Читать книгу Bess of Hardwick and Her Circle - Maud Stepney Rawson - Страница 11

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Scene: The presence chamber of Tutbury Castle on a raw day of February, 1569. A casement flapping in the wind. Crimson velvet drapery lies on the floor, and two women squat there, stitching at it. Beyond, through an open door, a suite of smaller rooms full of furniture.

First Sewing Woman. You tug too much of the velvet over to you, Mary. Let be, and be content with your share.

Second Sewing Woman. I only desire to help you, Richardyne. I scarcely can hold my needle for the cold.

1st S.W. Then shut the window, you fool.

2nd S.W. Nay, fool I am not, though I be younger than you. For I did not set the window open. It was the cook. Call him to fasten it.

1st S.W. The cook indeed! His part is to bake and stew, not hang out of the casements.

2nd S.W. Will there be a great feast, do you think, when this Queen comes?

1st S.W. There will be feasts every night.

2nd S.W. Lord! how happy it will be! They say she loves dancing.

1st S.W. Who told you this?

2nd S.W. The post that brought my Lord’s letter from Bolton. He knew, for he spoke like a Scottish man.

1st S.W. Now I see why the fiddler has come from Chatsworth.

2nd S.W. Yes, to make music he has come. He begged my Lady so sore to keep him here that she promised the poor wretch at last——

1st S.W. There he is, playing down by the kitchen.

2nd S.W. He is coming here. [Gets up hastily and trips over the velvet. Enter a youth with branches of laurel and ivy. He puts them on a table, and is about to retire when the fiddler enters playing and bowing.]

The Youth. What do you here, old scraping John?

Fiddler. More than you, fellow of discord, with idle arms.

The Youth [angrily]. They are only waiting to pound thee.

Fiddler. I am my Lord’s servant more than you. He has many boys like you who can stand and stare, but only one who can fiddle.

The Youth [advancing]. Look to thyself. Thy catgut will not shield thee much.

Fiddler [from behind the table]. Help, help, Master Crompe!

The Women [rising and flinging the velvet over the chair]. Help, help—porter, cook, men, all of you!

1st S.W. [to the youth]. Boy, do not brawl in the presence chamber.

2nd S.W. No, no, it is foolish. We each must work to-day that we may dance another day. And how can we dance if you break the fiddler’s head?

The Youth [furious]. He is a lewd fellow, smooth and gentle to you wenches, but a liar——

Fiddler. Master Crompe. He calls me a liar. [Enter the Steward, Crompe.]

Crompe. Stop your bellowing, all. You, Fiddler—drown the chatter with your music, if music you must make. Her Ladyship comes. You—boy, go to the bed-chambers above and help to carry down the napery which she will give you. Oh! there is more to accomplish than any hands can do. The stables are not yet ready, two of the scullions are drunk and must go, the carpenters are short of wood for the mending of the walls of my Lord’s guardroom, the roof of the dining-hall leaks, and the roll of canvas for the wall behind the dais, which is mossy and wet, has not come from France. [Goes out shaking his head.]

2nd S.W. [mimicking him]. Lord, oh, Lord! the sky will tumble on our heads.

1st S.W. Get back to work, girl. These velvets are for the Scots Queen’s bedroom.

2nd S.W. Is that true? I will stitch hard if—Master Fiddler will play.

Fiddler. All work, not forgetting the business of eating, goes better to music. [Begins to play, walking up and down the room.]

2nd S.W. [laughing]. I cannot sew. There is an itch in my ankles.

1st S.W. Fudge!

2nd S.W. Do you think it is the plague that I have?

Fiddler. It means that you must dance and not sew.

[2nd S.W., jumping up, gathers up her petticoats, and prances in time. The Fiddler plays on, and the youth, entering with napery, thrusts it on to the large table and joins the dance.]

2nd S.W. Faster, Master Fiddler, till feet are as hot as toasts.

[In the middle of it, with a jingle of keys and a rustle of skirts, enter my Lady of Shrewsbury with a long roll of paper in her hands.]

Bess [in the doorway]. Is this how my command is obeyed?

[The music dies away with a trickle, the dancers fall back against the wall.]

1st S.W. [rises and curtsies]. Richardyne’s feet were cold, my Lady, and she danced to save them from blains.

Bess [drily]. A mess of mustard were the quicker way, I think, to cure that. [To the youth.] And you—have you also frozen toes?

Youth. Y—yes, my Lady.

Bess. Then go and keep watch outside the castle gate in the wind. That will warm you quick enow. You can play Jumping Joan all the while and nobody to stop you. But so soon as you see a light upon the hill it is the signal that the Queen has passed the woods and is close. [Exit Youth.] [To the Fiddler.] Remember—you—you must not intrude if you are to be suffered here. You must stay in the kitchens till you are wanted.

Fiddler. My Lady, I went looking for you and thought to find you here to know my duties.

Bess. Like enough! Make no noise till you are ordered. [He turns to go.] Stop! What tunes can you play?

Fiddler. A hundred and more—“The Derby Ram,” “The Nun’s Green Rangers,” “The Unconscionable Bachelors,” “The Derby Hero,” “The Bakewell”——

Bess. Silence! I do not desire to listen to your dictionary. How do you call the air you played but now?

Fiddler. The title I know not, my Lady, but the song of it begins—

You have a lodging in my heart

For which you pay no rent.

Bess. Marry, and you chose that to greet the Queen?

Fiddler. It is for you to choose, my Lady.

Bess. Go to, go to. Back to the kitchens with your fiddle. I will choose later. [Enter Master Crompe.] Crompe, Crompe, did you hear what he said—the name of his tune?

Crompe. Yes, my Lady.

Bess. He is an impudent fellow, Crompe.

Crompe. Innocent I trust, my Lady.

Bess. There was a wink in his eye, Crompe. [Stamps her foot.] “You have a lodging in my heart”—forsooth!—“For which you pay no rent!” Mark that, Crompe. It mislikes me much. He should play that to my Lord Treasurer at Court. An’ the next letter gives no surety of that I will no more tear down my tapestries to furnish a prison-house.

Crompe [soothingly]. My Lord has her Majesty’s promise in writing that the furnishments shall be sent. And for the present we can make shift.

Bess. Well, well, time passes and nothing is finished. [Seats herself at the table.] Bring me the ink, good Crompe, that I may check the appointments in the Scots Queen’s chambers. [Crompe goes out.] Crompe, Crompe, who has littered this room with this green stuff?

1st S.W. I heard Mistress Elizabeth Cavendish command the branches to be gathered for garlands.

Bess. Garlands?

2nd S.W. For the Queen’s welcome.

Bess. Idleness and foolery. Garlands! [Catches sight of her daughter Elizabeth in the doorway.] Bet, why do you bring confusion into my plans?

Elizabeth. Lady mother, there were no flowers. I have sought in the lanes, and there is no joy in them. And so I would twine the laurels and ivy into chains and see the leaves shine in the firelight.

Bess [sharply]. No time for garlands. There will be chains enough truly. Go, fetch me this green stuff away. Throw it out of the window, Crompe. Bet, fetch your needle and mend me yonder cushion. [Goes to door and calls.] Mrs. Glasse! Wenches! [Women come running. Mrs. Glasse, the housekeeper, follows with a bundle of linen.]

Bess. Listen to me, all of you. Here is my Lord’s tale of the things which must be ready. As I read so do you answer, Mrs. Glasse. Thirty pallets must be ready.

Mrs. Glasse. Only twenty have mattresses, my Lady.

Bess. Have you not five feather-beds, woman?

Mrs. G. Only three, my Lady. The two others have been taken for the captain of the soldiers that is coming.

Bess. By whose order?

Mrs. G. I know not.

Bess. Take them away instantly and put instead the old mattress from the old state-couch. The other five must make shift without mattresses.

Mrs. G. My Lady, there are not pillows for more than fifteen beds.

Bess. But yesterday I gave you out ten new ones.

Mrs. G. We still lack fifteen, save your Ladyship will allow those of chaff to be used.

Bess. Use anything, all you can lay hands upon. Lord, Lord! all my substance is swallowed, and still you cry “More pillows!” Beshrew me if you do not eat pillows. Alice, are the ewers and basins in place?

Alice. Yes, m’lady, though one is cracked and two were broken early this morning by my Lord’s hound, which sprang through the window, so that I dropped them in my fright.

Bess. Lord! these people eat ewers as fast as pillows! Take away the cracked one and put brass ewers for the other two. No, stay. Leave the cracked one. They say this Queen’s folk have a crazy fancy for little dogs and darlings. If we place them new pitchers, they will only break those also.

Alice. Little French dogs...? Oh, they will be sport!

Bess. Hold thy idiot’s tongue. Pray Heaven they do not bring monkeys also, like Lady Catherine Grey^[14] when she went to the Tower. Kate, where is the Queen’s coverlet? [Girls bring it forward.] There is an ugly darn in it. It shall be hidden with some gold lace. Fetch my Lord’s old riding-cloak and rip the galloon quickly from it. Do not use the broad, but the narrow. It will seem well enough. To work, to work!

[Re-enter Crompe.]

Crompe. The cook and his fellows be ready, my Lady.

Bess. Let him come. [Enter a procession of kitchen men with dishes.]

Bess [reading from the roll before her]. A pair of capons stuffed with chestnuts.

Cook. The garnishing has yet to be done, my Lady.

Bess. A brisket of pork.

Cook. Boy—bring it round.

[A cook’s boy parades with the dish.]

Bess. Six carp—these should be served hot.

Cook. My Lady, they simmer slowly.

Bess [reading]. A roast of beef.

[Two boys parade it and pass on.]

Bess [going on with the list, while the dishes are presented in turn.]

Hare with little jellies.

Plover trussed and stuffed.

Wheaten cakes.

A mess of furmity.

A heron stewed. You dolts, this should be heated!

Cook. My Lady, my Lady—the ovens will heat it again quickly. I brought it hither that your Ladyship should taste the sauce. [Presents a spoon. Bess tastes.]

Bess. I mislike the onion. And for a Queen, there is too much aniseed. Mark that if the dish goes untouched.

Cook. My Lady, they say this Queen will bring her own tasting-gentleman.

Bess. Surely, yes, surely. Who will she not bring? Her tasting-gentleman to see she is not poisoned by you, Master Cook. Swallow the insult and say your prayers and be sparing of your herbs in future. You were always too set upon aniseed, and ’tis fit only for the colic, to my thinking. Get on, get on with your dishes.... H’m! the pasties... here is only one of liver. I told Crompe to command two... two of liver and two of apples. [The pasties are presented.]

Bess. Fifty loaves.

Cook. Thirty-eight are here.

Bess [angrily]. Always something lacking, it seems. A plague, you fellows! Understand me, Cook, if the castle goes hungry you shall go more hungry, and your purse still more. Briskets, sallets, eggs, cheeses—where are they? Crompe, here—take you the bill, and if anything lacks you know who shall first go supperless. Not the Queen, and not your master and lady. Nor the Queen’s folk either. But you, Crompe—do you hear me? You!

Crompe [agitated]. Yes, my Lady. Indeed, my Lady.... I have made provision to your order... for twenty persons.

Bess. Twenty? And I have told you forty....

Crompe. Thirty beds said Mrs. Glasse.

Bess. Mrs. Glasse knows nothing. Dare you scream ever to me of Mrs. Glasse, Crompe? [More quietly.] Listen, listen. The Queen brings five gentlemen—hungry riding gentlemen; six gentlewomen—weary riding women. God help us for their airs and graces, their wants and their want-nots! And the gentlemen must have their men. God help us again! Three in number these men. And the gentlewomen will bring two wives to wait on them, and there will be fourteen servitors, three cooks. Crompe, cease that arithmetic of your fingers, for it incenses me!—Four boys, ten wenches and children——

Crompe [aghast, counting on his fingers behind his back]. ’Tis forty-eight without the children, my Lady.

Bess. Well, well, can I not add two and two as well as you, Crompe? Does it help me if you stand there with a mouth like a porringer?

Crompe. But the children, my Lady!

Bess. And the horses, Crompe!

Crompe. Then there will be grooms also.

Bess. Oil your wits, Crompe, and think of the grooms. Man alive! if you stand in that spot the world will take you for a root of mandragora, to be torn out, howling, by dogs! Stir, stir! Do somewhat, or, if you cannot of yourself, remember you have a mistress, my good fool! [Rustles out into the corridor.]

Crompe [aside]. Who should ever forget it?

2nd S.W. [jumping up, points through the casement]. See, there is something. A boy runs... ’tis a post. My Lady, my Lady.

[Re-enter Lady Shrewsbury.]

2nd S.W. My Lady... there is a fire lighted on that hill, and a boy comes running.

Bess. Then the Frenchwoman is upon us. For God’s sake leave your stitching, and mend the rest with pins and nails as you best can! The carpenter shall aid you. To the Queen’s bedchamber—quick, quick! [Drives them in front of her.] Crompe, you follow.... No—go to the stables, the kitchens. Tell the men to bring more coals and bigger logs.... [Exeunt.... Her voice pursues the servants down the corridors.] Pile high the fires! Higher! More logs! Have the torches ready! Pile high the fires!