Sixth Glimmer: A First Lesson in Democracy
A room in a feudal castle in England. A Man and a Maiden dressed as servants of the time (1215) are standing near an open casket. The Man holds an illuminated book in his hand. The Maiden is peering over his shoulder at the beautiful decorations. At her feet lies her distaff. The light burns dimly above. Some humble stools, and two high-backed chairs covered with gorgeous tapestry are the only furnishings.
Maiden. Oh, how lovely! I could look at the gay colors for years and never tire!
Man. And I would give years of my life if I could but read the writing in the book.
Maiden (clutching his arm in terror). Oh, say not so! The very walls have ears! If it were known that thou didst entertain an ambition so high above thy station, it would mean, at least, the stocks.
Man. I care not. Why should this book and all the learning of the sages be closed to me because I was born in a hovel, and opened to my master just because he chanced to be born in a castle? I tell thee it is not fair! I—
Enter the Lady Edyth. The Maiden, who first sees her, covers the Man’s mouth with her hand, so staying him and preventing the Lady Edyth’s hearing his words. She, however, sees the open casket, and the precious book in the hands of the servant, and sweeps angrily forward.
Lady Edyth. How now, sirrah; what dost thou with the precious book?
Man (humbly). I but looked at it, my lady.
Lady Edyth (snatching it from his hand). Thou “but looked at it”! Thinkst thou such a book was made for a boor like thee to look at, let alone to handle with thy great rude hands? How durst thou even open the casket? I have a mind to have thee flogged.
Maiden (falling on her knees). Nay, my lady, spare him, I pray thee! The fault is wholly mine. I opened the casket. I placed the book in his hands. I—
Man (stepping forward). Say not another word. Thou shalt not sacrifice thyself for me. Heed her not, my lady. I alone am to blame.
Lady Edyth looks from one to the other and her face softens. She replaces the book in the casket. Then turns again to the servants.
Lady Edyth. Methinks ye are both to blame; an’ ye transgress again, I shall see that proper punishment is meted out to both. Pick up thy distaff, wench, and get thee to thy spinning. (A knock at the door is heard.) And thou, sirrah, open the door.
The Maiden picks up her distaff and, seating herself on one of the stools, begins to spin. Lady Edyth, with one hand on the casket, stands looking toward the door as the Man opens it and admits Baron Olditch, a gentleman of the times, splendidly attired. Following the Baron comes a Minstrel, dressed in the garb of his profession. In his belt is thrust a scroll. Across his shoulder is slung his instrument—a mandolin, harp, or any stringed instrument common to the times.
Lady Edyth (extending her hand). Thou art doubly welcome, baron: I looked for no guest this stormy morning, and I am weary of mine own company.
Baron (bending over Lady Edyth’s hand). In thy gentle presence, I heed not the rude blasts of the storm; in the light of thine eyes, I know not, nor care, whether the sun be shining in full glory or hidden behind a cloud. As for thy weariness, I can speedily dispel it. I have brought with me a minstrel, with a new ballad that has set the whole town of London agog. If thou wilt be seated, he will begin his lay without further ado.
Lady Edyth graciously bows, and the Baron leads her with great ceremony to her chair. The Maiden steps quickly forward to place a footstool under her mistress’s feet. The smiling Baron bends again over Lady Edyth’s hand and takes a step backward. In doing so he treads on the Maiden’s distaff, which she has dropped, and nearly loses his balance. The smile leaves his face. In a rage he kicks the distaff away toward the Minstrel.
Baron. Out of my way, clumsy stupid wench!
He raises his hand, and the kneeling Maiden at her mistress’s feet cowers as if expecting a blow. The Minstrel and the Man each take a step forward, the Man with clenched hands; but the Baron carries his hand to his head and strokes his hair.
Lady Edyth. Forgive the maid, baron. She is a good wench and truly skillful.
Baron. There is nothing, there is nobody I would not forgive an’ thou asked it, my fair lady. (Turning to Maiden.) And now, stupid one, up and fetch a stool for the minstrel.
The Maiden obeys, while the Baron seats himself beside Lady Edyth.
Baron (turning to the Minstrel). And now, sir, we are ready to hear thy ballad.
The Minstrel advances to the seat the Maiden has placed for him. As he passes her, with a low bow, he hands her the distaff which he has picked from the floor.
Lady Edyth (aside to the Baron). Marry, but thy minstrel has right courtly manners!
Baron (aside to Lady Edyth). He comes here direct from the court.
Minstrel (standing before Lady Edyth, bowing very low). I am at thy service, my lady.
Lady Edyth. Talk not of service, O minstrel; it is pleasure thou bringest, I know. Most welcome art thou, for dearly love I all ballads. Pray be seated and favor us with thy rhymes.
With another low bow the Minstrel seats himself on the stool placed before Lady Edyth’s and the Baron’s chairs. While he unslings his instrument and makes ready, the Maiden seals herself and resumes her spinning. The Man watches the Minstrel with eager, longing eyes. As the lay is chanted, he is visibly affected. He forgets his work, he forgets his station, and, as if lured by the rhyme, creeps nearer and nearer. Lady Edyth and the Baron are unconscious of the effect of the minstrelsy on the Man as the backs of their chairs are toward his position.
Minstrel. I will recite for you, my lord and lady, the lay of Thomas Rhymer.
“True Thomas lay on grassy bank,
And he beheld a lady gay,
A lady that was brisk and bold,
Came riding o’er the fernie brae.
“Her skirt was o’ the grass-green silk,
Her mantle o’ the velvet fine;
And on the locks o’ her horse’s mane
Hung fifty silver bells and nine.
“True Thomas he took off his cap,
And bowèd low down on his knee:
‘All hail thou, mighty Queen of Heaven
For thy peer on earth could never be.’
“‘Oh no, oh no, True Thomas,’ she said,
‘That name does not belong to me;
I am but the queen of fair Elfland,
That am hither come to visit thee.
“‘Now, ye must go with me,’ she said;
‘True Thomas, ye must go with me;
And ye must serve me seven years,
Through weal or woe as chance may be.’
“She turned about her milk-white steed;
She took True Thomas up behind,
And aye, whene’er her bridle rang,
The steed flew swifter than the wind.
“O they rode on, and farther on,
The steed flew swifter than the wind;
Until they reached a desert wide,
And living land was left behind.
“‘Now light ye down, True Thomas,’ she said,
‘And lean your head upon my knee,
Abide ye there a little space,
And I will show you wonders three.
“‘O see ye not yon narrow road,
So thick beset with thorns and briers?
That is the Path of Righteousness,
Though after it but few inquires.
“‘And see ye not you braid, braid road,
That lies across the lily leven?
That is the path of wickedness,
Though some call it the “Road to Heaven.”
“‘And see ye not yon bonny road,
That winds about the fernie brae?
That is the Road to fair Elfland,
Where thou and I must go this day.
“‘But, Thomas, ye must hold your tongue,
Whatever ye may hear or see;
For speak ye word in Elfin Land,
Ye’ll ne’er get back to your ain countrie.’
“O they rode on, and farther on,
And they waded rivers above the knee;
And they saw neither sun nor moon,
But they heard the roaring of the sea.
“Syne they came to a garden green,
And she pulled an apple from a tree:
‘Take this for thy wages, True Thomas;
It will give thee tongue that can never lee.’
“He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,
And a pair of shoes of velvet green,
And till seven years were past and gone
True Thomas on earth was never seen.”
By the time the Minstrel has reached the last stanza of the ballad, the Man has advanced until he now stands directly back of Lady Edyth’s chair.
Man. Bravo! Bravo! Oh, what would not I be willing to give if only I might write—or even read—such lays as that!
The Baron and Lady Edyth are startled at hearing a voice so close.
Baron. (Starting to his feet in a rage, he makes a mad rush for the servant, belabors him, and throws him to the floor.) How darest thou comport thyself thus in the presence of thy betters! Write lays! read lays! What is the world coming to, forsooth, when every lazy churl aspires to lift himself from the station in which he was born!
He advances threateningly toward the Man, but the Maiden rushes between and, falling on her knees, raises her hands in pleading. The Baron stops. Lady Edyth leaves her chair and advances toward the Baron, as if to intercede, but he does not see her.
Baron. Out of my way, wench! I will have him flayed alive for his insolence! I will have him thrown into prison! I will—
Minstrel (interrupting). Thou shalt do him no ill.
Lady Edyth and the Maiden, still on her knees, and the Man, who has raised himself until he reclines on an elbow, look to the Minstrel with various expressions on their faces: Lady Edyth’s look is one of wonder, and fear for the consequence of his words; the servants’ faces express fear and a glimmer of hope.
Baron (astounded). What? What? By what right darest thou thus address me?
Minstrel. By the right granted by the King. Thou art far from London, and so methinks have not heard the news. Over a fortnight ago King John signed the Magna Charta.
Baron (forgetting his rage in a desire to hear all). Tell on.
Minstrel. The barons compelled him to sign the charter granting civil liberty.
Baron. Yes, granting greater liberty to us—the barons. Now more firmly may we deal with such upstarts as this varlet. I will—
Minstrel (again interrupting). Hold! The rights and the privileges granted to the barons are extended to their vassals. Listen to these lines.
As the Minstrel speaks, he draws the scroll from his belt and unrolls it. While he reads, the light burns brighter.
Minstrel (reading). “No freeman shall be taken, or imprisoned, or dispossessed, or outlawed, or banished, or in any way destroyed; nor will we pass upon him, nor commit him, but by the lawful judgment of his peers, or by the law of the land.
“To no man will we sell, to none will we delay, to none will we deny, right or justice.”
Thou seest, baron, it is for all men!
Man (rising slowly to his feet). “For all men.” And I am a man!
Curtain
Education and Any City appear before the curtain.
Any City. I am wondering if the book—the learning for which he hungered—was placed in the hand of the serf even after a more democratic government was established.
Education. No, not put into his hands; but he might reach forth his hands and take, and no man deny him. Come, I will show you two pictures: the first, the book in feudal times, the second, the book in a democracy.
Exit Education and Any City.