou mayestlearn at the last, sleek wooer." Then darting off, and heading herpainted, tawdry throng, the timbrel-girl sprang into the crowd andvanished.
This incident produced no effect upon the strong and cynical intellectof the stranger. Without allusion to it, he continued to converse withhis young companion, and artfully to draw out her own singular butenergetic and gifted mind. He grew more than interested,--he was bothtouched and surprised. His manner became yet more respectful, his voicemore subdued and soft.
On what hazards turns our fate! On that day, a little, and Sibyll's purebut sensitive heart had, perhaps, been given to the young Nevile. He haddefended and saved her; he was fairer than the stranger, he was moreof her own years and nearer to her in station; but in showing himselfashamed to be seen with her, he had galled her heart, and moved thebi
tter tears of her pride. What had the stranger done? Nothing butreconciled the wounded delicacy to itself; and suddenly he became to herone ever to be remembered, wondered at,--perhaps more. They reached anobscure suburb, and parted at the threshold of a large, gloomy, ruinoushouse, which Sibyll indicated as her father's home.
The girl lingered before the porch; and the stranger gazed, with thepassionless admiration which some fair object of art produces on onewho has refined his taste, but who has survived enthusiasm, upon thedowncast cheek that blushed beneath his gaze. "Farewell!" he said; andthe girl looked up wistfully. He might, without vanity, have supposedthat look to imply what the lip did not dare to say,--"And shall we meetno more?"
But he turned away, with formal though courteous salutation; and as heremounted his steed, and rode slowly towards the interior of the city,he muttered to himself, with a melancholy smile upon his lips, "Nowmight the grown infant make to himself a new toy; but an innocent heartis a brittle thing, and one false vow can break it. Pretty maiden! Ilike thee well eno' not to love thee. So, as my young Scotch minstrelsings and plays,--
'Christ keep these birdis bright in bowers, Sic peril lies in paramours!'"
[A Scotch poet, in Lord Hailes's Collection, has the following lines inthe very pretty poem called "Peril in Paramours:"--
"Wherefore I pray, in termys short, Christ keep these birdis bright in bowers, Fra false lovers and their disport, Sic peril lies in paramours."]
We must now return to Marmaduke. On leaving Sibyll, and retracing hissteps towards the more crowded quarter of the space, he was agreeablysurprised by encountering Nicholas Alwyn, escorted in triumph by alegion of roaring apprentices from the victory he had just obtained oversix competitors at the quarter-staff.
When the cortege came up to Marmaduke, Nicholas halted, and frontinghis attendants, said, with the same cold and formal stiffness thathad characterized him from the beginning, "I thank you, lads, for yourkindness. It is your own triumph. All I cared for was to show that youLondon boys are able to keep up your credit in these days, when there'slittle luck in a yard-measure, if the same hand cannot bend a bow, orhandle cold steel. But the less we think of the strife when we are inthe stall, the better for our pouches. And so I hope we shall hear nomore about it, until I get a ware of my own, when the more of ye thatlike to talk of such matters the better ye will be welcome,--alwaysprovided ye be civil customers, who pay on the nail, for as the sawsaith, 'Ell and tell makes the crypt swell.' For the rest, thanks aredue to this brave gentleman, Marmaduke Nevile, who, though the son of aknight-banneret who never furnished less to the battle-field than fiftymen-at-arms, has condescended to take part and parcel in the sports ofus peaceful London traders; and if ever you can do him a kind turn--forturn and turn is fair play--why, you will, I answer for it. And soone cheer for old London, and another for Marmaduke Nevile. Here goes!Hurrah, my lads!" And with this pithy address Nicholas Alwyn took offhis cap and gave the signal for the shouts, which, being duly performed,he bowed stiffly to his companions, who departed with a hearty laugh,and coming to the side of Nevile, the two walked on to a neighbouringbooth, where, under a rude awning, and over a flagon of clary, they weresoon immersed in the confidential communications each had to give andreceive.
The Last of the Barons — Complete Page 5
