I rode down into Thames Street, where all manner of small fires were lit for the sake of the warmth; their smoke stung in my eyes as I rode forward, but then, when I came up to the great clock, I saw through my tears a barber's shop down the side alley known as Paltock. In my gay mood I thought it right to trim and perfume myself, so without any delay I gave my horse in charge and entered the sweet-smelling shop. There was one already in the chair, presenting himself in all the colours of the rainbow; he had a pair of moustaches like a black horse-tail tied up in a knot, with two tufts sticking out on each side, and the barber continually dipped into a little basin filled with soapy water. The morning is the idlest time of day, when men that are their own masters – as gentlemen of the Inns or captains out of service – do wholly bestow themselves upon such pleasures as these; I would rather be burned in hell-fire than waste the time so, but on this day of great joy and departing I conceived a strange passion to sit and stare at all the world.
The little barber had half-a-dozen silver rings on his fingers, worth no more than threepence a piece as I should guess, and it was an art for him to keep them from tangling with the hair. But it was all one to the roaring boy sitting before him, who continually enquired about periwigs of the new curl and ruffles of the new set. Then he asked the barber the price of tooth-picks and of comb-cases, of head-brushes and of beard-brushes, as if he were about to set up in trade for himself. But truly he was one who took his continual diet in a tavern, the only rendezvous for company such as his, and now he began to speak of his games and devices. 'Do you know Tick-Tack?' he asked. The barber shook his head. 'Or Lurch?'
'No, sir. If I am at leisure I will sometimes sit close to the cards with Ruff or Colchester Trump, but these are all I know.'
'But come now, Mr Hadley, you should be a fresh gamester and find those who will bear you company with Novem Quinque or Faring. Surely you know Doublets? It is the French game for as many who will.'
So he talked on, all the time examining his moustaches from side to side, and at every angle conceivable, within an oval mirror which hung on a nail against the wall. I was longing for him to be gone and the barber, seeing my impatience, finished him with a few curls and then bid him good day. He then came back to me and led me to the chair, smiling as he took up his scissors and his comb. 'It is a pleasure,' he said, 'to serve a grave and reverend gentleman such as yourself. These young bloods, well, they hardly understand our practice. They come and ask for their hair to be cut after the Italian manner, short and round, or like a Spaniard long at the ears. This fellow here asked to be Frenchified with a lovelock down to his shoulders, but with hair such as his I could not oblige him. Now, sir. What will it be?'
'I desire to be trimmed,' I said, 'in the old English fashion.'
'Yes, it is the best, sir. You cannot beat the English style.' So then he set about me with a very good will, as he prattled on like a newly married wife. 'Did you see the pageant at Fenchurch Street, sir?' he asked me as he cut into my beard. 'It was a goodly show, truly, and the street was hung with cloth of gold. There was the sweetest playing with all manner of musicians and lord! there was one trumpet that seemed to be blowing all day long.'
'No, I did not see it.'
'The new French ambassador had come to witness it and, sir, you have never seen such a ruff on a man. It was wrapped about his neck like a wicker cage, and on his head he had a little hat with brims like the wings of a doublet.' He laughed at his memory. 'He wore a murry cloth gown, do you know the sort, laid thick on the sleeves with lace? He bore it up very quaintly so that we might all see his white taffeta hose and his black silk stockings. Well, if the Mayor had not been beside him, he would have been stoned.'
At that I laughed out loud. 'I would have rather seen his head smitten off, and his body burned by the Tower.'
'It may come to that, sir, in these days.' He stopped and sighed, before jogging off once more along his own path. 'Ah, sir, the inconstancy of fashion. I see it all before me here, you know. There is nothing in England more constant than the inconstancy of dress. Now they use the French fashion, and now the Spanish, and then the Morisco gown is in favour. It is all one thing, and then another.'
'It is the way of the world.' I revolved my own thoughts for a moment. 'Well, I for one am not afraid of their disdain.'
'Of course not.'
'You know what they say of envy, do you?'
'Tell me, sir. I always seek knowledge from gentlemen such as yourself.'
'Envy is a crocodile that weeps when he kills and sighs with none but he feeds on.'
He was silent at that but, since it was nothing to do with his own theme, he continued after a moment. 'And lord, sir, the country-people who flock here. In the dog-days of summer they pass by this shop, and come in without any need of my services to ask me for directions to the tombs at Westminster or the lions in the Tower. Can you believe it, sir?'
This put me in mind once more of my own expedition, and I asked him to finish his trimming with all speed. He consented willingly enough, and a few minutes after he was washing my face with sweet water. 'Now, sir,' he said. 'You look like an artist.'
'Yes,' I replied, 'and one who would remake the world.' I left him, and when I turned at the corner of Paltock I saw him looking after me.
It was a short ride now into New Fish Street, which led me over against the bridge. There are those who cry up this bridge as a great glory of London, standing upon its twenty arches of squared free-stone, but it is a narrow thoroughfare across the river and one so hemmed in with shops and houses that there is scarcely room to pass; I led my horse slowly through the busy press of people and there was so great a crowd of porters, street-sellers, merchants and travellers that many times I came to a halt, surrounded by cries of 'Make way there!' and 'By your leave!', until I found my path to the south end and came out by the bankside. I rode on a little to Winchester Stairs, and left my horse with the keeper of the stables there, and then advanced on foot to the patch of waste ground by Dead Man's Place where the bears are baited. It is no more than a penny to ascend the wooden scaffold to watch the spectacle, but I came in as one of the last and had to peep over heads and shoulders as the bear was brought forth into the court and the dog set to him. It pleases the crowd to see blood shed, and what a noise they set up when the dog plucked the bear by the throat and the bear clawed him off by the scalp! There was such a fending and tugging, such scratching and biting, that the court seemed no more than a puddle of blood – and to see the bear with his pink nose leering after his enemy's approach, to see the nimbleness and the wait of the dog to take his advantage, was as good as a play. If he were bitten in one place the bear struggled to get free in another and, when he was loose, he shook his ears two or three times with the blood and slaver about his face; what shifts, what biting, what clawing, what roaring, what tossing and tumbling until the whole action seemed like some emblem of this madcap city. Truly these people love suffering and death.
I left the scaffold in high good humour and walked towards Paris Garden and the stage lately erected there. I had just come out by Molestrand Dock, when suddenly I heard a voice close by me. 'Jesus,' he said, 'who would have thought that I should have met you here?' I turned, and knew him at once from his dirty white satin jerkin: it was my old assistant, John Overbury, who had quit my service a year ago for (as he said) a better master. I knew him also to be a morose and suspicious fellow, much given to backbiting. 'What reason have you to be here?' he continued, stepping up and walking alongside me.
'No reason in the world, John.' We had just come to Falcon Stairs, near the stews bordering on Pike Lane, and he eyed me curiously. 'Except,' I added, 'to see a play.'
'And nothing more, sir?' I kept my mouth closed and was eager to shake him off, but still he followed me. 'Did you see the bears in the yard?' he asked me now.
'I stayed for a moment.'
'You chose your day with skill then, as always. Did you hear how the scaffold there fell down all at once no more than a month ago, being full of people? Many were killed and hurt, sir. Did you hear?' I nodded. 'There were some who say that it was pulled down by enchantment.'
'Many will say anything, John, simply to amaze those with no wits left in them.'
'That is so, Doctor Dee. But you and I know the truth of such matters, do we not?'
I did not reprove his sauciness, yet I knew him well enough. After he left my service I found by chance in a box some papers in his own handwriting, and there was brought to my knowledge evidence of his knavery in writing down my experiments. I had no doubt that he would have sold them to anyone who wished for gold or power, but it was sad stuff hastily construed. He had altogether missed his mark, for there are no true secrets except those that lie buried in the shadow of men's souls.
I had come up now within sight of the scaffolding, and already a great concourse of people were flocking for the play, but the fool was still waiting on me. 'What is your pleasure, sir,' he said. 'To go in with the rest, or pay for a chair?' He meant the wooden forms arranged to each side of the scaffold, away from the press, and I knew then that he designed to stick closer to me than the sole does to the shoe.
'But where shall we sit?' I replied. 'All is full. All the forms are occupied.'
'We will find place enough, sir. Care not for that, but follow me. I will enter first, thrust hard, and cause a way to be made.' At which he went in crying, 'Make way! Make way for the venerable Doctor Dee!' There was laughter at this, born out of the scum of vile minds, and then the hypocrite turned smiling to me. 'Are you still following, good doctor? I never saw such a multitude!' I said nothing and was about to turn aside in order to lose myself among the stinking crowd, when he took me by the sleeve and led me over to the wooden forms. 'Sit here against the scaffold,' he said, 'and you will miss nothing.' Then he tapped upon the shoulder of a man wrapped in a velvet coat. 'I pray you, sir,' he said, 'sit aside a little and make us some room here by you.'
'With a very good will,' the man replied – yet I am sure he could not help but overhear John Overbury muttering to me behind his hand, 'Do you see what a pair of buttocks he has? He occupies more room than any of these others.' How he came by his bold sauciness I do not know, but I would have soon sent him home by weeping-cross if I did not suspect that, by some fraud or guile, he had not come upon me unawares. So I kept my peace.
'It is well known that you study too much,' he whispered to me as the procession began. 'So it is good to see you pass some time at the play.'
There were many noble personages, attired in rich robes of crimson and blue and yellow, who now came out upon the scaffold in stately guise. By the signs of their garments and their demeanour I knew them to be actors in an historical tragedy, and so I looked for a prologue upon the theme of mutability. There were seven upon the stage, like the spheres above us, and they were of their humours all compact: so can the essential world be depicted in such masques and pageants and performances. One principal in the robe of a king stepped forward to address us, when John Overbury leaned against me and pointed towards the crowd. 'Do you see Marion?' he asked me. 'Do you know her? There, holding up her gown almost to the middle that the world may see what a fine leg and dainty foot she has.' I turned my eyes that way, and saw a pert girl standing amidst the people. 'She lodges under the sign of Venus,' he continued. 'And look, there is one ogling her. Do you see that old whoremonger beside her?'
O spheres, tell me, where is thy wonted motion
To make this stage resound thy lamentation?
My spouse is dead, and dead is my devotion,
Now base and sour is love's most high vocation
Which throws my life and fate into confusion!
O doleful hour! O sad destiny of passion
That leaves me now the sport of base oppression!
'The whoremonger knows how to choose his mate, as the custom is here. Do you see the gold rings upon his fingers with which he catches at the light, the more to ensnare her?'
I strained to hear the sweet speech of the players, as a boy carrying the torch of wisdom approached the king.
BOY. Now Sorrow, sir, must bow to Reason's light.
KING. But is not Reason lost in Sorrow's night?
BOY. Yet Grief must bow at length to Reason's stroke.
KING. What shall I gain by taking Reason's yoke?
'What lord is that, Doctor Dee, who sits over to the side of us? Do you know him?'
I paid no attention, though I heard him well enough: I could not take my eyes from the stage, as the actors now turned about in a dance and the king again stepped forward.
My son, whom you see here, seeks my own death
To satisfy apace his own ambition
In killing me to step upon my corse
And snatch that fruit –
I heard no more, for Overbury whispered to me again. 'Do you see that one there in a gown with hanging sleeves? Any eye may see that he is after boys. Is it not true that the play brings out more than the players?'
There had been a wondrous alteration on the scaffold when I looked upon it again, for now the old king, dressed in the garments of the last generation, was lying upon a pallet while viols and trumpets announced the coming of his son.
KING. Who knocks there, like the Devil's porter?
Overbury nudged me at that.
SON. It is I, your dear devoted son and heir.
'A villain, Doctor Dee, I warrant you. I know him by his look.'