The Mysteries of All Nations Part 10

"Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this?" he asked. Eight kings, and Banquo following, appeared to Macbeth's vision. The whole vision, if such it could be called, surprised him greatly; but no part of it so much as the spirit of Banquo, whom he had cruelly put to death with the intention of frustrating destiny, as revealed to him by the weird sisters, when he first met them on the heath. Seeing the king dejected, the witches, to cheer him, danced and sang for a time, and then suddenly disappeared.

Before Macbeth had time to recover from his reverie, a messenger arrived to inform him that Macduff, whom he dreaded, had fled to England. So greatly was he exasperated by the tidings, that he declared his intention of seizing Macduff's castle, giving to the sword his wife, babes, and all his other relations of whatever degree.

This threat he partly carried into execution.

The day of vengeance was near. Macbeth, mad with fear and ambition, strove to avert the evil brooding over him, but he could not succeed.

The fiat had gone forth: he was king, as the weird sisters had foretold he would be, but all his b.l.o.o.d.y deeds, and the scheming of his queen, unscrupulous like himself, could not change the decree.

Birnam wood seemed to come to Dunsinane, and Banquo's seed came in due time to inherit the throne the fates had reserved for them.

In _King Henry the Sixth_ more light is thrown on the doings of evil spirits. On a deep dark night, the time when owls cried, dogs howled, spirits walked, and ghosts broke up their graves, a spirit rose, in compliance with certain ceremonies for making demons appear.

Bolingbroke inquired of the evil one what would become of the king?

The reply was, "The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose. But him outlive, and die a violent death." In answer to the question, "What fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk?" came the reply, "By water shall he die." The Duke of Somerset was advised by the spirit to shun castles.

Having thus delivered itself, the evil spirit descended to the burning lake. Farther on in the piece we are told of a witch that was condemned to be burned at Smithfield.

Pa.s.sing from _Henry the Sixth_, we come to _Antony and Cleopatra_, and proceed to glean a few sentences bearing on superst.i.tion.

Charmian, addressing Alexas in a flattering manner, asked where was the soothsayer he praised so much. The soothsayer, who was immediately forthcoming, told those who listened to him that he knew "things" from nature's book of secrecy. A banquet was prepared, at which Charmian asked the soothsayer to give him good luck. "I make not, but foresee,"

was the response. Charmian, Alexas, and their companions seek to hear their fortunes told, but the soothsayer did not choose to reveal anything important at that time.

We shall take leave of Shakspeare by noticing, in a few sentences, the ghost of Hamlet's father.

Bernardo, Marcellus, and Horatio were met at a late hour to talk over a dreadful apparition that had disturbed the two former on the previous night, when they were startled by the same apparition--a ghost making its appearance. They observed it resembled the king who was dead. Horatio charged it to speak, but it stalked away without deigning a reply. It reappeared, but suddenly vanished on hearing the c.o.c.k crow. How long elapsed we are not informed; but on a certain night, just after the clock had struck twelve, Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus were engaged in earnest conversation when they were alarmed.

The first entreats the ghost to say wherefore it visited them. It beckoned to Hamlet to follow it; and he did so, despite those who were with him, and saw the spirit as well as he did. The ghost's tongue was unloosed, and thus it spake: "Lend thy serious hearing to what I shall unfold: My hour is almost come, when I must render up myself to sulphurous and tormenting flames. I am thy father's spirit; and, for the day, confined to fast in fires, till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, are burnt and purged away. Were I not forbidden to tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold that would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood; make thy eyes start; and make thy locks part like quills upon the fretful porcupine: but this eternal blazon must not be. If ever thou didst love thy father, revenge his foul and most unnatural murder." "Murder!" exclaimed Hamlet. "Murder," said the ghost, "most foul, as in the best it is."

"Reveal it," gasped Hamlet, "that I may with swift wings sweep to my revenge." "Thou shouldst be duller than the fat weed that rots itself on Lethe's wharf, wert thou not to stir in this," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the spirit. The ghost continued: "It has been given out, that, when sleeping in mine orchard, a serpent stung me to death; but know thou that the serpent that did sting thy father now wears his crown....

Sleeping within my orchard, as my custom was in the afternoon, on my secure hour thy uncle stole with cursed juice of hebenon in a vial, and did pour the leprous distilment into mine ears, that curdled my blood. Thus was I, by a brother's hand, despatched from crown and queen; cut off in the blossoms of my sin, unprepared, disappointed, and, without extreme unction, sent to my account with all my imperfections on my head. O, horrible! most horrible! Let not the royal bed be a couch for luxury and d.a.m.ned incest. Farewell; the glow-worm shows the morning to be near, and begins to pale his ineffectual fire: Adieu! Remember me." The king's death was avenged.

The treacherous queen, and he who murdered the monarch, drank a poisoned cup, and thus received measure for measure.

CHAPTER XVIII.

The Poet Gay--The "Spell"--Hobnelia--Lubberkin going to Town--A Maiden fine--Spells resorted to--Marking the Ground, and turning three times round--Hempseed as a Charm--Valentine Day--A Snail used in Divination--Burning Nuts--Pea-cods as a Spell--Ladybird sent on a Message of Love--Pippin Parings--Virtue of United Garters--Love Powder--Gipsies' Warnings--Knives sever Love--Story of Boccaccio--Apparition of a Deceased Lover--Poems by Burns--"Address to the Deil"--"Tam o' Shanter."

John Gay, the old English poet, writes in his _Spell_:

"Hobnelia, seated in a dreary vale, In pensive mood rehea.r.s.ed her piteous tale; Her piteous tale the winds in sighs bemoan, And pining Echo answers groan for groan.

I rue the day, a rueful day I trow, The woeful day, a day indeed of woe!

When Lubberkin to town his cattle drove, A maiden fine bedight he kept in love; The maiden fine bedight his love retains, And for the village he forsakes the plains.

Return, my Lubberkin, these ditties hear, Spells will I try, and spells shall ease my care.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.

When first the year I heard the cuckoo sing, And call with welcome note the budding spring, I straightway set a-running with such haste, Deb'rah that won the smock scarce ran so fast; Till, spent for lack of breath, quite weary grown, Upon a rising bank I sat adown, Then doff'd my shoe, and, by my troth, I swear, Therein I spy'd this yellow frizzled hair, As like to Lubberkin's in curle and hue, As if upon his comely pate it grew.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.

At eve last summer no sleep I sought, But to the field a bag of hempseed brought, I scattered round the seed on every side, And three times in a trembling accent cry'd: This hempseed with my virgin hand I sow, Who shall my true love be, the crop shall mow.

I straight look'd back, and if my eyes speak true, With his keen scythe behind me came the youth.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.

Last Valentine, the day when birds of kind Their paramours with mutual chirping find, I early rose, just at the break of day, Before the sun had chas'd the stars away; Afield I went, amid the morning dew, To milk my kine (for so should housewives do).

The first I spy'd, and the first swain we see, In spite of fortune shall our true love be; See, Lubberkin, each bird his partner take, And canst thou then thy sweetheart dear forsake?

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.

Last May-day fair I searched to find a snail That might my secret lover's name reveal; Upon a gooseberry bush a snail I found, For always snails nearest sweetest fruit abound.

I seiz'd the vermin, home I quickly sped, And on the hearth the milk-white embers spread.

Slow crawl'd the snail, and, if I right can spell, In the soft ashes mark'd a curious L: O may this wonderous omen luck prove!

For L is found in Lubberkin and love.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.

Two hazel nuts I threw into the flame, And to each nut I gave a sweetheart's name, This with the loudest bounce me sore amaz'd, That in a flame of brightest colour blaz'd.

As blaz'd the nut, so may thy pa.s.sion grow, For 'twas thy nut that did so brightly glow.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.

As pea-cods once I pluck'd, I chanc'd to see One that was closely fill'd with three times three, Which, when I crop't, I safely home convey'd, And o'er the door the spell in secret laid, My wheel I turn'd, and sung a ballad new, While from the spindle I the fleeces drew; The latch mov'd up, when who should first come in, But in his proper person--Lubberkin.

I broke my yarn, surpris'd the sight to see, Sure sign that he would break his word with me.

Eftsoons I joined it with my wonted slight, So may his love again with mine unite.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.

This lady-fly I take from off the gra.s.s, Whose spotted back might scarlet red surpa.s.s.

Fly, lady-bird, north, south, or east, or west, Fly where the man is found that I love best.

He leaves my hand; see, to the west he's flown, To call my true love from the faithless town.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.

I pare my pippin round and round again, My shepherd's name to flourish on the plain, I fling th' unbroken paring o'er my head, Upon the gra.s.s a perfect L I read; Yet on my heart a fairer L is seen Than what the paring marks upon the green.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.

This pippin shall another trial make, See from the core two kernels brown I take; This on my cheek for Lubberkin is worn, And b.o.o.byclod on t' other side is borne.

But b.o.o.byclod soon drops upon the ground, A certain token that his love's unsound, While Lubberkin sticks firmly to the last; O were his lips to mine but joined so fast!

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.

As Lubberkin once slept beneath a tree, I twitch'd his dangling garter from his knee; He wist not when the hempen string I drew.

Now mine I quickly doff of inkle blue; Together fast I tye the garters twain, And while I knit the knot, repeat the strain: Three times a true-love's knot I tye secure, Firm be the knot, firm may his love endure.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.

As I was wont, I trudged last market day To town with new-laid eggs preserved in hay.

I made my market long before 'twas night, My purse grew heavy, and my basket light.

Straight to the 'pothecary's shop I went, And in love powder all my money spent; Behap what will, next Sunday, after prayers, When to the ale-house Lubberkin repairs, The golden charm into his mug I'll throw, And soon the swain with fervent love shall glow.

With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.

But hold: our Lightfoot barks and c.o.c.ks his ears, O'er yonder stile see Lubberkin appears.

He comes, he comes, Hobnelia's not bewray'd, Nor shall she, crown'd with willow, die a maid.

He vows, he swears he'll give me a green gown; O dear! I fall adown, adown, adown."

Gay also writes:

"Last Friday's eve, when, as the sun was set, I, near yon stile, three sallow gipsies met, Upon my hand they cast a poring look, Bid me beware, and thrice their heads they shook; They said that many crosses I must prove, Some in my worldly gain, but most in love.

Next morn I missed three hens and our old c.o.c.k, And off the hedge two pinners and a smock.

I bore these losses with a Christian mind, And no mishap could feel while thou wert kind; But since, alas! I grew my Colin's scorn, I've known no pleasure, night, or noon, or morn.

Help me, ye gipsies, bring him home again, And to a constant la.s.s give back her swain.

Have I not sat with thee full many a night, When dying embers were our only light, When every creature did in slumber lie, Besides our cat, my Colin Clout, and I?

No troublous thoughts the cat or Colin move, While I alone am kept awake by love.

Remember, Colin, when at last year's wake I bought the costly present for thy sake: Could thou spell o'er the posy on thy knife, And with another change thy state of life?

If thou forget'st, I wot I can repeat, My memory can tell the verse so sweet: 'As this is grav'd upon this knife of thine, So is thy image on this heart of mine.'

But woe is me! such presents luckless prove, For knives, they tell me, always sever love."

In the story of _Isabella_, by Boccaccio, there are touching incidents of the apparition of a deceased lover appearing to his mistress. The tale is thus rendered by Keats:

"It was a vision. In the drowsy gloom, The dull of midnight, at her couch's foot Lorenzo stood and wept: the forest tomb Had marr'd his glossy hair, which once could shoot l.u.s.tre into the sun, and put cold doom Upon his lips, and taken the soft lute From his lorn voice, and pa.s.st his loomed ears Had made a miry channel for his tears.

Strange sound it was, when the pale shadow spoke; For there was striving in its piteous tongue, To speak as when on earth it was awake, And Isabella on its music hung: Languor there was in it, and tremulous shake, As in a palsied Druid's harp unstrung; And through it moaned a ghostly under-song, Like hoa.r.s.e night gusts sepulchral biers among.