uld not let the people see his helmet dinted
and misshapen with the signs and scars of hard battle in which he had
played his part as well as any humble leather-jerkined bowman in his
array. Your ancestors, these soldiers and these citizens: your
forefathers. They knew, far better than you will ever know, how to
marshal a gallant show. We have lost the art of making a Pageant. It
remains with us--once a year--in the Lord Mayor's Show. But think of
Henry's Riding into London compared with the Lord Mayor's Show!

48. PLAYS AND PAGEANTS.

PART III.

Between the Pageant and the Play stands the Masque, a form of
entertainment which achieved its greatest splendour both in stage
mounting and in the words and songs in the reigns of Elizabeth and
James I. Nowhere was the Masque more carefully studied and more
magnificently presented than in London. The scenic display which in the
early theatre was so meagre was carried in the Masque to a height never
surpassed until the splendid shows of the present day. Nor did the
greatest poets disdain to write words for the Masque. The most beautiful
of those which remain are to be found in Ben Jonson's works. Every great
man's house had a hall which was used for the Masque. Bacon, who gives
directions for building a house, orders that there must be a room built
on purpose for these performances. Under it is to be another room for
the actors to dress and for the 'properties'--i.e. the things requisite
for the presentation of the Masque, such as scenery, the woods,
fountains, rocks, palaces, &c.--that might be required. Let us show what
a Masque was like by describing one of Ben Jonson's. It is called the
Masque of Oberon, and was performed before Prince Henry, the eldest son
of James I., who died in youth.

The scene presents a rock with trees beyond it and 'all the wildness
that can be presented.' All is dark. Presently the moon rising shows a
Satyr, one of the beings with whom the ancients peopled the forests and
wild places. They were drawn with the feet and legs of goats, short
horns on the head, and the body covered with thick hair. This Satyr
lifts his head and calls his companions. There is no answer. He blows
his cornet. Echo answers him. He blows again, and is again mocked by the
Echo. A third time he blows, and other Satyrs come leaping and dancing
upon the stage. Silenus, their leader, bids them prepare to see the
young Prince Oberon.

The scene opens: the rocks and