As darkness fell, Britomart heard the sound of a shrill trumpet, the
sign of an approaching battle or a victory gained. This did not in the
least daunt her courage, but rather strengthened it, while she expected
each moment to see some foe appear.
Then arose a hideous storm of wind, with thunder and lightning, and an
earthquake as if it would shake the foundations of the world. This was
followed by a horrible smell of smoke and sulphur, which filled the
whole place. Yet still the brave Princess was not afraid, but remained
steadfast.
Suddenly a whirlwind swept through the house, banging every door, and
bursting open the iron wicket. Then stepped forth a grave-looking
person, in costly raiment, and bearing in his hand a branch of laurel.
Advancing to the middle of the room, he stood still, as if he had
something to say, and beckoned with his hand to call for silence. After
making various other signs, as if he were explaining some play that was
going on, he softly retired, and then his name could be seen written on
his robe in golden letters—“_Ease_.”
Britomart, still standing, saw all this, and marvelled what his strange
intention could be.
Then through the iron wicket came a joyous band, minstrels and poets
playing and singing the sweetest music, and after them followed a number
of strange figures in curious disguise, marching all in order like a
procession.
The first was _Fancy_, like a lovely boy. His garment was neither silk
nor stuff, but painted plumes, such as wild Indians deck themselves
with. He seemed as vain and light as these same plumes, for he walked
along as if he were dancing, bearing in his hand a great fan, which he
waved to and fro. At his side marched _Desire_. His dress was
extravagant, and his embroidered cap was all awry. He carried in his two
hands some sparks, which he kept so busily blowing that they soon burst
into flame.
Next after these came _Doubt_, in a faded cloak and hood, with wide
sleeves. He glanced sideways out of his mistrustful eyes, and trod
carefully, as if thorns lay in his path; he supported his feeble steps
with a broken reed, which bent whenever he leant hard on it. With
_Doubt_ walked _Danger_, clothed in a ragged bear’s skin, which made him
more dreadful, though his own face was grisly enough, and needed nothing
to make it more so. In one hand was a net, in the other a rusty
blade—Mischief and Mischance. With the one he threatened his foes, with
the other he entrapped his friends.
After Danger walked _Fear_; he was all armed from top to toe, yet even
then did not think himself safe. He was afraid of every shadow, and when
he spied his own arms glittering, or heard them clashing, he fled fast
away. His face was pale as ashes, and he kept his eyes fixed on Danger,
against whom he always bent a brazen shield, which he held in his right
hand.
Side by side with Fear marched _Hope_, a handsome maid, with a cheerful
expression and lovely to see. She was lightly arrayed in silken samite,
and her fair locks were woven up with gold. She always smiled, and in
her hand she held a little phial of dew, from which she sprinkled
favours on any one she chose. She showed a great liking to many people,
but true love to few.
After them, _Dissembling_ and _Suspicion_ marched together, though they
were not in the least alike; for Dissembling was gentle and mild,
courteous to all, and seemingly gracious, well adorned, and handsome.
But all her good points were painted or stolen; her deeds were forged,
her words false. In her hand she always twined two clues of silk.
[Illustration:
“=After all these there marcht a most faire Dame,
Led of two grysie Villains, th’ one Despight,
The other cleped Cruelty by name.=”
]
_Suspicion_ was ugly, ill-favoured, and grim, for ever looking askance
under his sullen eyebrows. While Dissembling constantly smiled at him,
he scowled back at her, showing his nature by his countenance. His
rolling eyes never rested in one place, but wandered all round, for fear
of hidden mischief; he held a screen of latticework in front of his
face, through which he kept peering.
Next him came _Grief_ and _Fury_, fit companions—Grief clad in sable,
hanging his dull head, carrying a pair of pincers, with which he pinched
people to the heart; Fury all in rags, tossing in her right hand a
firebrand. Then followed _Displeasure_, looking heavy and sullen, and
_Pleasure_, cheerful, fresh, and full of gladness. Displeasure had an
angry wasp in a bottle, and Pleasure a honey-laden bee.
After these six couples came a beautiful lady, led by two villains,
_Spite_ and _Cruelty_. She looked pale as death, and very ill, but in
spite of this was most lovely and graceful. Her feeble feet could
scarcely carry her, but the two wretches held her up, and kept urging
her forward.
Then the Tyrant of the Castle appeared—the winged figure of _Love_, whom
Britomart had already seen in the first room as a golden image. He rode
on a ravenous lion, and had unbound his eyes, so that he might gloat
over the distress of the lovely lady, which seemed to please him
greatly. He looked round him with stern disdain, and, surveying his
goodly company, marshalled them in order. Then he shook the darts that
he carried in his right hand and clashed his rainbow-coloured wings, so
that every one was terrified.
Behind him came his three chief attendants, _Reproach_, _Repentance_,
and _Shame_, and after them flocked a rude, confused crowd, who owned
him as master—_Strife_ and _Anger_, _Care_ and _Unthriftiness_, _Loss of
Time_ and _Sorrow_, fickle _Change_, false _Disloyalty_, _Rioting_,
_Poverty_, and, lastly, _Death-with-infamy_.
All these and many other evil followers passed in disguise before
Britomart, and, having thrice marched round the enchanted chamber,
returned to the inner room whence they had come.