 Chapter 10 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 10. The Prentices and Their Leader. While the marquee of Buckingham and his suite were moving towards the wharf amid the acclamations of the crowd, for in the early part of his brilliant career, the haughty favorite was extremely popular with a multitude, probably owing to the princely largeses he was in the habit of distributing among them. A very different reception awaited those who succeeded him. The hurrahs and other vociferations of delight and enthusiasm were changed into groans, hootings, and discordant yells, when Sir Francis Mitchell came in sight, supported between two stout merminans and scarcely able to maintain his perpendicular as he was born by them towards the wary, in waiting for him near the stairs. Though the night was escorted by Captain Blutter and his Alsatian bullies, several of the crowd did not seem disposed to confine themselves to jeers and derisive shouts, but menaced him with some rough usage. Planting themselves in his path, they shook their fists in his face, with other gestures of defiance and indignity, and could only be removed by force. Captain Blutter and his roaring blades assumed their fiercest looks, swore their loudest oaths, twisted their shaggy mustaches, and tapped their rapier hilts, but they prudently forbore to draw their weapons, well knowing that the proceeding would be a signal for a brawl, and that the cry of clubs would be instantly raised. Amongst the foremost of those who thus obstructed Sir Francis and his party was a young man with a life-active figure, bright black eyes, full of liveliness and malice, an olive complexion, and a gypsy-like cast of countenance. Attired in a tight-fitting brown-freeze jerkin with stone buttons and purple hose, his head was covered with a Montero cap and a cox feather stuck in it. He was armed neither with sword nor dagger, but carried a large cudgel or club, the well-known and formidable weapon of the London Prentices, in the use of which, whether as a quarter-staff or missile, they were remarkably expert. Even a skillful swordsman stood but poor chance with them. Besides this saucy-looking personage who was addressed as Dick Tavernor by his comrades, there were many others who, to judge from their habiliments and their cudgels, belonged to the same fraternity as himself. That is to say, they were apprentices to grocers, drapers, haberdasher, skinners, ironmongers, vintners, or other respectable artificers or trade folk. Now Dick Tavernor had a special grudge against our two extortioners, for though he himself, being apprenticed to a bookseller in Paul's churchyard, had little concern with them, he was the son of an innkeeper, Simon Tavernor, of the emperor's head, Garlic Hill, who had been recently mined by their exactions, his license taken from him, and his house closed, enough to provoke a less meddlesome spark than Dick, who had vowed to revenge the parental injuries on the first opportunity. The occasion now seemed to present itself, and it was not to be lost. Chancing to be playing at bowls in the alley behind the three cranes with some of his comrades on the day in question, Dick learned from Cyprian what was going forward, and the party resolved to have their share in the sport. If needful, they promised the drawer to rescue his mistress from the clutches of her antagonists, and to drive them from the premises, but their services in this respect were not required. The next decided on giving Sir Francis Mitchell a sound ducking in the Thames. Their measures were quickly and warily taken. Issuing from an arched doorway at the side of the tavern, they stationed some of their number near it, while the main party posted themselves at the principal entrance in front. Scouts were planted inside to communicate with Cyprian, and messengers were dispatched to cry clubs, and summon the neighboring apprentices from Queenhead, Thames Street, Trinity Lane, Old Fish Street, and Dalgate Hill, so that fresh auxiliaries were constantly arriving. Bucking him with the young nobles and gallants were of course allowed to pass free, and were loudly cheered, but the apprentices soon ascertained from their scouts that Sir Francis was coming forth, and made ready for him. Utterly unconscious of his danger, the inebriate knight replied to the jibes, scoffs, and menaces addressed to him by snapping his fingers in his opponent's faces, and irritating them in their turn. But if he was insensible of the risk he ran, those around him were not, and his two supporters endeavored to hurry him forward. Violently resisting their efforts he tried to shake them off, and more than once stood stock still until compelled to go on. Arrived at the stairhead he next refused to embark, and a scene of violent altercation ensued between him and his attendants. Many boats were moored off the shore, and a couple of barges close at hand, and the watermen and oarsmen standing up in their craft listened to what was going forward with much apparent amusement. Hastily descending the steps, Captain Blutter placed himself near the wary intended for the night, and called to the others to make short work of it and bring him down. At this juncture the word was given by Dick Tavernor, who acted as leader, and in less than two minutes Sir Francis was transferred from the hands of his mermidans to those of the princesses. To accomplish this, a vigorous application of cudgels was required, and some broken pates were the consequence of resistance. But the attack was perfectly successful, the mermidans and Alsatians were routed, and the princesses remained masters of the field, and captors of a prisoner. Stupified with rage and astonishment, Captain Blutter looked on, at one moment thinking of drawing his sword and joining the fray, but the next, perceiving that his men were evidently worsted, he decided upon making off, and with this view he was about to jump into the wary, when his purpose was prevented by Dick Tavernor and a few others of the most active of his companions, who dashed down the steps to where he stood. The captain had already got one foot in the wary, and the watermen, equally alarmed with himself, were trying to push off when the invaders came up and, springing into the boat, took possession of the oars, sending Blutter floundering into the Thames where he sunk up to the shoulders, and stuck fast in the mud, roaring piteously for help. Scarcely were the princesses seated, then Sir Francis Mitchell was brought down to them, and the poor knight, beginning to comprehend the jeopardy in which he was placed, roared for help as lustily as the half-drowned Alsatian captain, and quite as ineffectually. The latter was left to shift for himself, but the former was rode out some 20 or 30 yards from the shore where, a stout cord being fastened to his girdle, he was plunged head foremost into the river, and after being thrice drawn up, and as often submerged again, he was dragged on board, and left to shiver and shake in his dripping habiliments in the stern of the boat. The bath had completely sobered him, and he bitterly bemoaned himself, declaring that if he did not catch his death of cold he should be plagued with cramps and rheumatism during the rest of his days. He did not dare to utter any threats against his persecutors, but he internally vowed to be revenged upon them, cost what it might. The princesses laughed at his complaints, and Dick Tavernor told him that as he liked not cold water, he should have spared them their ale and wine, but as he had meddled with their liquors and those who had sold them, they had given him a taste of a different beverage, which they should provide free of cost for all those who interfered with their enjoyments and the rights of the public. Dick added that his last sowsing was in requital for the stoppage of the emperor's head and that with his own free will he would have left him under the water with a stone round his neck. This measure of retributive justice accomplished, the princesses and their leader made for the stairs where they landed after telling the watermen to row their fair to the point nearest his lodgings, in order which was seconded by Sir Francis himself, who was apprehensive of further outrage. Neither would he tarry to take in Captain Blutter, though earnestly implored to do so by that personage, who, having in his struggle sunk deeper into the oozy bed, could now only just keep his bearded chin and mouth above the level of the tide. Taking compassion upon him, Dick Tavernor threw him an oar and instantly grasping it, the Alsatian was in this way dragged ashore, presenting a very woeful spectacle, his nether limbs being covered with slime while the moisture poured from his garments, as it would from the coat of a water spaniel. His hat had floated down the stream, and he had left one boot sticking in the mud, while his buffed jerken, saturated with wet, clung to his skin like a damp glove. Leaving him to wring his cloak and dry his abilaments in the best way he could, the leader of the princesses collected together his forces, and, disposing them in something like military array, placed himself at their head and marched towards the tavern, where they set up a great shout. Hitherto they had met with no interruption whatever. On the contrary, the watermen, bargemen, and others had cheered them on in their work of mischief, and the crowd on shore appeared rather friendly to them than otherwise. Flushed with success, the riotous youths seemed well disposed to carry their work of retribution to extremities, and to inflict some punishment upon Sir Giles proportionate to his enormities. Having ascertained from their scouts that no one connected with the usurious knight had come forth, they felt quite secure of their prey, and were organizing the plan of attack when intelligence was brought by a scout that a great disturbance was going on inside, in consequence of a young gentleman having been arrested by Sir Giles and his crew, and that their presence was instantly required by Madame Bonaventure. On hearing this, Dick Tavernor shouted, to the rescue, to the rescue, and rushed into the house followed by the apprentices, who loudly echoed his cries. Parissime monsieur, Parissime, this way, this way, vociferated Cyprian, who met them in the passage. The bowling alley, there they are. But the Gaskon's directions were scarcely needed. The clashing of swords would have served to guide the apprentices to the scene of conflict. End of Chapter 10. Chapter 11 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 11, John Wolfe. When Jocelyn Monchancy called for his reckoning, Madame Bonaventure took him aside, showing by her looks, that she had something important to communicate to him, and began by telling him he was heartily welcomed to all he had partaken of at her ordinary, adding that she considered herself very greatly his debtor for the gallantry and zeal he had displayed in her behalf. Not that I was in any real peril, my fair young sir, she continued, though I feigned to be so, for I have powerful protectors as you perceive, and indeed this was all a preconcerted scheme between my Lord Ruse and his noble friends to turn the tables on the two extortioners. But that does not lessen my gratitude to you, and I shall try to prove it. You are in more danger than, per chance, you want of, and I feel quite sure Sir Giles means to carry his threat into execution and to cause you arrest. Seeing him smile disdainfully, as if he had no apprehension, she added, somewhat quickly, what will your bravery avail against so many mon beau gentile homme? Mon Dieu, nothing, no, no, I must get you assistance. Luckily I have some friends at hand, the Prentices, Grand Effort Gaillat avec de l'Istac. Cyprian has told me they are here, most certainly they will take your part, so Sir Giles shall not carry you off after all. Jocelyn's lips, again, curled with the same disdainful smile as before. Aïe vous êtes troupe-t-e-merer, madame Bonaventure cried, tapping his arm. Sit down here for a while. I will give you the signal when you may depart with safety. Do not attempt to stir till then, you understand? Jocelyn did not understand very clearly, but without making any observation to the contrary, he took the seat pointed out to him. The position was well chosen, in as much as it enabled him to command the movements of the foe, and offered him a retreat through a side door close at hand, though he was naturally quite ignorant whether the outlet might conduct him. While this was passing, Sir Giles was engaged in giving directions, respecting his partner, whose inebriate condition greatly scandalized him, and it was in pursuance of his orders that Sir Francis was transported to the wharf where the misadventure before related befell him. Never for a moment did Sir Giles' watchful eye quit Jocelyn, upon whom he was ready to pounce like a tiger if the young man made any movement to depart, and he only waited till the tavern should be clear of company to affect the seizure. Meanwhile, another person approached the young man. This was the friendly stranger in the furled gown in flat cap, who had sat next to him at dinner and who, it appeared, was not willing to abandon him in his difficulties. Addressing him with much kindness, the worthy personage informed him that he was a bookseller named John Wolf, and carried on business at the sign of the Bible and crown in Paul's churchyard, where he should be glad to see the young man whenever he was free to call upon him. But I cannot disguise from you, Master Jocelyn Munchency, for your dispute with Sir Francis Mitchell has acquainted me with your name, John Wolf said, that your rashness has placed you in imminent peril, so that there is but little chance for the present of my showing you the hospitality and kindness I desire. Sir Giles seems to hover over you as a rapacious vulture might do before making his swoop. Heaven shield you from his talons. And now, my good young sir, accept one piece of caution from me, which my years and kindly feelings toward you entitle me to make. And you escape this danger, as I trust you may, let it be a lesson to you to put a guard upon your tongue and not suffer it to outrun your judgment. You are much too rash and impetuous, and by your folly, nay, do not quarrel with me, my young friend, I can give no milder appellation to your conduct. Have placed yourself in the power of your enemies. Not only have you provoked Sir Francis Mitchell, whose malice is more easily aroused than appeased, but you have defied Sir Giles' mampuson, who is equally implacable in his enmities. And as if two such enemies were not enough, you must need to make a third yet more dangerous than either. How so good, Master Wolf, Jocelyn cried, to whom do you refer? To whom should I refer, Master Jocelyn, Wolf rejoined, but to my lord of Buckingham, whom you wantonly insulted. For the latter in discretion there can be no excuse, whatever there may be for the former. And it was simple madness to affront a nobleman of his exalted rank, second only in authority to the king himself. But how have I offended the Marquis, demanded Jocelyn surprised? Is it possible you can have spoken at random and without knowledge of the force of your own words? John Wolf rejoined, looking hard at him. It may be so, for you are plainly ignorant of the world. Well then, he added, lowering his voice, when you said that these two abominable extortioners were the creatures of some great man who glosed over their villainous practices to the king, and gave a better account of them than they deserve, you are nearer the truth than you imagined. But it can hardly be agreeable to the Marquis to be told this to his face, since it is notorious to all, except to yourself, that he is the man. Heavens, exclaimed Jocelyn, I now see the error I have committed. A grave error indeed rejoined Wolf, shaking his head. And most difficult to be repaired, for the plea of ignorance, though it may suffice with me, will scarcely avail you with the Marquis. Indeed, it can never be urged, since he disowns any connection with these men, and it is suspected that his half-brother, Sir Edward Villier, goes between them in all their secret transactions. Of this, however, I know nothing personally, and only tell you what I have heard. But if it were not almost treasonable to say it, I might add, that his majesty is far too careless of the means whereby his exchequer is enriched, and his favorites gratified. And, at all events, suffers himself to be too easily imposed upon. Hence all these patents and monopolies under which we have grown. The favorites must have their money, and as the king has little to give them, they raise as much as they please on the credit of his name. Thus everything is sold. Places, posts, titles all have their price. Bribery and corruption reign everywhere. The Lord Keeper pays a pension to the Marquis, so doth the Attorney General, and Simoni is openly practiced. For the Bishop of Salisbury paid him thirty-five hundred pounds for his bishopric. But this is not the worst of it. Is it not terrible to think of a proud nobleman clothed almost with supreme authority, being secretly leagueed with sordid wretches whose practices he openly discountances and condemns, and receiving share of their spoil? Is it not yet more terrible to reflect that the royal coffers are in some degree supplied by similar means? "'Tis enough to drive an honest man distracted,' Jocelyn said, and you cannot wonder at my indignation, though you may blame my want of caution. I have said nothing half so strong as you have just uttered, Master Wolf. Ah, but my good young sir, I do not publicly proclaim my opinions as you do. My Lord of Buckingham's name must no more be called in question than his majesties. To associate the Marquis' name with those of his known instruments were to give him mortal offense. Even to hint at such a connection is sufficient to provoke his displeasure. But enough of this. My purpose is not to lecture you, but to befriend you. Tell me frankly, my good young sir, and be not offended with the offer. Will my purse be useful to you? If so, tis freely at your service, and it may help you in your present emergency. For though there is not enough in it to bribe the Master to forego his purpose against you, there is amply sufficient to procure your liberation, privily, from the men. I thank you heartily, good Master Wolf, and believe me, I am not withheld by false pride from accepting your offer," Jocelyn replied. But I must trust to my own arm to maintain my liberty, and to my own address to regain it if I be taken. Again, I thank you, sir. I grieve that I cannot lend you other aid, John Wolf replied, looking compassionately at him. But my peaceful avocations do not permit me to take any part in personal conflicts, and I am loath to be mixed up in such disturbances. Nevertheless, I do not like to stand by and see outrage done. Concern yourself no more about me worthy, sir, interrupted Jocelyn. Perhaps I shall not be molested, and if I should be, I am well able to take care of myself. Let those who assail me bear the consequences. But John Wolf still lingered. If some of my apprentices were only here, he said, and especially that riotous rogue Dick Taverner, something might be done to help you effectually. What is that uproar? As a tumultuous noise mixed with the cries of clubs, clubs was heard without, coming from the direction of the wharf. As I live, the apprentices are out, and engaged in some mischievous work. And it will be strange if Dick Taverner is not among them. I will see what they are about. And as he spoke, he hurried to the orial window, which looked out upon the wharf, exclaiming, I, I, tis as I thought, Dick is among them, and at their head, for heaven, they are attacking those ruffianly braggarts from whitefriars, and are laying about them lustily with their cudgels. Ha! What is this I see? The Alsatians and the Mermanans are routed, and the brave lads have captured Sir Francis Mitchell. What are they about to do with him? I must go forth and see. His purpose, however, was prevented by a sudden movement on the part of Sir Giles in his attendance. They came in the direction of Jocelyn Munchency, with the evident intention of seizing the young man. Jocelyn instantly sprang to his feet, drew his sword, and put himself in a posture of defense. The Mermanans prepared to beat down the young man's blade with their halberds, and secure him when Jocelyn's cloak was plucked from behind, and he heard Madame Bonaventure's voice exclaim, Come this way, follow me instantly. Thus enjoined, he dashed through the door, which was instantly fastened as soon as he had made good his retreat. End of Chapter 11 Chapter 12 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 12. The Arrest and the Rescue Lupo Vulp had endeavored to dissuade Sir Giles from putting his design of arrest in Jocelyn into immediate execution, alleging the great risk he would incur as well from the resolute character of the young man himself, who was certain to offer determined resistance, as from the temper of the company, which, being decidedly adverse to any such step, might occasion a disturbance that would probably result in the prisoner's rescue. In any case, Sir Giles said the wily scrivener, let me counsel you to Terry till the greater part of the guest be gone, and the assemblage outside dispersed, for I noted many turbulent prentices among the mob, who are sure to be troublesome. Since the young man shows no present disposition to quit the house, Sir Giles replied, looking a scant at Jocelyn, who just then had moved to another part of the room with Madam Bonaventure. There is no urgency, and it may be prudent to pause a few moments, as you suggest, good Lupo. But I will not suffer him to depart. I perceive from her gestures and glances that our tricksy hostess is plotting some scheme with him. Plot away, fair mistress. You must have more cunning than I give you credit for if you outwit me a second time in the same day. I can guess what she proposes. You note that side door near them, Lupo? She is advising the youth's flight that way, and he, like a harebrained fool, will not listen to the suggestion. But it will be well to catch the outlet. Harky Lanier, he added to the promoter, take three men with you, and go round quickly to the passage with which Yandor communicates. Station yourselves near the outlet, and if monchancy comes forth, arrest him instantly. You see the door I mean? About it, quick. And Lanier instantly departed with three of the Mermidans. I would this arrest could be lawfully affected, Sir Giles, said Lupo-Vulp, by a sergeant at arms or pursuant. There would then be no risk. Again, I ventured to counsel you to proceed regularly. No great delay would be occasioned if your worship went to Westminster and made a complaint against the young man before the council. In that case, a messenger of the court would be dispatched to attach his person, and even if he should quit the house in the meanwhile, Lanier will keep on his track. That were the surest course. As to the manner of proceeding, I conclude it will be by Ori Tenus. It is not likely that this youth's headstrong temper, coupled with his fantastic notions of honor, will permit him to deny your worship's accusation, and therefore his confession being written down and subscribed by himself, will be exhibited against him when he is brought to the bar of the star chamber, and he will be judged ex oresuro. Your worship will make quick work of it. Cun confitent erreochisus estigendum, replied Sir Giles. No one knows better than Thou, good Lupo, how promptly and effectually the court of star chamber will vindicate its authority, and how severely it will punish those who derogate from its dignity. No part of this sentence shall be remitted with my consent. This insolent youth shall suffer to the same extent as Lanier. Pillaried, branded, mutilated, degraded, he shall serve as a warning to my enemies. Your worship can scarce make you more of a scarecrow than you have made of Lanier, Lupo remarked with a grin. But do you decide on applying in the first instance to the council? No, Sir Giles replied. I will not lose sight of him. He shall not have a chance of escape. Marked you not, Lupo, how the rash fool committed himself with Buckingham? And think you the proud marquee would hold me blameless if, by accident, he should get off scot-free after such an outrage? But, see, the room is well nigh cleared. Only a few loiterers remain. The time has come. And he was about to order the attack when the disturbance outside reached his ears, and checked him for a moment. Sir Giles was considering what could be the cause of the tumult, and hesitating whether to go forth and support Sir Francis, in case he stood in need of assistance, when the discomfited mermidans rushed into the room. A few words sufficed to explain what had occurred, and indeed the bloody visages of some of the men showed how roughly they had been handled. Though greatly exasperated, Sir Giles was determined not to be balked of his prey, and fearing Jocelyn might escape in the confusion, which an attack upon the Prentices would occasion, he gave the word for his instant seizure and rushed towards him as before related. How he was baffled has already been told. His wrath knew no bounds when the young man disappeared. He hurled himself furiously against the door, but it resisted all his efforts to burst it open. Suddenly the bolt was withdrawn, and Clement Lanier and his men stood before him. Have you secured him? Sir Giles demanded, trying to describe the fugitive among them. Death and fiends! You have not let him escape? No one has passed us except Madame Bonaventure, the promoter replied. She was wholly unattended and came in this direction. We were stationed within Yon anti-chamber, which appears to be the sole means of communication with this passage, and we ought therefore to have intercepted the young man when he came forth. You were not want to be thus short-sighted, Lanier. There must be some other mode of exit, which you have failed to discover, Sir Giles cried furiously. Ha! Here it is, he exclaimed, dashing aside a piece of tapestry that seemed merely hung against the wall, but in reality concealed a short flight of steps. Pure-blind dolt that you are, not to find this out. You shall answer for your negligence hereafter, if we take him not. And accompanied by the troop, he hurried down the steps, which brought him to a lower room, communicating on one hand with a small court, and on the other with the kitchen and offices attached to the tavern. Directing Lanier to search the ladder, Sir Giles rushed into the court, and uttered a shout of savage joy on perceiving Jocelyn, sword in hand, scaling a wall which separated the court from the bowling green. Some difficulty it appeared had occurred to the hostess in forcing open a private door in the yard leading to the green, which being rarely used, for the principal entrance was situated elsewhere, its fastenings were rusty and refused to act. This delay favored the pursuers, and on hearing their approach, Jocelyn strove to effect his retreat in the manner described. But Sir Giles was further served, though unintentionally, by Madame Bonaventure, who succeeded in drawing back the rusty bolt at the very moment he came up, and no impediment now existing the night thrust her rudely aside and sprang through the doorway just as Jocelyn leaped from the wall. Disregarding Sir Giles' summons to surrender, the young man hurried on till he reached the middle of the bowling green, where finding flight impossible as there was no apparent outlet at the further end of the garden, while it was certain that the tip-staves would pluck him from the wall with their hooks if he attempted to clamber over it, he turned and stood upon his defense. Willing to have the credit of disarming him unaided, and confident in his own superior strength and skill, Sir Giles signed to his myrmidons to stand back, while he alone advanced towards the young man. A turn in his strong wrist would, he imagined, suffice to accomplish his purpose. But he found out his error the moment he engaged with his opponent. In dexterity and force, the latter was fully his match, while in nimbleness of body Jocelyn surpassed him. The deadly glances thrown at him by the young man showed that the animosity of the latter would only be satisfied with blood. Changing his purpose therefore, Sir Giles, in place of attempting to cross his antagonist sword, rapidly disengaged his point and delivered a stocata, or in modern terms offense, a thrust in cart over the arm, which was instantly parried. For some minutes the conflict continued without material success on either side. Holding his rapier short with the point towards his adversary's face, Jocelyn retreated a few paces at first, but then, charging in turn, speedily won back his ground. Stocatas, embrocadas, drittas, mandridas, and reverses were exchanged between them in a manner that delighted the mermidans, most of whom were amateurs of swordplay. Infuriated by the unexpected resistance he encountered, Sir Giles, at length, resolved to terminate the fight, and finding his antagonist constantly upon some sure reward, endeavored to reach him with a half in cartata, but instantly shifting his body with marvelous dexterity, Jocelyn struck down the other's blade and replied with a straight thrust, which must infallibly have taken effect if his rapier had not been beaten from his grasp by Clement Lanier at the very moment it touched his adversary's breast. At the same time the young man's arms were grasped from behind by two of the mermidans, and he lay at his enemy's disposal. Sir Giles, however, sheathed his rapier, saying with a grim smile, that he did not mean to deprive himself of the satisfaction of seeing his foe stand in the pillory and submit to the sworn torturer's knife, adding, it was somewhat strange that one who could guard his body so well should keep such indifferent watch over his tongue. Jocelyn made no reply to the sarcasm, and the knight was preparing to depart with his followers when, allowed into Multuo's uproar, proclaimed the approach of the apprentices. The posse of victorious youths made their way to the bowling green by the principal entrance, situated as before mentioned, at a different point from the door by which the others had gained it. More apprehensive of losing his prisoner than concerned for his personal safety, for though the aggressive party greatly exceeded his own in numbers, he knew well how to deal with them being accustomed to such encounters. Sir Giles gave some orders respecting Jocelyn to Clement Lanier, and then prepared to resist the onslaught by causing his band to form a solid square, those armed with bills and staves being placed in the foremost ranks. This disposition being quickly made, he drew his sword and in a loud, authoritative tone commanded the apprentices to stand back. Such was the effect produced by his voice and the tears of his countenance, which seldom failed to strike all into beholders, that the intending rescuers came to a halt and showed some hesitation in engaging him. What means this disturbance, thundered Sir Giles, and why do you offer to molest me in the execution of my duty? Know you not that assemblages like yours are unlawful and that you are liable to severe punishment, unless you immediately disperse yourselves and peaceably depart to your own habitations? About your business, I say, and trouble me no longer, but first I command you to deliver up your ringleaders, and especially those who, as I am told, have perpetuated the gross outrage and violence upon the person of Sir Francis Mitchell, an example shall be made of them. You waste your breath, Sir Giles, and your big words will avail you nothing with us, Dick Taverner replied. Now hear me in return. We, the bold and loyal apprentices of London, who serve our masters and our master's master, the king's highness, well and truly, will not allow an unlawful arrest to be made by you or by any other man, and we command you peaceably to deliver up your prisoner to us, or by the rude we will take him forcibly from your hands. Out, insolent fellow, cried Sir Giles, thou wilt alter thy tune when thou art scourged at the cart's tail. You must catch me first, Sir Giles, replied Dick, and two words will go to that. We have read Sir Francis Mitchell a lesson he is not likely to forget, and we will read you one and you provoke us. We have a few old scores to wipe off. I, Mary, have we, cried an embroiderer's apprentice. These extortioners have ruined my master's trade by their gold and silver thread monopoly. Hundreds of worthy men have been thrown out of employment by their practices, said a vintner's apprentice. We sell not half the wine we used to, and no wonder seeing two-thirds of the inns in London are shut up. The brewers will all be ruined, said a burly apprentice with a wooden shovel over his shoulder, since every day a fresh alehouse is closed and no new licenses are granted. Moraine sees all such monopolists. They are worse than the flying hops or smut in barley. I, Plague Takham, exclaimed Dick Tavernor. They are as bad as the locusts of Egypt. When they have devoured the substance of one set of tradesfolk, they will commence upon that of another. No one is safe from them. It will be your turn next, Master Mercer. Yours after him, Master Ironmonger. However hard of digestion may be your wares. You will come third, Master Fishmonger. You fourth, Master Grocer. And when they are surfaded with spiceries and fish, they will fall upon you tooth and nail, Master Goldsmith. I try not, cried the apprentice last appeal to. Our masters are too rich and too powerful to submit to such usage. The very reason they will undergo it, replied Dick. Their riches are only a temptation to plunder. I repeat, no man is safe from these extortioners. Since the law will not give us redress and put them down, we must take the law into our own hands. They shall have club law. I, I, Prentice's law, club law, chorus the others. Sir Giles will make a star chamber matter of it. He will have us up before the council, laughed the Goldsmith's apprentice. He will buy a monopoly of cudgels to deprive us of their use, cried a bowyer. We will bestow that patent upon him, gratis, quote Dick, making his staff whistle around his head. The prisoner, gentlemen Prentices, do not forget him, cried Cyprian, who, with two other serving men in the cook, had joined the assailing party. Madam Bonaventure implores you to affect his rescue. And so we will, my jovial Gaskin, replied Dick. Come, Sir Giles, are we to have the young gentleman from you by force or free will? You shall have him in neither way, Sir Ah, the knight rejoined. You yourself shall bear him company in the fleet. Upon them, my men, and make for the door. And as the command was given, he and his troop made a sudden dash upon the Prentices. Who, unable to withstand against the bills leveled against their rests, gave way. Still, the gallant youths were by no means routed. Instantly closing upon their opponents, and being quite as nimble a foot as they, they contrived to cut off their retreat from the garden. And a sharp conflict took place between the parties, as they came to close quarters near the entrance. Three of the Mermanans were felled by Dick Tavernor's cudgel. And at last, watching his opportunity, with both hands, he launched a bowl which he had picked up at Sir Giles's head. If the missile had taken effect, the fight would have been over, but the knight avoided the blow by stooping down, and the bowl passing over him hit Lupo Vulp, full in the stomach, and brought him to the ground, deprived of breath. Meanwhile, Sir Giles, springing quickly forward, pinned the apprentice against the wall with his rapier's point. I have thee at last knave, he cried, seizing Dick by the collar, and delivering him to the custody of the Mermanans nearest him. I told thee thou shouldst visit the fleet, and so thou shalt. Notwithstanding the capture of their leader, the apprentices fought manfully, and it still appeared doubtful whether Sir Giles would be able to effect a retreat after all, embarrassed as he now was with two prisoners. Under these circumstances, he made a sign to Clement Lanier to withdraw with Jocelyn through the other door, ordering the two Mermanans who had charged Dick Tavernor to follow him with their captive. It was no easy task to carry out the order, but the promoter managed to accomplish it. Single-handed, he drove back all who opposed his progress, while the two prisoners were borne towards the door by the men having them in custody. Hitherto, Jocelyn had made no attempt at self-liberation, awaiting, probably, the result of the Prentice's efforts in his behalf, or some more favorable opportunity than had Hitherto presented itself. On reaching the little court, the time for exertion seemed to become. Shaking off the Mermanans who pained him, and seizing a bill from one of them, he instantly stretched the fellow at his feet, and drove off his comrade. This done, he lent immediate assistance to Dick Tavernor, setting him free, and arming him with as much promptitude as he had used to effect his own deliverance. While thus engaged, he received no interruption from Clement Lanier, though if he had chosen the promoter might no doubt have effectually opposed him. But Lanier either was, or feigned to be, engaged with some skirmishers at the door, and it was only when both the prisoners had got free that he rushed towards them, loudly reprehending the men for their carelessness. But if they were to blame, he was no less so, for he showed little address in following the fugitives, and managed to take a wrong turn in the passage, which led both him and the Mermanans astray, so that the prisoners got clear off. How Jocelyn and Dick Tavernor contrived to reach the Venturi Wharf, neither of them very distinctly knew. Such was the hurried manner in which they passed through the Tavern, but there they were, precisely at the moment that Ser Giles Mampuson, having fought his way through all opposition, issued from the porch at the head of his band. Quite satisfied with his previous encounter with the Redoubtable Knight, and anxious to escape before his evasion should be discovered, Dick beckoned to his companion, and making all the haste they could to the stairs, they both jumped into the nearest wary, when the Apprentice ordered the two watermen within it to road for their lives to London Bridge. End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 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 13, how Jocelyn Monchancey encountered a masked horseman on Stamford Hill. Two days after the events last recorded, a horseman, followed at a respectful distance by a mounted attendant, took his way up Stamford Hill. He was young, and of singularly prepossessing appearance, with accountants full of fire and spirit, and blooming with health, and it was easy to see that his life had been passed in the country, and in constant manly exercise. For though he managed his horse, a powerful bay charger, to perfection, there was nothing of the town gallant or of the soldier about him. His doublet and cloak were of a plain dark material, and had seen service, but they well became his fine symmetrical figure, as did the buff boots, defending his well-made vigorous limbs. Better seat and saddle, or lighter hand with bridle, no man could possess than he, and his noble steed, which like himself was full of courage and ardor, responded to all his movements, and obeyed the slightest indication of his will. His arms were rapier and dagger, and his broad-leaved hat, ornamented with a black feather, covered the luxuriant brown locks that fell in long ringlets over his shoulders. So debonair was the young horseman in deportment, so graceful in figure, and so comely in looks, that he had excited no little admiration as he rode forth at an early hour that morning from Bishop Gate Street, and passing under the wide portal in the old city walls, speeded towards the then rural district of Shortage, leaving old Bedlam and its saddening associations on the right, and Finsbury fields with its gardens, dog houses, and windmills on the left. At the end of Bishop Gate Street without, a considerable crowd was collected round a party of comely young milkmaids, who were executing a lively and characteristic dance to the accompaniment of a bagpipe and fiddle. Instead of carrying pails as was their want, these milkmaids who were all very neatly attired bore on their heads a pile of silver plate, borrowed for the occasion, arranged like a pyramid, and adorned with ribbons and flowers. In this way they visited all their customers and danced before their doors. A pretty usage then observed in the environs of the metropolis in the month of May. The merry milkmaid set up a joyous shout as the youth rode by, and many a bright eye followed his gallant figure till it disappeared. At the conduit beyond Shortage, a pack of young girls who were drawing water suspended their task to look after him, and so did every buxom country lass he encountered, whether seated in tilted cart, or on a pillion behind her sturdy sire. To each salutation addressed to him the young man cordially replied in a voice blithe as his looks, and in some cases where the greeting was given by an elderly personage, or a cap was respectfully doff to him, he uncovered his own proud head and displayed his handsome features yet more fully. So much for the master, now for the man. In his own opinion at least, for he was by no means deficient in self-conceit, the latter came in for an equal share of admiration, and certis, if impudence could help him to win it, he lacked not the recommendation. Staring most of the girls out of countenance, he leered at some of them so offensively that their male companion shook their fists or whips at him, and sometimes launched a stone at his head. Equally free was he in the use of his tongue, and his jests were so scurrilous, and so little relished by those to whom they were addressed, that it was perhaps well for him, in some instances, that the speed at which he rode soon carried him out of harm's reach. The nave was not ill-favored being young, supple of limb, olive complexioned, black-eyed, saucy, roguish-looking, with a turned-up nose and extremely white teeth. He wore no livery, and indeed his attire was rather that of a citizen's apprentice, than such as besieged a gentleman's lackey. He was well-mounted on a stout, sorrel horse, but though the animal was tractable enough and easy in its paces, he experienced considerable difficulty in maintaining his seat on its back. In this way, Jocelyn Monsonce and Dick Taverner, for the reader will have had no difficulty in recognizing the pair, arrived at Stamford Hill, and the former, drawing in the rain, proceeded slowly up the gentle ascent. It was one of those delicious spring mornings when all nature seems to rejoice, when the newly-opened leaves are greenest and freshest, when the lark springs blithest from the verdant mead and soars nearest heaven, when a thousand other feathered coasters warble forth their notes in cops and hedge, when the rooks calm mellowly near their nests in the lofty trees, when gentle showers having fallen overnight have kindly prepared the earth for the morrow's genial warmth and sunshine, when that sunshine each moment calls some new object into life and beauty, when all you look upon is pleasant to the eye, all you listen to is delightful to the ear. In short, it was one of those exquisite mornings only to be met with in the merry month of May, and only to be experienced in full perfection in merry England. Arrived at the summit of the hill commanding such extensively charming views, Jocelyn halted and looked back with wonder at the vast and populous city he had just quitted, now spread out before him in all its splendor and beauty. In his eyes it seemed already overgrown, though it had not attained a tithe of its present proportions. But he could only judge according to his opportunity, and was unable to foresee its future magnitude. But if London has waxed in size, wealth, and population during the last two centuries into half, it has lost nearly all the peculiar features of beauty which distinguished it up to that time, and made it so attractive to Jocelyn's eyes. The diversified and picturesque architecture of its ancient habitations, as yet undisturbed by the innovations of the Italian and Dutch schools, and brought to full perfection in the latter part of the reign of Elizabeth, gave the whole city a characteristic and fanciful appearance. Old towers, old belfries, old crosses, slender spires innumerable, rose up amid a world of quaint gables and angular roofs. Story above story sprang those curious dwellings, irregular yet homogenous, dear to the painters in the poet's eye, elaborate in ornament, grotesque in design, well suited to the climate and admirably adapted to the wants and comforts of the inhabitants. Picturesque, like the age itself, like its costume, its manners, its literature, all these characteristic beauties and peculiarities are now utterly gone. All the old picturesque habitations had been devoured by fire, and a new city has risen in their stead. Not to compare with the old city though, and convey no notion whatever of it, any more than you or I worthy reader, in our formal and, I grieve to say it, ill contrived attire, resemble the picturesque looking denizens of London, clad in doublet, mantel, and hose, in the time of James I. Another advantage in those days must not be forgotten. The canopy of smoke overhanging the vast modern babble, and oftentimes obscuring even the light of the sun itself, did not dim the beauties of the ancient city. Sea coal being but little used in comparison with wood, of which there was then abundance, as at this time in the capital of France. Thus the atmosphere was clearer and lighter, and served as a finer medium to reveal objects, which would now be lost at a quarter of the distance. Fair, sparkling, and clearly defined then rose up old London before Jocelyn's gaze. Girded round with grey walls, defended by battlements, and approached by lofty gates, four of which, to it, Cripple Gate, Moorgate, Bishop Gate, and Aldgate, were visible from where he stood. It riveted attention from its immense congregation of roofs, spires, pinnacles, and veins, all glittering in the sunshine, while in the midst of all, and preeminent above all, towered one gigantic pile, the glorious Gothic Cathedral. Far on the east and beyond the city walls, though surrounded by its own muraled defenses, was seen the frowning tower of London, part fortress and part prison, a structure never viewed in those days without terror, being the scene of so many passing tragedies. Looking westward and rapidly surveying the gardens and pleasant suburban villages lying on the north of the Strand, the young man's gaze settled for a moment on Charin Cross, the elaborately carved memorial to his queen, Eleanor, erected by Edward I, and then ranging over the palace of Whitehall and its two gates, Westminster Abbey, more beautiful without its towers than with them, it became fixed upon Westminster Hall, for there, in one of its chambers, the ceiling of which was adorned with gilded stars, were held the councils of that terrible tribunal which had robbed him of his inheritance, and now threatened him with deprivation of liberty and mutilation of person. A shudder crossed him as he thought of the star chamber, and he turned his gaze elsewhere, trying to bring the whole glorious city within his can. A splendid view indeed, well might King James himself exclaim when standing, not many years previously, on the very spot where Jocelyn now stood, and looking upon London for the first time since his accession to the throne of England, well might he exclaim and rapture his accents as he gazed on the magnificence of the capital. At last the richest jewel in a monarch's crown is mine. After satiating himself with this, to him, novel and wonderful prospect, Jocelyn began to bestow his attention on objects closer at hand, and examine the landscapes on either side of the eminence, which, without offering any features of extraordinary beauty, were generally pleasing and exercised a soothing influence upon his mind. At that time, Stamford Hill was crowned with a grove of trees, and its eastern declivity was overgrown with brushwood. The whole country on the Essex side was more or less marshy until Epping Forest. Some three miles off was reached. Through a swampy veil on the left, the river Lee, so dear to the angler, took its slow and silent course, while through a green valley on the right flowed the new river, then only just opened. Pointing out the latter channel to Jocelyn, Dick Taverner, who had now come up, informed him that he was present at the completion of that important undertaking. And a famous sight it was, the apprentice said. The Lord Mayor of London, the Alderman, and the recorder were all present in their robes and gowns to watch the floodgate opened, which was to pour the stream that had run from Amwell Head into the great cistern near Islington. And this was done amidst deafening cheers and the thunder of ordinance. A proud day it was for Sir Hugh Middleton, Dick added, and some reward for his perseverance through difficulties and disappointments. It is to be hoped the good gentleman has obtained more substantial reward than that, Jocelyn replied. He has conferred an inestimable boon upon his fellow citizens, and is entitled to their gratitude for it. As to gratitude on the part of the citizens, I can't say much for that, sir. And it is not every man that meets with his desserts, or we know where our friends Sir Giles Mompasson and Sir Francis Mitchell would be. The good sits are content to drink the pure water of the new river, without bestowing a thought on him who has brought it to their doors. Meantime, the work has well nigh beggared Sir Hugh Middleton, and he is likely to obtain little recompense beyond what the consciousness of his own beneficent act will afford him. But will not the king requite him? Jocelyn asked. The king has requited him with a title, Dick returned. A title, however, which may be purchased at a less price than good Sir Hugh has paid for it nowadays. But it must be owned to our sovereign's credit that he did far more than the citizens of London would do, since when they refused to assist Master Middleton, as he then was, in his most useful work, King James undertook and bound himself by indenture under the Great Seal to pay half the expenses. Without this, it would probably never have been accomplished. I trust it may be profitable to Sir Hugh in the end, Jocelyn said. And if not, he will reap his reward hereafter. It is not unlikely we may encounter him, as he now dwells near Edmonton, and is frequently on the road, Dick said. And if so, I will point him out to you. I have some slight acquaintance with him, having often served him in my master's shop in Paul's churchyard. Talking of Edmonton, with your permission, Sir, we will break our fast at the bell. Note one, where I am known, and where you will be well served. The host is a jovial fellow and trustee, and may give us information which will be useful before we proceed on our perilous expedition to Theobalds. I care not how soon we arrive there, Jocelyn cried, for the morning has so quick in my appetite that the bare idea of thy host's good cheer makes all delay in attacking it unsupportable. I am entirely of your opinion, Sir, Dick said, smacking his lips. At the bell at Edmonton, we are sure of fresh fish from the lee, fresh eggs from the farmyard, and stout ale from the cellar. And if these three things do not constitute a good breakfast, I know not what others do. So let us be jogging onwards. We have barely two miles to ride, five minutes to Tottenham, ten to Edmonton, tis done. It was not, however, accomplished quite so soon as Dick anticipated. Air fifty yards were traversed, they were brought to a stop by an unlooked for incident. Suddenly emerging from a thick covert of wood, which had concealed him from view, a horseman planted himself directly in their path, ordering them in a loud, authoritative voice to stand, and enforcing attention to the injunction by leveling a caliber at Jocelyn's head. The appearance of this personage was as mysterious as formidable. The upper part of his features was concealed by a black mask. His abilaments were sable, and the color of his powerful steed was sable likewise. Boots, cap, cloak, and feather were all of the same dusky hue. His frame was strongly built, and besides the caliber, he was armed with sword and ponyard. Altogether, he constituted an unpleasant obstacle in the way. Dick Taverner was not able to render much assistance on the occasion. The suddenness with which the masked horseman burst forth upon them scared his horse, and the animal becoming unmanageable began to rear and finally threw its rider to the ground, luckily without doing him much damage. Meanwhile, the horseman, lowering his caliber, thus addressed Jocelyn, who, taking him for a robber, was prepared to resist the attack. You are mistaken in me, Master Jocelyn Monsonci, he said. I have no design upon your purse. I call upon you to surrender yourself, my prisoner. Never with life, the young man replied. In spite of your disguise, I recognize you as one of Sir Giles Mompasson's Mermanans, and you may conclude from our former encounter whether my resistance will be determined or not. You had not escaped on that occasion, but for my connivance, Master Jocelyn, the man in the mask rejoined. Now, hear me, I am willing to befriend you on certain conditions, and to prove my sincerity, I engage you shall go free if you accept them. I do not feel disposed to make any terms with you, Jocelyn said sternly, and as to my freedom of departure, I will take care that it is not hindered. I hold a warrant from the star chamber for your arrest, said the man in the mask, and you will vainly offer resistance if I choose to execute it. Let this be well understood before I proceed, and now to show you the extent of my information concerning you, and that I am fully aware of your proceedings, I will relate to you what you have done since you fled with that fraught apprentice, whose tricks will assuredly bring him to Bridewell from the three cranes. You were landed at London Bridge and went thence with your companion to the Rose at Newington Butts, where you lay that night and remained concealed as you fancied during the whole of the next day. I say you fancied your retreat was unknown, because I was aware of it, and could have seized you had I been so disposed. The next night you removed to the crown in Bishop Gate Street, and as you did not care to return to your lodgings near St. Botolch's Church without Aldgate, you privilege dispatched Dick Taverner to bring your horses from the Falcon in Grace Church Street where you had left them, with the foolhardy intention of setting forth this morning to Theobalds to try and obtain an interview of the King. You have spoken the truth, Jocelyn replied in amazement, but if you designed to arrest me, and could have done so, why did you defer your purpose? Question me not on that point, some day or other I may satisfy you, not now, enough that I have conceived a regard for you and will not harm you unless compelled to do so by self-defense. Name or I will serve you, you must not go to Theobalds, tis a mad scheme conceived by a hot brain, and will bring destruction upon you. If you persist in it, I must follow you thither and prevent greater mischief. Follow me then if you list, Jocelyn cried, for go I shall, but be assured I will liberate myself from you if I can. Go, hot-headed boy, the man in the mask rejoined, but then he added quickly, yet no, I will not deliver you thus to the power of your enemies without a further effort to save you. Since you are resolved to go to Theobalds, you must have a protector, a protector able to shield you even from Buckingham, whose enmity you have reason to dread. There is only one person who can do this, and that is Count Gondemar, the Spanish leader ambassador. Luckily, he is with the King now, in place of making any idle attempts to obtain an interview of his majesty, or forcing yourself unauthorized on the royal presence, which will end in your arrest by the Night Marshal, seek out Count Gondemar and deliver this token to him, tell him your story, and do what he bid you. And as he spoke, the man in the mask held forth a ring which Jocelyn took. I intended to make certain conditions with you the mysterious personage pursued, for the service I should render you, but you have thwarted my plans by your obstinacy, and I must reserve them to our next meeting, for we shall meet again, and that ere long. And then when you tender your thanks for what I have now done, I will tell you how to requite the obligation. I swear to requite it if I can, and as you desire, Jocelyn cried, struck by the other's manner. Enough, the masked personage rejoined, I am satisfied. Proceed on your way, and may good fortune attend you. Your destiny is in your own hands. Obey Count Gondemar's behests, and he will aid you effectually. And without a word more, the man in the mask struck spurs into his horse's sides, and dashed down the hill at a headlong pace in the direction of London. Jocelyn looked after him, and had not recovered from his surprise at the singular interview that had taken place when he disappeared. By this time, Dick Taverner, having regained his feet, limped towards him, leading his horse. It must be the fiend in person, quote the apprentice, contriving to regain the saddle. I trust you have made no compact with him, sir. Not a sinful one, I hope, Jocelyn replied, glancing at the ring. And they proceeded on their way towards Tottenham, and were presently saluted by the merry ringing of bells proclaiming some village festival. Note one, lest we should be charged with an anachronism, we may mention that the bell at Edmonton, immortalized in the story of John Gilpin, was in good repute in the days we treat of, as will appear from the following extract from John Seville's tractate entitled King James, His Entertainment at Theobalds, with His Welcome to London. Having described the vast concourse of people that flocked forth to greet their new sovereign on his approach to the metropolis, honest John says, after our breakfast at Edmonton at the sign of the bell, we took occasion to note how many would come down in the next hour, so coming up into a chamber next to the street where we might both best see and likewise take notice of all passengers, we called for an hourglass. And after we had disposed of ourselves, who should take the number of the horse and who the foot, we turned the hourglass, which before it was half run out, we could not possibly truly number them. They came so exceedingly fast. But there we broke off and made our account of three hundred nine horses and one hundred thirty seven footmen, which course continued that day from four o'clock in the morning till three o'clock in the afternoon, and the day before also, as the host of the house told us, without intermission. Besides establishing the existence of the renowned bell at this period, the foregoing passage is curious in other respects. End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 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 14. The May Queen and the Puritans' Daughter. Popular sports and past times were wisely encouraged by James I, whose great consideration for the enjoyment of the humbler classes of his subjects cannot be too highly commended, and since the main purpose of this history is to point out some of the abuses prevalent during his reign, it is but fair that at least one of the redeeming features should be mentioned. It has ever been the practice of sour-spirited sectarianism to discounten its recreations of any kind, however harmless, on the Sabbath, and several flagrant instances of this sort of interference on the part of the Puritanical Preachers and their disciples, having come before James during his progress through the northern counties of England, and especially Lancashire. He caused, on his return to London, his famous declaration concerning lawful sports on Sundays and holidays to be promulgated, wherein a severe rebuke was administered to the Puritans and Precision, and the cause of the people espoused in terms which, while most creditable to the monarch, are not altogether inapplicable to other times besides those in which they were delivered. Whereas, says King James in his manifesto, we did just the rebuke some Puritans and precise people, and took order that the like unlawful carriage should not be used in any of them hereafter in the prohibiting and unlawful punishing of our good people for using their lawful recreations and honest exercises upon Sundays and other holidays after the afternoon sermon or service. We now find that two sorts of people wherewith that country is much infested, we mean Papists and Puritans, have maliciously traduced those are just and honorable proceedings, and therefore we have thought good hereby to clear and make our pleasure to be manifested to all our good people in those parts. And he sums up his arguments in favor of the license granted as follows. For when shall the common people have leave to exercise if not upon the Sundays and holidays, seeing they must apply their labor and when they're living in all other working days? Truly an unanswerable proposition. At the same time that these provisions for rational recreation were made, all unlawful games were prohibited. Conformity was strictly enjoined on the part of the Puritans themselves, and disobedience was rendered punishable by expatriation, as in the case of recusants generally. Such was the tenor of the royal mandate addressed to the bishop of each diocese, and to all inferior clergy throughout the kingdom. Arbitrary it might be, but it was excellent in intention, for stubborn necked personages had to be dealt with, with whom milder measures would have proved ineffectual. As it was, violent opposition was raised against the decree, and the Puritanical preachers were loud in its condemnation, and as far as was consistent with safety, vehement in their attacks upon its royal author. The boon, however, was accepted by the majority of the people in the spirit in which it was offered, and the license afforded them was but little abused. Perfect success indeed must have attended the benign measure, had it not been for the efforts of the Puritanical and Popish parties, who made common cause against it and strove by every means to counteract its beneficial influence. The first because in the austerity of their faith they would not have the Sabbath in the slightest degree profaned, even by innocent enjoyment. The second, not because they cared about the fancy desecration of the Lord's day, but because they would have no other religion enjoy the same privileges as their own. Thus sectarianism and intolerance went for once hand in hand, and openly or covertly, as they found occasion, did their best to make the people dissatisfied with the benefit accorded them, trying to persuade them its acceptance would prejudice their eternal welfare. Such arguments, however, had no great weight with the masses, who could not be brought to see any heinous or deadly sin in lawful recreation or exercises after divine service. Always provided the service itself were in no respect neglected, and so the king's decree prevailed over all sectarian opposition, and was fully carried out. The merry month of May became really a season of enjoyment, and was kept as a kind of floral festival in every village throughout the land. May games, wits and ails, Morris dances, were renewed as in bygone times, and all robust and healthful sports, as leaping, vaulting and archery, were not only permitted on Sundays by the authorities, but enjoined. These preliminary remarks are made for the better understanding of what is to follow. We have already stated that long before Jocelyn and his companion reached Tottenham, they were made aware of the ringing of bells from its old ivy-grown church tower, and by other joyful sounds that some festival was taking place there. And the nature of the festival was at once revealed, as they entered the long, straggling street, then as now constituting the chief part of the pretty little village, and beheld a large assemblage of country folk in holiday attire, wending their way towards the green for the purpose of setting up a maypole upon it, and making the welkin ring with their gladsome shouts. All the youths and maidens of Tottenham and its vicinity, it appeared, had risen before daybreak that morning and sallied forth into the woods to cut green bows, and gather wildflowers for their ceremonial. At the same time they selected and hewed down a tall, straight tree, the tallest and straightest they could find, and stripping off its branches, placed it on a wane, and dragged it to the village with the help of an immense team of oxen, numbering as many as forty yoke. Each ox had a garland of flowers fastened to the tip of its horns, and the tall spar itself was twined round with ropes of daffodils, bluebells, cow slips, prim roses, and other early flowers, while its summit was surmounted with a floral crown, and festooned with garlands, various colored ribbons, kerchiefs, and streamers. The foremost yokes of oxen had bells hung round their necks, which they shook as they moved along, adding their blithe melody to the general hilarious sounds. When the festive throng reached the village, all its inhabitants, male and female, old and young, rushed forth to greet them, and such as were able to leave their dwellings for a short while joined in the procession, at the head of which, of course, was born the maypole. After it came a band of young men armed with the necessary implements for planting the shaft in the ground, and after them a troop of maidens bearing bundles of rushes. Next came the minstrels playing merrily on Tabor, Fife, Sackbut, Rebke, and Tambourine, then followed the queen of the may walking by herself, a rustic beauty, height Gillian Greenford, fancifully and prettily arrayed for the occasion, and attended, at a little distance, by Robin Hood, Maid Marion, Friar Tuck, the Hobby Horse, and a band of Morris Dancers. Then came the crowd, Pelmel, laughing, shouting, and hazzying, most of the young men and women bearing green branches of birch and other trees in their hands. The spot selected for the maypole was a piece of green sword in the center of the village, surrounded by picturesque habitations, and having on one side of it the ancient cross. The latter, however, was but the remnant of the antique structure, the cross having been robbed of its upper angular bar, and otherwise mutilated at the time of the Reformation, and it was now nothing more than a high wooden pillar, partly cased with lead to protect it from the weather, and supported by four great spurs. Arrived at the green, the wane was brought to a halt, the crowd forming a vast circle round it so as not to interfere with the proceedings. The pole was then taken out, reared aloft, and so much activity was displayed, so many eager hands assisted, that in an inconceivably short space of time it was firmly planted in the ground, once it shot up like the central mast of a man o' war, far overtopping the roofs of the adjoining houses, and looking very gay indeed with its floral crown atop, and its kerchiefs and streamers fluttering in the breeze. Loud and reiterated shouts broke from the assemblage on the satisfactory completion of the ceremony, the church bells peeled merrily and the minstrels played their most enlivening strains. The rushes were strewn on the ground at the foot of the maypole, and arbors were formed, with marvelous celerity in different parts of the green, with the branches of the trees. At the same time the ancient cross was decorated with bows and garlands. The whole scene offered as pretty and cheerful a sight as could be desired, but there was one beholder, as will presently appear, who viewed it in a different light. It now came to the queen of the maze turned to advance to the pole, and stationing herself beneath it the Morris dancers and the rest of the mummers formed a ring round her, and taking hands footed it merrily to the tune of green sleeves. Long before this Jocelyn and his attendant had come up, and both were so much interested that they felt no disposition to depart. Gillian's attractions had already fired the inflammable heart of the apprentice, who could not withdraw his gaze from her, and so ardent were his looks, and so expressive his gestures of admiration that ere long he succeeded to his no small delight in attracting her notice in return. Gillian Greenford was a bright-eyed, fair-haired young creature, light, laughing, radiant, with cheeks soft as peach bloom, and beautifully tinged with red, lips carnation-hued, and teeth white as pearls. Her party-colored, Lindsay Woolsey petticoats, looped up on one side, disclosed limbs with no sort of rustic clumsiness about them. But on the contrary, a particularly neat formation both of foot and ankle. Her scarlet bodice, which like the lower part of her dress, was decorated with spangles, bugles, and tinsel ornaments of various kinds, very resplendent in the eyes of the surrounding swains, as well as in those of Dick Tavernor. Her bodice, we say, spanning a slender waist, was laced across, while the snowy kerchief beneath it did not totally conceal a very comely bust. A wealth of natural flowers was twined very gracefully within her waving and almost lint-white locks, and in her hand she held a shepherdess's crook. Such was the beauty of Tottenham, and the present queen of the May. Dick Tavernor thought her little less than angelic, and there were many besides who shared in his opinion. If Dick had been thus captivated on the sudden, Jocelyn had not escaped similar fascination from another quarter. It befell in this way. At an open orial window in one of the ancient and picturesque habitations before described as facing the green, stood a young maiden whose beauty was of so high an order and so peculiar a character that it at once attracted and fixed attention. Such, at least, was the effect produced by it on Jocelyn, shrinking from the public gaze and perhaps by some motive connected with religious scruples, scarcely deeming it right to be a spectator of the passing scene. This fair maiden was so placed as to be almost screened from general view. Yet it chanced that Jocelyn, from the circumstance of being on horseback, and from his position was able to command a portion of the room in which she stood, and he watched her for some minutes before she became aware she was the object of his regards. When at length she perceived that his gaze was steadily fixed upon her, a deep blushed suffused her cheeks, and she would have instantly retired if the young man had not at once lowered his looks. Still, he ever and anon ventured a glance towards the orial window, and was delighted to find the maiden still there. Nay, he fancied she must have advanced a step or two, for he could unquestionably distinguish her features more plainly. And lovely they were, most lovely, pensive in expression, and perhaps a thought too pale, until the crimsoning tide had mounted to her cheek. Thus mantled with blushes, her countenance might gain something in beauty, but it lost much of the peculiar charm which it derived from extreme transparency and whiteness of skin. A tint which set off to perfection the splendor of her magnificent black eyes, with their darkly fringed lids and brows, while it also relieved in an equal degree the jetty luster of her hair. Her features were exquisitely chiseled, delicate, and classical in mold, and stamped with refinement and intelligence. Perfect simplicity, combined with a total absence of personal ornament, distinguished her attire. And her raven hair was plainly, but by no means unbecomingly, braided over her snowy forehead. Something in this simplicity of costume and in her manner inclined Jocelyn to think the fair maiden must belong to some family professing puritanical opinions. And he found upon inquiry from one of his neighbors in the throng, an old farmer, that this was actually the case. The young lady was Mistress Avalon Cavalli, his informant said, only child of Master Hugh Cavalli, who had but lately come to dwell in Tottenham, and of whom little was known, save that he was understood to have fought at the Battle of Langside, and served with great bravery under Essex, both in Spain and in Ireland, in the times of Good Queen Bess. Such times as England would never see again the old farmer parenthetically remarked, with a shake of the head. Master Hugh Cavalli, he went on to say, was a strict Puritan, austere in his life and morose in manner, an open railer against the license of the times, and the profligacy of the court minions, in consequence of which he had more than once got himself into trouble. He abhorred all such sports as were now going forward, and had successfully interfered with the parish priest, Sir Anisimus, who was somewhat of a precision himself, to prevent the setting up the maypole on the past Sunday, for which the farmer added, some of the young folks owe him a grudge. And he expressed a hope at the same time that the day might pass by without any exhibition being made of their ill will towards him. These Puritans are not in favor with our youth, the old man said, and no great marvel they be not, for they check them in their pleasures and reprove them for harmless mirth. Now, as to Mistress Avalon herself, she is devout and good, but she takes no part in the enjoyment proper to her years, and leads a life more like a nun in a convent, or a recluse in a cell than a marriageable young lady. She never stirs forth without her father, and as you may suppose, goes more frequently to lecture, or to church, or to some conventical than anywhere else. Such a life would not suit my grandchild Gillian at all. Nevertheless, Mistress Avalon is a sweet young lady, much beloved for her kindness and goodness, and her gentle words have healed many a wound occasioned by the harsh speech and severe reproofs of her father. There, sir, you may behold her fair and saintly countenance now. She seems pleased with the scene, and I am sure she well may for it is always a pleasant and heart-charing sight to see folks happy in enjoying themselves, and I cannot think that the beneficent power above ever intended we should make ourselves miserable on earth in order to win a place in heaven. I am an old man, sir, and feeling this to be true, I have ever inculcated my opinions upon my children and grandchildren, yet I confess I am surprised, knowing what I do of her father's character, that Mistress Avalon should indulge herself with beholden this profane spectacle which ought by rights to be odious in her eyes. The latter part of this speech was uttered with a sly chuckle on the part of the old farmer, not altogether agreeable to Jocelyn. The growing interest he felt in the fair Puritan rendered him susceptible. The eyes of the two young persons had met again more than once, and were not quite so quickly withdrawn on either side as before. Perhaps because Avalon was less alarmed by the young man's appearance, or more attracted by it, and perhaps on his part because he had grown a little bolder. We know not how this might be, but we do know that the fair Puritan had gradually advanced towards the front of the window, and was now leaning slightly out of it so that her charms of face and figure were more fully revealed. Meanwhile, the maypole had been planted and the first dance round it concluded, at its close, Gillian quitting her post of honor near the tree, and leaving the Morris dancers and mummers to resume their merry rounds, unsanctioned by her sovereign presence, took a tambourine from one of the minstrels, and proceeded to collect gratuities within it intended for the hired performers in the ceremony. She was very successful in her efforts, as the number of coins soon visible within the tambourine showed. Not without blushing in some hesitation did the May Queen approach Dick Taverner. The Prentice made a pretense of fumbling in his pouch in order to prolong the interview, which Chance had thus procured him, and after uttering all the complimentary phrases he could muster, and looking a great deal more than he said, he wound up his speech by declaring he would bestow a mark, and that is no slight sum for the highest coin yet given was a silver grout, upon the minstrels, if they would play a lively dance for him and she, the May Queen, would grace him with her hand in it. Encouraged by the laughter of the bystanders, and doubtless entertaining no great dislike to the proposal, Gillian with a little affected coiness consented, and the mark was immediately deposited in the tambourine by Dick, who, transported by his success, sprang from his saddle and committing his steed to the care of a youth near him whom he promised to reward for his trouble, followed close after the May Queen as she proceeded with her collection. Air long she came to Jocelyn and held out the tambourine towards him, an idea just then occurred to the young man. You have a pretty nose gay there, fair maiden, he said, pointing to a bunch of pinks and other fragrant flowers in her breast. I will buy it from you if you list. You shall have it, and welcome, fair sir, Gillian replied, detaching the bouquet from her dress and offering it to him. Well done, Gillian, the old farmer cried approvingly. Ah, there you are, grand sire, the May Queen exclaimed. Come, your gift for the minstrels and mummers, quick, quick! And while old Greenford searched for a small coin, Jocelyn placed a piece of silver in the tambourine. Will you do me a favour, my pretty maiden, he said courteously. That I will, right willingly, fair sir, she replied, provided I may do it honestly. You shall not do it else, old Greenford observed. Come, your gift, grand sire, you are slow in finding it. Have patience, Wench, have patience. Young folks are always in a hurry. Here it is. Only a silver groat, she exclaimed, tossing her head. Why, this young man behind me gave a mark, and so did this gallant gentleman on horseback. Pah, pah, go along, Wench. They will take better care of their money when they grow older. Stay, my pretty maiden, Jocelyn cried. You have promised to do me a favour. What is it, she inquired. Present this nosegay on my part to the young lady in yonder window. What? Offer this to Mistress Aveline Cavally, Gillian exclaimed in surprise. Are you sure she will accept it, sir? Tut, do his bidding, child, without more ado, old Greenford interposed. I shall like to see what will come of it. Ha, ha! Gillian could not help smiling, too, and proceeded on her mission. Jocelyn put his horse into motion and slowly followed her, almost expecting Aveline to withdraw. But he was agreeably disappointed by finding her maintain her place at the window. She must have remarked what was going forward, and therefore her tearing emboldened him, and buoyed up his hopes. Arrived beneath the window, Gillian committed the tambourine to Dick Tavernor, who still hovered behind her like her shadow, and, fastening the bouquet to the end of her shepherdess's crook, held it up towards Aveline, crying out in a playful tone and with an arched look, tis a love gift to Mistress Aveline Cavally on the part of that young cavalier. Whether the offering, thus presented, would have been accepted may be questioned, but it was never destined to reach her for whom it was intended. Scarcely was the flower-laden crook uplifted, then a man of singularly stern aspect, with gray hair cut close to the head, grizzled beard, and military habiliments of ancient make, suddenly appeared behind Aveline, and, seizing the nose-gay, cast it angrily and contemptuously forth, so that it fell at Jocelyn's feet. End of Chapter 14 Chapter 15 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 15, Hugh Cavally Jocelyn at once comprehended that the person who had thus dashed the nose-gay to the ground could be no other than Hugh Cavally. But all doubt on the point was removed by Aveline herself, who exclaimed in a reproachful tone, Oh, Father, what have you done? What have I done? the Puritan rejoined, speaking in a loud voice, as if desirous that his word should reach the assemblage outside. I have done that, which thou thyself shouldst have done, Aveline. I have signified my abhorrence of this vain ceremonial. But wherefore do I find you here? This is no fitting sight for any discreet maiden to witness. And little did I think that daughter of mine would encourage such profane displays by her presence. Little did I think that you, Aveline, would look on and smile while these ignorant and benighted folk set up their idol, piping, dancing, and singing around it as the Gentiles did at the dedications of their deities. For it is an idol they have set up, and they have become like the heathens, worshipers of stocks and stones. Are we not expressly forbidden by the Holy Scriptures to make unto ourselves idols and graven images? The sins of idolatry and superstition will assuredly provoke the divine displeasure and kindle the fire of its wrath, as they did in the days of Moses after the worshiping of the golden calf by the Israelites. Thus spake offended heaven, let me alone that my wrath may wax hot against them, and that I may consume them. Grievously will the Lord punish such as are guilty of these sins, for hath he not declared as we read in Leviticus, I will make your cities waste and bring your sanctuaries to desolation, and be assured, O daughter, that heavy judgments will descend upon the land if warning be not taken in time. Nay, dear father, I cannot view the matter in the same serious light that you do, Aveline rejoined. Neither do I think evil can be derived from pastimes like the present, unless by the evil disposed. I must frankly own that it is pleasant to me to witness such innocent enjoyment as is here exhibited, while as to Yon Maple, with its pretty floral decorations, I can never be brought to regard it as an emblem of superstition and idolatry. Nevertheless, had you commended me to refrain from the sight, I would unhesitatingly have obeyed you, but I thought I was free to follow my own inclinations. Why so you were, child, the Puritan rejoined, because I had full reliance on you and did not conceive you could have been so easily beguiled by Satan. I lament to find you cannot discern the superstition and wickedness lurking within this false, though fair-seeming spectacle. Do you not perceive that in setting up this wooden idol and worshiping it, these people are returning to the dark and sinful practices of paganism, of which it is an undoubted remnant? If you cannot discern this, I will make it manifest to you anon, but I tell you now briefly he continued in a voice of thunder, calculated to reach those at a distance, that the ceremony is impious, that those who take part in it are idolaters, and that those who look on and approve are participators in the sin, yea, are equal in sin to the actors themselves. Hereupon some murmurs of displeasure arose among the crowd, but they were instantly checked by the curiosity generally felt to hear Aveline's reply, which was delivered in clear and gentle but distinct tones. Far be it for me to dispute with you, dear father, she said, and it is with reluctance that I offer an opinion at all adverse to your own, but it seems to me impossible to connect these pastimes with heathenish and superstitious rites, for though they may bear some resemblance to ceremonials performed in honor of the goddesses Maya and Flora, yet such creeds being utterly forgotten and their spirit extinct, it cannot revive in sports that have merely referenced a harmless enjoyment. Not one, I am sure, of these worthy folk has the slightest thought of impiety. You know not what you say girl, the Puritan rejoined sharply. The evil spirit is not extinct, and these growing abominations prove it to be again raising its baleful crest to pollute and destroy. Listen to my words ye vain and foolish ones, he continued, advancing to the front of the window, and stretching forth his arms towards the assemblage. Repent, and amend your ways ere it be too late. Hew down the offensive idol which you term your maypole, and cast it into the flames. Cease your wanton sports, your noisy pipings, your profane dances, your filthy tipplings. Hear what the prophet Isaiah saith. Woe to them that rise up early in the morning, that they may follow strong drink. And again, woe to the drunkards of Ephraim. And I say woe unto you also, for you are like unto those drunkards. O do not this abominable thing that my soul hateeth. Be not guilty of the brutish sin of drunkenness. Reflect on the words of Holy Job. They take the timbrel and harp, and rejoice at the sound of the organ. They spend their days in mirth, and in a moment go down to the grave. Hew down your idol, I say again. Consume it utterly, and scatter its ashes to the winds. Strip off the gods and tinsel in which you have decked your foolish mayqueen. Have done with your senseless and profane mummaries, and dismiss your robin hoods, your friar tucks, and your hobby horses. Silence your pestilent minstrels, and depart peaceably to your own homes. Abandon your sinful courses, or assuredly, the Lord will come upon you unawares, and cut you in thunder, and appoint your portion among unbelievers. So sonorous was the voice of the Puritan, so impressive were his looks and gestures, that his address commanded general attention. While he continued to speak, the sports were wholly stopped. The minstrels left off playing to listen to him, and the mummer suspended their merry evolutions round the maypole. The poor denounced mayqueen, who on the rejection of her nose-gay had flown back to Jocelyn, now looked doubly disconcerted at this direct attack upon her and her finery, and pouted her pretty lips in vexation. Dick Taverner, who stood by her side, seemed disposed to resent the affront, and shook his fist menacingly at the Puritan. Jocelyn himself was perplexed and annoyed, for though inclined to take part with the assemblage, the growing interest he felt in Aveline forbade all interference with her father. End of Chapter 15 Chapter 16 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 16 of the Sign given by the Puritan to the assemblage. Meanwhile, a great crowd had collected beneath the window, and though no interruption was offered to the speaker, it was easy to discern from the angry countenances of his hearers what was the effect of the address upon them. When he had done, Hugh Cowelly folded his arms upon his breast, and sternly regarded the assemblage. He was well stricken in years, as his grizzled hair and beard denoted, but neither was his strength impaired nor the fire of his eye dimmed. Squarely built with hard and somewhat massive features, strongly stamped with austerity, he was distinguished by a soldier-like deportment in manner, while his bronzed countenance, which bore upon it more than one cicatris, showed he must have been exposed to foreign sons and seen much service. There was great determination about the mouth and about the physiognomy generally, while at the same time there was something of the wildness of fanaticism in his looks. He was habited in a buff jerken with a brown lacquered breastplate over it, thigh pieces of a similar color and similar material, and stout leather boots. A broad belt with a heavy sword attached to, it crossed his breast, and round his neck was a plain falling band. You could not regard Hugh Cowelly without feeling he was a man to die a martyr in any cause he had espoused. A deep groan was now directed against him, but it moved not a muscle of his rigid countenance. Jocelyn began to fear from the menacing looks of the crowd that some violence might be attempted, and he endeavored to check it. Bear with him, worthy friends, he cried. He means you well, though he may reprove you somewhat too sharply. Be shrew him for an envious railor, cried a miller. He marrs all our pleasures with his peaveish humors. He would have us all as discontented with the world as himself, but we know better. He will not let us have our lawful sports as enjoined by the king himself on Sundays, and he now tries to interfere with our recreations on holidays. A pest upon him for a canker bit in churl. His sullen looks are enough to turn all the cream in the village sour, observed an old dame. Why doth he not but take himself to the convetical and preach there, old Greenford cried? Why should we have all these bitter texts of scripture thrown at our heads? Why should we be likened to the drunkards of Ephraim because we drink our wits and ales? I have tasted nothing more than my morning cup as yet. Why should our maypole be termed an idol? Answer me that, good grand sire, Jillian demanded. Nay, let him who called it so answer thee, child, for I cannot, the old farmer rejoined. I can see not idolatrous in it. Why should our pretty mayqueen be dispoiled of her ornaments because they please not his fanatical taste? Dick Tavernor demanded. For my part, I can discern no difference between a puritan and a nave, and I would hang both. This sally met with a favorable reception from the crowd, and a voice exclaimed, I hang all navish puritans. Again Hugh Calvally lifted up his voice. Think not to make me afraid, he cried. I have confronted armed hosts with boldness when engaged in a worse cause than this, and I am not likely to give way before a base rabble, now that I have become a soldier of Christ and fight his battles. I repeat my warnings to you, and will not hold my peace till you give heed to them. Continue not in the sins of the Gentiles lest their punishment come upon you. These are fearful times we live in. London has become another Nineveh, and will be devoured by flames like that great city. It is full of corruption and debauchery, of oppressions, thefts, and deceits. With the prophet Naum I exclaim, Woe to the city, it is full of lies and robbery. What griping usury, what extortion are practiced within it? What fraud, what injustice, what misrule? But the Lord's anger will be awakened against it. Palaces of kings are of no more account in his eyes than cottages of peasants. He cutteth off the spirits of princes. He is terrible to the kings of the earth. He knoweth no difference between them that sit on thrones, and those that go from door to door. For what sayeth the prophet Isaiah? I will punish the stout heart of the king of Assyria, and the glory of his high looks. Let the great ones of the land be warned, as well as the meanest, or judgment will come upon them. Me thinks that smacks of treason, cried Dick Tavernor. Our Puritan has quitted us poor fowl to fly at higher game. Hark ye, sir, he added to Hugh Cavilley. You would not dare utter such words as those in the king's presence. Thou art mistaken, friend, the other rejoined. It is my purpose to warn him in terms strong as those I have just used. Why should I hold my peace when I have a mission from on high? I shall speak to the king as Nathan spoke to David. He speaks like a prophet, cried the miller. I begin to have faith in him. No doubt the iniquities of London are fearful. If he preach against extortioners and usurers only, I am with him, Dick Tavernor said. If he rid London of Sir Giles Mopason and his peers, he will do good service. Still better, if he will put down corruption and injustice as exhibited in the court of Star Chamber, eh, Master Jocelyn Monsonci? At the mention of this name, the Puritan appeared greatly surprised and looked round inquiringly till his eye lighted upon the young man. After regarding him for a moment fixedly, he demanded, art thou, Jocelyn Monsonci? The young man equally surprised, replied in the affirmative. The son of Sir Ferdinando Monsonci of Massinum in Norfolk inquired the Puritan. The same Jocelyn answered. Thy father was my nearest and dearest friend, young man, Hugh Cavally said, and thy father's son shall be welcome to my dwelling. Enter, I pray of you, yet pause for a moment. I have a word more to declare to these people. Ye heed not my words and make a mock of me, he continued addressing the assemblage, but I will give you a sign that I have spoken the truth. He will bring the devil among us, I try, cried Dick Tavernor. Tis to be hoped he will not split the maypole with a thunderbolt, said the miller. Nor spoil our wits and ales, cried old Greenford. Nor lame our hobby horse, said one of the mummers. Nor rob me of my wreath and garlands, said Jillian. That he shall not, I promise you, fair May Queen, Dick Tavernor rejoined gallantly. I will do none of these things. I would not harm you, even if I had the power, the Puritan said. But I will discharge a bolt against the head of Yon Idol, he added, pointing towards the flower crowned summit of the maypole. And if I break its neck and cast it down, ye will own that a higher hand than mine directs the blow, and that the superstitious symbol ought not to be left standing. As to what we may do, or what we may acknowledge, we will give no promise, Master Hugh Calvilly rejoined old Greenford. But Ian, let fly thy bolt if thou wilt. Some dissent was offered to this singular proposition, but the majority of voices overruled it, and withdrawing for a moment Hugh Calvilly returned with an arbolist, which he proceeded deliberately to arm in view of the crowd, and then placed a quarrel within it. In the name of the Lord, who cast down the golden idol made by Aaron and the Israelites, I launched this bolt, he cried, as he took aim, and liberated the cord. The short, iron-headed, square-pointed arrow whizzed through the air, and by the mischief it did as it hit its mark, seemed to confirm the Puritan's denunciation. Striking the maypole precisely at the summit, it shattered the wood, and brought down the floral crowns for mounting it, as well as the topmost streamers. The spectators stared aghast. Be warned by this, thundered Hugh Calvilly, with gloomy triumph. Your idol is smitten, not by my hand, but by his who will chastise your wickedness. Whereupon he closed the window and departed. Presently afterwards, the door was opened by an old, grave-looking, decently-clad serving man, addressing Jocelyn, who had already dismounted and given his horse in charge to the youth, engaged for a similar purpose by Dick Tavener. This personage invited him, in his master's name, to enter, and with a heart throbbing with emotion, the young man complied. Chance seemed to befriend him in a way he could never have anticipated, and now he hoped to obtain an interview with Abiline. His conductor led him through a passage to a large chamber at the back of the house, with windows looking upon a garden. The room was paneled with dark, shining oak, had a polished floor, an immense chimney-piece, and a molded ceiling. Within it were a few high-backed chairs and some other cumbers furniture, while on an oak table at the side was spread the simple morning repast of the Puritan and his daughter. But all these things were lost upon Jocelyn, who had eyes only for one object. She was there, and how lovely she appeared, how exquisite in figure, how faultless in feature. Some little embarrassment was discoverable in her manner as the young man entered, but it quickly disappeared. Her father was with her, and advancing towards Jocelyn, he took him kindly by the hand and bade him welcome. Then, without relinquishing his grasp, he presented the young man to his daughter, saying, This is Jocelyn, the son of my dear departed friend, Sir Ferdinando Montresy. Some inscrutable design of Providence has brought him hither, and right glad I am to behold him. Years ago his father rendered me a signal service, which I requited as best I could, and there is nothing I would not gladly do for the son of such a friend. You will esteem him accordingly, Avalon. I will not fail in my duty, Father, she replied, blushing slightly. And Jocelyn thought these words were the sweetest he had ever heard pronounced. I would pray you to break your fast with us, if our simple fare will content you, said Hugh Cavali, pointing to the table. I am not over-dainty, and shall do ample justice to whatever is set before me, Jocelyn replied, smiling. It is well, said the Puritan, I am glad to find the son of my old friend is not a slave to his appetites, as are most of the young man of this generation. With this they approached the board, and a lengthy grace being pronounced by Hugh Cavali, Jocelyn sat down by the side of Avalon, scarcely able to believe in the reality of his own happiness, so like a dream it seemed. End of Chapter 16 Chapter 17 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 17 A Rash Promise During the slender repast, Jocelyn, in reply to the inquiries of the Puritan, explained the twofold motive of his coming to London, namely the desire of taking vengeance on his father's enemies, and the hope of obtaining some honorable employment, such as a gentleman might accept. My chances in the latter respect are not very great, he said, seeing I have no powerful friends to aid me in my endeavors, and I must consequently trust a fortune. But as regards my enemies, if I can only win an audience of the King and plead my cause before him, I do not think he will deny me justice. Justice, exclaimed the Puritan with deep scorn. James Stewart knows it not. An arch-hypocrite and perfidious as hypocritical, he holdeth as a maxim that dissimulation is necessary to a ruler. He has the cowardice and the ferocity of the hyena. He will promise fairly, but his deeds will falsify his words. Recollect how his Judas' kiss betrayed Somerset. Recollect his conduct toward the Gauris. But imagine not, because you have been evil and treated and oppressed, that the King will redress your wrongs and reinstate you in your fallen position. Rather, will he take part with the users and extortioners who have deprived you of your inheritance? How many poor wretches doth he daily condemn to the same lingering agonies and certain destruction that he doomed your father? Lamentable, as is the Good Sir Ferdinando's case, it stands not alone. It is one of many, and many, many more will be added to the list if this tyrannical heraldias be suffered to govern. And as if goaded by some stinging thought that drove him nigh distracted, he cowvally arose and paced to and fro within the chamber. His brow became gloomier and his visage sterner. Bear with him, Good Master Jocelyn, Aveline said in a low tone. He hath been unjustly treated by the King, and as you see can ill-brook the usage. Bear with him, I pray of you. Jocelyn had no time to make reply, suddenly checking himself and fixing his earnest gaze upon the young man, the Puritan said, Give ear to me, my son. If I desire to inflame your breast with rage against this tyrant, I should need only to relate one instance of his cruelty and injustice. I had a friend, a very dear friend, he continued in a tone of deep pathos, confined within the fleet prison by a decree of the star chamber. He was to me as a brother, and to see him gradually pining away cut me to the soul. Proud by nature he refused to abase himself to his oppressor, and could not be brought to acknowledge wrongs he had never committed. Pardon, therefore, was denied him, not pardon merely, but all mitigation of suffering. My friend had been wealthy, but heavy fines and penalties had stripped him of his possessions, and brought him to destitution. Lord of an ancient hall, with woods and lands around it, wherein he could ride for hours without quitting his own domains, his territories were now narrowed to a few yards, while one dark dreary chamber was alone accorded him. Finding he must necessarily perish if left to rot there, I prevailed upon him, not without much reluctance on his part, to petition the king for liberation, and was myself the bearer of his prayer. Earnestly pleading the cause of the unfortunate man and representing his forlorn condition, I besought his majesty's gracious intercession. But when I had wearied the royal ear within treaties, the sharp reply was, doth he make submission? Will he confess his offence? And as I could only affirm that as he was guilty of no crime, so he could confess none, the king returned me the petition, coldly observing. The dignity of our court of star chamber must be maintained before all things. He hath been guilty of contempt towards it, and must purge him of the offence. But the man will die, sire, I urged, if he be not removed from the fleet. His prison lodging is near a foul ditch, and he is sick with fever. Neither can he have such aid of medicine or of nursing as his case demands. The greater reason he should relieve himself by speedy acknowledgment of the justice of his sentence, said the king. The matter rests not with us, but with himself. But he is a gentleman, sire, I persisted, to whom truth is dearer than life, and who would rather languish in misery for thrice the term he is likely to last than forfeit his own self-esteem by admitting falsehood and injustice. Then let him perish in his pride and obstinacy, cried the king impatiently, and thereupon he dismissed me. Oh, sir, exclaimed Jocelyn, rising and throwing his arms around the Puritan's neck. You, then, were the friend who tended my poor father in his last moments. Heaven bless you for it. Yes, Jocelyn, it was I who heard your father's latest sigh. The Puritan replied, returning his embrace, and your own name was breathed with it. His thoughts were of his son far away, too young to share his distresses or to comprehend them. Alas! Alas! cried Jocelyn mournfully. Lament not for your father, Jocelyn, said the Puritan solemnly. He is reaping the reward of his earthly troubles in heaven. Be comforted, I say. The tyrant can no longer oppress him, and he is beyond the reach of his malice. He can be arraigned at no more unjust tribunals. He is where no cruel and perfidious princes, no iniquitous judges, no griping extortioners shall ever enter. Jocelyn endeavored to speak, but his emotion overpowered him. I have already told you that your father rendered me a service impossible to be adequately requited. Pursued the Puritan. What that service was, I will one day inform you. Suffice it now that it bound me to him in chains firmer than brass. Willingly would I have laid down my life for him, if he had desired it. Gladly would I have taken his place in the Fleet Prison, if that could have procured him liberation. Unable to do either, I watched over him while he lived, and buried him when dead. Oh, sir, you have bound me to you as strongly as you were bound to my father, cried Jocelyn. For the devotion shown to him, I hold myself eternally your debtor. The Puritan regarded him steadfastly for a moment. What if I were to put these professions to the test, he asked. Do so, Jocelyn replied earnestly. My life is yours. Your life, exclaimed Hugh Cowley, grasping his arm almost fiercely while his eye blazed. Consider what you offer. I need not consider, Jocelyn rejoined. I repeat, my life is yours if you demand it. Perhaps I shall demand it, cried Hugh Cowley, ere long perhaps. Demand it when you will, Jocelyn said. Father, Aveline interposed, do not let the young man bind himself by this promise. Release him, I pray of you. The promise cannot be recalled, my child, the Puritan replied, but I shall never claim its fulfillment, save for some high and holy purpose. Are you sure your purpose is holy, father? Aveline said in a low tone. What mean you, child? cried Hugh Cowley, knitting his brows. I am but an instrument in the hands of heaven, appointed to do its work, and as directed, so I must act. Heaven may make me the scourge of the oppressor and evildoer, or the sword to slay the tyrant. I may die a martyr from my faith, or do battle for it with carnal weapons. For all these I am ready, resigning myself to the will of God. Is it for nothing, thinks thou, that this young man, the son of my dear departed friend, has been brought hither at this particular juncture? Is it for nothing that holy unsolicited he has placed his life at my disposal, and in doing so has devoted himself to a great cause? Like myself, he hath wrongs to avenge, and the Lord of hosts will give him satisfaction. But not in the way you propose, father, Aveline rejoined. Heaven will assuredly give you both satisfaction for the wrongs you have endured, but it must choose its own means of doing so, and its own time. It hath chosen the means, and the time is coming quickly, cried the Puritan, his eye again kindling with fanatical light. The Lord will cut off from Israel head and tail. These things are riddles to me, observed Jocelyn, who had listened to what was passing with great uneasiness. I would solicit an explanation. You shall have it, my son, you calmly replied. But not now. My hour for solitary prayer and self-communion is come, and I must withdraw to my chamber. Go forth into the garden, Jocelyn, and do thou attend him, Aveline. I will join you when my devotions are ended. So saying, he quitted the room, while the youthful pair went forth as enjoined. End of Chapter 17 Chapter 18 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 18. How The Promise Was Canceled It was a large garden, once fairly laid out and planted, but now sadly neglected. The broad terrace walk was overgrown with weeds. The stone steps and the carved balusters were broken in places and covered with moss. The once smooth lawn was unconscious of the scythe. The parterres had lost their quaint devices, and the knots of flowers, trefoil, sinkfoil, diamond, and crossbow were no longer distinguishable in their original shapes. The labyrinths of the maze were inextricably tangled, and the long green alleys wanted clearing out. But all this neglect passed unnoticed by Jocelyn, so completely was he engrossed by the fair creature at his side. Even the noise of the maze games, which, temporarily interrupted by Hugh Cowley, had recommenced with greater vigor than ever, the ringing of the church bells, the shouts of the crowd, and the sounds of the merry minstrelsy scarcely reached his ear. For the first time he experienced those delicious sensations which newborn love excites within the breast, and the enchantment operated upon him so rapidly and so strongly that he was overpowered by its spell almost before aware of it. It seemed that he had never really lived till this moment, never at least, comprehended the bliss afforded by existence in the companionship of a being able to awaken the transports he now experienced. A new world seemed suddenly open to him, full of love, hope, sunshine, of which he and Aveline were the sole inhabitants. Hither too, his life had been devoid of any great emotion. The one feeling laterally pervading it had been a sense of deep wrong, coupled with the thirst of vengeance. No tenderer influence had softened his almost rugged nature, and his breast continued ere it as the desert. Now the rock had been stricken, and the living waters gushed forth abundantly. Not that in Norfolk, and even in the remote part of the county where his life had been passed, female beauty was rare. Nowhere, indeed, is the flower of loveliness more thickly sown than in that favored part of our isle. But all such young damsels as he had beheld had failed to move him, and if any shaft had been aimed at his breast it had fallen wide at the mark. Jocelyn Munchancy was not one of those highly susceptible natures. Quick to receive an impression, quicker to lose it. Neither would he have been readily caught by the lure spread for youth by the designing of the sex. Imbued with something of the antique spirit of chivalry, which yet, though but slightly, influenced the age in which he lived, he was ready and able to pay fervent homage to his mistress's sovereign beauty, supposing he had one, and maintain its supremacy against all questioners, but utterly incapable of worshipping at any meaner shrine. Hart Hull, therefore, when he encountered the Puritan's daughter, he felt that in her he had found an object he had long sought, to whom he could devote himself, heart and soul, a maiden whose beauty was without peer, and whose mental qualities corresponded with her personal attractions. Nor was it a delusion under which he labored. Avalon Cowley was all his imagination painted her. Purity of heart, gentleness of disposition, intellectual endowments, were as clearly revealed by her speaking countenance as the innermost depths of a fountain are by the polluted medium through which they are viewed. Hers was a virgin heart, which, like his own, had received no previous impression. Love for her father alone had swayed her, though all strong demonstrations of filial affection had been checked by that father's habitually stern manner. Brought up by a female relative in Cheshire, who had taken charge of her on her mother's death, which had occurred during her infancy, she had known little of her father till late years, when she had come to reside with him, and, though devout by nature, she could ill reconcile herself to the gloomy notions of religion he entertained, or to the ascetic mode of life he practiced. With no desire to share in the pumps and vanities of life, she could not be persuaded that cheerfulness was incompatible with righteousness, nor could all the railings she heard against them make her hate those who differed from her in religious opinions. Still she made no complaint. Entirely obedient to her father's will, she accommodated herself, as far as she could, to the rule of life prescribed by him. Aware of his pertinacity of opinion, she seldom or ever argued a point with him, even if she thought Wright might be on her side, holding it better to maintain peace by submission than to hazard wrath by disputation. The discussion on the May games was an exception to her ordinary conduct, and formed one of the few instances in which she had ventured to assert her own opinion in opposition to that of her father. Of late, indeed, she had felt great uneasiness about him. Much changed, he seemed occupied by some dark-dread thought, which partially revealed itself in wrathful exclamations and muttered menaces. He seemed to believe himself chosen by heaven as an instrument of vengeance against oppression, and her fears were excited lest he might commit some terrible act under this fatal impression. She was the more confirmed in the idea from the eagerness with which he had grasped at Jocelyn's rash promise, and she determined to put the young man upon his guard. If, in order to satisfy the reader's curiosity, we are obliged to examine the state of Avalon's heart, in reference to Jocelyn, we must state candidly that no such ardent flame was kindled within it as burnt in the breast of the young man, that such a flame might arise was very possible, nay even probable, seeing that the sparks of love were there, and material for combustion was by no means wanting. All that was required was that those sparks should be gently fanned, not heedlessly extinguished. Little was said by the two young persons as they slowly paced the terrace. Both felt embarrassed, Jocelyn longing to give utterance to his feelings, but restrained by timidity. Avalon trembling lest more might be said than she ought to hear, or if obliged to hear, then she could rightly answer. Thus they walked on in silence, but it was a silence more eloquent than words, since each comprehended what the other felt. How much they would have said was proclaimed by the impossibility they found of saying anything. At length Jocelyn stopped, and plucking a flower, observed as he preferred it for her acceptance. My first offering to you was rejected. May this be more fortunate. Make me a promise and I will accept it, she replied. Willingly cried Jocelyn, venturing to take her hand and gazing at her tenderly, most willingly. You are far too ready to promise, she rejoined with a sad sweet smile. What I desire is this. Recall your hasty pledge to my father and aid me in dissuading him from the enterprise in which he would engage you. As the words were uttered, the Puritan stepped from behind the alley which had enabled him to approach them unperceived and overhear their brief converse. Hold, he exclaimed in a solemn tone, and regarding Jocelyn with great earnestness, that promise is sacred. It was made in a father's name and must be fulfilled. As to my purpose, it is unchangeable. The enthusiast's influence over Jocelyn would have proved irresistible, but for the interposition of Avalon. Be not controlled by him, she said in a low tone to the young man, adding to her father. For my sake, let the promise be cancelled. Let him ask it and it shall be, rejoined the Puritan, gazing steadily at the young man, as if he would penetrate his soul. Do you hesitate? he cried in accents of deep disappointment, perceiving Jocelyn waiver. You cannot misunderstand his wish, his father, said Avalon. Let him speak for himself, Hugh Cavally exclaimed angrily. Jocelyn munchancy, he continued, folding his arms upon his breast and regarding the young man, fixedly as before. Son of my old friend, son of him who died in my arms, son of him whom I committed to the earth. If thou hast ought of thy father's true spirit, thou wilt rigidly adhere to a pledge voluntarily given, and which, uttered as it was uttered by thee, has all the sanctity, all the binding force of a vow before heaven, where it is registered and approved by him who is gone before us. Greatly moved by this appeal, Jocelyn might have complied with it, but Avalon again interposed. Not so, father, she cried. The spirits of the just made perfect, and of such is the friends you mention, would never approve of the design with which you would link this young man in consequence of a promise rashly made. Discharge him from it, I entreat you. Her energy shook even the Puritan's firmness. Be it as thou wilt daughter, he said after the pause of a few moments, during which he waited for Jocelyn to speak. But as the young man said nothing, he rudely interpreted his silence. Be it as thou wilt, since he too wills it so. I give him back his promise, but let me see him no more. Sir, I beseech you, cried Jocelyn. But he was cut short by the Puritan, who, turning from him contemptuously, said to his daughter, let him depart immediately. Avalon signed to the young man to go, but finding him remain motionless, she took him by the hand and led him some way along the terrace. Then, releasing her hold, she bade him farewell. Wherefore have you done this, inquired Jocelyn reproachfully? Question me not, but be satisfied I have acted for the best, she replied. Oh, Jocelyn, she continued anxiously. If an opportunity should occur to you of serving my father, do not neglect it. Be assured I will not, the young man replied. Shall we not meet again? he asked, in a tone of deepest anxiety. Perhaps, she answered, but you must go. My father will become impatient. Again, farewell. On this they separated, the young man sorrowfully departing, while her footsteps retreated in the opposite direction. Meanwhile, the May games went forward on the green, with increased spirit and marryment, and without the slightest hindrance. More than once the mummers had wheeled their mazy rounds, with Jillian and Dick Taverner footing it merrily in the midst of them. More than once the audacious Prentice, now become desperately enamored of his pretty partner, had ventured to steal a kiss from her lips. More than once he had whispered words of love in her ear, though as yet he had obtained no tender response. Once and only once had he taken her hand, but then he had never quitted it afterwards. In vain other Swains claimed her for a dance. Dick refused to surrender his prize. They breakfasted together in a little bower made of green bows, the most delightful and lover-like retreat imaginable. Dick's appetite, furious an hour ago, was now clean gone. He could eat nothing. He subsisted on love alone. But as she was prevailed upon to sip from a foaming tankard of witzen ale, he coughed the remainder of the liquid with rapture. This done they resumed their merry sports and began to dance again. The bells continued to ring blithely, the assemblage to shout, and the minstrels to play, a strange contrast to what was passing in the Puritan's Garden. End of chapter 18