Forest Days: A Romance of Old Times
and, in the end, the whole thing went to empty air. I could not but
think, however, that he strove hard to renew the breach between the
house of Ashby and ourselves. With the father he did not succeed, but
with the son he seemed to make some progress; so much so, indeed, that
I was well pleased when this Sir Richard told us his purpose of going
on before to London. After he was gone, Alured grew somewhat placable;
and when we parted company, Hugh went with the two lords, trying to
soothe and gain the younger one.--But here, Robin, what have we here?
Why you have made the forest as gay as a May-day bride!"
CHAPTER IX.
The words of the old Earl gave a good idea of the picture which was
presented to his eyes. It was indeed like a May-day pageant, or like
one of those scenes which we now-a-days see upon the stage, but which
are but feeble representations of those that in former times were
constantly acted in reality. Though, it is true, we form exaggerated
images of many things that we do not behold, imagination presents but a
very faint idea of the splendour and decoration of those ages when
sumptuary laws were enacted in various countries to prevent peasants
from displaying gold and silver embroidery in their garments. What may
be called representation was a part of that epoch. It was in every
palace, and in every castle, at the table of the grave citizen, with
his gold chain, in the arm-chair of the justice, in the ball of the
franklin. It sat upon the forked beard of Chaucer's merchant, it
appeared in the party-coloured garments of the gallant of the court. In
short, a great part of everything in that day was effect: it was one of
the great objects of the age, and all classes of people had an eye for
it. Perhaps in all things, as in their great buildings, their taste was
better than our own--in very few points it could be worse; and in
consulting what is bright and pleasing to the eye, what is exciting and
dazzling to the imagination, they followed where nature led--nature who
delights in striking contrasts, as much as in gentle harmonies.
If, indeed, we can form a very faint idea of the splendour of the court
and the castle, our conception is still more inadequate of the
picturesque decoration of humbler scenes in those days. We are apt to
conceive that it was all rude, or gross; and we scarcely believe in the
charms of the merry morrice dance, in the graces and attractions that
sported round the May-pole, in the moonlight meetings which Old
Fitzstephen records, or in any of the sweeter and more gentle pleasures
and pastimes of the peasantry of Old England; and yet all these things
were true, all were enacted by living beings like ourselves upon every
village green throughout the land, long before a feeble mockery of them
crept into a close and stifling playhouse.
Stronger passions--or perhaps the same passions but less under control
than in the present day--took their part therein, from time to time,
and prompted to all those wild energies which spring from deep and
highly-excited feelings. Graces free and uncultivated were there
likewise, and the honest outpourings of the heart, subjected to no dull
sneer from the lips of false refinement, burst forth with the touching
force of simplicity and truth. The universal weaknesses of our nature
mingled with all the rest, and varied the drama through a thousand
parts. Vanity, and self-love, and pride, and envy, had their share in
the gathering of spring flowers, in the weaving of the garland, in the
decoration of the tent, in the choice of the May queen, and in the
dance upon the sward; but to say sooth, they gave a pungency and a
brightness, and a human interest to the whole.
I beseech thee, then, dear reader, carry thy mind back to the times of
which I write, and recollect that such scenes as that which met the eye
of the old Lord Monthermer, were every-day realities, and not any part
of a cold fable.
Whether planted by accident or design I know not, but at the side of
one of the little savannahs I have described, where the grass was short
and dry, six old oaks came forward from the rest of the wood, three on
either hand, at the distance of about forty feet apart, forming a sort
of natural avenue. Their long branches stretched across and nearly met
each other, and under this natural canopy was spread out the long
table, prepared for the good Earl's repast; while, from bough to bough
above, crossing each other in various graceful sweeps, were innumerable
garlands, forming a sort of net-work of forest flowers, The board,
too--let not the reader suppose that it was rude and bare, for it was
covered with as fine linen as ever came from the looms of Ireland or
Saxony.[2] The board had a nosegay laid where every man was expected to
sit, and the ground beneath was strewed with rushes and green leaves to
make a soft resting-place for the feet. Under the trees were gathered
together various groups of stout archers in their peculiar garb, with
many a country girl from the neighbouring villages, all in holiday
apparel. A number of young countrymen, too, were present, showing that
the rovers of the forest were at no great pains to conceal their place
of meeting; for their lawless trade found favour in the sight of the
many; and their security depended as much upon the confidence and
goodwill of the lower orders, as upon the dissensions and disunion of
the higher classes.
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[Footnote 2: I need not refer the learned reader to the curious
investigations of M. le Grand; and perhaps for the less inquisitive it
may be enough to say, that such was literally the fact.]
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The first sight of the Earl and the outlaw caused not a little bustle
amongst the companions of the latter. There was running here and there,
and putting things in array; and it was very evident that, although
expected and prepared for, everything was not quite ready when the Earl
arrived.
"Give him good morrow--give the noble Earl good morrow!" cried the
forester, putting his horn to his lips and waving his hand for a
signal.
Every man followed his example, and in a moment the whole glades of the
forest rang with the sounds of the merry horn. Not a note was out of
tune, no two were inharmonious, and, as with a long swell and fall, the
mellow tones rose and died away, the effect in that wild yet beautiful
scene was not a little striking and pleasant to the ear.
"Yeomanly! yeomanly! right yeomanly done!" cried Robin Hood. "This is
the way, my lord, that we receive a true friend to the English Commons
and the good old Saxon blood. Will you please to dismount, and taste
our cheer? If yonder cooks have not done their duty, and got all ready,
I will fry them in their own grease, though I guess from yon blazing
log that they are somewhat behindhand."
As he spoke, he fixed his eyes upon a spot, to which those of the Earl
followed them, where a scene not quite harmonious with the poetry of
the rest of the arrangement was going on, but one very satisfactory to
the hungry stomachs of the Earl's retainers. An immense pile of blazing
wood, fit to have roasted Hercules himself, was crackling and hissing
and roaring so close to a distant angle of the wood, that the flames
scorched the green leaves on the farther side. Beside it were some five
men, in clean white jackets, running hastily about, and basting sundry
things of a very savoury odour, which by the contrivance of small
chains and twisted strings, were made to revolve before the fire. Each
man was glad enough to keep to windward of the blaze; and, even then,
full many a time were they forced to run to a distance for cool air and
free breath, for the heat was too intense for any one to endure it long
without suffering the fate of the immense masses of meat which were
turning before it.
About fifty yards from this burning mountain was a lesser volcano, from
which, upon the primitive tripod of three long poles; hung sundry pots
of vast dimensions, emitting steams very grateful to the nose; while,
in a cool spot under the trees, appeared the no less pleasant sight
of two large barrels, one twined round with a garland of young
vine-leaves, and the other with a wreath of oak. A host of drinking
cups, fit to serve an army, lay near them, and a man with a mallet was
busily engaged in driving a spigot and faucet to give discreet vent to
the liquor within.
"Ho! where is Little John?" cried Robin Hood--"a small friend of
mine, my lord, whom you must know. What! Naylor! the master of our
revels--where is he? By my life, he is basting the capons! Hallo!
friend John!--You will easily see, my lord, how he deserves his title."
As he spoke, a yeoman, some six feet four in height, with shoulders
that seemed as fit to carry the bull as the calf, a round head covered
with nut-brown hair, and a face running over with fun and jest, came
near and shook the Earl's proffered hand.
"We have met before, I believe, Little John," said the Earl, "and I
think in as warm a feast-day as this!"
"Warmer, my lord, by a bucket full," replied Naylor. "One of those
feasts where one is as likely to be carved as carve."
"I recollect, your face well," said the Earl.
"John of Andelys would recollect it better, my lord, if he could
recollect anything, poor fellow," answered the yeoman. "When last he
and I and you met together, he had got you by the throat, with his
dagger through your avantaille. I just tapped him on the head, to
remind him not to do such things; and whether he went away or not I
don't know, but if he did, he certainly did not carry his brains with
him."
"Ay, you did me good service there," replied the Earl--"I should have
lost an eye, at least. There's a jewel, my good friend," he continued,
taking a ring from his finger--"I won it with hard strokes myself, near
Tripoli, and I give it to you for as good a blow as ever was struck by
an English yeoman."
"I'll set it in my cap, my lord," replied Little John, "and, perhaps,
some day----"
"Nay, now, no boasting, John!" cried Robin Hood; "but let the Earl sit
down to meat. It is the season, my good lord, when one strikes neither
hart nor hare, when the partridge is free for her brood, and even the
wild bustard runs unscathed. Thus, my good lord, I cannot give you
forest cheer; otherwise, so help me Heaven! as you should dine at the
King's expense, while his majesty be revelling with my Lord of
Leicester. However, not being able to treat you as a yeoman, I will
feast you as a baron; and if those good cooks do but their duty, no
castle hall in all merry England shall show a better supper than yours
this day."
"I doubt it not, good Robin--I doubt it not!" replied the Earl, with a
good-humoured laugh; "you are Lord of Sherwood, and may hold your court
of free-baron when you like. On my life! you have a peacock," he
continued, as a long train or men began to approach, bearing large
wooden trenchers loaded with viands--"and the noble baron of beef too!"
"True, my lord.--true!" replied Robin, "I could not feast an earl, you
know, without giving him a young peacock with his tail spread, nor
receive your merry men honourably without a double sirloin from the
best ox in the country. The beef's my own," he continued, "for I bought
it with gold out of my purse; and the peacock's my own, for Little John
gave it to me."
"And how he came by it--you did not ask," said the Earl, smiling.
"Nay, why should I?" demanded Robin Hood, in the same jesting tune;
"you would not have me doubt my man's honesty?"
"Heaven forbid!" replied the Earl; "and I will claim a slice of the
fair bird, by the same title."
"Come, my lord, come," cried Robin; "let us sit down.--We have no