At this point Hymen entered, and the manner of his entry was thus: He wore a saffron-colored robe, his under-vesture white, his socks yellow, a yellow veil of silk on his left arm, his head crowned with roses and marjoram, in his right hand a torch of pine tree. After him came a youth in white, bearing another torch of white thorn; behind him two others in white, the one bearing a distaff and the other a spindle. Then followed the Auspices, those who “handfasted” the pair and wished them luck—i. e., prayed for them. Then one who bore water and another who bore fire; and lastly musicians.
Cupid at sight of Hymen breaks off:
“Hymen’s presence bids away;
’Tis already at his night:
He can give you further light.
You, my Sports, may here abide,
Till I call to light the bride.”
Hymen addresses Venus, paying the most charming compliments to King James under the name of Æneas. He tells her that he is come to grace the marriage of a noble virgin styled the Maid of the Redcliffe, and that Vulcan with the Cyclopes are at that moment forging something strange and curious to grace the nuptials; and indeed, at that moment Vulcan himself, dressed like the blacksmith that he is, comes upon the stage. He has completed the work:
“Cleave, solid rock, and bring the wonder forth!”
Then, with a burst of music, the cliff falls open and discloses “an illustrious concave filled with an ample and glistering light in which an artificial sphere was made of silver, eighteen feet in diameter, that turned perpetually; the coluri were heightened with gold; so were the arctic and the antarctic circles, the tropics, the equinoctial, the meridian, and horizon; only the zodiac was of pure gold, in which the masquers under the characters of the twelve signs were placed, answering them in number.”
This is the description. The system of the Zodiac seems a strange thing to present as part of a wedding entertainment; but such a thing was not then part of school work, and when Vulcan called out at the masquers, Aries the Ram, Taurus the Bull, Gemini the Twins, and the rest, explaining how they apply to the conjugal condition, no doubt there was much delight. This done, Venus, Vulcan, Hymen, and their trains sat or stood while the masquers, assisted by the Cyclopes, alternately sang and danced. There are seven verses to the song, and there were four dances. The dances were invented by Master Thomas Giles and Master Hieronymus Herne; the tunes were composed by Master Alphonso Ferrabosco; the scenes by Master Inigo Jones; and the verse, with the invention of the whole, by Ben Jonson himself. “The attire,” says the poet, “of the masquers throughout was most graceful and noble; partaking of the best, both ancient and later figure. The colours, carnation and silver, enriched with embroidery and lace. The dressing of their heads, feathers and jewels.” The names of the masquers were the Duke of Lenox, the Earls of Arundell, Pembroke, and Montgomery, Lords D’Aubigny, Walden, Hay, and Sankre, Sir Robert Rothe, Sir Joseph Kennethir, and Master Erskine. Here are two of the verses:
“What joy or honours can compare
With holy nuptials when they are
Made out of equal parts
Of years, of states, of hands, of hearts!
When in the happy choice
The spouse and spousèd have the foremost voice!
Such, glad of Hymen’s war,
Live what they are
And long perfection see:
And such ours be—
Shine, Hesperus, shine forth, thou wishèd star!
“Love’s common wealth consists of toys:
His council are those antic boys.
Games, laughter, sports, delights,
That triumph with him on these nights,
To whom we must give way,
For now their reign begins and lasts till day.
They sweeten Hymen’s war,
And, in that jar,
Make all, that married be,
Perfection see.
Shine, Hesperus, shine forth, thou wishèd star!”
The Masque was short-lived. It was stately and dignified; it was courtly; it was classical; it was serious; nobody laughed much, except perhaps at the “antic” dances which were sometimes introduced. It required fine, if not the finest, poetic work. It could not be adequately presented without lavish expenditure. It demanded the performance of amateurs. When the troubles of the next reign began there was little desire for such entertainments, and no money to spare for the production of a Masque on the old scale of splendor. When Charles II. returned all the world wanted to laugh and to sing; the Masque, slow and stately, was out of fashion. Charles made an attempt to revive it, but without success. It was quite forgotten; the old properties were stowed away and molded in the cellars till the fire came and burned them all. And the stage effects, the sudden changes of scene, the clouds and the rocks and streams were all forgotten, until they were revived in the present century.