Part 24 (1/2)
There was a sharp rustle. Every head in the audience-chamber louted low.
Nick's heart gave a jump--for the Queen was there!
She came with an air that was at once serious and royal, bearing herself haughtily, yet with a certain grace and sprightliness that became her very well. She was quite tall and well made, and her quickly changing face was long and fair, though wrinkled and no longer young. Her complexion was clear and of an olive hue; her nose was a little hooked; her firm lips were thin; and her small black eyes, though keen and bright, were pleasant and merry withal. Her hair was a coppery, tawny red, and false, moreover. In her ears hung two great pearls; and there was a fine small crown studded with diamonds upon her head, beside a necklace of exceeding fine gold and jewels about her neck. She was attired in a white silk gown bordered with pearls the size of beans, and over it wore a mantle of black silk, cunningly shot with silver threads.
Her ruff was vast, her farthingale vaster; and her train, which was very long, was borne by a marchioness who made more ado about it than Elizabeth did of ruling her realm.
”The Queen!” gasped Colley.
”Dost think I did na know it?” answered Nick, his heart beginning to beat tattoo as he stared through the peep-hole in the screen.
He saw the great folk bowing like a gardenful of flowers in a storm, and in its midst Elizabeth erect, speaking to those about her in a lively and good-humored way, and addressing all the foreigners according to their tongue--in French, Italian, Spanish, Dutch; but hers was funny Dutch, and while she spoke she smiled and made a joke upon it in Latin, at which they all laughed heartily, whether they understood what it meant or not. Then, with her ladies in waiting, she pa.s.sed to a dais near the stage, and stood a moment, stately, fair, and proud, while all her n.o.bles made obeisance, then sat and gave a signal for the players to begin.
”Rafe Fullerton!” the prompter whispered shrilly; and out from behind the screen slipped Rafe, the smallest of them all, and down the stage to speak the foreword of the piece. He was frightened, and his voice shook as he spoke, but every one was smiling, so he took new heart.
”It is a masque of Summer-time and Spring,” said he, ”wherein both claim to be best-loved, and have their say of wit and humor, and each her part of songs and dances suited to her time, the sprightly galliard and the nimble jig for Spring, the slow pavone, the stately peac.o.c.k dance, for Summer-time. And win who may, fair Summer-time or merry Spring, the winner is but that beside our Queen!”--with which he snapped his fingers in the faces of them all--”G.o.d save Queen Bess!”
At that the Queen's eyes twinkled, and she nodded, highly pleased, so that every one clapped mightily.
The play soon ran its course amid great laughter and applause. Spring won. The English ever loved her best, and the quick-paced galliard took their fancy, too. ”Up and be doing!” was its tune, and it gave one a chance to cut fine capers with his heels.
Then the stage stood empty and the music stopped.
At this strange end a whisper of surprise ran through the hall. The Queen tapped with the inner side of her rings upon the broad arm of her chair. From the look on her face she was whetting her tongue. But before she could speak, Nick and Colley, dressed as a farmer boy and girl, with a garland of house-grown flowers about them, came down the stage from the arras, hand in hand, bowing.
The audience-chamber grew very still--_this_ was something new. Nick felt a swallowing in his throat, and Colley's hand winced in his grip.
There was no sound but a silky rustling in the room.
Then suddenly the boys behind the players' curtain laughed together, not loud, but such a jolly little laugh that all the people smiled to hear it. After the laughter came a hush.
Then the pipes overhead made a merry sound as of shepherds piping on oaten straws in new gra.s.s where there are daisies; and there was a little elfish laughter of clarionets, and a fluttering among the cool flutes like spring wind blowing through crisp young leaves in April. The harps began to pulse and throb with a soft cadence like raindrops falling into a clear pool where brown leaves lie upon the bottom and bubbles float above green stones and smooth white pebbles. Nick lifted up his head and sang.
It was a happy little song of the coming and the triumph of the spring.
The words were all forgotten long ago. They were not much: enough to serve the turn, no more; but the notes to which they went were like barn swallows twittering under the eaves, goldfinches clinking in purple weeds beside old roads, and robins singing in common gardens at dawn.
And wherever Nick's voice ran Colley's followed, the pipes laughing after them a note or two below; while the flutes kept gurgling softly to themselves as a hill brook gurgles through the woods, and the harps ran gently up and down like rain among the daffodils. One voice called, the other answered; there were echo-like refrains; and as they sang Nick's heart grew full. He cared not a stiver for the crowd, the golden palace, or the great folk there--the Queen no more--he only listened for Colley's voice coming up lovingly after his own and running away when he followed it down, like a lad and a la.s.s through the bloom of the May.
And Colley was singing as if his heart would leap out of his round mouth for joy to follow after the song they sung, till they came to the end and the skylark's song.
There Colley ceased, and Nick went singing on alone, forgetting, caring for, heeding nought but the song that was in his throat.
The Queen's fan dropped from her hand upon the floor. No one saw it or picked it up. The Venetian amba.s.sador scarcely breathed.
Nick came down the stage, his hands before him, lifted as if he saw the very lark he followed with his song, up, up, up into the sun. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were wet, though his voice was a song and a laugh in one.
Then they were gone behind the curtain, into the shadow and the twilight there, Colley with his arms about Nick's neck, not quite laughing, not quite sobbing. The ma.n.u.script of the Revel lay torn in two upon the floor, and Master Gyles had a foot upon each piece.
In the hall beyond the curtain was a silence that was deeper than a hush, a stillness rising from the hearts of men.
Then Elizabeth turned in the chair where she sat. Her eyes were as bright as a blaze. And out of the sides of her eyes she looked at the Venetian amba.s.sador. He was sitting far out on the edge of his chair, and his lips had fallen apart. She laughed to herself. ”It is a good song, signor,” said she, and those about her started at the sound of her voice. ”_Chi tace confessa--_it is so! There are no songs like English songs--there is no spring like an English spring--there is no land like England, _my_ England!” She clapped her hands. ”I will speak with those lads,” said she.
Straightway certain pages ran through the press and came behind the curtain where Nick and Colley stood together, still trembling with the music not yet gone out of them, and brought them through the hall to where the Queen sat, every one whispering, ”Look!” as they pa.s.sed.
On the dais they knelt together, bowing, side by side. Elizabeth, with a kindly smile, leaning a little forward, raised them with her slender hand. ”Stand, dear lads,” said she, heartily. ”Be lifted up by thine own singing, as our hearts have been uplifted by thy song. And name me the price of that same song--'twas sweeter than the sweetest song we ever heard before.”