THE GLUTTON MASS.
Breakfast was over, and yet, between the lower edge of the sun and the
gentle sweeping line of the hills above which he was rising, not more
than two hand-breadths of golden sky could be seen; for our ancestors
were still, at that period, a matutinal people, rising generally
before the peep of day, and hearing the birds' first song. On a large,
smooth green, at the back of the Hall, yet within the limits of the
park by which it was surrounded, with Dunbury Hill and the lines of
the ancient invaders' camp at the top, rising still grey and cold
before their eyes, the group which we have described in the second
chapter, with the exception of the Abbot, was assembled to practise or
to witness some of the sports of the day. The ladies, having their
heads now covered with the strange and somewhat cumbrous coifs then
worn, stood upon a stone-paved path, watching the proceedings of their
male companions; and with them appeared good Sir Philip Beauchamp, in
a long furred gown, with Hal of Hadnock, talking gaily to Catherine,
on his right hand.
"Well pitched, Hugh of Clatford," cried the old knight; "well pitched;
a toise beyond Sir Simeon."
"I will beat him by two," exclaimed Richard of Woodville, taking the
heavy iron bar which they were engaged in casting. "Here goes!" and,
after balancing it for a moment in his hand, he tossed it high in the
air, sending it several yards beyond any one who had yet played their
part.
"Will you not try your arm, noble sir?" asked Sir Philip, turning to
Hal of Hadnock.
"Willingly, willingly," replied the guest; "but Sir Henry Dacre has
not yet shown his skill."
"He will not do much," said Catherine Beauchamp, in a low tone.
"Fie, Kate," cried Isabel, who overheard her; "that is untrue, as well
as unkind."
As she spoke, Dacre took the bar, which had been brought back by one
of the pages, and, without pausing to poise it carefully, as the rest
had done, cast it within a foot or two of the spot which it had
reached when sent from the hand of Woodville.
Hal of Hadnock then advanced, looking round with a gay laugh to the
ladies, and saying, "I am upon my mettle before such bright eyes.
Here, boy, give me the bar."
The page placed it in his hand; and, setting his right foot upon the
mark where the others had stood, he swung himself gracefully backward
and forward on one leg, for a moment, and then tossed the bar in air.
So light, so easy, was his whole movement, that no one expected to see
the iron go half the distance it had done before; but, to the surprise
of all, it flew from his hand as if expelled from some of the military
engines of the day, and, striking the ground full twenty paces farther
than it had yet done, bounded up off the sward and rolled on beyond.
"Well delivered! well delivered!" exclaimed Sir Philip Beauchamp; and
the men and boys around clapped their bands and cried "Hurrah!"
"I will send it farther or break my arm," cried Richard of Woodville.
"If you do, I will beat you by a toise," replied Hal of Hadnock,
laughing. But they all strove in vain; no one could toss the bar
within several yards of the stranger's mark.
"And now for a leaping bar," cried Hal of Hadnock. "Oh! there stands
one I see by the trees. Away, Woodville! place it how high you will."
"I will beat you at that, noble sir," said young Hugh of Clatford, who
was reported the best jumper and runner in the country.
"And should you do so, I will give you a quiver of arrows with
peacocks' feathers," rejoined the gentleman. "Now, take it in turns, I
will leap last."
Sir Simeon of Roydon declined the sport, however, and Sir Harry Dacre
stood back; but Clatford, and others of the old knight's retainers,
took their stations, as well as Richard of Woodville; and the bar
having been placed high in the notches, each took a run and leapt;
some touching it with their feet, some clearing it clean.
Hal of Hadnock then gave a gay smile to his fair companions, with whom
he had for the time resumed his place; and advancing at a walk, as if
to put the pole up higher, he quickened his pace, at the distance of
three or four steps, and cleared it by several inches.
"You try him higher, Hugh," cried Richard of Woodville, laughing; "I
have done my best, good faith."
"Where will you put it?" asked the traveller, turning to the young
retainer of the house.
"Oh, at the highest notch," answered Hugh of Clatford, lifting up the
bar; "can you do that, sir?"
"I will see," replied Hal of Hadnock; "stand back a bit," and, taking
a better start, he ran, and went over, with an inch to spare.
Poor Hugh was less fortunate, however, for though he nearly
accomplished the leap, he tipped the bar with his heel, cast it down,
and overthrowing his own balance, fell upon his face, amidst the
laughter of his comrades. He rose somewhat abashed, with bloody marks
of his contact with the ground; but Hal of Hadnock laid his hand
kindly on his arm, saying,
"Thou art a nimble fellow, on my life. I did not know there was a man
in England could go so near me, as thou hast done. Here, my friend,
thy sheaf of arrows is well won," and he poured some pieces of gold
into his hand.
The words were more gratifying to the good yeoman than the money; and
bowing low, he answered, "I was sure you were no ordinary leaper, sir,
for few can go higher than I can."
"Oh, I am called Deersfoot," replied Hal of Hadnock, laughing; "get in
and wash your face; for you have done well, and need not be ashamed to
show it."
Some other sports succeeded; but the stranger took no further part
therein, resuming his place by Catherine's side, apparently greatly
smitten with her charms. The weak, vain girl, flattered by his
attention, gave way to all the coquetry of her nature, made her fine
eyes use their whole artillery of glances, whispered, and smiled,
spoke soft, and sometimes sighed; till the good old knight, Sir
Philip, not the best pleased with his niece's demeanour, broke off the
amusements of the morning, exclaiming, "To the mass! to the mass,
sirs! It is high time that we were on our way."
The sports, then, immediately ceased; and passing through the great
hall, the court-yard, and the gates, the whole party, arranged two and
two, walked on amidst the neighbouring wood towards the parish church.
Hal of Hadnock kept his place by Catherine's side, and Sir Harry Dacre
followed with Isabel; but, somewhat to Richard of Woodville's
annoyance, Sir Philip Beauchamp retained Mary Markham to himself,
while his nephew and Sir Simeon of Roydon came after, neither,
perhaps, in the best of humours.
The noble party found the church crowded with the villagers, every
woman having her basket with her, covered with a clean white napkin,
but apparently crammed as full as it well could be; and Hal of Hadnock
remembered that, as his companion had said the night before, this was
one of the days appointed for those festivals which were then called,
Glutton masses.
When the service was over, old Sir Philip advanced to leave the
building with his household, not approving the disgraceful scene that
was about to take place; but Hal of Hadnock whispered to his companion
of the road,--
"Let us stay and see. I have never witnessed one of these feats of
gormandizing."
"Well, we shall save the credit of the family," replied Richard of
Woodville, in a low tone; "for the good priest looks upon my uncle as
half a Lollard, because he will not stay in the church and eat till he
bursts, in honour of the Blessed Virgin."
Hal of Hadnock and his new friend accordingly lingered behind; and
hardly had the old knight passed through the doors, when a scene of
confusion took place quite indescribable. Every one brought forward
his basket. Some who had lost their store, hunted for it among the
rest. Some hurried forward to present, what they considered, very
choice viands to the priest. Many a pannier was overturned; and
chickens, capons, huge lumps of meat, and leathern bottles of wine,
mead, and ale, rolled upon the pavement. One or two of the latter got
uncorked, and the contents streamed about amongst the napkins, which
several of the women were spreading forth upon the ground. Knives were
brandished; thumbs and fingers were cut; one man nearly poked out the
eye of his better half in giving her assistance, and was heartily
cuffed for his pains; and a fat chorister slipped in consequence of
putting his foot upon a fine trout dressed in jelly, and fell
prostrate on his back in the midst. The people roared, the priest
himself chuckled, and was a long time ere he could get his flock, or
his countenance, into due order.
A song to the Virgin was then sung by way of grace; and every one fell
to, with an intention of outdoing his neighbour. To Richard of
Woodville and his companion were assigned the places of honour near
the clergy; and the priest, looking well pleased down the long aisle,
literally encumbered with the preparations for excess, whispered to
the old knight's nephew, with an air of triumph,--
"Well, I think we shall outdo Wallop this time, at least."
"Undoubtedly," replied Richard of Woodville, gravely; "but I fear you
will think my friend and me no better than heathens, having brought
nothing with us either to eat or drink."
"Poo! there is plenty--there is plenty," replied the good man, "and to
spare. Eat as hard as we can, we shall be scarcely able to get through
it; and it is fitting, too, that something be left for the poor. We
will all do our best, however, and thank you for your help."
The onslaught was tremendous. One would have thought that the
congregation had fasted for a month, so eagerly, so rapidly did they
devour the provisions before them; and then they took to their bottles
and drinking-horns, and when they had assuaged their thirst,
recommenced the attack upon the meat with renewed vigour.
Richard of Woodville, and Hal of Hadnock, had soon seen enough of the
Glutton mass; and, at a hint from his companion, the former took an
opportunity of whispering to the priest,--
"We must go, I fear; lest my uncle be angry at our absence."
"Well, well," said the worthy clerk, "if it must be so, we cannot help
it; but 'tis a sad pity, Master Richard, that so good a man as the
Knight of Dunbury, should be such a discourager of pious ordinances."
"It is, indeed," answered Woodville, in a solemn tone; "but all men
have their prejudices; and you know, father, he loves the Church."
"Ay, that he does, that he does," replied the other, heartily; "he
sent me two fat bucks last summer."
"Oh, yes, he loves the Church, he loves the Church!" rejoined
Woodville, and gliding quietly down the side aisle, so that he might
not disturb any of the congregation in their devout exercise of the
jaws, he left the building, accompanied by Hal of Hadnock.
Both laughed as soon as they were out of the church; but the guest of
Sir Philip Beauchamp soon fell into deep thought; and after walking
forward for a little distance, he observed, "It is strange, how men
are inclined to make religion subservient to all their appetites. What
are such things as these? what are many of our solemn customs, but the
self-same idolatrous rites practised by the ancient pagans, who
deified their passions and their follies, and then took the simplest
means of worshipping them?--What can be the cause of such perversity?"
"The devil! the devil!" answered Richard of Woodville; "he who leads
every one on from one wickedness to another; who first teaches man to
infringe God's commandment, in order to gratify some desire, and then,
as that desire grows fat and strong upon indulgence, first persuades
us that its gratification is pleasing to God, and in the end makes us
worship it, as a god."
"But yet these same good folks fast and mortify themselves at certain
times," said Hal of Hadnock; "and then carouse and revel, as if they
had won a right to excess."
"To make up for lost time," said Woodville; "but the truth is, it is
like a man playing at cross and pile, who, when he has lost one stake,
tries to clear off the score against him by doubling the next. We have
all sins enough to atone for; and we play the penance against the
indulgence, and the indulgence against the penance. Give me the man
who always mortifies himself in all that is wrong; who fasts from
anger, malice, backbiting, lying, and uncharitableness; who denies
himself, at all times, excess in anything, and holds a festival every
day, with gratitude to God for that which he, in his bounty, is
pleased to give him. But, after all, it is very natural that these
corruptions should take place, even in a faith like ours. Depend upon
it, the purer a religion is the more strong will be the efforts of
Sathanus to pervert it; so that men may walk along his broad
high-road, while they think they are taking the way to everlasting
salvation."
"There is truth in that, good Richard," replied his companion; "but I
fear me, you have caught some of the doctrines of the Lollards, of
whom you were speaking."
"Not a whit," answered Woodville; "I am a good catholic Christian; but
I may see the evils which men have brought into the Church, without
thinking ill of the Church itself; just as when looking at the Abbey
down yonder, I see that a foolish architect from France has changed
two of the fine old round arches, which were built in King Stephen's
time, to smart pointed windows, all bedizened with I don't know what,
without thinking the Abbey anything but a very fine building,
notwithstanding."
Although Richard of Woodville would not admit that any impression had
been made upon him by the preaching of the Lollards, certain it is,
that the teaching of Wicliff and his disciples had led men generally
to look somewhat narrowly into the superstitious practices of the day,
and that the minds of many were imbued with the spirit of their
doctrines, who, either from prejudice, timidity, or conviction, would
not adopt the doctrines themselves. Nor was the effect transitory; for
it lasted till, and prepared the way for, the Reformation.
In a thoughtful mood, both the young gentlemen proceeded on their way
through the wood; and, on their arrival at the hall, found Sir Philip
Beauchamp, and the rest of his family and guests, already seated at
the early dinner of those days. The old knight received their excuses
in good part, laughed at Hal of Hadnock's curiosity to see a Glutton
mass, and insisted he should sit down and finish his meal with him.
"Had you been at Andover yesterday," he said, "you might have seen
another strange sight: the Mayor sit in the stocks, and a justice on
either side of him."
"Indeed!" cried Hal of Hadnock, seriously; "that were a strange sight
to see. Pray, on whose authority was it done? and what was the crime
these magistrates committed?"
"Good truth, I know not," answered Sir Philip. "A party of wild young
men, they say, did it; and, as for the crime, it is not specified:
but, on my life, it was justice, though of a rash kind; for Master
Havering, the Mayor, has worked well for such a punishment; though,
belike, the hands that put him in were not the best fitted for the
office."
"I should think not, certainly," replied Hal of Hadnock, in the same
grave tone, and with an immovable countenance; though Richard of
Woodville, who had contrived to seat himself next to Mary Markham, on
the other side of the board, gave him a merry glance of the eye, as if
he suspected more than he chose to say.
When the meal was over, which was not speedily, Hal of Hadnock
proposed to take his departure; but Sir Philip, with all courtesy,
besought him, at least, to stay till the afternoon meal, or supper
(then usually served at four o'clock), with the hospitable intent of
urging him afterwards to spend another night under his roof; and, in
the meantime, he promised to show him his armoury, his horses, and his
library; though, to say the truth, the suits of rich armour were more
numerous than the books, and the horses more in number than the people
who frequented the library. Hal of Hadnock, for reasons of his own,
accepted the invitation; and Richard of Woodville, though his
approaching departure was already announced, agreed to stay, in order
to bear him company when he went.
I will not lead the patient reader through all the rooms of the hall,
or detain him with a description of the armoury and its contents, or
carry him to the stable, and show him all the horses of the good old
knight, Sir Philip, from the battle-horse, which had borne him through
many a stricken field in former days, to the ambling palfrey of his
daughter Isabel. Hal of Hadnock, indeed, submitted to all this with a
good grace; for he was a kind-hearted and considerate person, and
little doubted that his friend Richard of Woodville was employing the
precious moments to the best advantage with fair Mary Markham. To all
these sights, with the discussion of sundry knotty points, regarding
shields, and pallets, and unibers, the properties of horses, and the
form and extent of the manifaire, were given well nigh two hours; and,
when Hal of Hadnock and his noble host returned to the great hall,
they found it tenanted alone by Catherine Beauchamp and Sir Simeon of
Roydon.
Richard and Dacre, Isabel and Mary, the lady said, were gone to walk
together in the park; but she had waited, she added, with a coquettish
air, thinking it but courtesy to give her uncle's honoured guest a
companion, if he chose to join them.
So direct an invitation was, of course, not to be refused by Hal of
Hadnock; and he thanked her with high-coloured gallantry for her
consideration.
"Do you go too, Sir Simeon?" inquired Sir Philip Beauchamp; but the
courtly knight replied that he had only waited to take his leave; as
he had business to transact in the neighbourhood, and must be home ere
night. Before Catherine and her companion set out, however, Sir Simeon
drew her aside, as the relationship in which she stood towards him
seemed to justify, and spoke to her for a moment eagerly. A few of his
words caught the quick ear of Hal of Hadnock, as he stood talking to
the old knight, who took care to impress him with the knowledge, that
his fair niece was fully betrothed to Sir Harry Dacre; and though
those words were, apparently, of small import, Hal of Hadnock
remembered them long after.
"I will tell you all, if you come," replied Sir Simeon, to some
question the lady had asked; "but mind, I warn you.--Will you come?"
"I do not know," answered Catherine, with a toss of the head; "it is
your business to wait and see."
"Wait I cannot," rejoined the knight; "see I will;" and the lady,
turning to her uncle and his companion, accompanied the latter through
a long passage at the back of the hall, to the door which led to the
ground where the sports of the morning had taken place.
The park of Dunbury was very like that described by old Chaucer:--
'----A parke enclosed with a wall
la compace rounde, and by a gate small,
Who so that would he frelie mighten gone
Into this parke, ywalled with grene stone.
* * * * *
The soile was plain, and smoth, and wondir soft,
All overspread with tapettes that Nature
Had made herself, covirid eke aloft
With bowis grene, the flouris for to cure,
That in ther beautie thei mai long endure.'--
The walks around were numerous and somewhat intricate; and whether
fair Catherine Beauchamp knew or not the direction that her friends
had taken, she certainly did not follow the path most likely to lead
to where they really were; but, as she and Hal of Hadnock walked
along, she employed the time to the best advantage in carrying on the
siege of his heart. He, for his part, humoured her to the full, having
a firm conviction that it would be far better, both for Sir Henry
Dacre and herself, that the imperfect marriage between them should be
annulled at their mutual desire, than remain a chain upon them, only
increasing in weight. It must not, indeed, be supposed that he took
any very deep interest in the matter; but, as it fell in his way, he
was willing enough to forward what he believed to be a noble-minded
man's desire for emancipation from a very bitter sort of thraldom; and
it is seldom an unpleasant or laborious task for a lighthearted man to
sport with a capricious girl. Thus went he on, then, with that mixture
of romantic gallantry and teasing jest, which is of all things the
most exciting to the mind of a coquette, with sufficient admiration to
soothe her vanity, but with not sufficient devotion ever to allow her
to imagine that her triumph is complete. Neither did he let her gain
any advantage; for, though it was evident that she clearly perceived
the name he had assumed was not his own, he gave her no information,
playing with her curiosity without gratifying it.
"But what makes you think," he asked, "that I am other than I seem?
Why should I not be plain Hal of Hadnock, a poor gentleman from the
Welsh marshes?"
"No, no, no," she said, "it is not so. A thousand things prove it:
first, manners, appearance, dress. Why, are you not as fine as my good
cousin a dozen times removed, Sir Simeon of Roydon, the pink of court
gallants?"
"And yet I have heard that he is not as rich as an abbot," replied Hal
of Hadnock.
"No, in truth," answered Catherine; "he is as poor as a verger; and,
like the curlew, carries all his fortune on his back, I believe."
"I suspect not his own fortune only," rejoined her companion, "but a
part of other men's."
"But then your knightly spurs, good sir," continued Kate, returning to
the point; "you must be Sir Hal of Hadnock at the least. Now I never
heard of that name amongst our chivalry; and I am deep read in the
rolls of knighthood."
"Oh, I am newly dubbed," replied the gentleman, laughing; "but you
shall know all some day, lady fair."
"I shall know very soon," answered Catherine; "for Simeon of Roydon
will tell me."
"More, perhaps, than he knows himself," said Hal of Hadnock.
"Oh, he knows well enough," exclaimed Catherine Beauchamp. "He has
already told me, that you are a man of noble birth and high estate,
and promised to speak the name; but I would rather owe it to your
courtesy than his."
"Nay, what would I not do for the love of your bright eyes?" asked Hal
of Hadnock, in a tone half tender, half jesting; "methinks the light
in them, even now, looks like the morning sun reflected from a dewdrop
in a violet. But why should I tell you aught? I have been warned that
you are another's. Out upon such cold contracts, that bind unwilling
hearts together! It is clear, there is no great love in your heart for
this Sir Harry Dacre."
"Not too much to lie comfortably in a hazel nut," answered Catherine.
"Then why do you not ask to have the marriage annulled?" demanded her
companion. "There never yet was bond in which the keen eyes of the
court of Rome could not find a flaw."
"Why, it would grieve his proud heart sadly," replied the lady; "yet I
have often thought of it."
"If he be proud--and so he is," rejoined Hal of Hadnock, "he would
never refuse to consent, however much it might vex him. Well, well,
set yourself free from him, and then you shall know who I am. As for
this fellow Roydon, he knows nothing, and will but lead you wrong; but
were I you, I would be a free woman ere a year were over; and then,
this fair hand were a prize well worth the winning to higher hearts
than a Dacre or a Roydon."
With such conversation they wandered on for some time, without
overtaking the party they had come out to seek. They saw them once at
some distance, indeed, through the overhanging boughs of an opposite
alley just fringed with early leaves; but they did not hurry their
pace, and only met them at length at the door of the hall, as they
were all returning. Sir Henry Dacre was then walking by Isabel's side,
with his arms crossed upon his chest, and his brow sad and stern. As
soon as he saw Catherine and her companion, he fixed his eyes
inquiringly upon her, and seemed to mark her heightened colour, and
somewhat excited look--then fell into thought again; and then laid his
hand upon her arm, saying, "I would speak with you for a moment,
Kate."
"It must not be long," she replied, coldly; "for I have dipped my feet
in the dew, and would fain dry them."
"It shall not be long," answered Sir Henry Dacre; and he remained with
her behind, while the rest entered slowly. Ere they had passed the
door, the anxious ear of Isabel heard high tones without; and, in a
few minutes, as they paused for a moment in the hall, where the
servants were already spreading the board for supper, Sir Henry
entered, with a hasty step.
"My horse to the gate!" he said, addressing one of the attendants.
"At what hour, Sir Knight?" asked the servant.
"Directly!" answered Dacre. "The men can follow. Farewell, dear
Isabel," he continued, turning to Catherine's cousin; "I can stay no
longer.--Farewell, Mary!" He grasped Richard of Woodville's hand, but
said nothing; and with a low and formal bow to Hal of Hadnock, turned
towards the door leading to the court.
Isabel Beauchamp followed him quietly, laid her hand upon his arm, and
spoke eagerly, but in a low tone.
"I cannot, I cannot, Isabel," he replied, aloud. "Dear girl, do not
urge me. I shall forget myself--I shall go mad. Excuse me to your
noble father--farewell!" and opening the large door, he issued forth,
and closed it behind him.
Isabel Beauchamp turned with her eyes full of tears; but passing the
rest silently, as if afraid to speak, she hurried to her own chamber,
wept for a few minutes, and then sought her father.
The supper that day was a grave and silent meal. There was a stern
cloud on old Sir Philip Beauchamp's brow when he came down to the
hall; and, as he took his seat he asked, looking round, "Where is
Catherine?"
"I know not," answered Mary Markham; "but she went to her own chamber
when she came in."
"Shall I seek the lady, sir?" asked one of the retainers of the house,
from the lower part of the table.
"No! let her be," replied the old knight; and then he murmured,
"Perhaps she has still some shame--and if so, it is well."
To Hal of Hadnock his demeanour was courteous, though so grave, that
his guest could not but feel that some share in the disagreeable
event, which had evidently taken place, was attributed to him; and
though he knew that his intention was good, yet, like many another
man, he had reason to feel sorry that he had meddled in other men's
affairs at all. Supper was nearly over, the light was beginning to
wane in the sky, and the stranger was thinking it was time to depart,
when the porter's boy came into the hall, and, approaching Richard of
Woodville, whispered something in his ear.
The young gentleman instantly rose, and went out into the court, but
returned a moment after, and spoke a word to Hal of Hadnock, who
started up, and followed him. In the court they found a man booted and
spurred, and dusty from the road, holding by the bridle a horse, with
one leg bent, and the head bowed down, as if exhausted by long
exercise.
The man instantly uncovered his head, when he saw the gentlemen
appear, and throwing down the bridle, advanced a step, while Hadnock
gave him a quick sign, which he seemed to comprehend.
"Your presence is required immediately, sir," he said, without adding
any name; "your father is ill--very ill--and I have lost some hours in
seeking you. I heard of you, however, at Andover, then at the Abbey,
then at the priest's house in the village, and ventured on here, as
'tis matter of life and death."
"You did right," said Hal of Hadnock, briefly, but with deep anxiety
on his face. "Ill, say you? very ill? and I away!--Why, I left him
better!"
"One of those fits again, sir," answered the man. "For an hour he was
thought dead, but had regained his speech when I set out; yet the
leeches much fear----"
"I come! I come!" answered Hal of Hadnock. "Speed on before; I will be
in London ere day-break. Change your horse often, and lose no time.
Buy a stout horse wherever you can find one, and have him ready for me
on Murrel Green. Away, good fellow! Say that I am coming!--Richard, I
must go at once."
"Well, I will with you, sir," replied Richard of Woodville; "you go to
bid my good uncle adieu. I will order out the horses."
"So be it," answered Hal of Hadnock; "you shall be my guide, for I
must not miss my way;"--and, after giving the messenger some money, he
turned, and re-entered the hall.