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Page 15
So we wandered on, baffled and confused, through a hundred pathless
glens and dells till already gold had begun to dim the swelling moon's
bright silver, and by the freshness and added sweetness of the air it
seemed dawn must be near, when, on a sudden, a harsh, preposterous
voice broke on my ear, and such a see-saw peal of laughter as I have
never tittered in sheer fellowship with before, or since. We stood
listening, and the voice broke out again.
"Tittany--nay, Tittany, you'll crack my sides with laughing. Have
again at you! love your master and you'll wax nimble. Bottom will
learn you all. Trust Time and Bottom; though in sooth your weeny
Majesty is something less than natural. Drive thy straw deeper,
Mounsieur Mustardseed! there squats a pestilent sweet notion in that
chamber could spellican but set him capering. Prithee your mousemilk
hand on this smooth brow, mistress! Your nectar throbbeth like a
blacksmith's anvil. Master Moth, draw you these bristling lashes down,
they mirk the stars and call yon nothing Quince to mind--a vain,
official knave, in and out, to and fro, play or pleasure; and old Sam
Snout, the wanton! Lad's days and all--'twas life, Tittany; and I was
ever foremost. They'd bob and crook to me like spaniels at a trencher.
Mine was the prettiest conceit, this way, that way, past all
unravelling till envy stretched mine ears. Now I'm old dreams. Gone
all men's joy, your worships, since Bully Bottom took to moonshine.
Where floats your babe's-hand now, Dame Lovepip?"
There he lolled, immortal Bottom, propped on a bed of asphodel and
moly that seemed to curd the moonshine; and at his side, Titania slim
and scarlet, and shimmering like a bride-cake. The sky was dark above
the tapering trees, but here in the secret woods light seemed to cling
in flake and scarf. And it so chanced as our two noses leaned forward
into his retreat that Bottom's head lolled back upon its pillow, and
his bright, simple eyes stared deep into our own.
"Save me, ye shapes of nought," he bellowed, "no more, no more, for
love's sake. I begin to see what men call red Beelzebub, and that's an
end to all true fellowship. Whiffle your tufted bee's wing, Signior
Cobweb, I beseech you--a little fiery devil with four eyes floats in
my brain, and flame's a frisky bedfellow. Avaunt! avaunt ye! Would now
my true friend Bottom the weaver were at my side. His was a courage
to make princes great. Prithee, Queen Tittany, no more such cozening
possets!"
I drew Rosinante back into the leaves.
"Droop now thy honeyed lids, my dearest love!" I heard a clear voice
answer. "There's nought can harm thee in these silvered woods: no bird
that pipes but love incites his throat, and never a dewdrop wells but
whispers peace!"
"Ay, ay, 'tis very well, you have a gift, you have a gift, Tittany's
for twisting words to sugarsticks. But la, there, what wots your
trickling whey of that coal-piffling Prince of Flies! I'm Bottom the
weaver, I am. He knows not his mother's ring-finger that knows not
Nick Bottom. Back, back, ye jigging dreams! 'Tis Puckling nods. Ha'
done, ha' done--there's no sweet sanity in an asshead more if I quaff
their elvish ... Out now ... Ha' done, I say!"
Then indeed he slumbered truly, this engarlanded weaver, his lids
concealing all bright speculation, his jowl of vanity (foe of the
Philistine) at peace: and I might gaze unperceived. The moon filled
his mossy cubicle with her untrembling beams, streamed upon blossoms
sweet and heavy as Absalom's hair, while tiny plumes wafted into the
night the scent of thyme and meadow-sweet.
I know not how long they would have kept me prisoner with their
illusive music. I dared not move, scarce wink; for much as immortality
may mollify hairiness, I had no wish to live too frank.
How, also, would this weaver who slumbered so cacophonously welcome a
rival to his realms. I say I sat still, like Echo in the woods when
none is calling; like too, I grant, one who ached not a little after
jolts and jars and the phantasmal mists of this engendering air. But
none stirred, nor went, nor came. So resting my hands cautiously on a
little witch's guild of toadstools that squatted cold in shade, I
lifted myself softly and stood alert.
And in a while out of that numerous company stepped one whom by his
primrose face and mien I took to be Mounsieur Mustardseed, and I
followed after him.
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