Darnley; or, The Field of the Cloth of Gold

by G. P. R. James

"It may be better," said Sir Osborne, "for to-night; but you must lead the way, good Longpole, for this is my first sight of the great city."

Longpole readily undertook the pilotage of the knight and his company, and in about half-an-hour lodged them safely in the smart parlour of the Tabard: perhaps the very same where, more than a century before, Chaucer, the father of our craft, sat himself at his ease; for the Tabard was an old house that had maintained its good fame for more than one generation, and the landlady piqued herself much on the antiquity of her dwelling, telling how her great-grandfather had kept that very house, ay, and had worn a gold chain to boot; and how both the inn and the innkeepers had held the same name, till she, being a woman, alack! had brought it as her dower to her poor dear deceased husband, who died twenty years ago come Martinmas.

All this was detailed at length to Sir Osborne while his supper was in preparation, together with various other long orations, till the good dame found that the knight was not willing to furnish her with even the ahs! ohs! and yes-es, which offer a sort of baiting-places for a voluble tongue; but that, on the contrary, he leaned his back against the chimney, not attending to one word she said after the first ten sentences. Upon this discovery, she e'en betook herself to Longpole, declaring that his master was a proper man, a fine man, and a pensive.

Longpole was, we all know, much better inclined to gossiping than his master; and accordingly, as he found that his jolly hostess would fain hear the whole of his lord's history, as a profound secret which she was to divulge to all her neighbours the next morning, he speedily furnished her with a most excellent allegory upon the subject, which found its way (with various additions and improvements, to suit the taste of the reciters) through at least five hundred different channels before the ensuing night.

In the mean while the knight supped well, and found himself happier; slept well, and rose with renewed hope. So he was but of flesh and blood, after all.

As soon as he was up, and before he was dressed, the door of his chamber flew open, and in rushed a thing called a barber, insisting upon his being shaved. Volumes have been written upon barbers, and volumes still remain to be written, but it shall not be I who will write them.

Suffice it, that for the sake of those who know not what I mean, I define a barber. It is a thing that talks and shaves, and shaves and talks, and talks and shaves again; the true immutable that never varies, but comes down from age to age like a magpie, the same busy chattering thing that its fathers were before it.

Sir Osborne acquiesced in the operation, of which, indeed, he stood in some want; and the barber pounced upon his visage in a moment. "The simple moustache, I see: the simple moustache!" he cried; "well, 'tis indeed the most seemly manner, though the pique-devant is gaining ground a leetle, a leetle: not that I mean to say, fair sir, that the beard is not worn any way, so it be well trimmed, and the moustache is of a sweet comely nature: the simple moustache! You have doubtless heard, fair sir, of the royal pageant, which cheered the heart of the queen and her ladies last night. We use, indeed, to cut beards all ways, to suit the nature of the physiognomy; supplying, as it were, remedies for the evil tricks of nature. Now, my good Lord Darby gives in to the pique-devant, for it is a turn that ladies love; and doubtless you have heard his marriage spoken of--to a lady--oh! such a beautiful lady! though I cannot remember her name; but a most excellent lady. Your worship would not wish me to leave the pique-devant; I will undertake to raise and nourish it, by a certain ointment, communicated to me by an alchymist, in ten days. Make but the essay, fair sir; try how it comports with the figure of your face."

"No, no!" cried Sir Osborne, much in the same manner as the young man of Bagdad. "Cease your babbling, and make haste and shave me."

The operation, however, was sooner brought to a termination than in the Arabian Nights; and being free from his chattering companion, the knight took one or two turns in his apartment in deep thought. "So," said he, "this light-of-love, Lord Darby does play the poor girl false; and, as she said, the arrow will rankle in her heart, and rob her of every better hope. But still it is not sure. I will not believe it. If I had the love of such a creature as that, could I betray it?" and the thought of Lady Constance de Grey darted across his mind. "I will not believe it; there must be better assurance than a babbling fool like this. Oh, Longpole!" he continued, as the man entered the room, "I have waited for you. Quick! As you know London, speed to the house of an honest Flemish merchant, William Hans; ask him if he have received the packages from Anvers for me. Give him my true name, but bid him be secret. Bring with you the leathern case containing clothes, and see if he have any letters from Wales. Greet the old man well for me, and tell him I will see him soon. Stay; I forgot to tell you where he lives; it's near the Conduit in Gracious Street, any one near will tell you where. William Hans is his name."