Part 5

In amaze the shepherds listened, and in amaze they talked together when the shining angel had gone.

Pointing to a brilliant star, one of them declared it was a token to guide them “where the young Child lay.”

“Hie we thither quickly; If we be wet and weary, To that Child and that Lady,”

another urged. And so descending from the stage-field, they began their journey to Bethlehem, a journey represented by the space between the two pageants.

On the other platform meanwhile a charming scene was disclosed. There was the stable at Bethlehem, with its broken roof, and within the stable Mary in a long blue robe knelt beside the manger, at which, with their kind, patient eyes, an ox and an ass were also gazing.

Now the shepherds had arrived, and finding themselves in the presence of “that Child and that Lady,” they bent low their knees, and began to talk to the Baby Jesus as though they loved Him, and as though He were a child of their own to whom they had brought tiny presents.

“Hail, comely and clean; hail, young child!”

said the first shepherd.

“Lo, He merry is; Lo, He laughs, my sweeting, A welcome meeting! I have given my greeting, Have a bob of cherries?”

Then in the same homely, delightful way, the second shepherd greeted the Baby:

“Hail, Sovereign Saviour, for Thou hast us sought! Hail! I kneel and I cower.... A bird have I brought To my bairn. Hail, little tiny mop [little tiny pate] ... Little day-starn [star].”

And the third shepherd said:

“Hail, darling dear, full of Godheed! I pray Thee be near when that I have need.... Hail, put forth Thy dall [hand], I bring Thee but a ball: Have and play Thee with all, And go to the tennis.”

Mary, bending down to the shepherds, then spoke to them gently, telling them that she would pray her Son to keep them from woe, and bidding them spread the glad tidings of His birth. After a while the shepherds left her presence, singing glad songs in honour of the new-born King.

“I like that best of all, except Abraham and Isaac!” Margery exclaimed, as the pageants were drawn away. “And _now_ we shall see the wicked King Herod, shan’t we?”

VIII King Herod, the Wise Men, and the Massacre of the Innocents

That the children should long to see the pageant in which Herod appeared was no wonder, for he was a very well-known character in the miracle plays. Just as in some fairy tales the wicked giant is well known, and is always expected to be as wicked as possible, so in these plays Herod was always represented as a furious tyrant and a great boaster, who raged and stormed and used such exaggerated language that he seemed more like a madman than a sane human being. Though in the time of Queen Elizabeth miracle plays were growing rare, it is just possible that Shakespeare as a boy may have seen some of them, and when he makes Hamlet say that one of the actors in the play-scene “out-herods Herod,” he may have been thinking of the particular stamping and shouting Herod whom he himself had watched. But in any case, during the lifetime of Shakespeare the memory of the furious king must have lingered in the minds of old people at Stratford-on-Avon, many of whom as children must often have seen him blustering and screaming and ordering people to be killed.

At the windows of Master Robert Harpham’s house at any rate, on this June day when Henry V was king, there was much talk about the coming “Herod,” who was said to be an excellent player and to rage more furiously than any of the actors who had taken part in previous years. Excitement therefore ran high, when the Goldsmiths’ pageant drew up, for in their play—_The Three Kings coming from the East_—Herod was for the first time to appear.

The stage represented Herod’s palace. It was a very small palace, and it looked something like an enlarged sentry-box, brightly painted and ornamented at the top with a dome and various pinnacles. From its doorway, on to the space in front of it, there presently stepped a herald, who in these pompous words announced the coming of the King:

“Peace, Lord Barons of great renown! Peace, Sir Knights of noble presence! Peace, gentleman companions of noble order! I command that all of you keep silence. Peace, while your noble king is in presence! Let no person stint to pay him deference; Be not bold to strike, but keep your hearts in patience, And to your lord keep heart of reverence, For he, your king, has all _puissance_! In the name of the law, I command you peace! And King Herod—‘_la grandeaboly vos umport._’”

The last words, spoken by the herald in a low voice and with a knowing smile, were greeted with a roar of delight, for Herod was to some extent a comic character, at whom every one might laugh and “_la grandeaboly vos umport_” is bad French for “_the devil run away with you_!”

And now Herod himself majestically strode forth, and again laughter, half derisive, half admiring, rang out, for in spite of all the boasting and stamping which every one knew was coming, he made a magnificent figure.

Dressed as a Saracen, he wore wonderful Eastern robes, and a jewelled turban. His black hair was dishevelled, his face red and angry, and with his flashing eyes, and huge flashing sword, he looked formidable enough.

“_Qui status in Jude ex Rex Israel_,” he began in a loud commanding tone.

“That means—‘He that reigns King in Judea and Israel,’” explained Master Gyseburn to the children. “Now listen to his boasting.”

“Qui status in Jude et Rex Israel, And the mightiest conquerer that ever Walked on ground” (Herod went on), “For I am even he that made both heaven and hell, And of my mighty power holdeth up this world round. I am the cause of this great light and thunder. It is through my fury that they such noise do make. My fearful countenance the clouds doth so encumber, That often for dread thereof the very earth doth shake.”

This was only part of the foolish king’s boasting, for he went on to declare that with one word he could destroy the whole world from the north unto the south; that he was prince of purgatory and chief captain of hell. No tongue, he declared, could tell of his possessions, his wealth, and his power. At last, turning to his servant the herald, he warned him to allow no strangers to pass through the realm without paying tribute to him, and bade him be gone hastily,

“For they that will the contrary, Upon a gallows hanged shall be.”

Then ordering “trumpets, viols, and other harmony” to announce his presence to all the world, Herod re-entered the palace, and the herald departed to do his bidding.

Now appeared riding through the market-place in great state, two of the three kings from the East. They were mounted on white horses with beautiful trappings, and each horse had a long cloth of velvet over his back. The kings were Gaspar (or Jaspar) and Balthazar. The first was an old man with a long white beard, the second a man in the prime of life. They both wore crowns of gold upon which the sunshine sparkled, and their dresses of wonderful colours were embroidered with jewels. Both of them had seen the Star in the East, and from a far country had followed it into Herod’s kingdom. As they rode, they talked together, reminding one another that the prophets had foretold the birth of a wonderful Child.

Presently, riding from another direction, came the third king, Melchior, a handsome youth also crowned and richly clothed. He was looking about him as he came, evidently seeking some guide, and his words showed that he too had seen the Star in the East.

“I ride wandering in ways wide, Over mountains and dales, I wot not where I am. Now King of all kings send me such guide, That I may have knowledge of this country’s name.... Two kings yonder, I see, and to them will I ride, For to have their company I trust they will me abide [await].”

Spurring his horse, he rode up to the two monarchs and addressed them:

“Hail, comely kings augent [gentle], Good sirs, I pray you, whither are ye meant?”

“To seek a Child is our intent, Which betokens yonder star as ye may see,”

said the old king, Gaspar.

“To whom I purpose this present,”

added Balthazar, showing him a golden vase full of frankincense.

Then the third king, Melchior, replied,

“Sirs, I pray you, and that right humbly, With you that I may ride in company; To Almighty God now pray we That His precious person we may see.”

Thus having greeted one another, the kings rode aside, while on the pageant, Herod came out of his palace to meet the herald, who, on seeing him, exclaimed:

“Hail, Lord, most of might! Thy commandment is right. Into thy land is come this night Three kings, and with them a great company.”

“What make those kings in this country?”

returned Herod.

“To seek a King and a Child, they say,”

answered the herald.

“Of what age should He be?”

Herod inquired angrily.

“Scant twelve days old fully,”

said the herald.

Whereupon Herod, restraining his wrath, commanded the herald on pain of death to follow the kings, to speak gently to them, in order to deceive them into imagining that they would be well treated, and then to speed in hot haste to Jerusalem to make inquiries about the Child they sought.

So the herald, descending from the stage, followed Gaspar, Balthazar, and Melchior, and very courteously told them that Herod, “king of these countries wide,” desired to speak with them. The travellers, immediately agreeing to his wish, were brought before the palace. There Herod received them courteously, wished them a safe journey, and begged them to return the same way.

“And with great concord banquet with me, And that Child myself then will I see And honour Him also,”

he added, allowing his guests to depart with many compliments on either side.

But no sooner had they mounted their horses and ridden away than Herod’s rage blazed forth.

“When they come again, they shall die that same day, And thus these vile wretches to death shall be brought!”

he exclaimed, stalking into his palace, while the kings rode a little distance to another pageant where again the stable at Bethlehem was represented, with Mary watching by the manger.

Here, just as the shepherds had done, but in much more stately language, they offered their costly gifts to the Child.

Gaspar gave a cup of gold. “_In tokening Thou art without peer_,” he said, as he laid his offering at the foot of the manger.

A cup full of frankincense was Balthazar’s gift, “_In tokening of priesthood and dignity of office_;” while the young king Melchior had brought a precious goblet, with “_myrrh for mortality, in tokening Thou shalt mankind restore to life by Thy death upon a tree_.”

Then Mary spoke to the kings as sweetly as she had addressed the shepherds, and presently they withdrew a little from her presence and began to discuss their homeward journey. Gaspar declared that according to their promise they must return through Herod’s land; and though the others agreed, they were all so fatigued that they decided to lie down and rest awhile. Accordingly, at a distance from the manger, they threw themselves on the ground. Before long they slept, and while they slept, a beautiful vision appeared to them.

An angel, who seemed to be hovering in the air, descended from the darkness of the stable-roof, and bent still hovering above them.

“Is he _really_ flying?” exclaimed Margery, in an awed voice; and Master Gyseburn smiled.

“It looks as though he were, certainly,” he agreed; “but there’s a clever contrivance arranged by the carpenters and fastened to the roof up there, by which the angel is let down and made to look as though he were fluttering in the air.”

“He is _lovely_!” declared Margery, sighing with pleasure. “Look at his golden curls and his long wings! What is he going to say to the kings?”

“Listen!” Colin advised her.

“King of Tarsus, Sir Gaspar!” (exclaimed the angel) “King of Araby, Sir Balthazar! Melchior, King of Aginara! To you now I am sent. For dread of Herod, go you west home ... The Holy Ghost this knowledge hath sent.”

Then, bending a moment longer over the still sleeping kings, he flew upwards and was lost to sight.

When the kings awoke, it was to discover that each one of them had heard the angel’s warning; so taking a last leave of the Babe and His Mother, they set out on their journey, carefully arranging not to pass through the dominions of the wicked and treacherous Herod.

Meanwhile, the herald, in fear and trembling, once more ascended the steps leading to the palace-portal, and broke the news to his master:

“These three kings that forth were sent, And should have come again before thee here present, Another way, Lord, home they went, Contrary to thine honour.”

Then indeed the audience had an opportunity of watching Herod’s rage:

“Another way!” (he exclaimed, trembling with fury) “Out! Out! Out! Hath those foul traitors done me this deed? I stamp, I stare, I look all about; Might them I take I should them burn at a glede [fire]. I rend, I roar, and now run I wood [mad] ... They shall be hanged if I come them to.”

Roaring and stamping and raving, as he said of himself, the king rushed down the pageant steps and “raged” in the market-place amongst the people, to the delight of the grown-up folk and the terror of the children in the crowd. And all the while he was running to-and-fro, screaming with fury, he was giving orders that “all young children” should be slain.

But even the rough soldiers who had come from the palace to follow their master, and had at last succeeded in getting him to return to the stage, were horrified at this cruel command, and one of them spoke indignantly:

“My Lord, King Herod by name, Thy words against my will shall be. To see so many young children die is shame, Therefore counsel thereto gettest thou none of me.”

Another one agreed with his companion, and warned Herod that to murder little children in such wholesale fashion would be sufficient provocation for a general rising among his subjects.

“A rising! Out! Out! Out!”

shouted the mad tyrant; and, raging and stamping once more, he commanded both soldiers to be hanged on the gallows unless they immediately carried out his orders.

So for very fear the soldiers were obliged to obey, and Herod drove them forth to do the cruel deed, telling them to bring all the little dead children “before his sight,” so that he might be sure his orders had been carried out.

But now the attention of the audience was directed towards the other pageant representing the Stable at Bethlehem. Here the beautiful angel who had already appeared to the three kings was seen fluttering down towards the Mother of Jesus and her husband Joseph, and soon his voice was heard:

“Mary and Joseph, to you I say, Sweet word from the Father I bring you full right; Out of Bethlehem into Egypt forth go ye the way, And with you take the King, full of might, For dread of Herod’s red [order].”

In reply, Joseph turned to Mary:

“Arise up, Mary, hastily and soon! Our Lord’s will needs must be done, Like as the angel bade.”

And Mary answered:

“Meekly, Joseph, mine own spouse, Toward that country let us repair; In Egypt—some tokens of house— God grant us grace safe to come there!”

While she spoke, she was tenderly lifting the Baby from His cradle, and the curtains closed upon the Holy Family making preparations for their journey.

The play now went on in the street, for presently, threading their way through the crowd, a company of women entered, each bearing in her arms her little baby. And as the mothers walked to-and-fro and rocked their children, they sang this pretty song:

“Lulla, lulla, thou little tiny child; By, by, lullay, lullay, thou little tiny child. By, by, lully, lullay.

O sisters too! how may we do, For to preserve this day This poor youngling for whom we do sing, By, by, lully, lullay.

Herod the king, in his raging, Charged he hath this day His men of might, in his own sight, All young children to slay.

That woe is me, poor child, for thee! And ever, morn and day, For thy parting neither say nor sing, By, by, lully, lullay.”

The poor distracted mothers, with their faces full of grief, won the pity of the crowd, and many women exclaimed aloud, half believing that the babies were really going to be snatched from them and killed!

Then one of the women, in a voice shaken with fear, sang alone:

“I lull my child wondrously sweet, And in my arms I do it keep, Because that it should not cry.”

And another replied, calling on the new-born King:

“That Babe that is born in Bethlehem so meek, He save my child and me from villainy.”

Yet another said:

“Be still! be still! my little child! That Lord of lords save both thee and me; For Herod hath sworn with words wild That all young children slain they shall be.”

Now the soldiers come rushing forward with drawn swords, and though Colin assured her that it was only pretence, Margery could not look while they grasped the screaming women by the arms or by the hair and snatched their little baby-boys away from them.

In vain the poor mothers struggled and implored. Their children were all killed, and presently the soldiers went away to fetch “wains and wagons” on which to heap the little bodies.

“I suppose they are only dolls?” Margery asked anxiously; but though Master Gyseburn reassured her, she could not bear the sound of the screams and the shouting.

It was a relief when all the women went sobbing away, and the herald stood once more before King Herod, and addressed him:

“Herod, king! I shall thee tell, All thy deeds is come to naught. This Child is gone into Egypt to dwell, Lo, sir, in thine own land what wonders byn [have been] wrought.”

Margery sympathized deeply with the herald’s indignant tone.

“He’s killed all the babies, and it was no good after all!” she exclaimed. “He’s the wickedest and the most horrid man I ever saw! Look at him ‘raging’ again! What is he going to do now? See! the servants are getting his horse ready.”

“He’s going to ride into Egypt to see if he can find the three kings, to put them to death,” said Master Gyseburn.

“But he won’t!” observed Colin with much satisfaction. “There he goes riding through the crowd, still storming. Now he’s out of sight—and a good thing too.”

The last they saw of Herod was his huge sword brandished aloft; and the last sound they heard was his foolish voice raised in anger.

IX At the End of the Day

The children had been so absorbed and interested in the last play, which was a long one, that when the pageant was wheeled away, they were surprised to find the market-place all glowing in the light of sunset. Little pink clouds like feathers were floating in the sky, across which flights of birds were winging their way to nests in the trees round the city.

“Giles will soon be home!” said Mistress Harpham. “If there’s time for one more play this evening I shall be mistaken. It will soon be dark.”

“Do they stop when it gets dark?” asked Margery.

“But there are lots more to come!” objected Colin, looking at the “pageant book” which Master Gyseburn held open on his knee. Though he could not read, he saw by the long list which followed the _Massacre of the Innocents_ that scarcely half of the plays had as yet been performed.

Mistress Harpham had turned away to superintend arrangements for the supper she was about to offer her guests, but Master Gyseburn answered the children’s questions.

“The plays will go on all day to-morrow, and the next day too, I expect,” he told them. “It very seldom happens that any town gets through all its pageants on one day. Certainly not here in York, where we generally act forty of them.”

“But suppose it gets dark in the middle of a play?” asked Margery. “What happens then?”

“Then the torch-bearers are called out,” said Master Gyseburn. “I expect they’ll be needed before the next one is over,” he added. “The daylight will scarcely last.”

“And they’ll go on to-morrow, and we shan’t be here!” sighed Margery, so dolefully that Master Gyseburn laughed.

“You’re not tired of them? And yet you’ve had a long day of it!”

“Tired? Oh! I should love to see every one of them!” Margery declared.

“And so should I,” echoed her brother.

“A great many sad and dreadful scenes will come to-morrow,” said Master Gyseburn. “I really think you’ve seen all that would please you. The others are for grown-up people. And some are too horrible for _them_,” he added. “At least I think so.”

“Now children, come to supper!” called Mistress Harpham, who was busy lighting candles on the table, for the room with its dark oak-panelling, and heavy beams overhead, was growing very gloomy.

“We shall have to think about saying good-bye directly!” declared Farmer Short as he took his seat. “’Tis a long ride home, and we have to get the horses out of the stable.”

“Plenty of time for a meal!” said Mistress Harpham, bustling about and filling the children’s plates with good things.

“Will Giles come before we have to go?” asked Margery. “I do hope he will!”

Almost as she spoke, the door opened, and Giles came in.

He was welcomed rapturously by all the guests, and though the poor boy looked very tired, he was made to answer a hundred questions about the success of the Parchment-makers’ pageant in other parts of the town.

It had been well received everywhere apparently; and though Giles was very modest, his mother learnt with pride that her son’s acting had been praised almost as much as she desired.

“We missed you so much after you went,” whispered Margery to her cousin, a little shyly, for she was still very much impressed at the thought of his talents.

“But Master Gyseburn explained everything to us,” put in Colin. “And all the plays were _splendid_!”

Before long there was a general bustle and movement round the table. Many of the guests, like the children, had a long way to go to reach their homes, and they were anxious to set out before the day’s pageants were quite over.

“There’ll be a fine crowd in the streets by the time they’re all done,” said Master Harpham. “But if you go now, while some of the folk are still looking at the plays, you’ll reach the inn without much trouble.”

“Aye, and Robert will go with you and show you the quickest by-ways to reach it; won’t you, Robert?” suggested his wife, as she prepared to follow Mistress Short and the children to the best bedroom, where they had left their cloaks.

Colin and Margery were soon ready, and with their little hoods tied round their necks they returned to the parlour, and ran eagerly to the window, anxious up to the last moment to see all that was going on.

They found Giles kneeling on one of the wide window-seats, looking out into the street, and Margery climbed up beside him. She had taken a great fancy to her clever, interesting cousin, and she thought how pretty he looked with his fair head resting against the woodwork of the window.

“What are they doing now?” she asked before her own curly head appeared above the level of the window-sill.

“_The Child Jesus in the Temple_,” said Giles. “It’s the Spur-makers’ and Bit-makers’ pageant, and Andrew Martin is the Child Jesus. He’s a friend of mine,” he added.

“Oh! the torch-bearers are there!” exclaimed Colin. “It _has_ got dark quickly!”

“Doesn’t it look nice in this light?” said Margery; and Giles nodded, too intent upon the play to reply.