CHAPTER IX
THE MAY-DAY PLAY
It was soon afternoon. All Coventry was thronged with people keepingholiday, and at the Blue Boar a scene of wild confusion reigned.
Tap-room and hall were crowded with guests, and in the cobbled courthorses innumerable stamped and whinnied. The players, with knittedbrows, stalked about the quieter nooks, going over their several parts,and looking to their costumes, which were for the most part upon theirbacks; while the thumping and pounding of the carpenters at work uponthe stage in the inn-yard were enough to drive a quiet-lovingperson wild.
Nick scarcely knew whether he were on his head or on his heels. Themaster-player would not let him eat at all after once breaking his fast,for fear it might affect his voice, and had him say his lines a hundredtimes until he had them pat. Then he was off, directing here, there, andeverywhere, until the court was cleared of all that had no businessthere, and the last surreptitious small boy had been duly projectedfrom the gates by Peter Hostler's hobnailed boot.
"Now, Nick," said Carew, coming up all in a gale, and throwing asky-blue silken cloak about Nick's shoulders, "thou'lt enter here"; andhe led him to a hallway door just opposite the gates. "When MasterWhitelaw, as the Duke, calls out, 'How now, who comes?--I'll match himfor the ale!' be quickly in and answer to thy part; and, marry, boy,don't miss thy cues, or--tsst, thy head's not worth a peascod!" Withthat he clapped his hand upon his poniard and glared into Nick's eyes,as if to look clear through to the back of the boy's wits. Nick heardhis white teeth grind, and was all at once very much afraid of him, forhe did indeed look dreadful.
So Nicholas Attwood stood by the entry door, with his heart in histhroat, waiting his turn.
He could hear the pages in the courtyard outside shouting for stools fortheir masters, and squabbling over the best places upon the stage. Thenthe gates creaked, and there came a wild rush of feet and a great cryingout as the 'prentices and burghers trooped into the inn-yard, pushingand crowding for places near the stage. Those who had the money bawledaloud for farthing stools. The rest stood jostling in a wrangling crowdupon the ground, while up and down a girl's shrill voice went all thetime, crying high, "Cherry ripe, cherry ripe! Who'll buy my sweet Maycherries?"
Then there was another shout, and a rattling tread of feet along thewooden balconies that ran around the walls of the inn-yard, and criesfrom the apprentices below: "Good-day, fair Master Harrington! Good-day,Sir Thomas Parkes! Good-day, sweet Mistress Nettleby and MasterNettleby! Good-day, good-day, good-day!" for the richer folk were comingin at twopence each, and all the galleries were full. And then he heardthe baker's boy with sugared cakes and ginger-nuts go stamping upthe stairs.
The musicians in the balcony overhead were tuning up. There was a flute,a viol, a gittern, a fiddle, and a drum; and behind the curtain, justoutside the door, Nick could hear the master-player's low voice givinghasty orders to the others.
So he said his lines all over to himself, and cleared his throat. Thenon a sudden a shutter opened high above the orchestra, a trumpet blared,the kettledrum crashed, and he heard a loud voice shout:
"Good citizens of Coventry, and high-born gentles all: know ye now thatwe, the players of the company of His Grace, Charles, Lord Howard, HighAdmiral of England, Ireland, Wales, Calais, and Boulogne, the marches ofNormandy, Gascony, and Aquitaine, Captain-General of the Navy and theSeas of Her Gracious Majesty the Queen--"
At that the crowd in the courtyard cheered and cheered again.
"--will, with your kind permission, play forthwith the laughable comedyof 'The Three Grey Gowns,' by Master Thomas Heywood, in which will bespoken many good things, old and new, and a brand-new song will be sung.Now, hearken all--the play begins!"
The trumpet blared, the kettledrum crashed again, and as a sudden hushfell over the throng without Nick heard the voices of the playersgoing on.
It was a broad farce, full of loud jests and nonsense, a great thwackingof sticks and tumbling about; and Nick, with his eye to the crack of thedoor, listened with all his ears for his cue, far too excited even tothink of laughing at the rough jokes, though the crowd in the inn-yardroared till they held their sides.
Carew came hurrying up, with an anxious look in his restless eyes.
"Ready, Nicholas!" said he, sharply, taking Nick by the arm and liftingthe latch. "Go straight down front now as I told thee--mind thycues--speak boldly--sing as thou didst sing for me--and if thou wouldstnot break mine heart, do not fail me now! I have staked it all upon theehere--and we _must_ win!"
"How now, who comes?" Nick heard a loud voice call outside--thedoor-latch clicked behind him--he was out in the open air and down thestage before he quite knew where he was.
The stage was built against the wall just opposite the gates. It was buta temporary platform of planks laid upon trestles. One side of it wasagainst the wall, and around the three other sides the crowd was packedclose to the platform rail.
At the ends, upon the boards, several wealthy gallants sat on high,three-legged stools, within arm's reach of the players acting there. Thecourtyard was a sea of heads, and the balconies were filled withgentlefolk in holiday attire, eating cakes and chaffing gaily at theplay. All was one bewildered cloud of staring eyes to Nick, and the onlything which he was sure he saw was the painted sign that hung upon thecurtain at the rear, which in the lack of other scenery announced inlarge red print: "This is a Room in Master Jonah Jackdawe's House."
And then he heard the last quick words, "I'll match him for the ale!"and started on his lines.
It was not that he said so ill what little he had to say, but that hisvoice was homelike and familiar in its sound, one of their own, with noamazing London accent to the words--just the speech of every-day, thesort that they all knew.
First, some one in the yard laughed out--a shock-headed ironmonger'sapprentice, "Whoy, bullies, there be hayseed in his hair. 'Tis took offpasture over-soon. I fecks! they've plucked him green!"
There was a hoarse, exasperating laugh. Nick hesitated in his lines. Theplayer at his back tried to prompt him, but only made the matter worse,and behind the green curtain at the door a hand went "clap" upon adagger-hilt. The play lagged, and the crowd began to jeer. Nick's heartwas full of fear and of angry shame that he had dared to try. Then allat once there came a brief pause, in which he vaguely realized that noone spoke. The man behind him thrust him forward, and whisperingwrathfully, "Quick, quick--sing up, thou little fool!" stepped back andleft him there alone.
"NICK THOUGHT OF HIS MOTHER'S SINGING ON A SUMMER'SEVENING--DREW A DEEP BREATH AND BEGAN TO SING."]
A viol overhead took up the time, the gittern struck a few sharpnotes. This unexpected music stopped the noise, and all was still. Nickthought of his mother's voice singing on a summer's evening among thehollyhocks, and as the viol's droning died away he drew a deep breathand began to sing the words of "Heywood's newest song":
"Pack, clouds, away, and welcome, day; With night we banish sorrow; Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloft, To give my love good-morrow!"
It was only a part of a madrigal, the air to which they had fitted thewords,--the same air that Nick had sung in the woods,--a thing scarcemeant ever to be sung alone, a simple strain, a few plain notes, and atthe close one brief, queer, warbling trill like a bird's wild song, thatrose and fell and rose again like a silver ripple.
The instruments were still; the fresh young voice came out alone, and itwas done so soon that Nick hardly knew that he had sung at all. For amoment no one seemed to breathe. Then there was a very great noise, andall the court seemed hurling at him. A man upon the stage sprang to hisfeet. What they were going to do to him Nick did not know. He gave afrightened cry, and ran past the green curtain, through the open door,and into the master-player's excited arms.
"Quick, quick!" cried Carew. "Go back, go back! There, hark!--dost nothear them call? Quick, out again--they call thee back!" With that hethrust Nick through the door. The man upon the stage came up, sl
ippedsomething into his hand--Nick, all bewildered, knew not what; and therehe stood, quite stupefied, not knowing what to do. Then Carew came outhastily and led him down the stage, bowing, and pressing his hand to hisheart, and smiling like a summer sunrise; so that Nick, seeing this, didthe same, and bowed as neatly as he could; though, to be sure, his wasonly a simple, country-bred bow, and no such ceremonious to-do as MasterCarew's courtly London obeisance.
Every one was standing up and shouting so that not a soul could hear hisears, until the ironmonger's apprentice bellowed above the rest; "Whoy,bullies!" he shouted, amid a chorus of cheers and laughter, "didn't Isay 'twas catched out in the fields--it be a skylark, sure enough! Come,Muster Skylark, sing that song again, an' thou shalt ha' mybrand-new cap!"
Then many voices cried out together, "Sing it again! The Skylark--theSkylark!"
Nick looked up, startled. "Why, Master Carew," said he, with a tremblein his voice, "do they mean me ?"
Carew put one hand beneath Nick's chin and turned his face up, smiling.The master-player's cheeks were flushed with triumph, and his dark eyesdanced with pride. "Ay, Nicholas Skylark; 'tis thou they mean."
The viol and the music came again from overhead, and when they ceasedNick sang the little song once more. And when the master-player hadtaken him outside, and the play was over, some fine ladies came andkissed him, to his great confusion; for no one but his mother or hiskin had ever done so before, and these had much perfume about them, muskand rose-attar, so that they smelled like rose-mallows in July. Theplayers of the Lord Admiral's company were going about shaking handswith Carew and with each other as if they had not met for years, andslapping one another upon the back; and one came over, a tall, solemn,black-haired man, he who had written the song, and stood with his feetapart and stared at Nick, but spoke never a word, which Nick thought wasvery singular. But as he turned away he said, with a world of pity inhis voice, "And I have writ two hundred plays, yet never saw thy like.Lad, lad, thou art a jewel in a wild swine's snout!" which Nick did notunderstand at all; nor why Master Carew said so sharply, "Come, Heywood,hold thy blabbing tongue; we are all in the same sty."
"Speak for thyself, Gat Carew!" answered Master Heywood, firmly. "I'llhave no hand in this affair, I tell thee once for all!"
Master Carew flushed queerly and bit his lip, and, turning hastily away,took Nick to walk about the town. Nick then, for the first time, lookedinto his hand to see what the man upon the stage had given him. It was agold rose-noble.