Читать книгу Long Will - Florence Converse Converse - Страница 14

LL the good people, fresh-blessed, came forth into the churchyard with a great pushing and striving. There was a Miracle Play toward, and to stand at the back of five-and-twenty score of tiptoeing Londoners was to see nothing. Sweating shopkeepers jostled and swore, women squealed, and 'prentices drove their elbows into any fat paunch that was neighbourly. Here and there, above the press, a child rode on its father's shoulder, and if 't was a merry child it kicked off the women's headgear and tweaked the ears of Robyn and Hikke and Jack.

Stand off—stand off, a four-foot space from Hell Mouth! cried Beelzebub, coming to earth unexpected; there be sparks! I 'll not answer for 't if ay one take fire.

Look ye, look ye! roared Sathanas, thrusting up his head, here's some thieving fellow hath filched my tail while I was to Mass. 'T is a poor jest. Now, by St. Christopher, I swear I say no word o' my part if the tail lack.

There went up a laugh from the company, and one cried: Give the dumb beast his tail that he may speak! And, on a sudden, flew over the heads of the people a something red, in shape like an eel, and fell upon Sathanas' head, whereat he grunted and withdrew head and tail together.

And now Hell Mouth opened and spat fire, and after tumbled forth a rout of devils, big and little, that pranced and mowed, the while the people laughed and cast them back jest for jest. Was one brawny fiend, a blacksmith by trade, that came to the edge of the stage and, looking backward, with chin uppermost, through his squatted legs, set his fingers in the corners of his mouth and his eyes, and did so make of himself a monster that a little maid which stood in the forefront of the multitude must needs shriek and start, so that her kerchief fell awry.

Saith a yeoman, blinking on her ruffled hair: I cannot see for the sun in my eyen, and laid his great hand on her fair head that perforce she must turn her face would she or no.

By St. Jame! cried the man, thereupon; here's no ba'rn, but a maid, with a mouth ripe for kissing! And so bent to taste her lips. But she cried out and struggled to be free, and swift, a gloved hand thrust the yeoman's face aside, and a voice that had a twist of French in it rated him so that he shrank backward glowering.

The blacksmith, meanwhile, being set right side forward, stood nodding a genial horned approval:

An I had not been so be-twisted, I had given him a crack! he said, and, turning rueful, added: Dost not know me, child? I be Hobbe Smith that dwell two doors below thee. I did but mean to make thee merry.

And the maid gave him a pale smile.

If thou stand o' this side, out of the press, still mayst thou see, said he of the gloved hand.

I came not so close to see the devils, answered the maid, blushing, but for that cometh after; and she followed him apart.

Then come Mercy and Truth across the middle stage, and are met together, and Peace and Rightwisnesse, that kissed the one the other, prating sweetly of Christ risen from the dead. And the devils are begun to make moan, and they have locked Hell Mouth with a great key and laid a bar across. And said this squire that stood beside the maid:—

By 'r Lady!—who writ this is no common patcher o' miracles, but a true poet!

'T is my father, quoth she.

And he: Nay, then, I knew thee for a poem. Is thy name Guenevere? Such eyes had Guenevere—such hair.

I am Will Langland's daughter; I am Calote, she said.

There had lately come two men through the crowd. By their aspect they were not Londoners, yet they seemed acquainted well enough with what they saw. Now one of these, a black-browed fellow with thin, tight lips, large nose, and sallow visage, spoke to the squire, saying:—

All poets of England do not pipe for John o' Gaunt. This one hath chose to make music for the ears of common folk.

Natheless 't is tuned to ears more delicate, the squire made answer, looking always on the maiden; and then, Calote, thou sayst? 'T is Nicolette in little, is 't not? And presently after, Nicolette had a squire.—I would I were thy squire.

But Calote had turned her to the Miracle, and the youth saw only a flushing cheek.

'T is a long while that Mercy and Truth are not met together in England, Jack, said the countryman to his fellow, sourly.

Yea, Wat, the other answered; and afore Peace cometh War.

And afore Rightwisnesse—said he of the black brows, and paused, and looked about him meaningly, and cast his arms to right and left. And now the Miracle was done, and Christ had narrowed Hell, and sat on high with the Trinity.