 Chapter 1 of the Star Chamber and Historical Romance Volume 1 This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Star Chamber Volume 1 by William Harrison Ainsworth Chapter 1 The Three Cranes in the Vintry Adjoining the Vintry Wolf and at the corner of a narrow lane communicating with Thames Street, there stood, in the early part of the 17th century, a tavern called the Three Cranes. This old and renowned place of entertainment had then been in existence more than two hundred years, though under other designations. In the reign of Richard II, when it was first established, it was styled the painted tavern from the circumstance of its outer walls being fancifully coloured and adorned with bacchanalian devices. But these decorations went out of fashion in time and the tavern, somewhat changing its external features, though preserving all its internal comforts and accommodation, assumed the name of the Three Cranes, under which title it continued until the accession of Elizabeth, when it became, by a slight modification, the Three Cranes, and so remained in the days of her successor, and indeed long afterwards. Not that the last adopted denomination had any reference, as might be supposed, to the three huge wooden instruments on the wharf, employed with ropes and pulleys to unload the lighters and other vessels, that brought up butts and hogsheads of wine from the larger craft below bridge, and constantly thronged the banks, though no doubt they indirectly suggested it. The Three Cranes depicted on the large signboard, suspended in front of the tavern, were long-necked, long-beaked birds, each with a golden fish in its bill. But under whatever designation it might be known, crown or crane, the tavern had always maintained a high reputation for excellence of wine, and this is the less surprising when we take into account its close proximity to the vast vaults and cellars of the Vintry, where the choices produced of Gascony, Bordeaux and other wine-growing districts was deposited, some of which we may reasonably conclude would find its way to its tables. Good wine, it may be incidentally remarked, was cheap enough when the Three Cranes was first opened, the delicate juice of the Gascony Grape, being then vended at four pence the gallon, and renish at six pence. Prices, however, had risen considerably at the period of which we proposed to treat, and the tavern was as well reputed and well frequented as ever, even more so for it had considerably advanced in estimation since it came into the hands of a certain enterprising French skipper, Prospert Bonaventure by name, who entrusted its management to his active and pretty little wife, Damary, while he himself prosecuted his trading voyages between the Garonnes and the Thames, and very well Madame Bonaventure fulfilled the duties of hostess, as will be seen. Now, as a skipper was a very sharp fellow and perfectly understood his business, practically anticipating the transatlantic axiom of buying at the cheapest market and selling at the dearest, he soon contrived to grow rich. He did more, he pleased his customers at the Three Cranes, taking care to select his wines judiciously and having good opportunities, he managed to obtain possession of some delicious vintages which could not be matched elsewhere, and with this nectar at his command the fortune of his house was made. All the town gallants flocked to the Three Cranes to dine at the admirable French ordinary newly established there, and crush a flask or so of the exquisite bordeaux about which, and its delicate flavour and bouquet, all the connoisseurs in Claret were raving. From midday, therefore, till late in the afternoon, there were nearly as many gay barges and wearies, as lighters lying off the vintry-wolf, and sometimes, when accommodation was wanting, the little craft were moored along the shore, all the way from Queen Hyde to the steelyard, at which latter place the cathering-wheel was almost as much noted for racy reenish and high-dried neat's tongues, as our tavern was for fine bordeaux and well-seasoned pâtés. Not the least, however, of the attractions of the Three Cranes was the hostess herself. A lively little brunette was Madame Bonaventure, still young, or at all events, very far from being old, with extremely fine teeth, which she was fond of displaying, and a remarkably neat ankle, which she felt no inclination to hide beneath the sweep of her round circling fathering-ail. Her figure was quite that of a miniature Venus, and as, like most of her country-women, she understood the art of dress to admiration, she set off her person to the best advantage, always attiring herself in a style and in colours that suited her, and never indulging in an unwarrantable extravagance of rough or absurd and unbecoming length of peat bodice. As to the stuff she wore, they were certainly above her station, for no court-dain could boast of richer silks than those in which the pretty dammerie appeared on fête-days. And this was accounted for by reason that the good skipper seldom returned from a trip to France, without bringing his wife a piece of silk, brocade, or velvet, from Lyon, or some little matter from Paris such as a rough, cuff, partlet, bandlet or filet. Thus the last French mode might be seen at the three crowns, displayed by the hostess, as well as the last French entremet, at its table. Since among other important accessories to the well-doing of the house, Madame Bonaventure kept a chef de cuisine, one of her compatriots, of such superlative skill that in later times he must infallibly have been distinguished as a cordon bleu. But not having yet completed our description of the charming bordelets, we must add that she possessed a rich southern complexion, fine sparkling black eyes shaded by long dark eyelashes, and over-arched by jetty brows, and that her raven hair was combed back and gathered in a large roll over her smooth forehead, which had the five points of beauty complete. Over this she wore a prettily conceived quaff with a frontlet, a well-starched, well-platted rough encompassed her throat, her upper lip was darkened, but in the slightest degree, by down, like the softest silk, and this peculiarity, a peculiarity it would be in an Englishwoman, though frequently observable in the beauties of the south of France, lent additional pecancy and zest to her charms in the eyes of her numerous adorers. Angles, we have said, were trim, and it may be added that they were often a displayed in an embroidered French velvet shoe than in one of Spanish leather, while in walking out she increased her stature by the altitude of a champagne. Captain Bonaventure was by no means jealous, and even if he had been, it would have mattered little since he was so constantly away. Thusing, therefore, she had some of the privileges of a widow, a lively dammery flirted a good deal with the gayest and handsomest of the galea, frequenting her house, but she knew where to stop. No license or indecorum was ever permitted in the three cranes, and that is saying a great deal in favour of the hostess, when the dissolute character of the age is taken into consideration. Besides this, Cyprian, a stout, well-favoured young Gascon, who filled the posts of draw and chamberlain, together with two or three other trenchescrapers who served at table, and waited on the guests, were generally sufficient to clear the house of any troublesome roisterers. Thus the reputation of the three cranes was unblemished, in spite of the liveliness and cocketry of its mistress, and in spite also of the malicious tongues of rival tavern keepers which were loud against it. A pretty woman is sure to have enemies and culminators, and Madame Bonaventure had more than any now, but she thought very little about them. There was one point, however, on which it behoved her to be careful, and extremely careful she was, not leaving a single loophole for censure or attack. This was the question of religion. On first taking the house, Madame Bonaventure gave it out that she and the skipper were Huguenots descended from families who had suffered much persecution during the time of the league for staunch adherence to their faith, and the statement was generally credited, though there were some who professed doubt it. Certain it was our hostess did not wear any cross, beads, or other outward symbol of papacy, and though this might count for little, it was never discovered that she attended mass in secret. Her movements were watched, but without anything coming to light that had reference to religious observances of any kind. Those who tried to trace her found that her visits were mostly paged to Paris Garden, the Rose, and the Globe, where our immortal bards' plates were them being performed, or some other place of amusement, and if she did go on the river at times it was merely upon a party of pleasure accompanied by gay gallants, in velvet clothes and silken doublets, and by light-hearted dames like herself, and not by notorious plotters or sour priests. Still, as many Bordeaux merchants frequented the house, as well as traders from the Hans towns and other foreigners, it was looked upon by the suspicious as a hotbed of Romish heresy and treason. Moreover, these maligners affirmed that English recusants, as well as seminary priests from abroad, had been harboured there, and clandestinely spirited away from the pursuit of justice by the skipper, but the charges were never substantiated and could therefore only proceed from envy and malice. Whatever Madame Bonaventure's religious opinions might be, she kept her own counsel so well that no one ever found them out. But evil days were at hand, hitherto all had been smiling and prosperous. The prospect now began to darken. Within the last twelve months a strange and unlooked-for interference had taken place with our hostess's prophets, which she had viewed at first without much anxiety, because she did not clearly comprehend its scope. But latterly, as its formidable character became revealed, it began to fill her with uneasiness. The calamity, as she naturally enough regarded it, arose in the following manner. The present was an age of monopolism patterns, granted by a crown ever eager to obtain money under any pretext, however unjustifiable and iniquitous, provided it was plausibly coloured, and these vexatious privileges were purchased by greedy and unscrupulous persons for the purpose of turning them into instruments of extortion and wrong. Though various branches of trade and industry groaned under the oppression inflicted upon them, there were no means of redress. The patentees enjoyed perfect immunity, grinding them down as they pleased, farming out whole districts and dividing the spoil. Their miserable victims dared scarcely murmur, having ever the terrible court of Star Chamber before them, which their persecutors could command and which punished libelers, as they would be accounted if they gave utterance to their wrongs, and charged their oppressors with misdoing, with fine branding and the pillory. Many were handled in this sort and held up in terror to the others. Hence it came to pass that the Star Chamber, from the fearful nature of its machinery, its extraordinary powers, the notorious corruption and venality of its officers, the peculiarity of its practice which always favoured the plaintiff, and the severity with which it punished any libeling or slanderous words uttered against the king's representative, as the patentees were considered, and the conspiracy of false accusation brought against them. It came to pass, we say, that this terrible court became as much jetted in Protestant England as the inquisition in Catholic Spain. The punishments inflicted by the Star Chamber were, as we learn from a legal authority and the counsel of the court, fine, imprisonment, loss of ears, or nailing to the pillory, slitting the nose, branding the forehead, whipping of late days, wearing of papers in public places, or any punishment but death. And John Chamberlain Esquire, writing to Sir Dudley Carlton about the same period, observes that the world is now much terrified with the Star Chamber, there being not so little an offence against any proclamation, but is liable and subject to the censure of that court. And for proclamations and patents they are become so ordinary that there is no end, every day bringing forth some new project or other, as within these two days here is one come forth for tobacco, wholly engrossed by Sir Thomas Rowe and his partners, which, if they can keep and maintain against the general clumber, will be a great commodity, unless peradventure, indignation, rather than all other reasons, may bring that filthy weed out of use. What would be the effect of such a patent nowadays? Would it at all restrict the use of the filthy weed? In truth, proceeds Chamberlain, the world doth even groan under the birth and of these perpetual patents, which are become so frequent that where as at the kings coming in, there were complaints of some eight or nine monopolies then in being, that are now said to be multiplied to as many scores. From the foregoing citation from a private letter of the time, the state of public feeling may be gathered and the alarm occasioned in all classes by these oppressions perfectly understood. Amongst those who had obtained the largest share of spoil were two persons destined to occupy a prominent position in our history. They were Sir Giles Montpesol and Sir Francis Mitchell, both names held in general dread and detestation, though no man ventured to speak ill of them openly, since they were as implacable in their animosities as usurious and griping in their demands, and many an ear had been lost, many a nose slit, many a back scourged at the cart's tail, because the unfortunate owners had stigmatized them according to their desserts. Thus they enjoyed a complete immunity of wrong, and, with the terrible court of star chamber to defend them and to punish their enemies, they set all opposition at defiance. Insatiable and inscrubulous, this avaricious pair were ever on the alert to devise new means of exaction and plunder, and amongst the latest and most productive of their inventions were three patents, which they had obtained through the instrumentality of Sir Edward Villiers, half-brother of the ruling favourite, the Marquis of Buckingham, and for due consideration money, of course, for the licensing of alehouses, the inspection of inns and hostels, and the exclusive manufacture of gold and silver thread. It is with the two former of these that we have now to deal, inasmuch as it was their mischievous operation that affected Madame Bonaventure so prejudicially, and this we shall more fully explain, as it will serve to show the working of a frightful system of extortion and injustice, happily no longer in existence. By the sweeping powers conferred upon them by their patents, the whole of the inns of the metropolis were brought under the control of the two extortioners, who levied such impasse as they pleased. The withdrawal of a license, or the total suppression of a tavern, or the plea of its being a riotous and disorderly house immediately followed the refusal of any demand, however excessive, and most persons preferred the remote possibility of ruin, with the chance of averting it by ready submission, to the positive certainty of losing both substance and liberty by resistance. Fearful was the havoc occasioned by these licensee predators, yet no one dared to check them, no one ventured to repine. They had the name of law to justify their proceedings, and all its authority to uphold them. Compromises were attempted in some instances, but they were found unavailing. Easily evaded by persons who never intended to be bound by them, they only added keenness to the original provocation, without offering a remedy for it. The two bloodsuckers, it was clear, would not desist from draining the life-current from the veins of their victims, while a drop remained, and they were well served in their iniquitous task, for the plain reason that they paid their agents well. Partners they had none, none at least, who cared to acknowledge themselves as such, but the subordinate officers of the law, and indeed some high-in-office, it was hinted, the sheriff's followers, bailiffs, tips-naves, and others were all in their pay, besides a host of mermidons, base-sworded-naves who scrupled not at false swearing, cosenage, or any sort of rascality, even forgery of legal documents, if required. No wonder poor Madame Bonaventure, finding she had got into the clutches of these harpies, began to tremble for the result. Madame Bonaventure had already paid considerable sums to the two extortioners, but she resisted their last application, in consequence of which she received a munition from Sir Giles Monpason, to the effect that, in a month's time, her license would be withdrawn, and her house shut up, unless, in the interim, she consented to make amends to himself and his co-patentee, Sir Francis Mitchell, by payment of the sum in question, together with a further sum equal to it in amount. By way of forfeit, thus doubling the original demand. Our pretty hostess, it would seem, had placed herself in an awkward predicament by her temerity. Sir Giles was not a man to threaten idly, as all who had incurred his displeasure experienced to their cost. His plan was to make himself feared, and he was inexorable as fate itself to a creditor. He ever exacted the full penalty of his bond. In this instance, according to his own notion, he had acted with great leniency, and certainly, judged by his customary mode of proceeding in such cases, he had shown some little indulgence. In this line of conduct, he had been mainly influenced by his partner, who, not being insensible to the attractions of the fair hostess, hoped to win her favor by a show of consideration. But though Madame Bonaventure was willing enough for her own purposes to encourage Sir Francis Mitchell's attentions, she detested him in her secret heart. She by no means relied upon him for security. A more powerful friend was held in reserve, whom she meant to produce at the last moment. And consequently, she was not so ill at ease as she otherwise would have been, though by no means free from misgiving. Sir Giles Mompassant was a terrible enemy, and seldom thwarted in his purpose. That, she knew. But no man was more keenly alive to his own interest than he, and she persuaded herself he would find it to his advantage not to molest her, in which case she was safe. Of Sir Francis Mitchell, she had less apprehension. For, though equally mischievous and malevolent with his partner, he was far feebler of purpose, and for the most part governed by him. Besides, she felt she had the amorous night in her toils, and could easily manage him if he were alone. So the case stood with respect to our pretty hostess. But before proceeding further, it may be well to give a more complete description of the two birds of prey by whom she was threatened with beak and talon. The master spirit of the twain was undoubtedly Sir Giles Mompassant. Quick in conception of villainy, he was equally daring in execution. How he had risen to his present bad eminence no one precisely knew. Because with the craft and subtlety that distinguished him, he laid his scheme so deeply and covered his proceedings with so thick a veil that they had been rarely detected. Report, however, spoke of him as a user of the vilest kind, who wrung exorbitant interest from needy borrowers, who advanced money to expectant heirs with the intention of plundering them of their inheritance, and who resorted to every trick and malpractice permitted by the law to benefit himself at his neighbor's expense. These were bad enough, but even graver accusations were made against him. It was whispered that he had obtained fraudulent possession of deeds in family papers, which had enabled him to rest estates from their rightful owners, and some did not scruple to add to these charges that he had forged documents to carry out his nefarious designs. Be this as it may, from comparative poverty he speedily rose to wealth, and as his means increased so his avaricious schemes were multiplied and extended. His earlier days were past in complete obscurity, none but the neediest spend-thrift or the most desperate gambler knowing where he dwelt, and everyone who found him out in his wretched abode near the Marshall Sea had reason to regret his visit. Now he was well enough known by many a courtly prodigal, and his large mansion near Fleet Bridge, it was said of him that he always chose the neighborhood of a prison for his dwelling, was resorted to by the town gallants whose necessities or extravagance compelled them to obtain supplies at exorbitant interest. Lavish in his expenditure on occasions, Sir Giles was habitually so greedy and pernurious that he begrudged every tester he expended. He wished to keep up a show of hospitality without cost, and secretly pleased himself by thinking that he made his guests pay for his entertainments, and even for his establishment. His servants complained of being half-starved, though he was constantly at war with them for their wastefulness and riot. He made, however, a great display of attendance, in as much as he had a whole retinue of mermanins at his beck and call, and these, as before observed, were well paid. They were the crows that followed the vultures, and picked the bones of the spoil when their ravenine masters had been fully glutted. In the court of the star chamber, as already remarked, Sir Giles Mompassant found an instrument in every way fitted to his purposes, and he worked it with terrible effect, as will be shown hereafter. With him it was at once a weapon to destroy and a shield to protect. This court claimed a superlative power not only to take causes from other courts and punish them there, but also to punish offenses secondarily when other courts have punished them. Taking advantage of this privilege, when a suit was commenced against him elsewhere, Sir Giles contrived to remove it to the star chamber, where, being omnipotent with clerks and counsel, he was sure of success. The complaints being so warily contrived, the examination so adroitly framed, and the interrogatory so numerous and perplexing that the defendant, or delinquent as he was indifferently styled, was certain to be baffled and defeated. The sentences of this court, it has been said, by one intimately acquainted with its practice, and very favorably inclined to it, strike to the root of men's reputations and many times of their estates. And again, it was a rule with it that the prosecutor was ever intended to be favored. Knowing this, as well as the high legal authority from whom we have quoted, Sir Giles ever placed himself in the favored position, and with the aid of this iniquitous tribunal, blasted many a fair reputation, and consigned many a victim of its injustice to the fleet, there to rot till he paid him the utmost of his demands, or paid the debt of nature. In an age less corrupt and venal than that under consideration, such a career could not have long continued without check. But in the time of James I, from the neediness of the monarch himself, and the rapacity of his minions and courtiers and their satellites, each striving to enrich himself no matter how, a thousand abuses both of right and justice were tolerated or connived at, crime stocking abroad unpunished. The star chamber itself served the king as, in a less degree, it served Sir Giles' maupasson, and others of the same stamp, as a means of increasing his revenue. Half the fines mulked in from those who incurred its censure or its punishments being awarded to the crown. Thus nice inquiries were rarely made, unless a public example was needed when the wrongdoer was compelled to discourage his plunder. But this was never done till the pair was fully ripe. Sir Giles, however, had no apprehensions of any such result in his case. Like a sly fox, or rather like a crafty wolf, he was too confident in his own cunning and resources to fear being caught in such a trap. His title was purchased, and he reaped his reward in the consequence it gave him. Sir Francis Mitchell acted likewise, and it was about this time that the connection between the worthy pair commenced. Hitherto they had been in opposition, and though very different in temperament and in modes of proceeding, they had one aim in common. And recognizing great merit in each other, coupled with the power of mutual assistance, they agreed to act in concert. Sir Francis was as cautious and timid as Sir Giles was daring and inflexible, the one being the best contriver of a scheme, and the other the fittest to carry it out. Sir Francis trembled at his own devices and their possible consequences. Sir Giles adopted his schemes, if promising, and laughed at the difficulties and dangers that beset them. The one was the head, the other the arm. Not that Sir Giles lacked the ability to weave as subtle a web of deceit as his partner, but each took his line. It saved time. The plan of licensing and inspecting taverns and hotels had originated with Sir Francis, and very profitable it proved, but Sir Giles carried it out much further than his partner had proposed or thought prudent. And they were as different in personal appearance as in mental qualities and disposition. Mumpasong was the dashing eagle, Mitchell the sorry kite. Sir Francis was weakly, emaciated in frame, much given to sensual indulgence, and his body conformed to his timorous organization. His shrunken shanks scarcely sufficed to support him. His back was bent, his eyes bleared, his head bawled, and his chin, which was continually wagging, clothed in a scanty yellow beard shaped like a stiletto, while his sandy mustachios were curled upward. He was dressed in the extremity of the fashion and affected the air of a young court gallant. His doublet, hose, and manta were ever of the gayest and most fanciful hues and of the richest stuffs. He wore a diamond brooch in his beaver and sashes tied like garters round his thin legs, which were utterly destitute of calf. Preposterously large roses covered his shoes. His rough was a treble quadruple didelion. His gloves richly embroidered. A large crimson satin purse hung from his girdle, and he was scented with powders and polvillos. This withered coxcomb affected the mincing gait of a young man, and though rather an object of derision than admiration with the fair sex, persuaded himself that they were all captivated by him. The vast sums he so unjustly acquired did not long remain in his possession, but were dispersed and ministering to his follies and depravity. Timorous he was by nature, as we have said, but cruel and unrelenting in proportion to his cowardice, and where an injury could be securely inflicted or a prostrate foe struck with impunity, he never hesitated for a moment. Sir Giles himself was scarcely so malignant and implacable. A strong contrast to this dastardly double shea was offered by the bolder villain. Sir Giles Mompassant was a very handsome man with a striking physiognomy, but dark and sinister in expression. His eyes were black, singularly piercing, and flashed with the fiercest fire when kindled by passion. A finely formed aquiline nose gave a hawk-like character to his face. His hair was coal-black, though he was no longer young, and hung in long ringlets over his neck and shoulders. He wore the handsomely cut beard and mustaches subsequently depicted in the portraits of Van Dyke, which suited the stern gravity of his countenance. Rich, though sober in his attire, he always affected a dark color being generally habited in a doublet of black-quilted silk, Venetian hose, and a murry-colored velvet mantle. His conical hat was ornamented with a single black ostrich feather, and he carried a long rapier by his side, in the use of which he was singularly skillful, being one of Vincencio Saviolo's best pupils. Sir Giles was a little above the middle height, with a well-proportioned athletic figure, and his strength and address were such that there seemed good reason for his boast when he declared, as he often did, that he feared no man living in fair fight, no, nor any two men. Sir Giles had none of the weaknesses of his partner. Temporate in his living, he had never been known to commit an excess at table. Nor were the blandishments or lures that the fair sex ever successfully spread for him. If his arm was of iron, his heart seemed of adamant, utterly impenetrable by any gentle emotion. It was affirmed and believed that he had never shed a tear. His sole passion appeared to be the accumulation of wealth, unattended by the desire to spend it. He bestowed no gifts. He had no family, no kinsmen whom he cared to acknowledge. He stood alone, a hard grasping man, a bondslave of memon. When it pleased him, Sir Giles' mampuson could play the courtier and fawn in glows like the rest. A consummate hypocrite, he easily assumed any part he might be called upon to enact. But the tone natural to him was one of insolent domination and bitter railery. He sneered at all things human and divine, and there was mockery in his laughter as well as venom in his jests. His manner, however, was not without a certain cold and grave dignity, and he clothed himself, like his purposes, in inscrutable reserve on occasions requiring it. So ominous was his presence that many persons got out of his way, fearing to come in contact with him or give him offence, and the broad walk at Paul's was sometimes cleared as he took his way along it, followed by his band of tip-staves. If this were the case with persons who had no immediate ground of apprehension from him, how much terror his somber figure must have inspired when presented, as it was, to Madame Bonaventure, with the aspect of a merciless creditor armed with full power to enforce his claims and resolve not to abate a jot of them, will be revealed to the reader in our next chapter. End of Chapter 2, Sir Giles Mompasson and his partner. Chapter 3 of the Star Chamber and Historical Romance, Volume 1. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Star Chamber, Volume 1, by William Harrison Ainsworth. Chapter 3, The French Ordinary. The month allowed by the notice expired, and Madame Bonaventure's day of reckoning arrived. No arrangement had been attempted in the interim, though abundant opportunities of doing so were afforded her, as Sir Francis Mitchell visited the three cranes almost daily. She appeared to treat the matter very lightly, always putting it off when mentioned, and even towards the last seemed quite unconcerned, as if entertaining no fear of the result. Apparently, everything went on just as usual, and no one would have supposed from Madame Bonaventure's manner that she was aware of the possibility of a mine being sprung beneath her feet. Perhaps she fancied she had countermined her opponents, and so felt secure. Her indifference puzzled Sir Francis, who knew not whether to attribute it to insensibility or overconfidence. He was curious to see how she would conduct herself when the crisis came, and for that purpose repaired to the tavern about dinner time on the appointed day. The hostess received him very graciously, trifled and gested with him as was her custom, and looked all blandishments and smiles to him and everybody else, as if nothing could possibly happen to disturb her serenity. Sir Francis was more perplexed than ever. With the levity and heedlessness of a Frenchwoman, she must have forgotten all about the claim. What if he should venture to remind her of it? Better not. The application would come soon enough. He was glad it devolved upon his partner and not on himself to proceed to extremities with so charming a person. He really could not do it, and yet all the while he chuckled internally as he thought of the terrible dilemma in which she would be speedily caught and how completely it would place her at his mercy. She must come to terms then, and Sir Francis rubbed his skinny hands gleefully at the thought. On her part Madam Bonaventure guessed what was passing in his breast and secretly enjoyed the idea of checkmating him. With a captivating smile she left him to attend to her numerous guests. And very numerous they were on that day, more so than usual. Sir Francis, who had brought a boat from Westminster where he dwelt, experienced some difficulty in landing at the stairs, invested as they were with barges, wearies, and watermen, all of whom had evidently brought customers to the three cranes. Besides these there were two or three gilded penises lying off the wharf, with oarsmen and rich liveries evidently belonging to persons of rank. The benches and little tables in front of the tavern were occupied by foreign merchants and traders, discussing their affairs over a stoop of Bordeaux. Others, similarly employed, sat at the open casements in the rooms above, each story projecting so much beyond the other that the old building, crowned with its fanciful gables and heavy chimneys, looked top-heavy and as if it would roll over into the Thames some day. Others, again, were seated over their wine in the pleasant little chamber built over the porch, which, advancing considerably beyond the door, afforded a delightful prospect from its lantern-like windows of the river now sparkling with sunshine. It was a bright May day. And covered with craft extending on the one hand to Baynard's Castle and on the other to the most picturesque object to be found then, or since, in London, the ancient bridge, with its towers, gateways, lofty superstructures, and narrow arches through which the current dashed swiftly, and, of course, commanding a complete view of the opposite bank, beginning with Saint Saviour's fine old church, Winchester House, the Walks, Gardens, and Playhouses, and ending with a fine grove of timber skirting lambeth marshes. Others repaired to the smooth and well-kept bowling alley in the narrow court at the back of the house, where there was a mulberry tree two centuries older than the tavern itself, to recreate themselves with the healthful pastime they were afforded and indulge at the same time in a few whiffs of tobacco which, notwithstanding the king's fulminations against it, had already made its way among the people. The ordinary was held in the principal room in the house, which was well enough adapted for the purpose, being lofty and spacious, and lighted by an orial window at the upper end. Over the high-carved chimney piece were the arms of the Vintner's company, with a backist for the crest. The ceiling was molded in the wainscots of oak, against the ladder several paintings were hung. One of these represented the massacre of Saint Bartholomew, and another the triumphal return of Henry IV into rebellious Paris. Besides these, there were portraits of the reigning monarch James I, the Marquis of Buckingham, his favorite, and the youthful Louis VIII, King of France. A long table generally ran down the center of the room, but on this occasion there was a raised cross-table at the upper end, with a traverse, or curtain, partially drawn before it, proclaiming the presence of important guests. Here the napery was finer, and the drinking vessels handsomer than those used at the lower board. A great banquet seemed to be taking place. Long-necked flasks were placed in coolers, and the buffets were covered with flageons and glasses. The table groaned beneath the number and variety of dishes set upon it. In addition to the customary yeoman-waiters, there were a host of serving men in rich and varied liveries, but these attended exclusively on their lords at the raised table behind the traverse. As Sir Francis was ushered into the eating room, he was quite taken aback by the unusually magnificent display, and felt greatly surprised that no hint of the banquet had been given him on his arrival by the hostess. The feast had already commenced, and all the yeoman-waiters and trencher-scrapers were too busily occupied to attend to him. Cyprian, who marshaled the dishes at the lower table, did not deign to notice him, and was deaf to his demand for a place. It seemed probable he would not obtain one at all, and he was about to retire much disconcerted when a young man somewhat plainly habited and who seemed a stranger to all present very good-naturedly made room for him. In this way he was squeezed in. Sir Francis then cast a look round to ascertain who was present, but he was so inconveniently situated, and the crowd of serving men was so great at the upper table that he could only imperfectly distinguish those seated at it, besides which most of the guests were hidden by the traverse. Such, however, as he could make out were richly attired in doublets of silk and satin, while their rich velvet mantles, plumed and jeweled caps and long rapiers were carried by their servants. Two or three turned round to look at him as he sat down, and amongst these he remarked Sir Edward Villier, whose presence was far from agreeable to him, for those Sir Edward was secretly connected with him and Sir Giles, and took tithe of their spoliation. He disowned them in public, and would assuredly not countenance any open display of their rapacious proceedings. Another personage whom he recognized from his obesity, the peculiarity of his long-flowing periwig, and his black velvet Parisian pourpoint, which contrasted forcibly with the glittering habiliments of his companions, was Dr. Mayerne Turquet, the celebrated French professor of medicine, and so high in favor with James that, having been loaded with honors and dignities, he had been recently named the king's first physician. Dr. Mayerne's mobilities were so distinguished that his Protestant faith alone prevented him from occupying the same eminent position in the court of France that he did in that of England. The doctor's presence at the banquet was unperpicious. It was natural that he would befriend a countrywoman and a Huguenot like himself, and possessing the royal ear, he might make such representations as he pleased to the king of what should occur. Sir Francis hoped he would be gone before Sir Giles appeared. But there was yet a third person who gave the usurias night more uneasiness than the other two. This was a handsome young man with fair hair and delicate features, whose slight elegant figure was arrayed in a crimson satin doublet, slashed with white, and hoes of the same colors and fabric. The young nobleman in question, whose handsome features and prematurely wasted frame bore the impress of cynicism and debauchery, was Lord Ruse, then recently entrapped into marriage with the daughter of Sir Thomas Lake, Secretary of State. A marriage productive of the usual consequences of such imprudent arrangements, neglect on the one side, unhappiness on the other. Lord Ruse was Sir Francis's sworn enemy. Like many other such gay moths, he had been severely singed by fluttering into the dazzling lights held up to him when he wanted money by the two usurias, and he had often vowed revenge against them for the manner in which they had fleeced him. Sir Francis did not usually give any great heed to his threats, being too much accustomed to reproaches and menaces from his victims to feel alarm or compunction. But just now the case was different, and he could not help fearing the vindictive young lord might seize the opportunity of serving him an ill turn, if indeed he had not come there expressly for the purpose, which seemed probable from the fierce and disdainful glances he cast at him. An angry murmur pervaded the upper table on Sir Francis's appearance, and something was said which, though he could not gather its precise import, did not sound agreeably to his ears. He felt he had unwittingly brought his head near a hornet's nest, and might esteem himself lucky if he escaped without stinging. However, there was no retreating now, for though his fear-counseled flight, very shame restrained him. The rapast was varied and abundant, consisting of all kinds of fricassees, collops, rashers, boiled salmon from the Thames, trout and pike from the same river, boiled pea chickens and turkey-pulse, and florentines of puff-paste, calves, foot, pies, and set-custards. Between each guest, a boiled salad was placed, which was nothing more than what we would term a dish of vegetables, except that the vegetables were somewhat differently prepared, cinnamon, ginger, and sugar being added to the pulped carrots, besides a handful of currants, vinegar, and butter. A similar plan was adopted with the salads of birch, chicory, marigold leaves, boogaloss, asparagus, rocket, and alexanders, and many other plants discontinued in modern cookery, but then much esteemed. Oil and vinegar being used with some and spices with all, while each dish was garnished with slices of hard-boiled eggs. A jowl of sturgeon was carried to the upper table, where there was also a baked swan and a roasted bustard flanked by two stately venison pasties. This was only the first service, and two others followed, consisting of a fawn with a pudding inside it, a grand salad, hot olive pies, baked neat's tongues, fried cav's tongues, baked Italian puddings, a farced leg of lamb in French fashion, orange autopie, buttered crabs, anchovies, and a plentiful supply of little-made dishes and kelka shows scattered over the table. With such a profusion of good things, it may appear surprising that Sir Francis should find very little to eat, but the attendants all seemed in league against him, and whenever he set his eye upon a dish, it was sure to be placed out of reach. Sir Francis was a great epicure, and the Tim's salmon looked delicious, but he would have failed in obtaining a slice of it if his neighbor, the young man who had made room for him, had not given him the well-filled trencher intended for himself. In the same way, he secured the wing of a boiled capon, larded with preserved lemons, the sauce of which was exquisite as he well knew from experience. Cipriol, however, took care he should get none of the turkey poults or the florentines, but whipped off both dishes from under his very nose, and a like fate would have attended a lumbar pie but for the interference of his good-natured neighbor, who again came to his aid and rescued it from the clutches of the saucy gas gun, just as it was being borne away. End of Chapter 3, The French Ordinary Chapter 1 of The Star Chamber, an historical romance, Volume 1. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Star Chamber, Volume 1, by William Harrison Ainsworth. Chapter 4, A Star Chamber Victim His hunger being somewhat staid, Sir Francis now found leisure to consider the young man who had so greatly befriended him, and as a means of promoting conversation between them, began by filling his glass from a flask of excellent Bordeaux, of which, in spite of Cipriol's efforts to prevent him, he had contrived to gain possession. The young man acknowledged his courtesy with a smile, praised the wine, and expressed his astonishment at the wonderful variety and excellence of the repast, for which he said he was quite unprepared. It was not Sir Francis' way to feel or express much interest in strangers, and he disliked young men, especially when they were handsome, as was the case with his new acquaintance. But there was something in the youth that riveted his attention. From the plainness of his attire, and a certain not-unpleasing rusticity of air, Sir Francis comprehended at once that he was fresh from the country, but he also felt satisfied from his bearing and deportment that he was a gentleman, a term not quite so vaguely applied then as it is nowadays. The youth had a fine frank countenance remarkable for manly beauty and intelligence, and a figure perfectly proportioned and athletic. Sir Francis set him down as well-skilled in all exercises, vaulting, leaping, riding, and tossing the pike. Nor was he mistaken. He also concluded him to be fond of country sports, and he was right in the supposition. He further imagined the young man had come to town to better his fortune, and seek a place at court, and he was not far wrong in the notion. As the wily knight scanned the handsome features of his companion, his clean-made limbs and symmetrical figure, he thought that success must infallibly attend the production of such a fair youth at a court where personal advantages were the first consideration. A likely gallant he reflected to take the fancy of the king, and if I aid him with means to purchase rich attire and procure him a presentation, he may not prove ungrateful, but of that I shall make good security. I know what gratitude is. He must be introduced to my lady Suffolk. She will know how to treat him. In the first place, he must cast his country slew that ill-made doublet of green cloth must be exchanged for one of velvet slashed in the Venetian style like mine own, with hose stuffed and bombasted according to the mode. A silk stocking will bring out the nice proportions of his leg, though as I am a true gentleman, the youth has so well formed a limb that even his own villainous yarn coverings cannot disfigure it. His hair is of a good brown color which the king affects much and seems to curl naturally, but it wants trimming to the mode for he is rough as a young colt fresh from pasture, and though he hath not much beard on his chin or upper lip, yet what he hath becomes him well and will become him better when properly clipped and twisted. All together he is as goodly a youth as one would desire to see. What if he should supplant Buckingham as Buckingham supplanted Somerset? Let the proud marquee look to himself. We may work his overthrow yet, and now to question him. After replenishing his glass, Sir Francis addressed himself in his blandest accents and with his most insidious manner to his youthful neighbor. For a stranger to town as I conclude you to be young, sir, he said, you have made rather a lucky hit in coming hither today, since you have not only got a better dinner than I, a constant frequenter of this French ordinary, ever saw served here, though the attendance is abominable as you must have remarked that he deserves the bastonado. But your civility and good manners have introduced you to one who may, without presumption, affirm that he hath the will and it may be the ability to serve you if you will only point out to him the way. Nay worthy, sir, you are too kind, the young man modestly replied. I have done nothing to merit your good opinion, though I am happy to have gained it. I rejoice that accident has so far befriended me as to bring me here on this festive occasion, and I rejoice yet more that it has brought me acquainted with a worthy gentleman like yourself, to whom my rustic manners proved not to be displeasing. I have too few friends to neglect any that chance may offer, and as I must carve my own way in the world and fight for a position in it, I gladly accept any hand that may be stretched out to help me in the struggle. Just as I would have it, sir Francis thought, the very man I took him for. As I am a true gentleman, mine shall not be wanting my good youth, with apparent cordiality, and affecting to regard the other with great interest. And when I learn the particular direction in which you intend to shape your course, I shall be the better able to advise and guide you. There are many ways to fortune. Mine should be the shortest if I had any choice the young man rejoined with a smile. Right, quite right, the crafty night returned. All men would take that road if they could find it, but with some, the shortest road would not be the safest. In your case, I think it might be different. I am a sufficiently good mean and a sufficiently good figure to serve you in lieu of other advantages. Your fair speech would put me in conceit with myself worthy, sir, the young man rejoined with a well-pleased air, were I not too conscious of my own demerits, not to impute what you say of me to good nature or to flattery. There you wrong me, my good young friend. On my credit you do. Were I to resort to adulation, I must strain the points of compliment to find phrases that should come up to my opinion in my remarks, and as to my friendly disposition towards you, I have already said that your attentions have won it, so that mere good nature does not prompt my words. I speak of you as I think. May I, without appearing too inquisitive, ask from what part of the country you come? I am from Norfolk, worthy, sir, the young man answered, where my life has been spent among a set of men, wild and uncouth, and fond of the chase as the shorewood archers re-read of in the ballads. I am the son of a broken gentleman, the lord of a ruined house, with one old servant left me out of fifty kept by my father, and with scarce a hundred acres that I can still call my own, out of the thousands swept away from me. Still I hunted my father's woods, killed my father's deer, and fish in my father's lakes, since no one molest me. And I keep up the little church near the old tumble-down hall in which are the tombs of my ancestors and where my father lies buried, and the tenetry come there yet on Sundays, though I am no longer their master, and my father's old chaplain, Sir Oliver, still preaches there, though my father's son can no longer maintain him. A sad change truly, Sir Francis said, in a tone of sympathy, and with a look of well-famed concern, an attributable I much fear to riot in profusion on the part of your father, who so beggared his son. Not so, sir, the young man gravely replied. My father was a most honorable man, and would have injured no one, much less the son on whom he doted. Neither was he profuse, but lived bountifully and well as a country gentleman, with a large estate should live. The cause of his ruin was that he came within the clutches of that devouring monster, which, like the insatiate dragon of Rhodes, has swallowed up the substance of so many families that our land is threatened with desolation. My father was ruined by that court, which, with a mockery of justice, robs men of their name, their fame, their lands and goods, which perverts the course of law and saps the principles of equity, which favors the nave and oppresses the honest man, which promotes and supports extortion and plunder, which reverses righteous judgments and asserts its own unrighteous supremacy, which, by means of its commissioners, spreads its hundred arms over the whole realm to pillage and destroy, so that no one, however distant, can keep out of its reach or escape its supervision, on which, if it be not uprooted, will, in the end, overthrow the kingdom. Need I say, my father was ruined by the star chamber? Hush, hush, my good young sir, Sir Francis cried, having vainly endeavored to interrupt his companion's angry denunciation. Pray, heaven, your words have reached norther ears than mine. To speak of the star chamber as you have spoken is worse than treason. Many a man has lost his ears and been branded on the brow for half you have uttered. Is free speech denied in this free country? The young man cried in astonishment. Must one suffer, grieve us wrong and not complain? Sir Tiz, you must not condemn the star chamber, or you will incur its censure, Sir Francis replied in a low tone. No court in England is so jealous of its prerogatives, nor so severe in punishment of its maligners. It will not have its proceedings canvassed or its judgments questioned. For the plain reason that it knows they will not bear investigation or discussion, such as the practice of all arbitrary and despotic rule, but will Englishmen submit to such tyranny? Again, let me counsel you to put a bridle on your tongue, young sir. Such matters are not to be talked of at public tables, scarcely in private. It is well you have addressed yourself to one who will not betray you. The star chamber hath it spies everywhere. Metal not with it as you value liberty. Light provocation arouses its anger, and once aroused, its wrath is all consuming. End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 of the Star Chamber An Historical Romance, Volume 1 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Star Chamber, Volume 1 by William Harrison Ainsworth Chapter 5 Jocelyn Munchin Say Notwithstanding the risk incurred, the young man whose feelings were evidently deeply interested seemed disposed to pursue the dangerous theme. But perceiving one of their opposite neighbors glancing at them, Sir Francis checked him, and filling his glass essayed to change the conversation by inquiring how long he had been in town and where he lodged. I only arrived in London yesterday, was the reply. Yet I have been here long enough to make me loath to return to the woods and moors of Norfolk. As to my lodging, it is without the city walls near St. Botolphe's Church, and within a bow-shot of Aldgate. A pleasant situation enough, looking towards the spittle fields in the open country, I would feign have got me others in the Strand, or near Charring Cross, if my scanty means would have allowed me. Chance, as I have said, brought me here today. Strolling forth early to view the sights of town, I crossed London Bridge, the magnificence of which amazed me, and, proceeding along the bankside, entered Paris Garden, of which I had heard much and where I was greatly pleased, both with the mastiffs kept there and the formidable animals they have to encounter, and me thought I should like to bait mine enemies with those savage dogs instead of the bear. Returning to the opposite shore in a wary, the waterman landed me at this wharf, and so highly commended the three cranes as affording the best French ordinary and the best French wine in London that seen many gentle folk flocking towards it, which seemed to confirm his statement. Let me fill your glass again. As I am a true gentleman, it will not hurt you. A singular merit of pure Bordeaux, being that you may drink it with impunity, and the light cannot be said of your sophisticated sack. We will crush another flask. Ho, Drar, Cyprian, I say more wine and of the best Bordeaux, the best I say. Let me fill your glass again. As I am a true gentleman, it will not hurt you. A singular merit of pure Bordeaux, being that you may drink it with impunity, and the best Bordeaux, the best I say. And for a wonder the order was obeyed, and the flask set before him. You have been at the bankside, you say, young sir. On my credit, you must cross the river again and visit the theatres, the Globe or the Rose. Our great actor, Dick Burbage, plays a fellow today, and I warrant me he will delight you. A little man is Dick, but he hath a mighty soul. There is none other like him, whether it be Nat Field or Ned Allen. Our famous Shakespeare is fortunate, I trow, in having him to play his great characters. You must see Burbage, likewise in the Mad Prince of Denmark. The part was written for him and fits him exactly. See him also in Gentle and Lovesick Romeo, in Tyrannous and Murderous Macbeth, and in Crookback Richard, in all of which, though different, our Dick is equally good. He hath some other parts of almost equal merit, as Melavola in The Malcontent, Frankfurt in The Woman Killed with Kindness, Brachiano in Webster's White Devil, and Vendice in Cyril Tornauer's Revengers' Tragedy. I know not what may be the nature of that last name play, the young man rather sternly remarked. But if the character of Vendice at all bears out its name, it would suit me, I am an Avenger. Forbear your wrongs a while, I pray you, and drown your resentment in a cup of wine. As I am a true gentleman, a better bottle than the first, nay, taste it, on my credit, it is perfect nectar. I pledge you in a brimmer, wishing success may attend you, and confusion await your enemies, may you speedily regain your rights. I drink that toast most heartily worthy, sir, the young man exclaimed, raising his beaded flagon on high, confusion to my enemies, restoration to my rights, and he drained the goblet to its last drop. By this time he must be in a fit mood for my purpose, sir Francis thought, as he watched him narrowly. Harking, my good friend, he said, lowering his tone, I would not be overheard in what I have to say. You were speaking just now of the shortest way to fortune. I will point it out to you. To him who is bold enough to take it, and who hath the requisites for the venture, the shortest way is to be found at court. Where, thank you most of those gallants of whom you may catch a glimpse through the traverse, derive their revenues. I am a true gentleman from the royal coffers. Not many years ago, with all of them, not many months ago with some, those brilliant, entitled coxcoms were adventurers like yourself, having barely a Jacobus in their purses and scarce credit for board and lodging with their respective landlady. Now you see how nobly they feast and how richly they bedeck themselves. On my credit, the good fortune may attend you, and happily when I dine at an ordinary a year hence receive you at the upper table with a curtain before you to keep off the meaner company and your serving man at your back holding your velvet mantel and cap like the best of your fellow nobles. Heaven, grant it may be so, the young man exclaimed with a sigh. You hold a dazzling picture before me, but I have little expectation of realizing it. It will be your own fault if you do not, the tempter rejoined. You are equally well favored with the handsomest of them, and my good looks alone that the whole party rose to their present eminence. Why not pursue the same course with the same certainty of success? You have courage enough to undertake it, I presume? If courage alone were wanting, I have that, the young man replied, but I am wholly unknown in town. How then shall I accomplish an introduction at court when I know not even its humblest attendant? I have already said you were lucky in meeting with me, Sir Francis replied, and I find you were luckier than I suppose when I told you so, for I knew not then towards what bench your desires tended, nor in what way I could help you. But now, finding out the boldness of your flight and the high game you aim at, I am able to offer you effectual assistance and give you an earnest of a prosperous issue. Through my means you shall be presented to the king, and in such sort that the presentation shall not be idly made. It will rest then with yourself to play your cards dexterously and to follow up a winning game. Doubtless you will have many adversaries who will trip up your heels if they can and throw every obstacle in your way, but if you possess the strong arm I fancy you do, and daring to second it, you have nothing to fear. As I am a true gentleman, you shall have good counsel and a friend in secret to back you. To whom am I indebted for this most gracious and unlooked for offer? the young man asked, his breast heaving by flashing with excitement. To one you may perchance have heard of, the knight answered, as the subject of some misrepresentation, how justly applied you yourself will be able to determine from my present conduct, I am Sir Francis Mitchell. At the mention of this name the young man started, and a deep, angry flush overspread his face in brow, perceiving the effect produced, the wily knight hastened to remove it. My name, I see, awakens unpleasant associations in your breast, he said, and your looks shows you have been influenced by the colonies of my enemies. I do not blame you. Men can only be judged of by report, and those I have had dealings with have reported ill enough of me. But they have spoken falsely. I have done no more than any other person would do. I have obtained the best interest I could for my money, and my losses have been almost equal to my gains. Folks are ready enough to tell all they can against you, but slow to mention ought they conceive to be in your favor. They stigmatize me as a user, but they forget to add I am ever the friend of those in need. They use me, and abuse me. That is the way of the world. Wherefore then should I complain? I am no worse off than my neighbors. And the proof that I can be disinterested is the way in which I have acted towards you a perfect stranger and who have no other recommendation to my good offices than your gracious mean and gentle manners. I cannot accept your preferred aides, Sir Francis, the young man replied, in an altered tone, and with great sternness, and you will understand why I cannot when I announce myself to you as Jocelyn Monson say. It was now the night's turn to start, change color, and tremble. End of Chapter 5 Chapter 6 of the Star Chamber, an historical romance, Volume 1. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Star Chamber, Volume 1, by William Harrison Ainsworth. Chapter 6 Provocation A momentary pause ensued during which Monson say, regarded the night so fiercely that the latter began to entertain apprehensions for his personal safety and meditated a precipitate retreat. But he did not dare to move, lest the action should bring upon him the hurt he wished to avoid. Thus he remained, like a bird fascinated by the rattlesnake, until the young man, whose power of speech seemed taken from him by passion, went on, in a tone of deep and concentrated rage that communicated a hissing sound to his words. Yes, I am Jocelyn Monson say, he said. The son of him who your arts and those of your partner in iniquity, Sir Giles Monpason, brought to destruction, the son of him whom you despoiled of a good name in large estates, and cast into a loathsome prison to languish and to die. I am the son of that murdered man. I am he whom you have robbed of his inheritance, whose proud as scutching you have tarnished, whose family you have reduced to beggary and utter ruin. But Sir Jocelyn, my worthy friend, the night faltered, have patience, I pray of you. If you consider yourself aggrieved, I am willing to make reparation, ample reparation. You know what were my intentions toward you before I had the slightest notion of who we might be. If I had been but aware of it, he thought, I would have taken care to keep at a respectful distance from him. I will do more than I promised. I will lend you any sums of money you may require and on your personal security. Your bare word shall suffice. No bonds, no written obligations of any kind. Does that sound like usury? As I am a true gentleman. I am most unfairly judged. I am not the extortioner men describe me. You shall find me your friend, he added in a low earnest tone. I will reestablish your fortune, give you a new title, higher and prouder than that which you have lost. And if you will follow my counsel, you shall supplant the haughty favorite himself. You shall stand where Buckingham now stands. Hear reason, good Sir Jocelyn, hear reason I entreat you. I will hear nothing further, Jocelyn rejoined. Were you to talk till doomsday, you could not alter my feelings toward you a jot. My chief Aaron in coming to London was to call you and Sir Giles Mompasson to strict account. And we will answer any charges you may bring against us readily. Most readily, Sir Jocelyn. All was done in fairness. According to the law, the star chamber will uphold us. Tut, you think you terrify me with that bugbear, but I am not so easily frightened. We have met for the first time by chance, but our next meeting shall be by appointment. When and where you please, Sir Jocelyn the night replied, but recollect the duelo is forbidden, and though I would not willingly disappoint you in your desire to cut my throat, I should be sorry to think you might be hanged for it afterwards. Come, Sir Jocelyn, lay aside this idle passion and look to your true interests, which lie not in quarreling with me, but in our reconciliation. I can help you effectually as I have shown, and as I am a true gentleman, I will help you. Give me your hand and let us be friends. Never, Jocelyn exclaimed, withdrawing from him, never shall the hand of a mansion say, grasp yours in friendship. I would sooner mine rotted off. I am your mortal foe. My father's death has to be avenged. Provoke him not, my good young Sir, interposed an elderly man next to him, in a long furred gown with hanging sleeves and a flat cap on his head who had heard what was now passing. You know not the mischief he may do you. I laugh at his malice and defy him, Jocelyn cried. He shall not sit one moment longer beside me. Out, nave, out, he added, seizing Sir Francis by the wing of his doublet and forcibly thrusting him from his seat. You are not fit company for honest men. Ho! Varlets to the door with him. Throw him into the kennel. You shall rue this villain. You shall rue it bitterly, Sir Francis cried, shaking his clenched hands at him. Your father perished like a dog in the fleet, and you shall perish there likewise. You have put yourself wholly in my power, and I will make a fearful example of you. You have dared to utter scandalous and contemptuous language against the great and high court of star chamber, before the decrees of which all men bow, impugning its justice and denying its authority, and you shall feel the full displeasure. I call upon these worthy gentlemen to testify against you. We have heard nothing and can testify nothing, several voices cried. But you, sir, who were next to him, you must have heard him, Sir Francis said, addressing the elderly man in the furred gown. Not I rejoined the person appealed to. I gave no heed to what was said. But I did, Sir Francis, squeaked a little way-faced man in a large, rough and tight-laced yellow doublet from the opposite side of the table. I heard him most audaciously vilapend the high court of star chamber in its councils, and I will bear testimony against him when called upon. Your name, good sir, your name, Sir Francis demanded, taking out his tablets. Set me down as Thopas Treadnock, tailor at the sign of the pressing iron in Cornhill, the way-faced man replied, in his shrill tones, amid the derisive laughter of the assemblage. Thopas Treadnock, tailor, good, the knight replied, as he wrote the name down. You will be an excellent witness, Master Treadnock. Fare you well for the present master, Jocelyn Monchancy, for I now mind well your father was degraded from the honour of knighthood. As I am a true gentleman, you may be sure of committal to the fleet. As may be supposed, the scuffle which had taken place attracted the attention of those in its immediate vicinity, and when the cause of it became known, as it was presently did throughout both tables, great indignation was expressed against Sir Francis, who was censured on all hands, jeered and flouted as he moved to the door. So great was the clamour, and so appropriate were the epithets in terms applied to him, that the knight was eager to make his escape. But he met Cyprian in his way, and the drall young Gascon, holding a dish cover in one hand by way of buckler, and a long carving knife in the other, in place of a sword, opposed as he did. Let me pass, knave, Sir Francis cried in alarm. By your leave, no, returned Cyprian, encouraged by the laughter and plaudits of the company. You have come hither uninvited, and must stay till you have permission to depart. Having partaken of the banquet, you must perforce Terry for the rare banquet. The suites and kates have yet to come, Sir Francis. What do you mean, Sir Ah, the knight demanded in increased trepidation? Your presence is necessary at a little entertainment I have provided to follow the dinner, sweet Sir Francis, Madame Bonaventure cried, advancing towards him. And as you have a principal part in it, I can by no means spare you. No one can spare you, sweet Sir Francis, several voices chimed in derisively. You must remain with us a little longer. But I will not stay, I will not be detained. There is some conspiracy afoot against me. I will indict you all for it if you hinder me forth, the knight vociferated, in accents of mingled rage and terror. Stop me at your peril, thou saucy Gaskin-nave. Cornet du diable, no more a nave than yourself, Gros Eussarier, Sir Francis cried. Lese Louis, Sir Francis, Madame Bonaventure interposed, the courteous knight will yield to my entreaties and stave his own free will. I have business that calls me hence, I must go, Sir Francis said, endeavoring to push by them. Let the door be closed, an authoritative voice cried from the head of the table. The order was instantly obeyed, two serving men stationed themselves before the place of exit, and Sir Francis found himself a prisoner. The roof rang with the laughter and jibes of the guests. This is a frolic gentleman I perceive. You are resolved to make me your sport. Ha! Ha! Sir Francis said, trying to disguise his uneasiness under an appearance of levity. But you will not carry the jest too far. You will not maltreat me. My partner, Sir Giles Mompasson, will be here and on, and will requite any outrage committed upon me. Sir Giles is impatiently expected by us, a spruce coxcomb near him replied. Madame Bonaventure had prepared us for his coming. We will give him the welcome he deserves. Ah, traitorous! Then it was all planned, Sir Francis thought, and blind out that I am, I have fallen into the snare. But the poor knight was nearly at his wits end with fright, when he saw Lord Ruse quit his place at the upper table and approach him. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of the Star Chamber, an historical romance, Volume 1. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org The Star Chamber, Volume 1 by William Harrison Ainsworth Chapter 7 How Lord Ruse Obtained Sir Francis Mitchell's Signature What! My Prince of Userers exclaimed Lord Ruse in a mocking tone. My worthy moneylender, who never takes more than cent per cent and art ill content with less, who never exacts more than the penalty of thy bond. Unless more may be got, who never drives a hard bargain with a needy man by thine own account, who never persecutes a debtor, who as a prison shall vouch for thee, who art just in all thy transactions, as every man who hath had dealings with thee will affirm, and who knows not how to lie, to cheat, to cousin, as some userers do. You are pleasant, my lord, Sir Francis replied. I mean to be so, Lord Ruse said, for I esteem thee for thy rare qualities. I know not thy peer for cunning and navery. Thy mischievous schemes are so well conceived that they prove thee to have an absolute genius for villainy. Scruples thou hast none, and considerations and feelings which might move men less obdurate than thyself, have no influence over thee. To ruin a man is with the mere past time, and groans of the oppressed are music in thine ears. Aha, a good jest, you are always merry with me, my lord. Yes, when I borrowed money from thee, but not when I had to repay it twice over, I laughed not then, but was foolish enough to threaten to take thy life. My anger is past now. But we must drink together, arousing toast. At your lordship's pleasure, Sir Francis replied. Cyprian, a flask of wine and thy largest goblet, Lord Ruse cried. Tis well, now pour the whole into the flagon. Do me reason in this cup, Sir Francis? What, in this mighty cup, my lord? the knight replied. Tis too much, I swear. If I become drunken, the sin will lie at your door. Off with it, without more ado, and let the toast be what thou practicest, pillage and extortion. I cannot drink that toast, my lord, twill choke me. Sadeath, villain, but thou shalt or thou shalt never taste wine more. Down with it, man, and now your signature to this paper. My signature, Sir Francis cried, reeling from the effect of the wine he had swallowed. Name, my good lord, I can sign nothing that I have not read. What is it? A blank sheet, Lord Ruse rejoined. I will fill it up afterwards. Then, my lord, I refuse. That is, I decline. That is, I had rather not if your lordship pleases. But my lordship pleases otherwise. Give him pen and ink and set him near the table. This was done, and Sir Francis regarded the paper with swimming eyes. Now, your name, written near the bottom of the sheet, Lord Ruse cried. It is done under compulsion and I protest against it. Sign, I say, the young nobleman exclaimed, wrapping the table peremptorily. On this, Sir Francis wrote his name in the place indicated. Enough, Lord Ruse cried, snatching up the paper. This is all I want. Now set him on the table that his partner may have him in full view when he arrives, to give him a foretaste of what he may himself expect. What mean you ruffians? Tis an indignity to which I shall not submit, cried Sir Francis, who was now, however, too far gone to offer any resistance. A leatheren girdle was found with which he was fastened to the chair so as to prevent him slipping from it, and in this state he was hoisted upon the table and set with his face to the door, looking the very picture of an ebriety with his head drooping on one side, circling uselessly down, and his thin legs stretched idly out. After making some incoherent objections to this treatment, he became altogether silent, and seemed to fall asleep. His elevation was received with shouts of laughter from the whole company. The incident had not taken place many minutes, and a round had scarcely been drunk by the guests when a loud and peremptory summons was heard at the door. The noise roused even the poor drunkard in the chair, who, lifting up his head, stared about him with vacant eyes. Let the door be opened, the same authoritative voice exclaimed, which had before ordered its closure. The mandate was obeyed, and amidst profound silence which suddenly succeeded with clashing of glasses and expressions of hilarity, Sir Giles Montessant entered with his bodyguard of myrmidons behind him. Habited in black, as was his custom, with a velvet mantle on his shoulder and a long rapier by his side, he came forward with a measured step and a shored demeanor. Though he must necessarily have been surprised by the assemblage he found, so much more numerous and splendid than he could have anticipated, he betrayed no signs whatever of embarrassment. Nor, though his quick eye instantly detected Sir Francis, and he guessed at once why the poor knight had been so scandalously treated, did he exhibit any signs of displeasure or take the slightest notice of the circumstance, reserving this point for consideration when his first business should be settled. An additional frown might have darkened his countenance, but it was so stern and somber without it that no perceptible change could be discerned. Unless it might be in the lightning glances he cast around, as if seeking someone he might call to account presently for the insult. But no one seemed willing to reply to the challenge. Though bold enough before he came and boastful of what they would do, they all looked odd by his presence and averted their gaze from him. There was indeed something so formidable in the man that to shun a quarrel with him was more a matter of prudence than an act of cowardice. And on the present occasion, no one liked to be the first to provoke him, trusting to his neighbor to commence the attack or awaiting the general outbreak. There was one exception, however, and that was Jocelyn Monchancy, who, so far from desiring to shun Sir Giles's searching regards, courted them. And as the knight's eagle eye ranged round the table and fell upon him, the young man notwithstanding the efforts of his pacific neighbor Ferd Cloak to restrain him, suddenly rose up and, throwing all the scorn and defiance he could muster into his countenance, returned Mompasson's glance with one equally fierce and menacing. A bitter smile curled Sir Giles' lip at this reply to his challenge, and he regarded the young man fixedly as if to grave his features upon his memory. Perhaps they brought Monchancy's father to mind for Sir Giles withdrew his gaze for a moment to reflect, and then looked again at Jocelyn with fresh curiosity. If he had any doubt as to whom he beheld, they were removed by Sir Francis who managed to hiccup forth. "'Tis he, Sir Giles. Tis Jocelyn Monchancy.' "'I thought as much,' Sir Giles muttered. "'A moment, young man,' he cried, waving his hand imperiously to his antagonist. "'Your turn will come presently.' And without bestowing further notice on Jocelyn, who resisted all his neighbors and treaties to him to sit down, Sir Giles advanced toward the middle chamber where he paused and took off his cap, having hither too remained covered. In this position he looked like a grand inquisitor attended by his familiars. End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 of The Star Chamber An Historical Romance, Volume 1 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org The Star Chamber, Volume 1 by William Harrison Ainsworth Chapter 8 of Lupo Vulp Captain Blutter Clement Lanier and Sir Giles's other Mermidans Close behind Sir Giles and a little in advance of the rest of the Mermidans stood Lupo Vulp, the Scrivener. Lupo Vulp was the confidential advisor of our two extortioners, to whom they referred all their nefarious projects. He it was who prepared their bonds and contracts and placed out their ill-gotten gains Lupo Vulp was in all respects worthy of his employers being just as wily and unscrupulous as they were, while at the same time he was rather better versed in legal tricks and stratagems so that he could give them apt counsel in any emergency. Accountants more replete with cunning and navery than that of Lupo Vulp it would be difficult to discover. A sardonic smile hovered perpetually about his mouth which was garnished with ranges of the keenest and whitest teeth. His features were sharp, his eyes small set wide apart of a light grey color and with all the slowness of a fox lurking within their furtive glances. Indeed his general resemblance to that astute animal must have struck a physiognomist. His head was shaped like that of a fox and his hair and beard were of a reddish tawny hue. His manner was stealthy, cowering, suspicious as if he feared a blow from every hand. Yet Lupo Vulp could show his teeth and snap on occasions. He was attired in a close fitting doublet of russety brown, round yellow hose and long stockings of the same hue. A short brown mantle and a fox skin cap completed his costume. The leader of the troop was Captain Blutter a huge Alsatian bully with fiercely twisted mustachios and fiery red beard cut like a spade. He wore a steeple crowned hat with a brooch in it, a buffed jerkin and boots and a sword and buckler dangled from his waist. Besides these, he had a couple of patronels stuck in his girdle. The captain drank like a fish and swaggered and swore like twenty troopers. The rear of the band was formed by the tip-staves. Stout fellows with hooks at the end of their poles intended to capture a fugitive or hail him along when caught. With these were some others armed with brown bills. No uniformity prevailed in the accoutrements of the party. Each man arraigned himself as he listed. Some wore old leather jerkens and steel skirts. Some peace-god doublets of Elizabeth's time and truncos that had covered many a limb besides their own. Others slops and gala gaskins while the poor sort were robed in rusty gowns of tuft macado or taffeta once guarded with velvet or lined with skins but now tattered in threadbare. Their caps and bonnets were as varied as their apparel. Some being high crowned, some trencher shaped, and some few wide in the leaf and looped at the side. Moreover, there was every variety of villainous aspect, the savage scowl of the desperado, the cunning leer of the trickster, and the sordid look of the mean nave. Several of them betrayed by the marks of infamy branded on their faces or by the loss of ears that they had passed through the hands of the public executioner. Amongst these there was one with a visage more frightfully mutilated than those of his comrades, the nose having been slit and subsequently sewed together again but so clumsily that the severed parts had only imperfectly united, communicating a strange distorted and forbidding look to the physiognomy. Clement Lanier, the owner of this gashed and ghastly face who was also reft of his ears and branded on the cheek, had suffered infamy and degradation owing to the license he had given his tongue in respect to the star chamber. Prosecuted in that court by Sir Giles on as a notorious libeler and scandaler of the judges and first personages of the realm, he was found guilty and sentenced accordingly. The court showed little leniency to such offenders, but it was a matter of grace that his clamorous tongue was not torn out likewise in addition to the punishment actually inflicted. A heavy fine and imprisonment accompanied the corporal penalties. Thus utterly ruined and degraded and a mark for the finger of scorn to point at, Clement Lanier whose prospects had once been fair enough as his features had been prepossessing became soured and malevolent embittered against the world and at war with society. He turned promoter, or in modern parlance informer, lodging complaints seeking out causes for prosecutions and bringing people into trouble in order to obtain part of the forfeits they incurred for his pains. Strange to say, he attached himself to Sir Giles' mampuson, the cause of all his misfortunes, and became one of the most active and useful of his followers. It was thought no good could come of this alliance and that the promoter only bided his time to turn upon his master, against whom it was only natural he should nourish secret vengeance. But if it were so, Sir Giles seemed to entertain no apprehensions of him, probably thinking he could crush him whenever he pleased. Either way, the event was long deferred. Clement Lanier, to all appearance, continued to serve his master zealously and well, and Sir Giles gave no sign whatever of distrust. But, on the contrary, treated him with increased confidence. The promoter was attired wholly in black. Cloak, cap, doublet, and hose were of sable. And as, owing to the emolument springing from his vile calling, his means were far greater than those of his comrades, so his habiliments were better. When wrapped in his mantle, with his mutilated countenance covered with a mask which he generally wore, the informer might have passed for a cavalier. So tall and well-formed was his figure, and so bold his deportment. The dangerous service he was employed upon, which exposed him to insult and injury, required him to be well-armed, and he took care to be so. Two or three of Sir Giles' merminans have him been selected for particular description, the designations of some others must suffice, such as staring hue, a rascal of unmatched effrontery, the gib-cat and cutting dick, the dissolute rogues from the pick-thatch internal street near Corkinwell, old Tom Wooten, once a notorious harbourer of masterless men at his house at Smart's Quay, but now a sheriff's officer, and perhaps it ought to be mentioned that there were some half-dozen swashbucklers and sharpers from Alsatia under the command of Captain Blutter, who was held responsible for their good conduct. Such was Sir Giles' bodyguard. On his entrance it may be remarked, the curtain in front of the raised table was more closely drawn, so as completely to conceal the guests, but their importance might be inferred from the serving men in rich liveries standing before the traverse. Profound silence reigned throughout the assemblage. Having uncovered, as before mentioned, and made a formal reverence to the company, Sir Giles spoke as follows, I crave your pardon-worthy sirs, he said, in a distinct and resolute voice, for this intrusion can regret to be the means of marring your festivity. I came hither wholly unprepared to find such an assemblage, yet though I would willingly have chosen a more fitting opportunity for my visit, and would postpone, if I could, to another occasion, the unpleasant duty I have to fulfill, the matter is urgent and will not admit of delay. You will hold me excused, therefore, if I proceed with it, regardless of your presence, and I am well assured no let or interruption will be offered me, seeing I act with the royal license and authority of which I am the unworthy representative. Truly, your conduct requires explanation, Jocelyn Monson say cried, in a mocking tone. If I had not been here in London, I should have judged from your appearance, and that of your attendance, that a band of desperate marauders had broken in upon us, and that we must draw our swords to defend our lives and save the house from pillage. But after what you have said, I conclude you to be the sheriff, come with your followers to execute your deportment, and therefore, however annoying the presence of such a functionary may be, however ill-timed may be your visit, and unmanually your deportment, we are bound not to molest you. Provocation like this was rarely addressed to sergiles, and the caller occasioned by it was increased by the laughter and cheers of the company. Nevertheless, he constrained his anger, replying in a stern, scornful tone. I would not counsel you to molest me, young man, the mistake you have committed in regard to myself may be pardoned in one of your evident inexperience, who, fresh from the borish society of the country, finds himself for the first time among well-bred gentlemen. Of all here present you are probably the sole person ignorant that I am sergiles mampus on, but it is scarcely likely that they should be aware, as I chance to be, that the clownish insolent who has dared to wag his tongue against me is the son of a star chamber delinquent. Chapter 9 of the Star Chamber, an historical romance, Volume 1. This is the LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Star Chamber, Volume 1 by William Harrison Ainsworth Chapter 9. The Letter's Patent A slight reaction in sergiles's favor was produced by his speech, but Jocelyn quite regained his position with the company when he exclaimed, my father was misjudged, his prosecutor was a villain, and his sentence iniquitous. You have uttered your own condemnation, Jocelyn Monsonzi. Sergiles cried with a savage laugh. Know to your confusion that the High Court of Star Chamber is so tender of upholding the honor of its sentences, that it ever punishes such as speak against them with the greatest severity. You have uttered your scandals openly. Imprudent young man, you have indeed placed yourself in fearful jeopardy, a gentleman near him observed at Jocelyn. Escape if you can, you are lost if you remain here. But instead of following the friendly advice, Jocelyn would have assaulted Sergiles if he had not been forcibly withheld by the gentleman. The night was not slow to follow up the advantage he had gained. Stand forward, Clement Lanier, he exclaimed authoritatively. The promoter instantly advanced. Look at this man, Sergiles continued, addressing Jocelyn, and you will perceive how those who malign the star chamber are treated. This disfigured countenance was once as free from seam or scar as your own, and yet for an offense lighter than yours, it hath been stamped as you see with indelible infamy. Answer, Clement Lanier, and answer according to your conscience. Was the sentence just of the high and honorable court by which you were tried? It was just, the promoter replied, a deep flush dying his ghastly visage. And lenient? Most lenient, for it left my foul tongue the power of speech it now enjoys. By whom were you prosecuted in the star chamber? By him I now serve. That is, by myself. Do you bear me malice for what I did? I have never said so. On the contrary, Sergiles, I have always given you a deep debt. Which you strive to pay, which I will pay. You hear what this man says, Monson say? Sergiles cried. You have been guilty of the same offense as he. Why should you not be similarly punished? If I were so punished, I would stab my prosecutor to the heart, Jocelyn replied. At this rejoinder, Lanier, who had hitherto kept his eyes on the ground, suddenly raised them with a look of singular expression at the speaker. Huff, Sergiles ejaculated. I must proceed to extremities with him, I find. Keep strict watch upon him, Lanier, and follow him if he goes forth. Trace him to his lair, now, to business. Give me the letter's patent, Lupo, he added, turning to the scrivener as Lanier retired. These letter's patent, continued Sergiles, taking two parchment scrolls with large seals pendant from them from Lupo vault, and displaying them to the assemblage. These royal letters, he repeated in his steady, stern tones, and glancing round with a look of half defiance, passed under the great seal, and bearing the king's sign manual, as ye see gentlemen, constitute the authority on which I act. They accord to me and my co-patentee, Ser Francis Mitchell, absolute and uncontrolled power and discretion in granting and refusing licenses to all tavern keepers and hostile keepers throughout London. They give us full power to enter and inspect all taverns and hostels at any time that may seem fit to us, and prevent any unlawful games being used therein, and to see that good order and rule be maintained. They also render it compulsory upon all ale housekeepers, tavern keepers, and inn keepers throughout London to enter into their own recognizances with us against the non-observants for our rules and regulations for their governments and maintenance, and to find two sureties, and in the case of the forfeiture of such recognizances, by any act of the parties, coming within the scope of our authority, it is provided that one moity of the sum forfeited be paid to the crown and the other moity to us. Lend me your ears yet further, I pray, ye gentlemen. These royal letters empower us to inflict certain fines and penalties upon all such as offend against our authority or resist our claims, and they enable us to apprehend such offenders without further warrant than the letters themselves contain. In brief, gentlemen, he continued in a peremptory tone as if insisting upon attention. You will observe that the absolute control of all houses of entertainment where excisible liquors are vended is delegated to us by his most gracious majesty, King James, to which end ample powers have been given us by his majesty who has armed us with the strong arm of the law. Will it please ye to inspect the letters, gentlemen? Holding them forth. You will find that his majesty hath thus written En cu juice aree testimonium es de ti eras a nostras fierre fecimus patense, teste meyipso apud westem diace diae mai anu reyni nostri, etc. Then follows the royal signature. None of ye, I presume, will question its authenticity. A deep silence succeeded, in the midst of which Jocelyn Monchance broke forth. I, for one, question it, he cried. I will never believe that a king who, like our gracious sovereign, has the welfare of his subjects at heart would sanction the oppression and injustice which those warrants if entrusted to unscrupulous hands must inevitably accomplish. I therefore mistrust the genuineness of the signature. If not forged, it has been obtained by fraud or misrepresentation. Some murmurs of applause followed this bold speech, but the gentleman who had previously counseled the young man again interposed and whispered these words in his ear. Your rash vehemence will undo you, if you take not heed. Beyond question Sir Giles hath the king's sanction for what he does, and to censure him as you have done is to censure the crown, which is next to treason. Be ruled by me, my good young sir, and meddle no more in the matter. Sir Giles, who had some difficulty in controlling his co-ler, now spoke. You have cast an imputation upon me, Jocelyn Monsoncy, he cried with concentrated fury, which you shall be compelled to retract as publicly as you have made it. To insult an officer of the crown in the discharge of his duty is to insult the crown itself as you will find. In the king's name I command you to hold your peace, or in the king's name I will instantly arrest you, and I forbid anyone to give you aid. I will not be troubled thus. Appointed by his majesty to assert an office, I exercise it as much for the benefit of the royal exchequer as for my own personal advantage. I have his majesty's full approval of what I do, and I need nothing more. I am accountable to no man save the king, addressing this menace as much to the rest of the company as to Jocelyn. But I came not here to render explanation, but to act. What ho? Madame Bonaventure, where are you, madame? Oh, you are here. Bonjour, sweet sir Giles, the landlady said, making him a profound obeisance. What is your pleasure with me, sir, and to what am I to attribute the honor of this visit? Tut, madame, you know well enough what brings me hither, and thus attended, he replied. I come in pursuance of a notice, served upon you a month ago. You will have received it since the officer who placed it in your hands is here present, and he indicated Clement Lanier. Oh, contraire, sir Giles, madame Bonaventure replied. I readily admit the receipt of a written message from you, which, though scarcely intelligible to my poor comprehension, did not seem as agreeably warded as a billet due. May, ma foie, I attached little importance to it. I did not suppose it possible, nor do I suppose it possible now with a captivating smile, which was totally lost upon Sir Giles, that you could adopt such rigorous measures against me. My measures may appear rigorous, madame, Sir Giles coldly replied, but I am warranted in taking them. Nay, I am compelled to take them. Not having made the satisfaction required by the notice, you have deprived yourself of the protection I was willing to afford you. I am now merely your judge. The penalties incurred by your neglect are these. Your license was suspended a month ago. The notice expressly stating that it would be withdrawn, unless certain conditions were fulfilled. Consequently, as ever since that time you have been vending exisable liquors without lawful permission, you have incurred a fine of one hundred marks a day, making a total of three thousand marks now due and owing from you, partly to His Majesty and partly to His Majesty's representatives. This sum I now demand. Ah, due, three thousand marks, Madame Bonaventure screamed. What robbery is this? What barbarity? It is ruin, utter ruin. I may as well close my house altogether and return to my own fair country. As I am an honest woman, Sir Giles, I cannot pay it. So it is quite useless on your part to make any such demand. You profess inability to pay, madame, Sir Giles rejoined. I cannot believe you having some knowledge of your means. Nevertheless, I will acquaint you with a rule of law applicable to the contingency you put. Qua de non abet incere, lue incopore, is a decree of the star chamber, meaning, for I do not expect you to understand Latin, that he who cannot pay in purse shall pay in person. Aware of the alternative, you will make your choice. And you may thank me that I have not adjudged you at once, as I have the power to three months within the Wood Street compter. A cautious idea. You are worse than a savage to talk of such a loathsome prison to me. Ah, mon dieu, what is to happen to me? Would I were back again in my lovely Bordeaux? You will have an opportunity of revisiting that fine city, madame, for you will no longer be able to carry on your calling here. C.L. Sir Giles, what mean you? I mean, madame, that you are disabled from keeping any tavern for the space of three years. Madame Bonaventure clasped her hands together and screamed aloud. In pity, Sir Giles, in pity, she cried. The inexorable knight shook his head. The low murmurs of indignation among the company, which had been gradually gathering force during the foregoing dialogue, now became clamorous. A most scandalous proceeding exclaimed one. To privus of our best French ordinary cried another. Infamous extortioner shouted a third. Will not permit such injustice. Let us take the law into our own hands and settle the question, shouted a fourth. I, down with the knight, added a fifth. But Sir Giles continued perfectly unmoved by the tempest raging around and laughed to scorn these menaces, contenting himself with signing to captain Blutter to be in readiness. A truce to this gentleman, he at length thundered forth. The king's warrant must be respected. Again, madame Bonaventure besought his pity, but in vain. She took hold of his arm and feigned to kneel to him, but he shook her coldly off. You are a very charming woman, no doubt, madame, he said sarcastically. And some men might find you irresistible, but I am not made of such yielding stuff, and you may spare yourself further trouble, for all your powers of persuasion will fail with me. I renew my demand, and for the last time. Do not compel me to resort to extremities with you. It would grieve me, he added with a bitter smile, to drag so pretty a woman through the public streets, like a common debtor to the compter. Grace, grace, sir Giles, cried madame Bonaventure. Then, seeing him remain inflexible, she added in an altered tone. I will never submit with life to such an indignity, never. We'll all protect you, madame, cried the assemblage with one voice. Let him lay hands upon you and he shall see. Sir Giles glanced at his servants. They stepped quickly towards him in a body. At the same time, Jocelyn Monchancy, whom no efforts of the friendly gentleman could now restrain, sprang forward and, drawing his sword, was just in time to place himself before madame Bonaventure as she drew hastily back. Have no fear, madame, you are safe with me, the young man said, glancing fiercely at the night and his troop. The greatest confusion now reigned throughout the room. Other swords were and several of the guests mounted upon the benches to overlook the scene. Cyprian and the rest of the drawers and tradesmen ranged themselves behind their mistress, prepared to resist any attempt on the part of the myrmidons to seize her. The curtain at the head of the room was partly drawn aside, showing that the distinguished persons at the upper table were equally excited. Gentlemen, Sir Giles said, still maintaining perfect calmness in the midst of the tumult. A word with you ere it be too late. I don't address myself to you, Jocelyn Monchancy, for you are undeserving of any friendly consideration, but to all others I would counsel forbearance and non-resistance. Deliver up that woman to me. I will die upon the spot sooner than you shall be surrendered, said Jocelyn, encouraging the hostess who clung to his disengaged arm. Oh, merci, grand merci, Montbou gentillon, she exclaimed. Am I to understand then that you mean to impede me in the humble execution of my purposes, gentlemen, Sir Giles demanded. We mean to prevent an unlawful arrest, several voices rejoined. Be it so, the knight said, I wash my hands of the consequences. Then, turning to his followers, he added, officers, at all hazards, attach the person of de Mary Bonaventure and convey her to the comter. At the same time, arrest the young man beside her, Jocelyn Monchancy, who has uttered reasonable language against our sovereign Lord the King. I will tell you how to dispose of him anon, do my bidding at once. But ere the order could be obeyed, the authoritative voice which had previously been heard from the upper table exclaimed, Hold! Sir Giles paused, looked irresolute for a minute, and then checked his myrmidons with a wave of his hand. Who is it stays the law, he said, with the glare of a tiger from whom a bone has been snatched. One you must needs obey, Sir Giles replied Lord Ruse, coming toward him from the upper table. You have unconsciously played a part in a comedy and played it very well too, but it is time to bring the piece to an end. We are fast verging on the confines of tragedy. I do not understand you my lord, Sir Giles returned gravely. I discern nothing comic in the matter, though much of serious import. You do not perceive the comedy because it has been part of our scheme to keep you in the dark, Sir Giles. So there is a scheme then on your foot here, my lord. Ha! A little merry plot, nothing more, Sir Giles. In the working of which your worthy co-patenties, Sir Francis Mitchell has materially assisted. Ha! exclaimed Sir Giles, glancing at his partner, who still occupied his elevated position upon the table. I presume then I have to thank you, my lord, for the indignity offered to my friend. As you please, Sir Giles, Lord Ruse returned carelessly. You call it an indignity, but in my opinion to be done with a man whose head so swings with wine that his legs refuse to support him is to tie him in a chair. He may else sacrifice his dignity by rolling under the table. Let this pass for the knots. Before Sir Francis was wholly overcome, he was good enough to give me his signature. You saw him do it, gentlemen, he added, appealing to the company. Yes, yes, we saw him write it, was the general reply. And to what end was this done, my lord, Sir Giles demanded sternly. To enable me, replied the imperturbable young nobleman, to draw out a receipt in full of your joint claims against Madam Bonaventure. I have done it, Sir Giles, and here it is. And I have taken care to grant a renewal of her license from the date of your notice so that no penalties or fines can attach to her for neglect. Take it, Madam Bonaventure, he continued, handing her the paper. It is your full acquittance. And thank you, my lord, that this shallow promise to give it no harsher term will avail you anything, Sir Giles cried scornfully. I said it aside at once. You're pardoned, Sir Giles, you will do no such thing. And who will hinder me, you, my lord? Even I, Sir Giles, proceed at your peril. The young nobleman's assurance staggered his opponent. He must have someone to uphold him or he would not be thus confident, he thought. Whose was the voice I heard? It sounded like, no matter, to his needful to be cautious. You do not then hold yourself bound by the acts of your partner, Sir Giles, Lord Ruse said. I deny this to be his act, the night replied. Better question him at once on the subject, Lord Ruse said. Set him free, Cyprian. The gas gun did as he was bitten, and with the aid of his fellow drawers helped Sir Francis from the village to stagger forward unassisted and would have embraced Sir Giles that the latter had not thrust him off in disgust with some violence. What folly is this, Sir Francis, Sir Giles cried angrily. You have forgotten yourself strangely, you have taken leave of your senses, me thinks. Not a wit of it, Sir Giles, not a wit. I was never more my own master than I am at present, as I will prove to you. Prove it then by explaining how you came you could not mean to run counter to me. But I did, Sir Francis rejoined, highly offended. I meant to run counter to you in signing it and I mean it now. Sadeath, you besotted fool, you are playing into their hands. Besotted fool in your teeth, Sir Giles, I am as sober as yourself. My hand has been put to that paper and what it contains I stand by. You designed then to acquit Madame Bonaventure? Consider what you say? No need for consideration, I have always designed it. Ten thousand thanks, Sir Francis, the host has cried. I knew I had an excellent friend in you. The enamored knight seized the hand she extended towards him, but in the attempt to kiss it fell to the ground, amid the laughter of the company. Are you satisfied now, Sir Giles? Asked Lord Bruce. I am satisfied that Sir Francis has been duped, he replied, and that when his brain is free from pain, he will bitterly regret his folly. But even his discharge will be insufficient. Though it may bind me, it will not bind the crown, which will yet enforce its claims. That, Sir Giles, I leave competent authority to decide, Lord Bruce replied, retiring. And as he withdrew, the curtains before the upper table were entirely withdrawn, disclosing the whole of the brilliant assemblage and at the head of them one person far more brilliant and distinguished than the other. Buckingham, Sir Giles exclaimed, I thought I knew the voice. It was indeed the king's omnipotent favorite. Magnificently attired, the marquee of Buckingham as far outshone his companions in splendor of habiliments as he did in statelyness of carriage and beauty of person. Rising from the table and donning his plund hat looped with diamonds, with a gesture worthy of a monarch, while all the rest remained uncovered as if in recognition of superior dignity, he descended to where Sir Giles Mompasson was standing. It needs scarcely be said that Jocelyn Monsonce had never seen the superb favorite before, but he did not require to be told whom he beheld, so perfectly did Buckingham realize the descriptions given of him. A little above ordinary height were the figure of the most perfect symmetry and features as aristocratic and haughty as handsome. It was impossible to conceive a prouder or nobler-looking personage than the marquee. His costume was splendid, consisting of a doublet of white-cut velvet roped with pearls which fitted him to admiration. Over his shoulders he wore a mantle of wash-it-colored velvet, his neck was encircled by a falling band, and silken hose of the same color as the doublet completed his costume. His deportment was singularly dignified, but his manner might have conciliated more if it had been less imperious and disdainful. Sir Giles made a profound obeisance as Buckingham advanced towards him. His salutation was haughtily returned. I have heard something of your motive proceeding with the keepers of taverns and hostels, Sir Giles, the proud marquee said. But this is the first occasion on which I have seen it put in practice, and I am free to confess that you deal not over-gently with them if the present may be considered a specimen of your ordinary conduct. Those letters, patent, were not confided to you by his majesty to distress his subjects for your own particular advantage and profit, but to benefit the community by keeping such places of entertainment in better order than here to fore. I fear you have somewhat abused your warrant, Sir Giles. If to devote myself, heart, and soul to his majesty's service, and to enrich his majesty's exchequer be to abuse my warrant, I have done so, my lord marquee. But not otherwise. I have ever vindicated the dignity and authority of the crown. You have just heard that, though my best claims have been defeated by the inadvertence of my co-patentee, I have advanced those of the king. The king relinquishes all claims in the present case, Buckingham replied. His gracious majesty gave me full discretion in the matter, and I act as I know he himself would have acted. And waving his hand to signify that he would listen to no more remonstrances, the marquee turned him out on Bonaventure, who instantly prostrated herself before him, as she would have done before himself, warmly thanking him for his protection. You must thank my lord Bruce, and not me madam, Buckingham graciously replied, raising her as he spoke. It was at his lordship's instance I came here. He takes a warm interest in you madam. I shall ever be beholden to his lordship, I am sure, Madame Bonaventure said, casting down her eyes and blushing, or feigning to blush, as well as to you, Monsignor. My lord Bruce avouched, pursued Buckingham, that at the three cranes I should find the prettiest hostess and the best wine in London, and on my faith as a gentleman I must say he was wrong in neither particular. Brighter eyes I have never beheld, rarer claret I have never drunk. O Monsignor, you quite overwhelm me. My poor house can scarcely hope to be honoured a second time with such a presence, but should it so chance you will give me as good welcome as you have done today, no lack of inducement to repeat the visit. Sir Giles Mompasson, my lord Marquis I lay my commands upon you good Sir Giles, that no further molestation be offered to Madame Bonaventure, but that you give a good reporter for house, withdraw your followers without delay. Your command shall be obeyed my lord Marquis Sir Giles rejoined, but before I go I have an arrest to make. That young man, pointing to Jocelyn, has been talking treason. It is false, my lord Marquis Jocelyn replied, his Majesty hath not a more loyal subject than myself. I would cut out my tongue rather than speak against him. I have said the king is ill-served in such officers as Giles Mompasson and Sir Francis Mitchell and I abide by my words. They can reflect no dishonour on his Majesty. Save that they seem to imply a belief on your part, that his Majesty has chosen his officers badly, Buckingham said regarding the young man fixedly. Not so, my lord Marquis. These men may have been favourably represented to his Majesty, who no doubt has been kept in ignorance of their iniquitous proceedings. What are you driving at, sir? Buckingham cried, almost fiercely. I mean, my lord Marquis, that these persons may be the creatures of some powerful noble whose interest it is to throw a cloak over their malpractices. For heaven, some covert insult would seem to be intended, exclaimed Buckingham. Who is this young man, Sir Giles? His name Jocelyn Munchency, my lord Marquis, and is the son of an old Norfolk Knight Baronet, who, you may remember, was arraigned before the court of Star Chamber, heavily fined and imprisoned. I do remember the case, and the share you and Sir Francis had in it, Sir Giles, Buckingham rejoined. I am right glad to hear that, my lord, said Jocelyn. You will not then wonder that I avow myself their mortal enemy. We laugh to scorn these idle vaporings, Sir Giles, and were it permitted, he added, touching his sword. I myself would find an easy way to silence them. But the froward youth whose brains seem crazed with his fancy wrongs is not content with railing against us, but must needs lift up his voice against all constituted authority. He had spoken contemptuously of the Star Chamber, and that, my lord Marquis, as you well know, is an offense which cannot be passed over. I am sorry for it, Buckingham rejoined, but if he were to retract what he has said, and express compunction with promise of amendment in future, I will exert my influence to have him held harmless. I will never retract what I have said against that iniquitous tribunal, Jocelyn rejoined firmly. I will rather die a martyr as my father did, in the cause of truth. Your kindness has altogether thrown away upon him, my lord, Sir Giles said, with secret satisfaction. So I perceive Buckingham rejoined. Our business is over, he added, to the nobles and gallants around him. So we may to our barges, you, my lord, he added to Lord Bruce, will doubtless tarry to receive the thanks of our pretty hostess. And graciously saluting Madame Bonaventure, he quitted the tavern, accompanied by a large train, and entering his barge amid the acclamations of the spectators was rode towards Whitehall. End of Chapter 9