When the buriers of the dead returned, somewhat reassured by collecting all their number together, they found Walter in a swoon, with the body of Charlotte fast locked in his embrace. Separating them, they replaced the body in the coffin, and conveying Walter to upper air, closed up the vault for ever.
As the day broke, a tall cavalier rode slowly out of Stratford. The raven plumes of his hat almost shadowed his pale face, and his ample riding-cloak completely enveloped his form.
He reined up his steed as soon as he had cleared the suburbs, and gazed long and fixedly for some time at the handsome spire of the church. He then turned his steed, dashed the spurs into its flanks, and galloped like a madman along the Warwick road.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE VILLAGE FETE.—ANNE HATHAWAY.
It is extraordinary how speedily the human mind recovers its elasticity after being bent down to the earth, as it were, with the weight of care.
Let the reader glide over some four or five months from the date of the transactions we have first narrated, and again look upon Stratford-upon-Avon. No trace remains of the deadly scourge which had so recently raged in the town; nay, even but small remembrance is to be observed in the visages or trappings and suite of the surviving citizens (now again mixing in the business of life and the pleasures of the world) of those relations and friends put to bed with a shovel. The fact was, that the plague was a constant visitor at this period, and fear of infection the bugbear of the time.[4] The visitation, however, being over, the inhabitants came forth again with renewed zest. They fluttered about like "summer flies i' the shambles," and sunned themselves in the anticipation of brighter days to come. It seemed quite a delight to walk the streets, where all looked so happy and contented. And yet how small indeed is the portion of life really and truly enjoyed by the poor compounded clay, man! Youth refuses to be happy in the present moment, and looks forward to future joys, never perhaps to be realized. Old age, again, takes a backward glance, and sighs over what has passed; whilst manhood (which appears to be occupied with the present moment) in reality is oft-times forming vague determinations for happiness at some future period when time shall serve.
Master Dismal had experienced a perfect state of contemplative contentment during the recent visitation; he might now sit himself down and retire for a space, he thought; his researches had been most incessant, and his attendance upon his neighbours most praiseworthy; he could almost have written a treatise upon all he had beheld and studied; he had seen out no less than three sapient doctors during the progress of the plague, and could indeed, from his gathered experience, have himself practised the healing art as well as the remaining one. Now, however, that his vocation was over, for the present at least, and the inhabitants full of enjoyment, he determined to enjoy himself amongst them. It was exactly the twelfth day after Christmas-day that the thread of our story is resumed. A sort of village festival was held at the hamlet of Shottery, about a mile distant from Stratford-upon-Avon, and as several of Master Dismal's neighbours were hieing thither with light hearts and joyous spirits, thither he bent his steps also. "Who knows what sports may be toward?" he said, as he called for Lawyer Grasp and Master Doubletongue, on his way. "Peradventure I may be of some service; for albeit I do not wish to anticipate accidents or offences, the last wake I was present at, which was at the shearing-feast at Kenilworth Green, there were more heads broken by the lads of Coventry and Warwick than I can tell you. Nay, Dick, the smith, got such a fall at the wrestling, that he never joyed after. Yes, he, died in three weeks. Aye, and Ralph Roughhead had his spine wrenched by the back trick."
In Elizabeth's day, when the bold peasantry of England did recreate themselves, their sports and pastimes were most joyous. Except in such a case as we have just described, and in which the hand of sickness bore them hard, their hearths were for the most part free from the withering cares of our own improving times. Light-hearted and jovial, they kept up the old world sports and pastimes which had been handed down from their forefathers. Those quaint games and rural diversions so frequently carried on in the green fields and bosky woods. Those cozy fire-side diversions which extended alike from the cottage ingle neuk to the manorial hall and the castle court.