The next evening the mummers were assembled in the same spot, awaiting
the entrance of the Turkish Knight.
"Twenty minutes after eight by the Quiet Woman, and Charley not come."
"Ten minutes past by Blooms-End."
"It wants ten minutes to, by Grandfer Cantle's watch."
"And 'tis five minutes past by the captain's clock."
On Egdon there was no absolute hour of the day. The time at any
moment was a number of varying doctrines professed by the different
hamlets, some of them having originally grown up from a common root,
and then become divided by secession, some having been alien from the
beginning. West Egdon believed in Blooms-End time, East Egdon in the
time of the Quiet Woman Inn. Grandfer Cantle's watch had numbered
many followers in years gone by, but since he had grown older faiths
were shaken. Thus, the mummers having gathered hither from scattered
points each came with his own tenets on early and late; and they
waited a little longer as a compromise.
Eustacia had watched the assemblage through the hole; and seeing that
now was the proper moment to enter, she went from the "linhay" and
boldly pulled the bobbin of the fuel-house door. Her grandfather was
safe at the Quiet Woman.
"Here's Charley at last! How late you be, Charley."
"'Tis not Charley," said the Turkish Knight from within his visor.
"'Tis a cousin of Miss Vye's, come to take Charley's place from
curiosity. He was obliged to go and look for the heath-croppers that
have got into the meads, and I agreed to take his place, as he knew he
couldn't come back here again tonight. I know the part as well as he."
Her graceful gait, elegant figure, and dignified manner in general won
the mummers to the opinion that they had gained by the exchange, if
the newcomer were perfect in his part.
"It don't matter--if you be not too young," said Saint George.
Eustacia's voice had sounded somewhat more juvenile and fluty than
Charley's.
"I know every word of it, I tell you," said Eustacia decisively. Dash
being all that was required to carry her triumphantly through, she
adopted as much as was necessary. "Go ahead, lads, with the try-over.
I'll challenge any of you to find a mistake in me."
The play was hastily rehearsed, whereupon the other mummers were
delighted with the new knight. They extinguished the candles at
half-past eight, and set out upon the heath in the direction of Mrs.
Yeobright's house at Bloom's-End.
There was a slight hoar-frost that night, and the moon, though not
more than half full, threw a spirited and enticing brightness upon
the fantastic figures of the mumming band, whose plumes and ribbons
rustled in their walk like autumn leaves. Their path was not over
Rainbarrow now, but down a valley which left that ancient elevation
a little to the east. The bottom of the vale was green to a width of
ten yards or thereabouts, and the shining facets of frost upon the
blades of grass seemed to move on with the shadows of those they
surrounded. The masses of furze and heath to the right and left were
dark as ever; a mere half-moon was powerless to silver such sable
features as theirs.
Half-an-hour of walking and talking brought them to the spot in the
valley where the grass riband widened and led down to the front of
the house. At sight of the place Eustacia, who had felt a few passing
doubts during her walk with the youths, again was glad that the
adventure had been undertaken. She had come out to see a man who
might possibly have the power to deliver her soul from a most deadly
oppression. What was Wildeve? Interesting, but inadequate. Perhaps
she would see a sufficient hero tonight.
As they drew nearer to the front of the house the mummers became aware
that music and dancing were briskly flourishing within. Every now
and then a long low note from the serpent, which was the chief wind
instrument played at these times, advanced further into the heath than
the thin treble part, and reached their ears alone; and next a more
than usually loud tread from a dancer would come the same way. With
nearer approach these fragmentary sounds became pieced together,
and were found to be the salient points of the tune called "Nancy's
Fancy."
He was there, of course. Who was she that he danced with? Perhaps
some unknown woman, far beneath herself in culture, was by that most
subtle of lures sealing his fate this very instant. To dance with a
man is to concentrate a twelve-month's regulation fire upon him in the
fragment of an hour. To pass to courtship without acquaintance, to
pass to marriage without courtship, is a skipping of terms reserved
for those alone who tread this royal road. She would see how his heart
lay by keen observation of them all.
The enterprising lady followed the mumming company through the gate
in the white paling, and stood before the open porch. The house was
encrusted with heavy thatchings, which dropped between the upper
windows; the front, upon which the moonbeams directly played, had
originally been white; but a huge pyracanth now darkened the greater
portion.
It became at once evident that the dance was proceeding immediately
within the surface of the door, no apartment intervening. The brushing
of skirts and elbows, sometimes the bumping of shoulders, could be
heard against the very panels. Eustacia, though living within two
miles of the place, had never seen the interior of this quaint old
habitation. Between Captain Vye and the Yeobrights there had never
existed much acquaintance, the former having come as a stranger and
purchased the long-empty house at Mistover Knap not long before
the death of Mrs. Yeobright's husband; and with that event and the
departure of her son such friendship as had grown up became quite
broken off.
"Is there no passage inside the door, then?" asked Eustacia as they
stood within the porch.
"No," said the lad who played the Saracen. "The door opens right upon
the front sitting-room, where the spree's going on."
"So that we cannot open the door without stopping the dance."
"That's it. Here we must bide till they have done, for they always
bolt the back door after dark."
"They won't be much longer," said Father Christmas.
This assertion, however, was hardly borne out by the event. Again the
instruments ended the tune; again they recommenced with as much fire
and pathos as if it were the first strain. The air was now that one
without any particular beginning, middle, or end, which perhaps, among
all the dances which throng an inspired fiddler's fancy, best conveys
the idea of the interminable--the celebrated "Devil's Dream." The
fury of personal movement that was kindled by the fury of the notes
could be approximately imagined by these outsiders under the moon,
from the occasional kicks of toes and heels against the door, whenever
the whirl round had been of more than customary velocity.
The first five minutes of listening was interesting enough to the
mummers. The five minutes extended to ten minutes, and these to a
quarter of an hour; but no signs of ceasing were audible in the lively
Dream. The bumping against the door, the laughter, the stamping, were
all as vigorous as ever, and the pleasure in being outside lessened
considerably.
"Why does Mrs. Yeobright give parties of this sort?" Eustacia asked,
a little surprised to hear merriment so pronounced.
"It is not one of her bettermost parlour-parties. She's asked the
plain neighbours and workpeople without drawing any lines, just to
give 'em a good supper and such like. Her son and she wait upon the
folks."
"I see," said Eustacia.
"'Tis the last strain, I think," said Saint George, with his ear to
the panel. "A young man and woman have just swung into this corner,
and he's saying to her, 'Ah, the pity; 'tis over for us this time, my
own.'"
"Thank God!" said the Turkish Knight, stamping, and taking from the
wall the conventional lance that each of the mummers carried. Her
boots being thinner than those of the young men, the hoar had damped
her feet and made them cold.
"Upon my song 'tis another ten minutes for us," said the Valiant
Soldier, looking through the keyhole as the tune modulated into
another without stopping. "Grandfer Cantle is standing in this
corner, waiting his turn."
"'Twon't be long; 'tis a six-handed reel," said the Doctor.
"Why not go in, dancing or no? They sent for us," said the Saracen.
"Certainly not," said Eustacia authoritatively, as she paced smartly
up and down from door to gate to warm herself. "We should burst into
the middle of them and stop the dance, and that would be unmannerly."
"He thinks himself somebody because he has had a bit more schooling
than we," said the Doctor.
"You may go to the deuce!" said Eustacia.
There was a whispered conversation between three or four of them, and
one turned to her.
"Will you tell us one thing?" he said, not without gentleness. "Be
you Miss Vye? We think you must be."
"You may think what you like," said Eustacia slowly. "But honourable
lads will not tell tales upon a lady."
"We'll say nothing, miss. That's upon our honour."
"Thank you," she replied.
At this moment the fiddles finished off with a screech, and the
serpent emitted a last note that nearly lifted the roof. When, from
the comparative quiet within, the mummers judged that the dancers had
taken their seats, Father Christmas advanced, lifted the latch, and
put his head inside the door.
"Ah, the mummers, the mummers!" cried several guests at once. "Clear
a space for the mummers."
Hump-backed Father Christmas then made a complete entry, swinging his
huge club, and in a general way clearing the stage for the actors
proper, while he informed the company in smart verse that he was come,
welcome or welcome not; concluding his speech with
"Make room, make room, my gallant boys,
And give us space to rhyme;
We've come to show Saint George's play,
Upon this Christmas time."
The guests were now arranging themselves at one end of the room, the
fiddler was mending a string, the serpent-player was emptying his
mouthpiece, and the play began. First of those outside the Valiant
Soldier entered, in the interest of Saint George--
"Here come I, the Valiant Soldier;
Slasher is my name;"
and so on. This speech concluded with a challenge to the infidel,
at the end of which it was Eustacia's duty to enter as the Turkish
Knight. She, with the rest who were not yet on, had hitherto remained
in the moonlight which streamed under the porch. With no apparent
effort or backwardness she came in, beginning--
"Here come I, a Turkish Knight,
Who learnt in Turkish land to fight;
I'll fight this man with courage bold:
If his blood's hot I'll make it cold!"
During her declamation Eustacia held her head erect, and spoke as
roughly as she could, feeling pretty secure from observation. But
the concentration upon her part necessary to prevent discovery, the
newness of the scene, the shine of the candles, and the confusing
effect upon her vision of the ribboned visor which hid her features,
left her absolutely unable to perceive who were present as spectators.
On the further side of a table bearing candles she could faintly
discern faces, and that was all.
Meanwhile Jim Starks as the Valiant Soldier had come forward, and,
with a glare upon the Turk, replied--
"If, then, thou art that Turkish Knight,
Draw out thy sword, and let us fight!"
And fight they did; the issue of the combat being that the Valiant
Soldier was slain by a preternaturally inadequate thrust from
Eustacia, Jim, in his ardour for genuine histrionic art, coming down
like a log upon the stone floor with force enough to dislocate his
shoulder. Then, after more words from the Turkish Knight, rather too
faintly delivered, and statements that he'd fight Saint George and
all his crew, Saint George himself magnificently entered with the
well-known flourish--
"Here come I, Saint George, the valiant man,
With naked sword and spear in hand,
Who fought the dragon and brought him to the slaughter,
And by this won fair Sabra, the King of Egypt's daughter;
What mortal man would dare to stand
Before me with my sword in hand?"
This was the lad who had first recognized Eustacia; and when she now,
as the Turk, replied with suitable defiance, and at once began the
combat, the young fellow took especial care to use his sword as gently
as possible. Being wounded, the Knight fell upon one knee, according
to the direction. The Doctor now entered, restored the Knight by
giving him a draught from the bottle which he carried, and the
fight was again resumed, the Turk sinking by degrees until quite
overcome--dying as hard in this venerable drama as he is said to do at
the present day.
This gradual sinking to the earth was, in fact, one reason why
Eustacia had thought that the part of the Turkish Knight, though not
the shortest, would suit her best. A direct fall from upright to
horizontal, which was the end of the other fighting characters, was
not an elegant or decorous part for a girl. But it was easy to die
like a Turk, by a dogged decline.
Eustacia was now among the number of the slain, though not on the
floor, for she had managed to sink into a sloping position against the
clock-case, so that her head was well elevated. The play proceeded
between Saint George, the Saracen, the Doctor, and Father Christmas;
and Eustacia, having no more to do, for the first time found leisure
to observe the scene round, and to search for the form that had drawn
her hither.