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Woodstock; or, The Cavalier

S >> Sir Walter Scott >> Woodstock; or, The Cavalier




"Nay, do not take the high tone with me, brother" answered Joceline;
"remember thou hast not the old knight of sixty-five to deal with, but a
fellow as bitter and prompt as thyself--it may be a little more so--
younger, at all events--and prithee, why shouldst thou take such umbrage
at a Maypole? I would thou hadst known one Phil Hazeldine of these
parts--He was the best morris-dancer betwixt Oxford and Burford."

"The more shame to him," answered the Independent; "and I trust he has
seen the error of his ways, and made himself (as, if a man of action, he
easily might) fit for better company than wood-hunters, deer-stealers,
Maid Marions, swash-bucklers, deboshed revellers, bloody brawlers,
maskers, and mummers, lewd men and light women, fools and fiddlers, and
carnal self-pleasers of every description."

"Well," replied the keeper, "you are out of breath in time; for here we
stand before the famous Maypole of Woodstock."

They paused in an open space of meadow-land, beautifully skirted by
large oaks and sycamores, one of which, as king of the forest, stood a
little detached from the rest, as if scorning the vicinity of any rival.
It was scathed and gnarled in the branches, but the immense trunk still
showed to what gigantic size the monarch of the forest can attain in the
groves of merry England.

"That is called the King's Oak," said Joceline; "the oldest men of
Woodstock know not how old it is; they say Henry used to sit under it
with fair Rosamond, and see the lasses dance, and the lads of the
village run races, and wrestle for belts or bonnets."

"I nothing doubt it, friend," said Tomkins; "a tyrant and a harlot were
fitting patron and patroness for such vanities."

"Thou mayst say thy say, friend," replied the keeper, "so thou lettest
me say mine. There stands the Maypole, as thou seest, half a flight-shot
from the King's Oak, in the midst of the meadow. The King gave ten
shillings from the customs of Woodstock to make a new one yearly,
besides a tree fitted for the purpose out of the forest. Now it is
warped, and withered, and twisted, like a wasted brier-rod. The green,
too, used to be close-shaved, and rolled till it was smooth as a velvet
mantle--now it is rough and overgrown."

"Well, well, friend Joceline," said the Independent, "but where was the
edification of all this?--what use of doctrine could be derived from a
pipe and tabor? or was there ever aught like wisdom in a bagpipe?"

"You may ask better scholars that," said Joceline; "but methinks men
cannot be always grave, and with the hat over their brow. A young maiden
will laugh as a tender flower will blow--ay, and a lad will like her the
better for it; just as the same blithe Spring that makes the young birds
whistle, bids the blithe fawns skip. There have come worse days since
the jolly old times have gone by:--I tell thee, that in the holydays
which you, Mr. Longsword, have put down, I have seen this greensward
alive with merry maidens and manly fellows. The good old rector himself
thought it was no sin to come for a while and look on, and his goodly
cassock and scarf kept us all in good order, and taught us to limit our
mirth within the bounds of discretion. We might, it may be, crack a
broad jest, or pledge a friendly cup a turn too often, but it was in
mirth and good neighbour-hood--Ay, and if there was a bout at
single-stick, or a bellyful of boxing, it was all for love and kindness;
and better a few dry blows in drink, than the bloody doings we have had
in sober earnest, since the presbyter's cap got above the bishop's
mitre, and we exchanged our goodly rectors and learned doctors, whose
sermons were all bolstered up with as much Greek and Latin as might have
confounded the devil himself, for weavers and cobblers, and such other
pulpit volunteers, as--as we heard this morning--It will out."

"Well, friend," said the Independent, with patience scarcely to have
been expected, "I quarrel not with thee for nauseating my doctrine. If
thine ear is so much tickled with tabor tunes and morris tripping, truly
it is not likely thou shouldst find pleasant savour in more wholesome
and sober food. But let us to the Lodge, that we may go about our
business there before the sun sets."

"Troth, and that may be advisable for more reasons than one," said the
keeper; "for there have been tales about the Lodge which have made men
afeard to harbour there after nightfall."

"Were not yon old knight, and yonder damsel his daughter, wont to dwell
there?" said the Independent. "My information said so."

"Ay, truly did they," said Joceline; "and while they kept a jolly
house-hold, all went well enough; for nothing banishes fear like good
ale. But after the best of our men went to the wars, and were slain at
Naseby fight, they who were left found the Lodge more lonesome, and the
old knight has been much deserted of his servants:--marry, it might be,
that he has lacked silver of late to pay groom and lackey."

"A potential reason for the diminution of a household," said the
soldier.

"Right, sir, even so," replied the keeper. "They spoke of steps in the
great gallery, heard by dead of the night, and voices that whispered at
noon, in the matted chambers; and the servants pretended that these
things scared them away; but, in my poor judgment, when Martinmas and
Whitsuntide came round without a penny-fee, the old blue-bottles of
serving-men began to think of creeping elsewhere before the frost
chilled them.--No devil so frightful as that which dances in the pocket
where there is no cross to keep him out."

"You were reduced, then, to a petty household?" said the Independent.

"Ay, marry, were we," said Joceline; "but we kept some half-score
together, what with blue-bottles in the Lodge, what with green
caterpillars of the chase, like him who is yours to command; we stuck
together till we found a call to take a morning's ride somewhere or
other."

"To the town of Worcester," said the soldier, "where you were crushed
like vermin and palmer worms, as you are."

"You may say your pleasure," replied the keeper; "I'll never contradict
a man who has got my head under his belt. Our backs are at the wall, or
you would not be here."

"Nay, friend," said the Independent, "thou riskest nothing by thy
freedom and trust in me. I can be _bon camarado_ to a good soldier,
although I have striven with him even to the going down of the sun.--But
here we are in front of the Lodge."

They stood accordingly in front of the old Gothic building, irregularly
constructed, and at different times, as the humour of the English
monarchs led them to taste the pleasures of Woodstock Chase, and to make
such improvements for their own accommodation as the increasing luxury
of each age required. The oldest part of the structure had been named by
tradition Fair Rosamond's Tower; it was a small turret of great height,
with narrow windows, and walls of massive thickness. The Tower had no
opening to the ground, or means of descending, a great part of the lower
portion being solid mason-work. It was traditionally said to have been
accessible only by a sort of small drawbridge, which might be dropped at
pleasure from a little portal near the summit of the turret, to the
battlements of another tower of the same construction, but twenty feet
lower, and containing only a winding staircase, called in Woodstock
Love's Ladder; because it is said, that by ascending this staircase to
the top of the tower, and then making use of the drawbridge, Henry
obtained access to the chamber of his paramour.

This tradition had been keenly impugned by Dr. Rochecliffe, the former
rector of Woodstock, who insisted, that what was called Rosamond's
Tower, was merely an interior keep, or citadel, to which the lord or
warden of the castle might retreat, when other points of safety failed
him; and either protract his defence, or, at the worst, stipulate for
reasonable terms of surrender. The people of Woodstock, jealous of their
ancient traditions, did not relish this new mode of explaining them
away; and it is even said, that the Mayor, whom we have already
introduced, became Presbyterian, in revenge of the doubts cast by the
rector upon this important subject, rather choosing to give up the
Liturgy than his fixed belief in Rosamond's Tower, and Love's Ladder.

The rest of the Lodge was of considerable extent, and of different ages;
comprehending a nest of little courts, surrounded by buildings which
corresponded with each other, sometimes within-doors, sometimes by
crossing the courts, and frequently in both ways. The different heights
of the buildings announced that they could only be connected by the
usual variety of staircases, which exercised the limbs of our ancestors
in the sixteenth and earlier centuries, and seem sometimes to have been
contrived for no other purpose.

The varied and multiplied fronts of this irregular building were, as Dr.
Rochecliffe was wont to say, an absolute banquet to the architectural
antiquary, as they certainly contained specimens of every style which
existed, from the pure Norman of Henry of Anjou, down to the composite,
half Gothic half classical architecture of Elizabeth and her successor.
Accordingly, the rector was himself as much enamoured of Woodstock as
ever was Henry of Fair Rosamond; and as his intimacy with Sir Henry Lee
permitted him entrance at all times to the Royal Lodge, he used to spend
whole days in wandering about the antique apartments, examining,
measuring, studying, and finding out excellent reasons for architectural
peculiarities, which probably only owed their existence to the freakish
fancy of a Gothic artist. But the old antiquary had been expelled from
his living by the intolerance and troubles of the times, and his
successor, Nehemiah Holdenough, would have considered an elaborate
investigation of the profane sculpture and architecture of blinded and
blood-thirsty Papists, together with the history of the dissolute amours
of old Norman monarchs, as little better than a bowing down before the
calves of Bethel, and a drinking of the cup of abominations.--We return
to the course of our story.

"There is," said the Independent Tomkins, after he had carefully perused
the front of the building, "many a rare monument of olden wickedness
about this miscalled Royal Lodge; verily, I shall rejoice much to see
the same destroyed, yea, burned to ashes, and the ashes thrown into the
brook Kedron, or any other brook, that the land may be cleansed from the
memory thereof, neither remember the iniquity with which their fathers
have sinned."

The keeper heard him with secret indignation, and began to consider with
himself, whether, as they stood but one to one, and without chance of
speedy interference, he was not called upon, by his official duty, to
castigate the rebel who used language so defamatory. But he fortunately
recollected, that the strife must be a doubtful one--that the advantage
of arms was against him--and that, in especial, even if he should
succeed in the combat, it would be at the risk of severe retaliation. It
must be owned, too, that there was something about the Independent so
dark and mysterious, so grim and grave, that the more open spirit of the
keeper felt oppressed, and, if not overawed, at least kept in doubt
concerning him; and he thought it wisest, as well as safest, for his
master and himself, to avoid all subjects of dispute, and know better
with whom he was dealing, before he made either friend or enemy of him.

The great gate of the Lodge was strongly bolted, but the wicket opened
on Joceline's raising the latch. There was a short passage of ten feet,
which had been formerly closed by a portcullis at the inner end, while
three loopholes opened on either side, through which any daring intruder
might be annoyed, who, having surprised the first gate, must be thus
exposed to a severe fire before he could force the second. But the
machinery of the portcullis was damaged, and it now remained a fixture,
brandishing its jaw, well furnished with iron fangs, but incapable of
dropping it across the path of invasion.

The way, therefore, lay open to the great hall or outer vestibule of the
Lodge. One end of this long and dusky apartment was entirely occupied by
a gallery, which had in ancient times served to accommodate the
musicians and minstrels. There was a clumsy staircase at either side of
it, composed of entire logs of a foot square; and in each angle of the
ascent was placed, by way of sentinel, the figure of a Norman
foot-soldier, having an open casque on his head, which displayed
features as stern as the painter's genius could devise. Their arms were
buff-jackets, or shirts of mail, round bucklers, with spikes in the
centre, and buskins which adorned and defended the feet and ankles, but
left the knees bare. These wooden warders held great swords, or maces,
in their hands, like military guards on duty. Many an empty hook and
brace, along the walls of the gloomy apartment, marked the spots from
which arms, long preserved as trophies, had been, in the pressure of the
wars, once more taken down, to do service in the field, like veterans
whom extremity of danger recalls to battle. On other rusty fastenings
were still displayed the hunting trophies of the monarchs to whom the
Lodge belonged, and of the silvan knights to whose care it had been from
time to time confided.

At the nether end of the hall, a huge, heavy, stone-wrought
chimney-piece projected itself ten feet from the wall, adorned with many
a cipher, and many a scutcheon of the Royal House of England. In its
present state, it yawned like the arched mouth of a funeral vault, or
perhaps might be compared to the crater of an extinguished volcano. But
the sable complexion of the massive stone-work, and all around it,
showed that the time had been when it sent its huge fires blazing up the
huge chimney, besides puffing many a volume of smoke over the heads of
the jovial guests, whose royalty or nobility did not render them
sensitive enough to quarrel with such slight inconvenience. On these
occasions, it was the tradition of the house, that two cart-loads of
wood was the regular allowance for the fire between noon and curfew, and
the andirons, or dogs, as they were termed, constructed for retaining
the blazing firewood on the hearth, were wrought in the shape of lions
of such gigantic size as might well warrant the legend. There were long
seats of stone within the chimney, where, in despite of the tremendous
heat, monarchs were sometimes said to have taken their station, and
amused themselves with broiling the _umbles_, or _dowsels_, of the deer,
upon the glowing embers, with their own royal hands, when happy the
courtier who was invited to taste the royal cookery. Tradition was here
also ready with her record, to show what merry gibes, such as might be
exchanged between prince and peer, had flown about at the jolly banquet
which followed the Michaelmas hunt. She could tell, too, exactly, where
King Stephen sat when he darned his own princely hose, and knew most of
the odd tricks he had put upon little Winkin, the tailor of Woodstock.

Most of this rude revelry belonged to the Plantagenet times. When the
house of Tudor ascended to the throne, they were more chary of their
royal presence, and feasted in halls and chambers far within, abandoning
the outmost hall to the yeomen of the guard, who mounted their watch
there, and passed away the night with wassail and mirth, exchanged
sometimes for frightful tales of apparitions and sorceries, which made
some of those grow pale, in whose ears the trumpet of a French foeman
would have sounded as jollily as a summons to the woodland chase.

Joceline pointed out the peculiarities of the place to his gloomy
companion more briefly than we have detailed them to the reader. The
Independent seemed to listen with some interest at first, but, flinging
it suddenly aside, he said in a solemn tone, "Perish, Babylon, as thy
master Nebuchadnezzar hath perished! He is a wanderer, and thou shalt be
a waste place--yea, and a wilderness--yea, a desert of salt, in which
there shall be thirst and famine."

"There is like to be enough of both to-night," said Joceline, "unless
the good knight's larder be somewhat fuller than it is wont."

"We must care for the creature-comforts," said the Independent, "but in
due season, when our duties are done. Whither lead these entrances?"

"That to the right," replied the keeper, "leads to what are called, the
state-apartments, not used since the year sixteen hundred and
thirty-nine, when his blessed Majesty"--

"How, sir!" interrupted the Independent, in a voice of thunder, "dost
thou speak of Charles Stewart as blessing, or blessed?--beware the
proclamation to that effect."

"I meant no harm," answered the keeper, suppressing his disposition to
make a harsher reply. "My business is with bolts and bucks, not with
titles and state affairs. But yet, whatever may have happed since, that
poor King was followed with blessings enough from Woodstock, for he left
a glove full of broad pieces for the poor of the place"--

"Peace, friend," said the Independent; "I will think thee else one of
those besotted and blinded Papists, who hold, that bestowing of alms is
an atonement and washing away of the wrongs and oppressions which have
been wrought by the almsgiver. Thou sayest, then, these were the
apartments of Charles Stewart?"

"And of his father, James, before him, and Elizabeth, before _him_, and
bluff King Henry, who builded that wing, before them all."

"And there, I suppose, the knight and his daughter dwelt?"

"No," replied Joceline; "Sir Henry Lee had too much reverence for--for
things which are now thought worth no reverence at all--Besides, the
state-rooms are unaired, and in indifferent order, since of late years.
The Knight Ranger's apartment lies by that passage to the left."

"And whither goes yonder stair, which seems both to lead upwards and
downwards?"

"Upwards," replied the keeper, "it leads to many apartments, used for
various purposes, of sleeping, and other accommodation. Downwards, to
the kitchen, offices, and vaults of the castle, which, at this time of
the evening, you cannot see without lights."

"We will to the apartments of your knight, then," said the Independent.
"Is there fitting accommodation there?"

"Such as has served a person of condition, whose lodging is now worse
appointed," answered the honest keeper, his bile rising so fast that he
added, in a muttering and inaudible tone, "so it may well serve a
crop-eared knave like thee."

He acted as the usher, however, and led on towards the ranger's
apartments.

This suite opened by a short passage from the hall, secured at time of
need by two oaken doors, which could be fastened by large bars of the
same, that were drawn out of the wall, and entered into square holes,
contrived for their reception on the other side of the portal. At the
end of this passage, a small ante-room received them, into which opened
the sitting apartment of the good knight--which, in the style of the
time, might have been termed a fair summer parlour--lighted by two oriel
windows, so placed as to command each of them a separate avenue, leading
distant and deep into the forest. The principal ornament of the
apartment, besides two or three family portraits of less interest, was a
tall full-length picture, that hung above the chimney-piece, which, like
that in the hall, was of heavy stone-work, ornamented with carved
scutcheons, emblazoned with various devices. The portrait was that of a
man about fifty years of age, in complete plate armour, and painted in
the harsh and dry manner of Holbein--probably, indeed, the work of that
artist, as the dates corresponded. The formal and marked angles, points
and projections of the armour, were a good subject for the harsh pencil
of that early school. The face of the knight was, from the fading of the
colours, pale and dim, like that of some being from the other world, yet
the lines expressed forcibly pride and exultation.

He pointed with his leading-staff, or truncheon, to the background,
where, in such perspective as the artist possessed, were depicted the
remains of a burning church, or monastery, and four or five soldiers, in
red cassocks, bearing away in triumph what seemed a brazen font or
laver. Above their heads might be traced in scroll, "_Lee Victor sic
voluit_." Right opposite to the picture, hung, in a niche in the wall, a
complete set of tilting armour, the black and gold colours, and
ornaments of which exactly corresponded with those exhibited in the
portrait.

The picture was one of those which, from something marked in the
features and expression, attract the observation even of those who are
ignorant of art. The Independent looked at it until a smile passed
transiently over his clouded brow. Whether he smiled to see the grim old
cavalier employed in desecrating a religious house--(an occupation much
conforming to the practice of his own sect)--whether he smiled in
contempt of the old painter's harsh and dry mode of working--or whether
the sight of this remarkable portrait revived some other ideas, the
under-keeper could not decide.

The smile passed away in an instant, as the soldier looked to the oriel
windows. The recesses within them were raised a step or two from the
wall. In one was placed a walnut-tree reading-desk, and a huge stuffed
arm-chair, covered with Spanish leather. A little cabinet stood beside,
with some of its shuttles and drawers open, displaying hawks-bells,
dog-whistles, instruments for trimming falcons' feathers, bridle-bits of
various constructions, and other trifles connected with silvan sport.

The other little recess was differently furnished. There lay some
articles of needle-work on a small table, besides a lute, with a book
having some airs written down in it, and a frame for working embroidery.
Some tapestry was displayed around the recess, with more attention to
ornament than was visible in the rest of the apartment; the arrangement
of a few bow-pots, with such flowers as the fading season afforded,
showed also the superintendence of female taste.

Tomkins cast an eye of careless regard upon these subjects of female
occupation, then stepped into the farther window, and began to turn the
leaves of a folio, which lay open on the reading-desk, apparently with
some interest. Joceline, who had determined to watch his motions without
interfering with them, was standing at some distance in dejected
silence, when a door behind the tapestry suddenly opened, and a pretty
village maid tripped out with a napkin in her hand, as if she had been
about some household duty.

"How now, Sir Impudence?" she said to Joceline in a smart tone; "what do
you here prowling about the apartments when the master is not at home?"

But instead of the answer which perhaps she expected, Joceline Joliffe
cast a mournful glance towards the soldier in the oriel window, as if to
make what he said fully intelligible, and replied with a dejected
appearance and voice, "Alack, my pretty Phoebe, there come those here
that have more right or might than any of us, and will use little
ceremony in coming when they will, and staying while they please."

He darted another glance at Tomkins, who still seemed busy with the book
before him, then sidled close to the astonished girl, who had continued
looking alternately at the keeper and at the stranger, as if she had
been unable to understand the words of the first, or to comprehend the
meaning of the second being present.

"Go," whispered Joliffe, approaching his mouth so near her cheek, that
his breath waved the curls of her hair; "go, my dearest Phoebe, trip it
as fast as a fawn down to my lodge--I will soon be there, and"--

"Your lodge, indeed" said Phoebe; "you are very bold, for a poor
kill-buck that never frightened any thing before save a dun deer--_Your_
lodge, indeed!--I am like to go there, I think." "Hush, hush! Phoebe--
here is no time for jesting. Down to my hut, I say, like a deer, for the
knight and Mrs. Alice are both there, and I fear will not return hither
again.--All's naught, girl--and our evil days are come at last with a
vengeance--we are fairly at bay and fairly hunted down."

"Can this be, Joceline?" said the poor girl, turning to the keeper with
an expression of fright in her countenance, which she had hitherto
averted in rural coquetry.

"As sure, my dearest Phoebe, as"--

The rest of the asseveration was lost in Phoebe's ear, so closely did
the keeper's lips approach it; and if they approached so very near as to
touch her cheek, grief, like impatience, hath its privileges, and poor
Phoebe had enough of serious alarm to prevent her from demurring upon
such a trifle.

But no trifle was the approach of Joceline's lips to Phoebe's pretty
though sunburnt cheek, in the estimation of the Independent, who, a
little before the object of Joceline's vigilance, had been more lately
in his turn the observer of the keeper's demeanour, so soon as the
interview betwixt Phoebe and him had become so interesting. And when he
remarked the closeness of Joceline's argument, he raised his voice to a
pitch of harshness that would have rivalled that of an ungreased and
rusty saw, and which at once made Joceline and Phoebe spring six feet
apart, each in contrary directions, and if Cupid was of the party, must
have sent him out at the window like it wild duck flying from a
culverin. Instantly throwing himself into the attitude of a preacher and
a reprover of vice, "How now!" he exclaimed, "shameless and impudent as
you are!--What--chambering and wantoning in our very presence!--How--
would you play your pranks before the steward of the Commissioners of
the High Court of Parliament, as ye would in a booth at the fulsome
fair, or amidst the trappings and tracings of a profane dancing-school,
where the scoundrel minstrels make their ungodly weapons to squeak,
'Kiss and be kind, the fiddler's blind?'--But here," he said, dealing a
perilous thump upon the volume--"Here is the King and high priest of
those vices and follies!--Here is he, whom men of folly profanely call
nature's miracle!--Here is he, whom princes chose for their
cabinet-keeper, and whom maids of honour take for their bed-fellow!--
Here is the prime teacher of fine words, foppery and folly--Here!"--
(dealing another thump upon the volume--and oh! revered of the
Roxburghe, it was the first folio--beloved of the Bannatyne, it was
Hemmings and Condel--it was the _editio princeps_)--"On thee," he
continued--"on thee, William Shakspeare, I charge whate'er of such
lawless idleness and immodest folly hath defiled the land since thy
day!"

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