Volume I Part 7 (1/2)
The most inaccessible part of a hill was the site generally chosen; the road ascending and descending in a meandering sort of zig-zig on its side. Rarely did our timid ancestors tempt the valley, often preferring a roundabout course over a line of hills, if by so doing the perils of the lower ground could be avoided.
The pilgrim followed a narrow and beaten track: it was bordered on each side by a deep ditch, nearly overgrown with weeds and brambles. He traversed the intricate windings of the road with considerable facility; but an hour had nearly elapsed ere he gained the brow of an eminence of no very conspicuous height, though it commanded a pretty extensive view of the country adjacent. From the east, a rich flood of glory blended the whole into one broad ma.s.s of light, melting away the beauteous frost-work, as the rays of morning dissipate the unreal visions that have their existence only in darkness and repose. Southward lay the borough, distinguishable only by the broad tower of All-Saints rising from the mist, as if baseless and suspended. A bell boomed heavily through the quiet atmosphere: its long and lingering echoes came on the pilgrim's soul like the voice of other years--of hopes and antic.i.p.ations that had for ever departed.
Westward might be seen a curl of blue smoke from the newly-dignified priory at Upholland, recently invested with that honour through the grants and intercessions of Sir Robert de Holland, a proud knight in the train of Thomas Earl of Lancaster. It was northward that the pilgrim turned, with a look of more intense anxiety. The mansion of Haigh stood at the extremity of a broad slope, surmounted by shady woods, now fading into the warm and luxuriant tints of autumn. Dark and c.u.mbrous turrets, projecting from the wings, grimly caught the first gleam of the morning; whilst a tower of considerable strength and elevation rose above what could only be surmised as the princ.i.p.al gateway. It was apparently designed to overlook the whole fabric, serving as a refuge to the besieged, and a stronghold in case of attack. Narrow loopholes might be traced, irregularly disposed in the heavy masonry; and at the summit stood a small turret resembling a large chair, from which, at stated occasions, waved the richly-emblazoned escutcheon of the Norris and the Bradshaigh. The staff was just visible, but unaccompanied by its glittering adjunct. It was this circ.u.mstance princ.i.p.ally that seemed to engage the attention of the stranger. He broke into a loud and involuntary exclamation:--
”Sir William's birthday is forgotten!--That staff opened a rich blossom to the breeze ten years agone. It is the day--the very hour of Sir William's birth!”
He smote his forehead, scarcely able to contain the violence of his emotion.
”Let that day darken!--let it be cursed with storms and tempest!--let the shadows of death brood over it, and the teeming night bring tenfold horrors!--Yet how calm, how peacefully yonder sun approaches in his strength! Nature is the same--bright, joyous, and unchanging!--Man, man alone, is mutable--his days are full of mourning and bitterness!”
He bowed his head, crouching almost to the dust, in that overwhelming agony.
Suddenly he was aroused, and in a manner as unceremonious as unexpected.
A smart blow on the back announced a somewhat uncourteous intruder, whilst a loud and discordant laugh struck shrilly on his ear. Starting, he beheld a figure of a low and unshapely stature, clothed in a light dress, fantastically wrought. A round cap, slouched in front, fitted closely to his head, from which depended what the wearer no doubt looked upon as a goodly aggregate of ornaments. These consisted of ear-ta.s.sels and rings of various dimensions, that jingled oddly as he twisted his head from side to side with a knowing and important grin. A pair of large leathern boots, slipped on for travelling purposes, with ample flaps turning down from the knee, formed the lower costume of this strange being. Round his neck he wore an iron collar: its import, whether in the shape of punishment or decoration, is at this time doubtful. A visage of more than ordinary size projected from between a pair of shoulders that nearly overlooked the lower rim of his cap. A sort of dubious leer was its predominant expression, heightened ever and anon by a broad laugh, the eldritch shout of which first announced itself to the ear of the pilgrim. Matted and s.h.a.ggy, the twisted locks hung wildly about his brow, whilst a short and frizzled beard served as a scanty covering to his chin. A ”Sheffield whittle” stuck in his baldric; and in a pouch was deposited the remnant of a magnificent pasty. From oft and over replenishment this receptacle gaped in a most unseemly manner, showing the shattered remains, the crumbling fragments, of many a huge mountain of crust.
With arms akimbo stood this prepossessing personage before the pilgrim, in all his native rudeness and disorder. The latter tightened his cloak about him, and withdrew some three or four paces from his companion.
”Nuncle,” said the jester--for such was in fact his vocation--”I wonder for what property master keeps a fool?--I bethink me 'tis for his wit: more wit and less honesty, though.” The palmer was silent.
”Art going to the hall?” continued he. ”The fool is whipt there for being honest. Have a care, nuncle; if Sir Osmund catch thee, thou hadst as good bequeath thy bones to the Pope to make into saint's gear.--I'm very sad, nuncle!”
”Sad!” said the pilgrim; ”in good troth, an' thou be sad, the c.o.c.k of the hall yonder is but in sorry plight.”
”'Tis more wholesome to cry to-day,” said the dolorous knave, ”knowing ye shall laugh to-morrow, than to laugh to-day, and to-morrow's dool somehow making your mirth asthmatic:
”Be merry to-morrow; to-day, to-day, Your belly-full fill of grief; When sorrow hath supp'd, go play, go play, For mirth I wot is brief.
”Ay, grandam, ye are wise; and an old woman's wit best becomes a fool:
”When sorrow hath supp'd, go play, go play, For mirth I wot is brief.”
He drew out the last notes into one of those querulous cadences, much in vogue as an _ad libitum_ on all fitting occasions: even the sad features of the pilgrim were provoked into a smile.
”Art bound for the hall?” again inquired the inquisitive hunchback.
”Yes, friend--whither else? Is it not almous-day, and thinkest thou the houseless and wandering pilgrim will not share of the largess?”
”Beggars and friars thrive--treason and corruption wed, and these be their children belike. Hast brought the Lady Mabel her old husband's bones from heathenrie?--her new one is like to leave her nought else, poor soul, for her comfort. She'll make her up a saint out o'them.”
”If she has gotten another husband,” said the pilgrim, ”the old one's bones would have a rare chance of her wors.h.i.+p.”
The facetious impertinent here gave a sort of incredulous whistle. He eyed the palmer with a keen and scrutinising glance, but suddenly relapsing into his accustomed manner, he burst into a wild and portentous laugh.
”I tell thee, if Sir Osmund catch thee carrying so much as a thumb-nail of Sir William's carcase, he 'll wring thy neck as wry as the chapel weatherc.o.c.k. My lady goes nigh crazed with his ill humours. I warrant thee, Sir William's ghost gaily snuffs up the sport. I have watched him up and down the old stairs, and once i' the chapel; and he told me”--whispering close to the pilgrim's ear--”a great secret, nuncle!”
”Ay--what was that, Motley?”
”Why, said he, if so be Sir William comes home again, he'll find his wife has got a cuckoo in her nest.” Here he burst from the stranger with a malicious shout, and descending a by-path, was soon lost amidst the intricacies of a deep wood, skirting the verge of an extensive forest.
The traveller's brow gathered a heavier gloom. With unconscious haste he soon gained a gentle ascent, which led by a narrow and deep path to the mansion. Nigh to the bridge over the moat stood a blacksmith's hovel, conveniently situated for all job-work emanating from the armoury and the kitchen, which at that time afforded full exercise for the musical propensities of Darby Grimshaw's great anvil. This hut was a general resort to all the idlers in the vicinity; Grim, as he was generally styled for the sake of abbreviation, discharging the office of ”preses,”