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diff --git a/25071-h/25071-h.htm b/25071-h/25071-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4eab9a9 --- /dev/null +++ b/25071-h/25071-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,18812 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Romany Rye</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.headingsummary { margin-left: 5%;} + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Romany Rye, by George Borrow</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Romany Rye, by George Borrow, Edited by +John Sampson + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Romany Rye + A Sequel to 'Lavengro' + + +Author: George Borrow + +Editor: John Sampson + +Release Date: April 14, 2008 [eBook #25071] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROMANY RYE*** +</pre> + + +<h4>There are several editions of this ebook in the Project Gutenberg collection. Various characteristics of each ebook are listed to aid in selecting the preferred file.<br />Click on any of the filenumbers below to quickly view each ebook. +</h4> + + +<table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + +<tr><td> + <b><a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/21206/21206-h/21206-h.htm"> +21206</a> </b> </td><td>(Plain HTML file) +</td></tr> + +<tr><td> + <b><a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/25071/25071-h/25071-h.htm"> +25071</a></b></td><td>(Plain HTML file) +</td></tr> + +<tr><td> + <b><a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/422/422-h/422-h.htm"> +422</a></b> </td><td>(Plain HTML file) +</td></tr> + +<tr><td> + <b><a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/54048/54048-h/54048-h.htm"> +54048</a></b> </td><td>(Illustrated HTML file) +</td></tr> + +</table> + + +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from by the 1903 Methuen & Co. edition by +David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org. Many thanks to Norfolk +and Norwich Millennium Library, UK, for kindly supplying +the images from which this transcription was made.</p> +<h1>THE<br /> +ROMANY RYE</h1> +<p style="text-align: center">A Sequel to +‘Lavengro’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>By</i><br /> +GEORGE BORROW</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>WITH NOTES AND AN +INTRODUCTION</i><br /> +<span class="smcap">By</span> JOHN SAMPSON</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>WITH A FRONTISPIECE</i></p> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON<br /> +METHUEN & CO.<br /> +36, ESSEX STREET, W.C.<br /> +MDCCCCIII</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p0b.jpg"> +<img alt="Bushbury Church" src="images/p0s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><!-- page xiii--><a name="pagexiii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xiii</span>INTRODUCTION</h2> +<p>‘Lavengro’ and ‘The Romany Rye’ are +one book, though the former was published in 1851 and the latter +not until 1857. After a slumber of six years the dingle +re-awakes to life, Lavengro’s hammer shatters the +stillness, and the blaze of his forge again lights up its +shadows, while all the strange persons of the drama take up their +parts at the point where the curtain had been so abruptly rung +down. The post-chaise overturned in the last chapter of +‘Lavengro’ is repaired in the first of this sequel, +the Man in Black proceeds with his interrupted disquisition, and +Borrow resumes his cold-blooded courtship of poor Isopel, playing +with her feelings as a cat with a mouse. The dingle episode +is divided equally between the two works; and had not +‘Glorious John,’ after a series of peremptory notes +from the author, at last consented to publish ‘The Romany +Rye’ ‘to oblige Mr. Borrow,’ we had lost some +of the most delightful scenes of which that enchanted spot was +the theatre.</p> +<p>What part of this narrative is <i>Dichtung </i>and what is +<i>Wahrheit </i>has been a debated question. In his chapter +on pseudo-critics in the appendix to the present book, Borrow +denies that he ever called ‘Lavengro’ an +autobiography, or authorized any other person to call it +so. But it had been advertised for some months as, +‘Lavengro: an Autobiography’; while as early as 1843 +Borrow writes to Murray that he is engaged upon his life; and as +late <!-- page xiv--><a name="pagexiv"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xiv</span>as 1862, in an account of himself +written for Mr. John Longe of Norwich, Borrow says that ‘in +1851 he published “Lavengro,” a work in which he +gives an account of his early life.’ There is indeed +no doubt that the earlier part of ‘Lavengro’ is, in +the main, a true history of the life and adventures of George +Borrow, however embellished here or there with Borrovian touches; +it is only of the truth of the occurrences just before and after +leaving London that scepticism has been expressed. +Borrow’s story, however, is so circumstantial that we +should at least be able to discover whether this part of his +history is credible and consistent.</p> +<p>Plainly, the year when Borrow leaves London is 1825. +‘Somewhat more than a year before,’ in March (or +rather April) <a name="citation0a"></a><a href="#footnote0a" +class="citation">[0a]</a> of the year of Byron’s funeral, +<a name="citation0b"></a><a href="#footnote0b" +class="citation">[0b]</a> he had entered the ‘Big +City,’ a youth verging on manhood. In his preface to +‘Lavengro’ he speaks of the time as embracing +‘nearly the first quarter of the present century,’ +and in ‘The Romany Rye’ refers to having edited the +<i>Newgate Chronicle </i>some months ago. <a +name="citation0c"></a><a href="#footnote0c" +class="citation">[0c]</a> We know also that his youthful +contributions to literature ceased with his translation of +Klinger’s ‘Faustus,’ published on April 18, +1825. About this time, then, when Borrow was literally +reduced to his last shilling, he describes himself as visiting a +fair in the neighbourhood of London. He refuses a loan of +£50 from Jasper Petulengro, and, returning homewards, +notices in a publisher’s window a request for a tale or +novel. Subsisting on bread and water, he writes in a week +the ‘Life of Joseph Sell,’ for which he receives +£20, and twelve days after attending the fair leaves +London. Passing through Salisbury, he travels northward and +encamps in a dingle, where he is poisoned by his old enemy Mrs. +Herne. Saved by the timely intervention of <!-- page +xv--><a name="pagexv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xv</span>a +methodist preacher and his wife, he recovers on the following day +(Sunday), and nine days later accompanies his friends to the +Welsh border. Here he again meets Jasper, returning with +him the greater part of the day’s journey, settling in +‘Mumpers’ Dingle,’ where he is visited by his +gypsy friends, four days before the Sunday upon which they all +attend church.</p> +<p>A casual remark of Mr. Petulengro’s on this occasion +affords a valuable clue to the precise date. ‘Any +news stirring, Mr. Petulengro?’ said Borrow; ‘have +you heard anything of the great religious movements?’ +‘Plenty,’ said Mr. Petulengro; ‘all the +religious people, more especially the evangelicals, those who go +about distributing tracts, are very angry about the fight between +Gentleman Cooper and White-headed Bob, which they say ought not +to have been permitted to take place; and then they are trying +all they can to prevent the fight between the lion and the dogs, +which they say is a disgrace to a Christian country.’ +The prize-fight between Baldwin and Cooper was fought on Tuesday, +July 5, 1825, near Maidenhead. The combat between the lion, +Nero, and six dogs took place at Warwick on Tuesday, July 26, and +for months beforehand had been the subject of much discussion in +the London and provincial press. <a name="citation0d"></a><a +href="#footnote0d" class="citation">[0d]</a> The Wednesday, +therefore, when the gypsies visited Borrow in the dingle must +have fallen between these two events—<i>i.e.</i>, must have +been the 6th, 13th, or 20th of July. The fair to the +south-east of London, towards which Borrow was attracted by a +huge concourse of people, all moving in the same direction, is +unmistakably the Greenwich Fair, held on Whit-Monday, May 23, +1825. <a name="citation0e"></a><a href="#footnote0e" +class="citation">[0e]</a> <!-- page xvi--><a +name="pagexvi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xvi</span>He must, +then, have set out after this date, and on a Tuesday, as we +calculate by reckoning backwards from the first Sunday passed +with Peter Williams. The gypsies’ visit occurred on +the 58th day of his tour, so that he must have left London on +Tuesday, May 24, 1825, since to have started on any later day +would have carried him beyond the date of the lion fight.</p> +<p>From these data we can now construct an exact diary of +Borrow’s adventures, from the day on which he left London +to that on which he arrived at the posting-inn on the Great North +Road.</p> +<h3>Diary.</h3> +<p>1st day [Tuesday, May 24, 1825]. Leaves London, +afternoon; walks nine miles S.W.; takes coach to [Amesbury].</p> +<p>2nd day [Wednesday, May 25]. Arrives [Amesbury] before +dawn; sees Stonehenge; crosses Avon; descends to City of the +Spire [Salisbury].</p> +<p>3rd day [Thursday, May 26]. Salisbury.</p> +<p>4th day [Friday, May 27]. Leaves Salisbury; walks N.W., +about twelve miles to small town [? Heytesbury].</p> +<p>5th to 8th day [Saturday, May 28, to Tuesday, May 31]. +Walks N.W., twenty to twenty-five miles per day.</p> +<p>9th day [Wednesday, June 1]. About two reaches small +town, meets author and accompanies him home (two miles off main +road).</p> +<p>10th day [Thursday, June 2]. Rev. Mr. Platitude visits +author, Borrow leaves early; walks N. for two hours; buys +Slingsby’s pony and cart; afternoon travels N.W.; late at +night arrives at a dingle [in Shropshire].</p> +<p>11th day [Friday, June 3]. Learning tinkering in +dingle.</p> +<p><!-- page xvii--><a name="pagexvii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xvii</span>12th to 14th day [Saturday, June 4, +to Monday, June 6]. Tinkering in dingle. <a +name="citation0f"></a><a href="#footnote0f" +class="citation">[0f]</a></p> +<p>15th day [Tuesday, June 7]. Visited by Leonora.</p> +<p>16th day [Wednesday, June 8]. Collects kettles to +mend.</p> +<p>17th to 18th day [Thursday, June 9, to Friday, June 10]. +Uneventful.</p> +<p>19th day [Saturday, June 11]. Poisoned by Mrs. +Herne’s cake; saved by intervention of Welsh preacher and +his wife; travels with them by night.</p> +<p>20th day [Sunday, June 12]. Peter Williams preaches; +Borrow bathes; meets the dairyman’s daughter.</p> +<p>21st day [Monday, June 13]. Uneventful.</p> +<p>22nd day [Tuesday, June 14]. Peter promises to tell his +tale.</p> +<p>23rd to 24th day [Wednesday, June 15, to Thursday, June +16]. Uneventful.</p> +<p>25th day [Friday, June 17]. Peter tells his tale.</p> +<p>26th day [Saturday, June 18]. Peter tranquillized.</p> +<p>27th day [Sunday, June 19]. Peter preaches.</p> +<p>28th day [Monday, June 20]. Borrow talks of +departing.</p> +<p>29th day [Tuesday, June 21]. Accompanies preacher and +wife to Welsh border; meets Mr. Petulengro; returns with him; +parts near the Silent Woman; settles in Mumper’s +Dingle.</p> +<p>30th to 32nd day [Wednesday, June 22, to Friday, June +24]. Practises making horse-shoes.</p> +<p>33rd day [Saturday, June 25]. Succeeds (after four +days); at evening the horrors.</p> +<p>34th day [Sunday, June 26]. Better; reads Welsh +Bible.</p> +<p>35th day [Monday, June 27]. Uneventful.</p> +<p><!-- page xviii--><a name="pagexviii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xviii</span>36th day [Tuesday, June 28]. +Fight with Flaming Tinman; meets Isopel Berners, who remains in +dingle.</p> +<p>37th day [Wednesday, June 29]. Visits public-house +(landlord says fight took place day before); meets Man in Black; +gives Belle her first Armenian lesson; Man in Black visits +dingle.</p> +<p>38th to 40th day [Thursday, June 30, to Saturday, July +2]. Uneventful.</p> +<p>41st day [Sunday, July 3]. Landlord tells Borrow of +approaching cock-fight.</p> +<p>42nd to 43rd day [Monday, July 4, to Tuesday, July 5]. +Uneventful.</p> +<p>44th day [Wednesday, July 6]. The cock-fight.</p> +<p>45th to 47th day [Thursday, July 7, to Saturday, July +9]<i>. </i>Uneventful.</p> +<p>48th to 50th day [Sunday, July 10, to Tuesday, July 12]. +Landlord’s loss of cock-fight generally known.</p> +<p>51st day [Wednesday, July 13]. Landlord proposes fight +between Borrow and Belle.</p> +<p>52nd to 53rd day [Thursday, July 14, to Friday, July +15]. On one of these days Man in Black probably visits +dingle.</p> +<p>54th to 55th day [Saturday, July 16, to Sunday, July +17]. Uneventful.</p> +<p>56th day [Monday, July 18]. Thunderstorm; +postillion’s chaise overturned.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>End of</i> +‘<i>Lavengro</i>.’]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Note</span>.—The last twenty dates +are thus arrived at. There are two references to the lapse +of a fortnight since June 29, which was the date of +Borrow’s first visit to the public-house, and of +Belle’s first Armenian lesson. ‘In about a +fortnight Belle had hung up 100 Haikan numerals on the hake of +her memory;’ while the landlord, on the <!-- page xix--><a +name="pagexix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xix</span>occasion +when he suggests a fight between Borrow and Belle, complains that +Hunter calls <i>him </i>an old fool, whereas a fortnight ago it +was <i>he </i>who called Hunter a fool. The date, then, of +this last visit of Borrow’s to the public-house must have +been on or about July 13. The defeat of the +landlord’s game-cocks has been noised abroad for the past +three days (July 10, 11, 12), and since the landlord had referred +ten days before to the fact that the fight was about to come off +on the following Wednesday, it must have occurred on July +6. ‘One day’—not necessarily the 14th or +15th, but this date is unimportant—the Man in Black +revisits the dingle, and then follow three uneventful days, on +the last evening of which is the great thunderstorm (July +18). Henceforward the daily record is plain and +straightforward, and definitely fixed by the mention of the +Sunday on which Borrow and the gypsies attend the church of +M—.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>Beginning of</i> +‘<i>Romany Rye</i>.’]</p> +<p>57th day [Tuesday, July 19]. Makes linchpin; postillion +departs; evening, Man in Black.</p> +<p>58th day [Wednesday, July 20]. Arrival of gypsies; Belle +goes on short journey.</p> +<p>59th day [Thursday, July 21]. Gypsies feast at +Ursula’s wedding.</p> +<p>60th to 61st day [Friday, July 22, to Saturday, July +23]. Uneventful.</p> +<p>62nd day [Sunday, July 24]. Afternoon church at +M—; talk with Ursula under hedge; Belle returns at +night.</p> +<p>63rd day [Monday, July 25]. Landlord in despair; +evening, gypsies prepare for fair.</p> +<p>64th day [Tuesday, July 26]. Attends fair with gypsies; +last view of Belle; sees horse.</p> +<p><!-- page xx--><a name="pagexx"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xx</span>65th day [Wednesday, July 27]. Gypsies return from +fair.</p> +<p>66th to 67th day [Thursday, July 28, to Friday, July +29]. No Belle.</p> +<p>68th day [Saturday, July 30]. Belle’s letter; +Borrow sleeps soundly.</p> +<p>69th day [Sunday, July 31]. Landlord in luck; horse at +public-house; Petulengro lends Borrow £50.</p> +<p>70th day [Monday, August 1]. Buys horse.</p> +<p>71st day [Tuesday, August 2]. Leaves dingle; rescues old +man’s ass; puts up at small inn on the North Road.</p> +<p>72nd day [Wednesday, August 3]. Reaches posting house +[Swan Hotel, Stafford].</p> +<p>So far as we have proceeded the accuracy of this calculation +depends upon two dates only. Can we verify it by +establishing the truth of any of the events recorded by +Borrow? In reply to my enquiry whether the <i>Wolverhampton +Chronicle </i>contains any reference to a thunderstorm occurring +on July 18, Mr. J. Elliot, the city librarian replied by sending +me the following extract from that paper for Wednesday, July 20, +1825:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘On Monday afternoon [<i>i.e.</i>, July 18] +three men who were mowing in a field at the Limes, near +Seabridge, in this county, took shelter under the hedge from a +violent thunderstorm. They had not been long there before +one of them was struck with the electric fluid, causing his +immediate death. The other two men were a short distance +from the ill-fated man above mentioned, and were stunned about an +hour, but not injured further.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Again, Borrow mentions attending a horse and cattle fair, in +company with the gypsies, on the morning of the day when, looking +backward toward the dingle, he saw Isopel Berners for the last +time ‘standing at the mouth, <a name="citation0g"></a><a +href="#footnote0g" class="citation">[0g]</a> the <!-- page +xxi--><a name="pagexxi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxi</span>beams of the morning sun shining full on her noble face +and figure.’ It seems probable that this fair, which +took the party about two hours to reach, was the Tamworth horse +and cattle fair held on July 26.</p> +<p>Again, Borrow tells us that ‘a young moon gave a feeble +light,’ as he mounted the coach to Amesbury, and on May 24 +the moon <i>was </i>in its first quarter. <a +name="citation0h"></a><a href="#footnote0h" +class="citation">[0h]</a> The planet Jupiter, too, he could +have seen after 10 p.m. on June 3, but his reference to the +position of Ursus Major on the evening of his talk with Ursula is +less satisfactory. ‘On arriving at the mouth of the +dingle, which fronted the east, I perceived,’ says Borrow, +‘that Charles’s Wain was nearly opposite to it high +above in the heavens, by which I knew that the night was +tolerably well advanced.’ But on July 24, as I learn, +Charles’s Wain was in the N.W., and at midnight or 1 a.m. +lay nearly due north, and as low down in the sky as it could +be. This, however, is perhaps to consider too +closely. Indeed, the general accuracy of this part of +Borrow’s story renders it probable that it was expanded +from a brief diary kept at the time.</p> +<p>It will be seen that the dates thus arrived at differ from +those of Borrow’s biographer. According to Professor +Knapp, <a name="citation0i"></a><a href="#footnote0i" +class="citation">[0i]</a> Borrow visits Greenwich Fair on May 12, +1825, writes ‘Joseph Sell’ May 13 to 18, and disposes +of the MS. on the 20th; leaves London on the 22nd, reaches +Amesbury on the 23rd; leaves Salisbury May 26, and meets author +(man who touches) May 30. On May 31 he buys +Slingsby’s pony, is in dingle June 1, visited by Leonora on +the 5th, and drugged by Mrs. Herne on the 8th. He passes +Sunday, June 12, and the following week with Peter Williams and +his wife, on the 21st he sees <!-- page xxii--><a +name="pagexxii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxii</span>them to +the border, turns back with Petulengro and settles in +Mumpers’ Dingle. His fight with the Flaming Tinman, +Professor Knapp tells us, must have occurred about the end of +June. The Professor’s chronology, however, seems to +me derived from a calculation—not in itself over-exact <a +name="citation0j"></a><a href="#footnote0j" +class="citation">[0j]</a>—based upon the erroneous idea +that the fair took place on May 12. <a name="citation0k"></a><a +href="#footnote0k" class="citation">[0k]</a> This is +traceable to a statement in Thorpe <a name="citation0l"></a><a +href="#footnote0l" class="citation">[0l]</a> that ‘the fair +lasted as a “hog” and pleasure fair, and was held on +May 12 and October 11, till 1872’; but Thorpe here refers +to a later period, and there is no doubt that in 1825 the +Greenwich Fair was held on Whit-Monday, May 23.</p> +<p>Not the least interesting corollary from this correction is +the discovery that ‘that extraordinary work,’ the +‘Life of Joseph Sell,’ was never written. To me +Borrow’s insistent iteration of the bare statement that he +wrote such a book is in itself suspicious, and it <i>is </i>not a +little strange that a work for which ‘during the last few +months (before August, 1825) there has been a prodigious +demand’<a name="citation0m"></a><a href="#footnote0m" +class="citation">[0m]</a> should have entirely disappeared from +the face of the earth. The name ‘Sell,’ which +in some curious fashion seems to carry conviction to Professor +Knapp’s mind, <a name="citation0n"></a><a +href="#footnote0n" class="citation">[0n]</a> seems to me a +singularly inauspicious one, especially <!-- page xxiii--><a +name="pagexxiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxiii</span>when +coming from a writer who, like Pakomovna, was ‘born not far +from the sign of the gammon,’ and who boasts in his +appendix of having inserted deliberate misstatements in his books +in order to deceive and mislead his critics. <a +name="citation0o"></a><a href="#footnote0o" +class="citation">[0o]</a> But why should Borrow pretend to +have written this book? Chiefly, I think, to emphasize that +independence of character of which he so frequently boasts, and +which, after his marriage fifteen years later to a well-to-do +widow, he is perhaps a little apt to antedate. <a +name="citation0p"></a><a href="#footnote0p" +class="citation">[0p]</a> However Borrow obtained the money +which enabled him to leave London, it is plain that it was not by +writing ‘Joseph Sell’ at the time and in the manner +described. If he were in as desperate circumstances as he +represents, he probably accepted Mr. Petulengro’s offer, <a +name="citation0q"></a><a href="#footnote0q" +class="citation">[0q]</a> unless we are to suppose that he +imitated the methods of Jerry Abershaw, Galloping Dick, or some +of the ‘fraternity of vagabonds’ whose lives Borrow +had chronicled in his ‘Celebrated Trials.’</p> +<p>Borrow’s narrative after his arrival at Stafford becomes +<!-- page xxiv--><a name="pagexxiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxiv</span>dull, shadowy, and unconvincing—a strong +argument against its truth; for while Borrow easily lived the +life romantic, he seems to have lacked the power to imagine +it. He describes himself as accepting a somewhat +nondescript office at the posting-inn on the Great North Road, +where he remains for an undefined but considerable period, and +meets again with Francis Ardrey and the Rev. Mr. Platitude. +On leaving the inn he refuses to accept the landlord’s +offer of an honorarium of £10, and sets off with <i>his +</i>horse to Horncastle Fair. He meets with an accident a +day’s journey from his destination, which confines him for +eight days in the house of the old man who could read Chinese +crockery, but could not tell what was o’clock. +Ultimately he reaches Horncastle before the end of the fair, +sells his horse to Jack Dale the jockey, and journeys towards +Norwich, where we part with him at Spalding.</p> +<p>These statements are mutually irreconcilable. Horncastle +Fair was held from August 10 (the Feast of St. Lawrence) to +August 21, and had ‘just begun’ on the day following +his accident; but, as his journey lasted six days, this leaves no +time at all for his experiences at the inn, where he must have +stopped for some weeks, and apparently a much longer period, as +‘a kind of overlooker in the stables.’ If, on +the other hand, we allow even a fortnight for his stop at the +inn, for which £10 would be handsome payment, then he could +not have arrived at Horncastle before the end of the fair. +Which part of his story, if any, are we to accept?</p> +<p>The Stafford story is decidedly weak. Borrow, being no +fool, would not have journeyed north for two days on his road to +Horncastle, nor would Ardrey have taken coach to Stafford <i>en +route </i>for a lion fight at Warwick, which had taken place +several days before. Mr. Platitude’s reappearance is +extremely artificial, and the ostler’s <!-- page xxv--><a +name="pagexxv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxv</span>tales of +Abershaw and Co. are obviously reminiscences of Borrow’s +‘Celebrated Trials.’ But the Horncastle story +is weaker still. The ‘Lord’-Lieutenant, <i>so +</i>free and young,’ is pilloried, because eighteen years +afterwards <i>he </i>did not see <i>his </i>way to make Borrow a +J.P. (Who would?) Murtagh is introduced merely as a lay +figure, upon which to drape an inverted account of Borrow’s +own travels at a later period; and that very tedious gentleman, +the tall Hungarian, <i>is </i>a character, Professor Knapp tells +us, whom Borrow met in Hungary or Wallachia in 1884. It is +plain that at this point the whole story has become what Borrow +calls a ‘fakement.’</p> +<p>But that Borrow <i>did </i>buy a horse with money lent by +Petulengro, and sold it at a profit, we have some reason to +credit. Nearly ten years before Borrow wrote ‘The +Romany Rye,’ in the second edition of his +‘Zincali,’ published in 1843, he quotes a speech of +Mr. Petulengro’s ‘on the day after <i>mol-divvus</i>, +<a name="citation0r"></a><a href="#footnote0r" +class="citation">[0r]</a> 1842.’ ‘I am no +<i>hindity mush</i>, <a name="citation0s"></a><a +href="#footnote0s" class="citation">[0s]</a> as you well +know,’ says Jasper. ‘I suppose you have not +forgot, how, fifteen years ago, when you made horse-shoes in the +little dingle by the side of the Great North Road, I lent you +fifty <i>cottors</i> <a name="citation0t"></a><a +href="#footnote0t" class="citation">[0t]</a> to purchase the +wonderful trotting cob of the innkeeper with the green Newmarket +coat, which three days later you sold for two +hundred.’ This earlier version seems more probably +the true one, and since three days would find Borrow in Stafford, +it seems reasonable to conclude that he sold his horse there and +not in Lincolnshire. Personally, however, I must confess to +feeling little interest in the fate of the +animal—Belle’s donkey were a dearer object.</p> +<p>Mumpers’ Dingle might well become the Mecca of true +Borrovians, could we but determine the authentic spot. +Somewhere or other—who will find it for us?—in west +<!-- page xxvi--><a name="pagexxvi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxvi</span>central Shropshire <a name="citation0u"></a><a +href="#footnote0u" class="citation">[0u]</a> is a little roadside +inn called the Silent Woman; <a name="citation0v"></a><a +href="#footnote0v" class="citation">[0v]</a> a little further to +the east is a milestone on the left hand side, and a few yards +from the milestone the cross-road where Petulengro parted from +Borrow. Ten miles further still is a town, and five miles +from the town the famous dingle. Mr. Petulengro describes +it as ‘surprisingly dreary’; ‘a deep dingle in +the midst of a large field about which there has been a law-suit +for some years past; the nearest town five miles distant, and +only a few huts and hedge public-houses in the +neighbourhood;’ <a name="citation0w"></a><a +href="#footnote0w" class="citation">[0w]</a> and Borrow speaks of +it as ‘a deep hollow in the midst of a wide field; the +shelving sides overgrown with trees and bushes, a belt of sallows +surrounding it on the top, and a steep winding path leading down +into the depths.’ <a name="citation0x"></a><a +href="#footnote0x" class="citation">[0x]</a> It was +surrounded by a copse of thorn bushes, <a +name="citation0y"></a><a href="#footnote0y" +class="citation">[0y]</a> and the mouth of the dingle fronted the +east, <a name="citation0z"></a><a href="#footnote0z" +class="citation">[0z]</a> while the highroad lay too far distant +for the noise of traffic to reach Borrow’s ears. <a +name="citation0z1"></a><a href="#footnote0z1" +class="citation">[0z1]</a></p> +<p>Professor Knapp has located the dingle in Monmer Lane, +Willenhall, and a visit to the locality and references to old and +new ordnance surveys support this view. Willenhall lies in +the coal measures of Staffordshire, and the modern development of +its coal and iron industries has transformed the ‘few huts +and hedge public-houses’ into a thriving town of about +17,000 inhabitants. The name of ‘Mumpers’ +Dingle’ did not seem to be locally recognised, and, indeed, +was scornfully repudiated by the oldest inhabitant; but this may +have been merely his revenge for my intrusion just about his +dinner hour. But Monmer Lane, still pronounced and in the +older ordnance surveys written ‘Mumber Lane,’ is +known to all. At the <!-- page xxvii--><a +name="pagexxvii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxvii</span>top of +this lane on the east side of the bridge lies the ‘Monmer +Lane Ironworks,’ which Professor Knapp, a little +carelessly, assumes to have been the site of the dingle; <a +name="citation0z2"></a><a href="#footnote0z2" +class="citation">[0z2]</a> and to the west a large flat, bare, +uncultivated piece of land, Borrow’s ‘plain,’ +cut in two by the Bentley Canal, which runs through it east and +west. A walk of 500 yards along the tow-path brings us to a +small bridge crossing the canal. This is known as +‘Dingle Bridge,’ the little hawthorn-girt lane +leading to it is called ‘Dingle Lane,’ and a field +opposite bears the name of ‘Dingle Piece.’ The +dingle itself has disappeared, possibly as a consequence of +levelling operations in the construction of the canal, and must +not be hastily identified by the pilgrim with the adjoining +marl-pit, which has been excavated still more recently. But +we can hardly doubt that somewhere hereabouts is the historic +spot where Borrow fought and vanquished the Flaming Tinman, that +here he lived with Miss Berners ‘in an uncertificated +manner,’ that under an adjoining thorn-bush he held his +astounding conversation with Ursula, and that from here, wearied +of her companion’s frigid regard and strange bantering, +poor Isopel turned away with her little donkey-cart and a heavy +heart.</p> +<p>The public-house kept by the landlord in the green Newmarket +coat, who was ‘the wonder and glory of the +neighbourhood,’ and who had fought and beaten ‘Tom of +Hopton,’ is still standing, though it is no longer used as +an inn, and the pious Borrovian must abandon any hopes he may +have cherished of drinking to the Lavengro’s memory in +‘hard old ale.’ A quaint old ‘half-way +house,’ it lies, as Borrow describes, about two miles east +<!-- page xxviii--><a name="pagexxviii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxviii</span>of the dingle—he saw the +setting sun as he returned from his frequent visits +there—on the right-hand side of the highroad to Walsall, +along which the brewer proposed to establish ‘a stage-coach +and three to run across the country’, and a little nearer +Willenhall, on the north side of the road, is Bentley Hall, the +‘hall’ from which the postillion must have been +returning when overtaken by the thunderstorm. The church +attended by Borrow and his gypsy friends, when Mrs. Petulengro +horrified the sexton by invading the nobleman’s vacant pew, +may confidently be identified with Bushbury Church, which has all +the features described by Borrow. It is rather over three +miles’ distance from the dingle, has a peal of bells, a +chancel entrance, and is surrounded by lofty beech-trees. +The vicar in 1825 was a Mr. Clare, but whether of evangelical +views and a widower with two daughters, the present vicar is +unable to inform me. ‘The clergyman of M—, as +they call him,’ probably took his name from Moseley Court +or Moseley Hall, country seats in the parish of Bushbury.</p> +<p>It is as a contribution to philology, Borrow tells us in the +Appendix, that he wishes ‘Lavengro’ and this book to +be judged. Fortunately for himself, his fame rests upon +surer foundations. A great but careless linguist, Borrow +was assuredly no philologist. ‘Hair-erecting’ +(<i>haarsträubend</i>) is the fitting epithet which an +Oriental scholar, Professor Richard Pischel, of Berlin, finds to +describe Borrow’s etymologies; while Pott, in quoting from +the ‘Zincali,’ indicates his horror by notes of +exclamation; or, when Borrow once in a way hits on the right +etymon, confirms the statement with an ironical ‘Ganz +recht!’ Though Borrow had read Borde, it was reserved +for a Viennese scholar, Dr. Zupitza, to discover that the +specimens of ‘Egipt speche,’ in our original +Merry-Andrew’s ‘Boke of Knowledge,’ were in +reality good <!-- page xxix--><a name="pagexxix"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxix</span>Anglo-Romany. And whatever +may have been Lavengro’s vaunted acquaintance with +Armenian, it was apparently insufficient to enable him to +identify any of the Armenian elements in the gypsy language.</p> +<p>Touching Borrow’s knowledge of Romani, it must be +confessed that while he has been the means of attracting others +to the study of that interesting tongue, his own command of it +was of the slightest. He never mastered ‘deep’ +(or inflected) Romani, and even his broken gypsy is a curious +Borrovian variety, distinct from the idiom of the tents. No +gypsy ever uses <i>chal </i>or <i>engro </i>as a separate word, +or talks of the <i>dukkering dook </i>or <i>of penning a +dukkerin</i>. His genders are perversely incorrect, as in +the title of the present book; and his ‘Romano Lavo-Lil: +Word Book of the Romany or English Gypsy Language’ probably +contains more ‘howlers’ than any other vocabulary in +the world. He is responsible for the creation of such +ghost-words as <i>asarlas</i>, ‘at all, in no manner’ +(mistaking <i>helpasar les </i>for <i>help asarlas</i>, pp 18, +110); <i>cappi</i>, ‘booty, gain’ (<i>to lel +cappi</i>, pp 28, 176 = ‘to get blankets’); +<i>ebyok</i>, ‘sea’ (? the gypsy questioned, +mishearing ‘ebb-eye’ for ‘ebb-tide’); +<i>is</i>, ‘if,’ p. 51; <i>kokkodus</i>, +‘uncle’ (perhaps mistaking some such phrase as +‘like my <i>koko </i>does’ for ‘like my +<i>kokkodus</i>’); <i>lutherum</i>, ‘sleep’; +<i>medisin</i>, ‘measure’ (perhaps because medicine +is measured out); <i>moskey</i>, ‘a spy’ (? mistaking +<i>dikamaski </i>for <i>dik</i>! <i>a moskey)</i>; <i>o</i>, +‘he’ (mistaking <i>kai jivela </i>for <i>kai jivvel +o</i>, p. 53); <i>pahamengro</i>, ‘turnip’ (probably +mistaking <i>pusamengro</i>, ‘pitchfork,’ for the +turnip it was used to uproot); <i>pazorrhus</i>, +‘indebted’ = ‘trust us’); <i>pios</i>, +‘drunken as a health’ (<i>aukko tu</i> [<i>to</i>] +<i>pios</i>, p. 78 = ‘here’s fun’); <i>sar</i>, +‘with’; <i>sherrafo</i>, ‘religious, +converted,’ pp. 89, 194 (really ‘chief, +principal,’ from <i>shero</i>, ‘head’); +<i>sicovar</i>, ‘eternally’ (<i>si covar ajaw</i>, p. +90 = ‘so the thing is’); <i>sos</i>, +‘who’ (= ‘what’s’); <i>talleno</i>, +‘woollen, flannel’ (mistaking <i>talleno chofa</i>, +p. 93, ‘under-skirt’ <!-- page xxx--><a +name="pagexxx"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxx</span>for +‘flannel petticoat’), etc. Perhaps the most +amusing instance of all is the word <i>hinjiri </i>in +‘Lavengro.’ When Mrs. Herne hanged herself, +Petulengro says that she ‘had been her own +<i>hinjiri</i>,’ <a name="citation0z3"></a><a +href="#footnote0z3" class="citation">[0z3]</a> and the word is +explained by Professor Knapp as the feminine of +<i>hinjiró</i>, ‘executioner,’ from +<i>djandjir</i>, ‘a chain.’ <a +name="citation0z4"></a><a href="#footnote0z4" +class="citation">[0z4]</a> But there <i>is </i>no +such word as <i>hinjero</i>, and <i>hinjiri </i>is merely the +English ‘injury’ with a superfluous aspirate.</p> +<p>On the Sunday evening after his conversation with Ursula, +Borrow, moved by his discovery of the original meaning of the +gypsy word <i>patteran</i>, falls into a strange train of +thought. ‘No one at present,’ he says, +‘knew that but myself and Ursula, who had learnt it from +Mrs. Herne, the last, it was said, of the old stock; and then I +thought what strange people the gypsies must have been in the old +time. They were sufficiently strange at present, but they +must have been far stranger of old; they must have been a more +peculiar people—their language must have been more +perfect—and they must have had a greater stock of strange +secrets. I almost wished that I had lived some two or three +hundred years ago, that I might have observed these people when +they were yet stranger than at present. I wondered whether +I could have introduced myself to their company at that period, +whether I should have been so fortunate as to meet such a +strange, half-malicious, half good-humoured being as Jasper, who +would have instructed me in the language, then more deserving of +note than at present. What might I not have done with that +language had I known it in its purity? Why, I might have +written books in it! Yet those who spoke it would hardly +have admitted me to their society at that period, when they kept +more to <!-- page xxxi--><a name="pagexxxi"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxxi</span>themselves. Yet I thought +that I might possibly have gained their confidence, and have +wandered about with them, and learnt their language and all their +strange ways, and then—and then—and a sigh rose from +the depth of my breast; for I began to think, “Supposing I +had accomplished all this, what would have been the profit of it? +and in what would all this wild gypsy dream have +terminated?”’</p> +<p>It is one of the ironies of fate that Borrow, neither then nor +thirty years later, when he made his pedestrian tour through +Wales, should have known that there was still in that country a +gypsy tribe who <i>had </i>preserved the language of two or three +hundred years ago. He might have met gypsies who had spoken +to that Romani patriarch Abram Wood; he might have told us the +origin of the mysterious Ingrams, for one of whom he was himself +mistaken; <a name="citation0z5"></a><a href="#footnote0z5" +class="citation">[0z5]</a> he might have learned from Black Ellen +some of the three hundred folk-tales with which she is credited; +he might have sat at the feet of that fairy witch Alabina the +<i>Melení</i>, or have described ‘Taw’ as a +girl in her teens. We may sigh for the pictures which the +word-master would have given us of this people, but the sigh is +almost one of relief when we think of the escape of the exquisite +tongue which Borrow would have tortured and defaced, and I, for +one, cannot pretend to regret that the discovery of Welsh Romani +should have fallen instead to the lot of that perfect +scholar-gypsy and gypsy-scholar, <span class="smcap">Francis +Hindes Groome</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Note</span>.—The page references to +‘Lavengro’ in the foot-notes are to F. H. +Groome’s edition published in this series; references to +‘Romano Lavo-Lil’ and ‘Wild Wales’ are to +the original editions. Borrow’s own foot-notes are +marked (G. B.), and facts quoted on Professor Knapp’s +authority (Kn.).</p> +<h2><!-- page xxxiii--><a name="pagexxxiii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxxiii</span>ADVERTISEMENT</h2> +<p>It having been frequently stated in print that the book called +‘Lavengro’ was got up expressly against the Popish +agitation in the years 1850-51, the author takes this opportunity +of saying that the principal part of that book was written in the +year ’43, that the whole of it was completed before the +termination of the year ’46, and that it was in the hands +of the publisher in the year ’48. <a +name="citation0z6"></a><a href="#footnote0z6" +class="citation">[0z6]</a> And here he cannot forbear +observing, that it was the duty of that publisher to have +rebutted a statement which he knew to be a calumny; and also to +have set the public right on another point dealt with in the +Appendix to the present work, more especially as he was the +proprietor of a review enjoying, however undeservedly, a certain +sale and reputation.</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘But +take your own part, boy!<br /> +For if you don’t, no one will take it for you.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>With respect to ‘Lavengro,’ the author feels that +he has no reason to be ashamed of it. In writing that book +he did his duty, by pointing out to his country-people the +nonsense which, to the greater part of them, is as the breath of +their nostrils, and which, if indulged in, as it <!-- page +xxxiv--><a name="pagexxxiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxxiv</span>probably will be, to the same extent as hitherto, +will, within a very few years, bring the land which he most loves +beneath a foreign yoke; he does not here allude to the yoke of +Rome.</p> +<p>Instead of being ashamed, has he not rather cause to be proud +of a book which has had the honour of being rancorously abused +and execrated by the very people of whom the country has least +reason to be proud?</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p><!-- page xxxv--><a name="pagexxxv"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxxv</span>One day Cogia Efendy went to a +bridal festival. The masters of the feast, observing his +old and coarse apparel, paid him no consideration whatever. +The Cogia saw that he had no chance of notice; so going out, he +hurried to his house, and, putting on a splendid pelisse, +returned to the place of festival. No sooner did he enter +the door than the masters advanced to meet him, and saying, +‘Welcome, Cogia Efendy,’ with all imaginable honour +and reverence, placed him at the head of the table, and said, +‘Please to eat, Lord Cogia.’ Forthwith the +Cogia, taking hold of one of the furs of his pelisse, said, +‘Welcome, my pelisse; please to eat, my lord.’ +The masters, looking at the Cogia with great surprise, said, +‘What are you about?’ Whereupon the Cogia +replied, ‘As it is quite evident that all the honour paid +is paid to my pelisse, I think it ought to have some food +too.’—<span class="smcap">Pleasantries of the Cogia +Nasr Eddin Efendi</span>.</p> +<h2><!-- page 1--><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +1</span>CHAPTER I</h2> +<p>THE MAKING OF THE LINCH-PIN—THE SOUND +SLEEPER—BREAKFAST—THE POSTILLION’S +DEPARTURE</p> +<p>I awoke at the first break of day, and, leaving the postillion +fast asleep, stepped out of the tent. The dingle was dank +and dripping. I lighted a fire of coals and got my forge in +readiness. I then ascended to the field, where the chaise +was standing as we had left it on the previous evening. +After looking at the cloud-stone near it, now cold, and split +into three pieces, I set about prying narrowly into the condition +of the wheel and axle-tree—the latter had sustained no +damage of any consequence, and the wheel, as far as I was able to +judge, was sound, being only slightly injured in the box. +The only thing requisite to set the chaise in a travelling +condition appeared to be a linch-pin, which I determined to +make. Going to the companion wheel, I took out the +linch-pin, which I carried down with me to the dingle, to serve +me as a model.</p> +<p>I found Belle by this time dressed, and seated near the forge: +with a slight nod to her like that which a person gives who +happens to see an acquaintance when his mind is occupied with +important business, I forthwith set about my work. +Selecting a piece of iron which I thought would serve my purpose, +I placed it in the fire, and, plying the bellows in a furious +manner, soon made it hot; then seizing it with the tongs, I laid +it on my anvil, and began to beat it with my hammer, according to +the rules of my art. The dingle resounded with my +strokes. Belle sat still, and occasionally smiled, but <!-- +page 2--><a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +2</span>suddenly started up, and retreated towards her +encampment, on a spark, which I purposely sent in her direction, +alighting on her knee. I found the making of a linch-pin no +easy matter; it was, however, less difficult than the fabrication +of a pony-shoe; my work, indeed, was much facilitated by my +having another pin to look at. In about three-quarters of +an hour I had succeeded tolerably well, and had produced a +linch-pin which I thought would serve. During all this +time, notwithstanding the noise which I was making, the +postillion never showed his face. His non-appearance at +first alarmed me: I was afraid he might be dead, but, on looking +into the tent, I found him still buried in the soundest +sleep. ‘He must surely be descended from one of the +seven sleepers,’ said I, as I turned away and resumed my +work. My work finished, I took a little oil, leather, and +sand, and polished the pin as well as I could; then, summoning +Belle, we both went to the chaise, where, with her assistance, I +put on the wheel. The linch-pin which I had made fitted its +place very well, and having replaced the other, I gazed at the +chaise for some time with my heart full of that satisfaction +which results from the consciousness of having achieved a great +action; then, after looking at Belle in the hope of obtaining a +compliment from her lips, which did not come, I returned to the +dingle, without saying a word, followed by her. Belle set +about making preparations for breakfast; and I, taking the +kettle, went and filled it at the spring. Having hung it +over the fire, I went to the tent in which the postillion was +still sleeping, and called upon him to arise. He awoke with +a start, and stared around him at first with the utmost surprise, +not unmixed, I could observe, with a certain degree of +fear. At last, looking in my face, he appeared to recollect +himself. ‘I had quite forgot,’ said he, as he +got up, ‘where I was, and all that happened +yesterday. However, I remember now the whole +affair—thunder-storm, thunder-bolt, frightened horses, and +all your kindness. Come, I must see after my coach and +horses. I hope we shall be able to repair the +damage.’ ‘The damage is already quite +repaired,’ said I, ‘as you will see, if you come to +the field above.’ ‘You don’t say +so,’ said the postillion, coming out of the tent; +‘well, I am mightily beholden to you. Good morning, +young gentlewoman,’ said he, addressing Belle, who, having +finished her preparations, <!-- page 3--><a +name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>was seated near +the fire. ‘Good-morning, young man,’ said +Belle, ‘I suppose you would be glad of some breakfast; +however, you must wait a little, the kettle does not +boil.’ ‘Come and look at your chaise,’ +said I; ‘but tell me how it happened that the noise which I +have been making did not awake you; for three-quarters of an hour +at least I was hammering close at your ear.’ ‘I +heard you all the time,’ said the postillion, ‘but +your hammering made me sleep all the sounder; I am used to hear +hammering in my morning sleep. There’s a forge close +by the room where I sleep when I’m at home, at my inn; for +we have all kinds of conveniences at my inn—forge, +carpenter’s shop, and wheelwright’s—so that +when I heard you hammering, I thought, no doubt, that it was the +old noise, and that I was comfortable in my bed at my own +inn.’ We now ascended to the field, where I showed +the postillion his chaise. He looked at the pin +attentively, rubbed his hands, and gave a loud laugh. +‘Is it not well done?’ said I. ‘It will +do till I get home,’ he replied. ‘And that is +all you have to say?’ I demanded. ‘And +that’s a good deal,’ said he, ‘considering who +made it. But don’t be offended,’ he added, +‘I shall prize it all the more for its being made by a +gentleman, and no blacksmith; and so will my governor, when I +show it to him. I shan’t let it remain where it is, +but will keep it, as a remembrance of you, as long as I +live.’ He then again rubbed his hands with great +glee, and said, ‘I will now go and see after my horses, and +then to breakfast, partner, if you please.’ Suddenly, +however, looking at his hands, he said, ‘Before sitting +down to breakfast, I am in the habit of washing my hands and +face: I suppose you could not furnish me with a little soap and +water.’ ‘As much water as you please,’ +said I, ‘but if you want soap, I must go and trouble the +young gentlewoman for some.’ ‘By no +means,’ said the postillion, ‘water will do at a +pinch.’ ‘Follow me,’ said I, and leading +him to the pond of the frogs and newts, I said, ‘this is my +ewer; you are welcome to part of it—the water is so soft +that it is scarcely necessary to add soap to it;’ then +lying down on the bank, I plunged my head into the water, then +scrubbed my hands and face, and afterwards wiped them with some +long grass which grew on the margin of the pond. +‘Bravo,’ said the postillion, ‘I see you know +how to make a shift:’ he then followed my <!-- page 4--><a +name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 4</span>example, +declared he never felt more refreshed in his life, and, giving a +bound, said, ‘he would go and look after his +horses.’</p> +<p>We then went to look after the horses, which we found not much +the worse for having spent the night in the open air. My +companion again inserted their heads in the corn-bags, and, +leaving the animals to discuss their corn, returned with me to +the dingle, where we found the kettle boiling. We sat down, +and Belle made tea and did the honours of the meal. The +postillion was in high spirits, ate heartily, and, to +Belle’s evident satisfaction, declared that he had never +drank better tea in his life, or indeed any half so good. +Breakfast over, he said that he must now go and harness his +horses, as it was high time for him to return to his inn. +Belle gave him her hand and wished him farewell: the postillion +shook her hand warmly, and was advancing close up to +her—for what purpose I cannot say—whereupon Belle, +withdrawing her hand, drew herself up with an air which caused +the postillion to retreat a step or two with an exceedingly +sheepish look. Recovering himself, however, he made a low +bow, and proceeded up the path. I attended him, and helped +to harness his horses and put them to the vehicle; he then shook +me by the hand, and taking the reins and whip mounted to his +seat; ere he drove away he thus addressed me: ‘If ever I +forget your kindness and that of the young woman below, dash my +buttons. If ever either of you should enter my inn you may +depend upon a warm welcome, the best that can be set before you, +and no expense to either, for I will give both of you the best of +characters to the governor, who is the very best fellow upon all +the road. As for your linch-pin, I trust it will serve till +I get home, when I will take it out and keep it in remembrance of +you all the days of my life:’ then giving the horses a jerk +with his reins, he cracked his whip and drove off.</p> +<p>I returned to the dingle, Belle had removed the breakfast +things, and was busy in her own encampment: nothing occurred, +worthy of being related, for two hours, at the end of which time +Belle departed on a short expedition, and I again found myself +alone in the dingle.</p> +<h2><!-- page 5--><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +5</span>CHAPTER II</h2> +<p>THE MAN IN BLACK—THE EMPEROR OF +GERMANY—NEPOTISM—DONNA +OLYMPIA—OMNIPOTENCE—CAMILLO ASTALLI—THE FIVE +PROPOSITIONS</p> +<p>In the evening I received another visit from the man in +black. I had been taking a stroll in the neighbourhood, and +was sitting in the dingle in rather a listless manner, scarcely +knowing how to employ myself; his coming, therefore, was by no +means disagreeable to me. I produced the hollands and glass +from my tent, where Isopel Berners had requested me to deposit +them, and also some lump sugar, then taking the gotch <a +name="citation5a"></a><a href="#footnote5a" +class="citation">[5a]</a> I fetched water from the spring, and, +sitting down, begged the man in black to help himself; he was not +slow in complying with my desire, and prepared for himself a +glass of hollands and water with a lump of sugar in it. +After he had taken two or three sips with evident satisfaction, +I, remembering his chuckling exclamation of ‘Go to Rome for +money,’ when he last left the dingle, took the liberty, +after a little conversation, of reminding him of it, whereupon, +with a he! he! he! he replied, ‘Your idea was not quite so +original as I supposed. After leaving you the other night I +remembered having read of an Emperor of Germany who conceived the +idea of applying to Rome for money, and actually put it into +practice.</p> +<p>‘Urban the Eighth then occupied the papal chair, of the +family of the Barbarini, <a name="citation5b"></a><a +href="#footnote5b" class="citation">[5b]</a> nicknamed the +Mosche, or Flies, from the circumstance of bees being their +armorial bearing. The Emperor having exhausted all his +money in endeavouring to defend the church against Gustavus +Adolphus, the great King of Sweden, who was bent on its +destruction, applied in his necessity to the Pope for a loan of +money. The Pope, however, and his relations, whose cellars +were at that time full of the money of the church, which they had +been plundering for years, refused to lend him a scudo; whereupon +a pasquinade picture was stuck up at Rome, representing the +church lying on a bed, gashed with dreadful wounds, and beset all +over with <!-- page 6--><a name="page6"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 6</span>flies, which were sucking her, whilst +the Emperor of Germany was kneeling before her with a miserable +face requesting a little money towards carrying on the war +against the heretics, to which the poor church was made to say: +“How can I assist you, O my champion, do you not see that +the flies have sucked me to the very bones?” Which +story,’ said he, ‘shows that the idea of going to +Rome for money was not quite so original as I imagined the other +night, though utterly preposterous.</p> +<p>‘This affair,’ said he, ‘occurred in what +were called the days of nepotism. Certain Popes, who wished +to make themselves in some degree independent of the cardinals, +surrounded themselves with their nephews, and the rest of their +family, who sucked the church and Christendom as much as they +could, none doing so more effectually than the relations of Urban +the Eighth, at whose death, according to the book called the +“Nipotismo di Roma,” <a name="citation6a"></a><a +href="#footnote6a" class="citation">[6a]</a> there were in the +Barbarini family two hundred and twenty-seven governments, +abbeys, and high dignities; and so much hard cash in their +possession that threescore and ten mules were scarcely sufficient +to convey the plunder of one of them to Palestrina.’ +He added, however, that it was probable that Christendom fared +better whilst the Popes were thus independent, as it was less +sucked, whereas before and after that period, it was sucked by +hundreds instead of tens, by the cardinals and all their +relations, instead of by the Pope and his nephews only.</p> +<p>Then, after drinking rather copiously of his hollands, he said +that it was certainly no bad idea of the Popes to surround +themselves with nephews, on whom they bestowed great church +dignities, as by so doing they were tolerably safe from poison, +whereas a Pope, if abandoned to the cardinals, might at any time +be made away with by them, provided they thought that he lived +too long, or that he seemed disposed to do anything which they +disliked; adding that Ganganelli <a name="citation6b"></a><a +href="#footnote6b" class="citation">[6b]</a> would never have +been poisoned provided he had had nephews about him to take care +of his life, and to see that nothing unholy was put into his +food, or a bustling, stirring brother’s wife like Donna +Olympia. He then, with a he! he! he! asked me if I had ever +read the book called the ‘Nipotismo di <!-- page 7--><a +name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span>Roma,’ +and on my replying in the negative, he told me that it was a very +curious and entertaining book, which he occasionally looked at in +an idle hour, and proceeded to relate to me anecdotes out of the +‘Nipotismo di Roma,’ about the successor of Urban, +Innocent the Tenth, and Donna Olympia, showing how fond he was of +her, and how she cooked his food, and kept the cardinals away +from it, and how she and her creatures plundered Christendom, +with the sanction of the Pope, until Christendom, becoming +enraged, insisted that he should put her away, which he did for a +time, putting a nephew—one Camillo Astalli—in her +place, in which, however, he did not continue long; for the Pope, +conceiving a pique against him, banished him from his sight, and +recalled Donna Olympia, who took care of his food, and plundered +Christendom until Pope Innocent died.</p> +<p>I said that I only wondered that between Pope and cardinals +the whole system of Rome had not long fallen to the ground, and +was told in reply that its not having fallen was the strongest +proof of its vital power, and the absolute necessity for the +existence of the system. That the system, notwithstanding +its occasional disorders, went on. Popes and cardinals +might prey upon its bowels, and sell its interests, but the +system survived. The cutting off of this or that member was +not able to cause Rome any vital loss; for, as soon as she lost a +member, the loss was supplied by her own inherent vitality; +though her Popes had been poisoned by cardinals, and her +cardinals by Popes, and though priests occasionally poisoned +Popes, cardinals and each other, after all that had been and +might be, she had still, and would ever have, her priests, +cardinals, and pope.</p> +<p>Finding the man in black so communicative and reasonable, I +determined to make the best of my opportunity, and learn from him +all I could with respect to the papal system, and told him that +he would particularly oblige me by telling me who the Pope of +Rome was, and received for answer that he was an old man elected +by a majority of cardinals to the papal chair; who, immediately +after his election, became omnipotent and equal to God on +earth. On my begging him not to talk such nonsense, and +asking him how a person could be omnipotent who could not always +preserve himself from poison, even when fenced round by nephews, +or protected by a <!-- page 8--><a name="page8"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 8</span>bustling woman, he, after taking a +long sip of hollands and water, told me that I must not expect +too much from omnipotence. For example, that as it would be +unreasonable to expect that One above could annihilate the +past—for instance, the Seven Years’ War, or the +French Revolution—though anyone who believed in Him would +acknowledge Him to be omnipotent, so would it be unreasonable for +the faithful to expect that the Pope could always guard himself +from poison. Then, after looking at me for a moment +stedfastly and taking another sip, he told me that Popes had +frequently done impossibilities. For example, Innocent the +Tenth had created a nephew; for, not liking particularly any of +his real nephews, he had created the said Camillo Astalli his +nephew; asking me, with a he! he! ‘What but omnipotence +could make a young man nephew to a person to whom he was not in +the slightest degree related?’ On my observing that +of course no one believed that the young fellow was really the +Pope’s nephew, though the Pope might have adopted him as +such, the man in black replied, ‘that the reality of the +nephewship of Camillo Astalli had hitherto never become a point +of faith; let, however, the present Pope, or any other Pope, +proclaim that it is necessary to believe in the reality of the +nephewship of Camillo Astalli, and see whether the faithful would +not believe in it. Who can doubt that,’ he added, +‘seeing that they believe in the reality of the five +propositions of Jansenius? The Jesuits, wishing to ruin the +Jansenists, induced a Pope to declare that such and such damnable +opinions, which they called five propositions, were to be found +in a book written by Jansen, though in reality no such +propositions were to be found there; whereupon the existence of +these propositions became forthwith a point of faith to the +faithful. Do you then think,’ he demanded, +‘that there is one of the faithful who would not swallow, +if called upon, the nephewship of Camillo Astalli as easily as +the five propositions of Jansenius?’ ‘Surely, +then,’ said I, ‘the faithful must be a pretty pack of +simpletons!’ Whereupon the man in black exclaimed, +‘What! a Protestant, and an infringer of the rights of +faith! Here’s a fellow who would feel himself +insulted if anyone were to ask him how he could believe in the +miraculous conception, calling people simpletons who swallow the +five propositions of Jansenius, and are <!-- page 9--><a +name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>disposed, if +called upon, to swallow the reality of the nephewship of Camillo +Astalli.’</p> +<p>I was about to speak when I was interrupted by the arrival of +Belle. After unharnessing her donkey and adjusting her +person a little, she came and sat down by us. In the +meantime I had helped my companion to some more hollands and +water, and had plunged with him into yet deeper discourse.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<p>NECESSITY OF RELIGION—THE GREAT INDIAN +ONE—IMAGE-WORSHIP—SHAKESPEARE—THE PAT +ANSWER—KRISHNA—AMEN</p> +<p>Having told the man in black that I should like to know all +the truth with regard to the Pope and his system, he assured me +he should be delighted to give me all the information in his +power; that he had come to the dingle, not so much for the sake +of the good cheer which I was in the habit of giving him, as in +the hope of inducing me to enlist under the banners of Rome, and +to fight in her cause; and that he had no doubt that, by speaking +out frankly to me, he ran the best chance of winning me over.</p> +<p>He then proceeded to tell me that the experience of countless +ages had proved the necessity of religion; the necessity, he +would admit, was only for simpletons, but as nine-tenths of the +dwellers upon this earth were simpletons, it would never do for +sensible people to run counter to their folly, but, on the +contrary, it was their wisest course to encourage them in it, +always provided that, by so doing, sensible people could derive +advantage; that the truly sensible people of this world were the +priests, who, without caring a straw for religion for its own +sake, made use of it as a cord by which to draw the simpletons +after them; that there were many religions in this world, all of +which had been turned to excellent account by the priesthood; but +that the one the best adapted for the purposes of priestcraft was +the popish, which, he said, was the oldest in the world and the +best calculated to endure. On my inquiring what he meant by +saying the popish religion was the oldest in the world, whereas +there <!-- page 10--><a name="page10"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 10</span>could be no doubt that the Greek and +Roman religion had existed long before it, to say nothing of the +old Indian religion still in existence and vigour, he said, with +a nod, after taking a sip at his glass, that, between me and him, +the popish religion, that of Greece and Rome, and the old Indian +system were, in reality, one and the same.</p> +<p>‘You told me that you intended to be frank,’ said +I, ‘but, however frank you may be, I think you are rather +wild.’</p> +<p>‘We priests of Rome,’ said the man in black, +‘even those amongst us who do not go much abroad, know a +great deal about church matters, of which you heretics have very +little idea. Those of our brethren of the Propaganda, on +their return home from distant missions, not unfrequently tell us +very strange things relating to our dear mother: for example, our +first missionaries to the East were not slow in discovering and +telling to their brethren that our religion and the great Indian +one were identical, no more difference between them than between +Ram and Rome. Priests, convents, beads, prayers, +processions, fastings, penances, all the same, not forgetting +anchorites, and vermin, he! he! The Pope they found under +the title of the Grand Lama, a sucking child surrounded by an +immense number of priests. Our good brethren, some two +hundred years ago, had a hearty laugh, which their successors +have often re-echoed; they said that helpless suckling and its +priests put them so much in mind of their own old man, surrounded +by his cardinals, he! he! Old age is second +childhood.’</p> +<p>‘Did they find Christ?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘They found him too,’ said the man in black, +‘that is, they saw His image; He is considered in India as +a pure kind of being, and on that account, perhaps, is kept there +rather in the back-ground, even as He is here.’</p> +<p>‘All this is very mysterious to me,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Very likely,’ said the man in black; ‘but +of this I am tolerably sure, and so are most of those of Rome, +that modern Rome had its religion from ancient Rome, which had +its religion from the East.’</p> +<p>‘But how?’ I demanded.</p> +<p>‘It was brought about, I believe, by the wanderings of +nations,’ said the man in black. ‘A brother of +the Propaganda, a very learned man, once told me—I do not +<!-- page 11--><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +11</span>mean Mezzofanti, who has not five ideas—this +brother once told me that all we of the Old World, from Calcutta +to Dublin, are of the same stock, and were originally of the same +language, and—’</p> +<p>‘All of one religion,’ I put in.</p> +<p>‘All of one religion,’ said the man in black; +‘and now follow different modifications of the same +religion.’</p> +<p>‘We Christians are not image-worshippers,’ said +I.</p> +<p>‘You heretics are not, you mean,’ said the man in +black; ‘but you will be put down, just as you have always +been, though others may rise up after you; the true religion is +image-worship; people may strive against it, but they will only +work themselves to an oil; how did it fare with that Greek +Emperor, the Iconoclast, what was his name, Leon the +Isaurian? Did not his image-breaking cost him Italy, the +fairest province of his empire, and did not ten fresh images +start up at home for every one which he demolished? Oh! you +little know the craving which the soul sometimes feels after a +good bodily image.’</p> +<p>‘I have indeed no conception of it,’ said I; +‘I have an abhorrence of idolatry—the idea of bowing +before a graven figure.’</p> +<p>‘The idea, indeed,’ said Belle, who had now joined +us.</p> +<p>‘Did you never bow before that of Shakespeare?’ +said the man in black, addressing himself to me, after a low bow +to Belle.</p> +<p>‘I don’t remember that I ever did,’ said I, +‘but even suppose I did?’</p> +<p>‘Suppose you did,’ said the man in black: +‘shame on you, Mr. Hater of Idolatry; why the very +supposition brings you to the ground; you must make figures of +Shakespeare, must you? then why not of St. Antonio, or Ignacio, +or of a greater personage still? I know what you are going +to say,’ he cried, interrupting me as I was about to +speak. ‘You don’t make his image in order to +pay it Divine honours, but only to look at it, and think of +Shakespeare; but this looking at a thing in order to think of a +person is the very basis of idolatry. Shakespeare’s +works are not sufficient for you; no more are the Bible or the +legend of St. Anthony or St. Ignacio for us, that is for those of +us who believe in them; I tell you, Zingaro, that no religion can +exist long which rejects a good bodily image.’</p> +<p><!-- page 12--><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +12</span>‘Do you think,’ said I, ‘that +Shakespeare’s works would not exist without his +image?’</p> +<p>‘I believe,’ said the man in black, ‘that +Shakespeare’s image is looked at more than his works, and +will be looked at, and perhaps adored, when they are +forgotten. I am surprised that they have not been forgotten +long ago; I am no admirer of them.’</p> +<p>‘But I can’t imagine,’ said I, ‘how +you will put aside the authority of Moses. If Moses strove +against image-worship, should not his doing so be conclusive as +to the impropriety of the practice; what higher authority can you +have than that of Moses?’</p> +<p>‘The practice of the great majority of the human +race,’ said the man in black, ‘and the recurrence to +image-worship, where image-worship has been abolished. Do +you know that Moses is considered by the Church as no better than +a heretic, and though, for particular reasons, it has been +obliged to adopt his writings, the adoption was merely a sham +one, as it never paid the slightest attention to them? No, +no, the Church was never led by Moses, nor by one mightier than +he, whose doctrine it has equally nullified—I allude to +Krishna in his second avatar; the Church, it is true, governs in +his name, but not unfrequently gives him the lie, if he happens +to have said anything which it dislikes. Did you never hear +the reply which Padre Paolo Segani made to the French Protestant, +Jean Anthoine Guerin, who had asked him whether it was easier for +Christ to have been mistaken in His Gospel, than for the Pope to +be mistaken in his decrees?’</p> +<p>‘I never heard their names before,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘The answer was pat,’ said the man in black, +‘though he who made it was confessedly the most ignorant +fellow of the very ignorant order to which he belonged, the +Augustine. Christ might err as a man,’ said he, +‘but the Pope can never err, being God. The whole +story is related in the Nipotismo.’</p> +<p>‘I wonder you should ever have troubled yourselves with +Christ at all,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘What was to be done?’ said the man in black; +‘the power of that name suddenly came over Europe, like the +power of a mighty wind; it was said to have come from Judea, and +from Judea it probably came when it first began to agitate minds +in these parts; but it seems to have <!-- page 13--><a +name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>been known in +the remote East, more or less for thousands of years +previously. It filled people’s minds with madness; it +was followed by books which were never much regarded, as they +contained little of insanity; but the name! what fury that +breathed into people! the books were about peace and gentleness, +but the name was the most horrible of war-cries—those who +wished to uphold old names at first strove to oppose it, but +their efforts were feeble, and they had no good war-cry; what was +Mars as a war-cry compared with the name of ---? It was +said that they persecuted terribly, but who said so? The +Christians. The Christians could have given them a lesson +in the art of persecution, and eventually did so. None but +Christians have ever been good persecutors; well, the old +religion succumbed, Christianity prevailed, for the ferocious is +sure to prevail over the gentile.’</p> +<p>‘I thought,’ said I, ‘you stated a little +time ago that the Popish religion and the ancient Roman are the +same?’</p> +<p>‘In every point but that name, that Krishna and the fury +and love of persecution which it inspired,’ said the man in +black. ‘A hot blast came from the East, sounding +Krishna; it absolutely maddened people’s minds, and the +people would call themselves his children; we will not belong to +Jupiter any longer, we will belong to Krishna; and they did +belong to Krishna, that is in name, but in nothing else; for who +ever cared for Krishna in the Christian world, or who ever +regarded the words attributed to him, or put them in +practice?’</p> +<p>‘Why, we Protestants regard his words, and endeavour to +practise what they enjoin as much as possible.’</p> +<p>‘But you reject his image,’ said the man in black; +‘better reject his words than his image: no religion can +exist long which rejects a good bodily image. Why, the very +negro barbarians of High Barbary could give you a lesson on that +point; they have their fetish images, to which they look for help +in their afflictions; they have likewise a high priest, whom they +call—’</p> +<p>‘Mumbo Jumbo,’ said I; ‘I know all about him +already.’</p> +<p>‘How came you to know anything about him?’ said +the man in black, with a look of some surprise.</p> +<p>‘Some of us poor Protestant tinkers,’ said I, +‘though we live in dingles, are also acquainted with a +thing or two.’</p> +<p><!-- page 14--><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +14</span>‘I really believe you are,’ said the man in +black, staring at me; ‘but, in connection with this Mumbo +Jumbo, I could relate to you a comical story about a fellow, an +English servant, I once met at Rome.’</p> +<p>‘It would be quite unnecessary,’ said I; ‘I +would much sooner hear you talk about Krishna, his words and +image.’</p> +<p>‘Spoken like a true heretic,’ said the man in +black; ‘one of the faithful would have placed his image +before his words; for what are all the words in the world +compared with a good bodily image?’</p> +<p>‘I believe you occasionally quote his words?’ said +I.</p> +<p>‘He! he!’ said the man in black; +‘occasionally.’</p> +<p>‘For example,’ said I, ‘upon this rock I +will found my Church.’</p> +<p>‘He! he!’ said the man in black; ‘you must +really become one of us.’</p> +<p>‘Yet you must have had some difficulty in getting the +rock to Rome?’</p> +<p>‘None whatever,’ said the man in black; +‘faith can remove mountains, to say nothing of +rocks—ho! ho!’</p> +<p>‘But I cannot imagine,’ said I, ‘what +advantage you could derive from perverting those words of +Scripture in which the Saviour talks about eating His +body.’</p> +<p>‘I do not know, indeed, why we troubled our heads about +the matter at all,’ said the man in black; ‘but when +you talk about perverting the meaning of the text, you speak +ignorantly, Mr. Tinker. When He whom you call the Saviour +gave His followers the sop and bade them eat it, telling them it +was His body, He delicately alluded to what it was incumbent upon +them to do after His death, namely, to eat His body.’</p> +<p>‘You do not mean to say that He intended they should +actually eat His body?’</p> +<p>‘Then you suppose ignorantly,’ said the man in +black; ‘eating the bodies of the dead was a heathenish +custom, practised by the heirs and legatees of people who left +property, and this custom is alluded to in the text.’</p> +<p>‘But what has the New Testament to do with heathen +customs,’ said I, ‘except to destroy them?’</p> +<p>‘More than you suppose,’ said the man in +black. ‘We priests of Rome, who have long lived at +Rome, know much better what the New Testament is made of than the +heretics and their theologians, not forgetting their <!-- page +15--><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +15</span>Tinkers, though I confess some of the latter have +occasionally surprised us—for example, Bunyan. The +New Testament is crowded with allusions to heathen customs, and +with words connected with pagan sorcery. Now, with respect +to words, I would fain have you who pretend to be a philologist, +tell me the meaning of Amen?’</p> +<p>I made no answer.</p> +<p>‘We of Rome,’ said the man in black, ‘know +two or three things of which the heretics are quite +ignorant. For example, there are those amongst +us—those, too, who do not pretend to be +philologists—who know what “amen” is, and, +moreover, how we got it. We got it from our ancestors, the +priests of ancient Rome; and they got the word from their +ancestors of the East, the priests of Buddh and +Brahma.’</p> +<p>‘And what is the meaning of the word?’ I +demanded.</p> +<p>‘“Amen,”’ said the man in black, +‘is a modification of the old Hindoo formula, Omani +batsikhom, by the almost ceaseless repetition of which the +Indians hope to be received finally to the rest or state of +forgetfulness of Buddh or Brahma. A foolish practice, you +will say, but are you heretics much wiser, who are continually +sticking amen to the end of your prayers, little knowing when you +do so that you are consigning yourselves to the repose of +Buddh? Oh, what hearty laughs our missionaries have had +when comparing the eternally sounding Eastern gibberish of Omani +batsikhom, Omani batsikhom, and the Ave Maria and Amen Jesus of +our own idiotical devotees.’</p> +<p>‘I have nothing to say about the Ave Marias and Amens of +your superstitious devotees,’ said I; ‘I dare say +that they use them nonsensically enough, but in putting amen to +the end of a prayer we merely intend to express, “So let it +be.”’</p> +<p>‘It means nothing of the kind,’ said the man in +black, ‘and the Hindoos might just as well put your +national oath at the end of their prayers, as perhaps they will +after a great many thousand years, when English is forgotten, and +only a few words of it remembered by dim tradition without being +understood. How strange if, after the lapse of four +thousand years, the Hindoos should damn themselves to the +blindness so dear to their present masters, even as their masters +at present consign themselves to the forgetfulness so dear to the +Hindoos. But my glass has been empty for a considerable +time, perhaps, <!-- page 16--><a name="page16"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 16</span>Bellissima Biondina,’ said he, +addressing Belle, ‘you will deign to replenish +it?’</p> +<p>‘I shall do no such thing,’ said Belle, ‘you +have drank quite enough, and talked more than enough, and to tell +you the truth, I wish you would leave us alone.’</p> +<p>‘Shame on you, Belle!’ said I; ‘consider the +obligations of hospitality.’</p> +<p>‘I am sick of that word,’ said Belle; ‘you +are so frequently misusing it. Were this place not +Mumpers’ Dingle, and consequently as free to the fellow as +ourselves, I would lead him out of it.’</p> +<p>‘Pray be quiet, Belle,’ said I. ‘You +had better help yourself,’ said I, addressing myself to the +man in black; ‘the lady is angry with you.’</p> +<p>‘I am sorry for it,’ said the man in black. +‘If she is angry with me, I am not so with her, and shall +be always proud to wait upon her; in the meantime I will wait +upon myself.’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<p>THE PROPOSAL—THE SCOTCH +NOVEL—LATITUDE—MIRACLES—PESTILENT +HERETICS—OLD FRASER—WONDERFUL TEXTS—NO +ARMENIAN</p> +<p>The man in black having helped himself to some more of his +favourite beverage and tasted it, I thus addressed him: +‘The evening is getting rather advanced, and I can see that +this lady,’ pointing to Belle, ‘is anxious for her +tea, which she prefers to take cosily and comfortably with me in +the dingle. The place, it is true, is as free to you as to +ourselves, nevertheless, as we are located here by necessity, +whilst you merely come as a visitor, I must take the liberty of +telling you that we shall be glad to be alone as soon as you have +said what you have to say, and have finished the glass of +refreshment at present in your hand. I think you said some +time ago that one of your motives for coming hither was to induce +me to enlist under the banner of Rome. I wish to know +whether that was really the case.’</p> +<p>‘Decidedly so,’ said the man in black; ‘I +come here principally in the hope of enlisting you in our +regiment, <!-- page 17--><a name="page17"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 17</span>in which I have no doubt you could do +us excellent service.’</p> +<p>‘Would you enlist my companion as well?’ I +demanded.</p> +<p>‘We should be only too proud to have her among us, +whether she comes with you or alone,’ said the man in +black, with a polite bow to Belle.</p> +<p>‘Before we give you an answer,’ I replied, +‘I would fain know more about you; perhaps you will declare +your name?’</p> +<p>‘That I will never do,’ said the man in black; +‘no one in England knows it but myself, and I will not +declare it, even in a dingle; as for the rest, <i>Sono un Prete +Cattolico Appostolico</i>—that is all that many a one of us +can say for himself, and it assuredly means a great +deal.’</p> +<p>‘We will now proceed to business,’ said I. +‘You must be aware that we English are generally considered +a self-interested people.’</p> +<p>‘And with considerable justice,’ said the man in +black, drinking. ‘Well, you are a person of acute +perception, and I will presently make it evident to you that it +would be to your interest to join with us. You are at +present, evidently, in very needy circumstances, and are lost, +not only to yourself, but the world; but should you enlist with +us, I could find you an occupation not only agreeable, but one in +which your talents would have free scope. I would introduce +you in the various grand houses here in England, to which I have +myself admission, as a surprising young gentleman of infinite +learning, who by dint of study has discovered that the Roman is +the only true faith. I tell you confidently that our popish +females would make a saint, nay a God of you; they are fools +enough for anything. There is one person in particular with +whom I should wish to make you acquainted, in the hope that you +would be able to help me to perform good service to the holy +see. He is a gouty old fellow, of some learning, residing +in an old hall near the great western seaport, and is one of the +very few amongst the English Catholics possessing a grain of +sense. I think you could help us to govern him, for he is +not unfrequently disposed to be restive, asks us strange +questions—occasionally threatens us with his crutch; and +behaves so that we are often afraid that we shall lose him, or +rather, his property, which he has bequeathed to us, and which is +enormous. <!-- page 18--><a name="page18"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 18</span>I am sure that you could help us to +deal with him; sometimes with your humour, sometimes with your +learning, and perhaps occasionally with your fists.’</p> +<p>‘And in what manner would you provide for my +companion?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘We would place her at once,’ said the man in +black, ‘in the house of two highly-respectable Catholic +ladies in this neighbourhood, where she would be treated with +every care and consideration till her conversion should be +accomplished in a regular manner; we would then remove her to a +female monastic establishment, where, after undergoing a +year’s probation, during which time she would be instructed +in every elegant accomplishment, she should take the veil. +Her advancement would speedily follow, for, with such a face and +figure, she would make a capital lady abbess, especially in +Italy, to which country she would probably be sent; ladies of her +hair and complexion—to say nothing of her +height—being a curiosity in the south. With a little +care and management she could soon obtain a vast reputation for +sanctity; and who knows but after her death she might become a +glorified saint—he! he! Sister Maria Theresa, for +that is the name I propose you should bear. Holy Mother +Maria Theresa—glorified and celestial saint, I have the +honour of drinking to your health,’ and the man in black +drank.</p> +<p>‘Well, Belle,’ said I, ‘what have you to say +to the gentleman’s proposal?’</p> +<p>‘That if he goes on in this way I will break his glass +against his mouth.’</p> +<p>‘You have heard the lady’s answer,’ said +I.</p> +<p>‘I have,’ said the man in black, ‘and shall +not press the matter. I can’t help, however, +repeating that she would make a capital lady abbess: she would +keep the nuns in order, I warrant her; no easy matter! +Break the glass against my mouth—he! he! How she +would send the holy utensils flying at the nuns’ heads +occasionally, and just the person to wring the nose of Satan +should he venture to appear one night in her cell in the shape of +a handsome black man. No offence, madam, no offence, pray +retain your seat,’ said he, observing that Belle had +started up; ‘I mean no offence. Well, if you will not +consent to be an abbess, perhaps you will consent to follow this +young Zingaro, and to co-operate with him and us. I am a +priest, madam, and can join you both in <!-- page 19--><a +name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>an instant, +<i>connubio stabili</i>, as I suppose the knot has not been tied +already.’</p> +<p>‘Hold your mumping gibberish,’ said Belle, +‘and leave the dingle this moment, for though ’t is +free to every one, you have no right to insult me in +it.’</p> +<p>‘Pray be pacified,’ said I to Belle, getting up, +and placing myself between her and the man in black, ‘he +will presently leave, take my word for it—there, sit down +again,’ said I, as I led her to her seat; then, resuming my +own, I said to the man in black: ‘I advise you to leave the +dingle as soon as possible.’</p> +<p>‘I should wish to have your answer to my proposal +first,’ said he.</p> +<p>‘Well, then, here you shall have it: I will not +entertain your proposal; I detest your schemes: they are both +wicked and foolish.’</p> +<p>‘Wicked,’ said the man in black, ‘have they +not—he! he!—the furtherance of religion in +view?’</p> +<p>‘A religion,’ said I, ‘in which you yourself +do not believe, and which you contemn.’</p> +<p>‘Whether I believe in it or not,’ said the man in +black, ‘it is adapted for the generality of the human race; +so I will forward it, and advise you to do the same. It was +nearly extirpated in these regions, but it is springing up again, +owing to circumstances. Radicalism is a good friend to us; +all the liberals laud up our system out of hatred to the +Established Church, though our system is ten times less liberal +than the Church of England. Some of them have really come +over to us. I myself confess a baronet who presided over +the first radical meeting ever held in England—he was an +atheist when he came over to us, in the hope of mortifying his +own Church—but he is now—ho! ho!—a real +Catholic devotee—quite afraid of my threats; I make him +frequently scourge himself before me. Well, Radicalism does +us good service, especially amongst the lower classes, for +Radicalism chiefly flourishes amongst them; for though a baronet +or two may be found amongst the radicals, and perhaps as many +lords—fellows who have been discarded by their own order +for clownishness, or something they have done—it +incontestably flourishes best among the lower orders. Then +the love of what is foreign is a great friend to us; this love is +chiefly confined to the middle and upper classes. Some +admire the French, and imitate them; <!-- page 20--><a +name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 20</span>others must +needs be Spaniards, dress themselves up in a zamarra, stick a +cigar in their mouths, and say, “Carajo.” +Others would pass for Germans; he! he! the idea of any one +wishing to pass for a German! but what has done us more service +than anything else in these regions—I mean amidst the +middle classes—has been the novel, the Scotch novel. +The good folks, since they have read the novels, have become +Jacobites; and, because all the Jacobs were Papists, the good +folks must become Papists also, or, at least, papistically +inclined. The very Scotch Presbyterians, since they have +read the novels, are become all but Papists; I speak advisedly, +having lately been amongst them. There’s a trumpery +bit of a half papist sect, called the Scotch Episcopalian Church, +which lay dormant and nearly forgotten for upwards of a hundred +years, which has of late got wonderfully into fashion in +Scotland, because, forsooth, some of the long-haired gentry of +the novels were said to belong to it, such as Montrose and +Dundee; and to this the Presbyterians are going over in throngs, +traducing and vilifying their own forefathers, or denying them +altogether, and calling themselves descendants of—ho! ho! +ho!—Scottish Cavaliers!!! I have heard them myself +repeating snatches of Jacobite ditties about “Bonnie +Dundee,” and—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘“Come, fill up my cup, and fill up my +can,<br /> +And saddle my horse, and call up my man.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There’s stuff for you! Not that I object to the +first part of the ditty. It is natural enough that a +Scotchman should cry, “Come, fill up my cup!” more +especially if he’s drinking at another person’s +expense—all Scotchmen being fond of liquor at free cost: +but “Saddle his horse!!!”—for what purpose I +would ask? Where is the use of saddling a horse, unless you +can ride him? and where was there ever a Scotchman who could +ride?’</p> +<p>‘Of course you have not a drop of Scotch blood in your +veins,’ said I, ‘otherwise you would never have +uttered that last sentence.’</p> +<p>‘Don’t be too sure of that,’ said the man in +black; ‘you know little of Popery if you imagine that it +cannot extinguish love of country, even in a Scotchman. A +thorough-going Papist—and who more thorough-going than +myself—cares nothing for his country; and why should he? he +belongs to a system, and not to a country.’</p> +<p><!-- page 21--><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>‘One thing,’ said I, ‘connected with +you, I cannot understand; you call yourself a thorough-going +Papist, yet are continually saying the most pungent things +against Popery, and turning to unbounded ridicule those who show +any inclination to embrace it.’</p> +<p>‘Rome is a very sensible old body,’ said the man +in black, ‘and little cares what her children say, provided +they do her bidding. She knows several things, and amongst +others, that no servants work so hard and faithfully as those who +curse their masters at every stroke they do. She was not +fool enough to be angry with the Miquelets of Alba, who renounced +her, and called her “puta” all the time they were +cutting the throats of the Netherlanders. Now, if she +allowed her faithful soldiers the latitude of renouncing her, and +calling her “puta” in the market-place, think not she +is so unreasonable as to object to her faithful priests +occasionally calling her “puta” in the +dingle.’</p> +<p>‘But,’ said I, ‘suppose some one were to +tell the world some of the disorderly things which her priests +say in the dingle?’</p> +<p>‘He would have the fate of Cassandra,’ said the +man in black; ‘no one would believe him—yes, the +priests would: but they would make no sign of belief. They +believe in the Alcoran des Cordeliers <a name="citation21"></a><a +href="#footnote21" class="citation">[21]</a>—that is, those +who have read it; but they make no sign.’</p> +<p>‘A pretty system,’ said I, ‘which +extinguishes love of country and of everything noble, and brings +the minds of its ministers to a parity with those of devils, who +delight in nothing but mischief.’</p> +<p>‘The system,’ said the man in black, ‘is a +grand one, with unbounded vitality. Compare it with your +Protestantism, and you will see the difference. Popery is +ever at work, whilst Protestantism is supine. A pretty +Church, indeed, the Protestant! Why it can’t even +work a miracle.’</p> +<p>‘Can your Church work miracles?’ I demanded.</p> +<p>‘That was the very question,’ said the man in +black, ‘which the ancient British clergy asked of Austin +Monk, <!-- page 22--><a name="page22"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 22</span>after they had been fools enough to +acknowledge their own inability. “We don’t +pretend to work miracles; do you?” “Oh! dear +me, yes,” said Austin; “we find no difficulty in the +matter. We can raise the dead, we can make the blind see; +and to convince you, I will give sight to the blind. Here +is this blind Saxon, whom you cannot cure, but on whose eyes I +will manifest my power, in order to show the difference between +the true and the false Church;” and forthwith, with the +assistance of a handkerchief and a little hot water, he opened +the eyes of the barbarian. So we manage matters! A +pretty Church, that old British Church, which could not work +miracles—quite as helpless as the modern one. The +fools! was birdlime so scarce a thing amongst them?—and +were the properties of warm water so unknown to them, that they +could not close a pair of eyes and open them?’</p> +<p>‘It’s a pity,’ said I, ‘that the +British clergy at that interview with Austin, did not bring +forward a blind Welshman, and ask the monk to operate upon +him.’</p> +<p>‘Clearly,’ said the man in black; +‘that’s what they ought to have done; but they were +fools without a single resource.’ Here he took a sip +at his glass.</p> +<p>‘But they did not believe in the miracle?’ said +I.</p> +<p>‘And what did their not believing avail them?’ +said the man in black. ‘Austin remained master of the +field, and they went away holding their heads down, and muttering +to themselves. What a fine subject for a painting would be +Austin’s opening the eyes of the Saxon barbarian, and the +discomfiture of the British clergy! I wonder it has not +been painted!—he! he!’</p> +<p>‘I suppose your Church still performs miracles +occasionally?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘It does,’ said the man in black. ‘The +Rev. --- has lately been performing miracles in Ireland, +destroying devils that had got possession of people; he has been +eminently successful. In two instances he not only +destroyed the devils, but the lives of the people +possessed—he! he! Oh! there is so much energy in our +system; we are always at work, whilst Protestantism is +supine.’</p> +<p>‘You must not imagine,’ said I, ‘that all +Protestants are supine; some of them appear to be filled with +unbounded zeal. They deal, it is true, not in lying +miracles, but they propagate God’s Word. I remember +only a few months ago, having occasion for a Bible, going to an +<!-- page 23--><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +23</span>establishment, <a name="citation23"></a><a +href="#footnote23" class="citation">[23]</a> the object of which +was to send Bibles all over the world. The supporters of +that establishment could have no self-interested views; for I was +supplied by them with a noble-sized Bible at a price so small as +to preclude the idea that it could bring any profit to the +vendors.’</p> +<p>The countenance of the man in black slightly fell. +‘I know the people to whom you allude,’ said he; +‘indeed, unknown to them, I have frequently been to see +them, and observed their ways. I tell you frankly that +there is not a set of people in this kingdom who have caused our +Church so much trouble and uneasiness. I should rather say +that they alone cause us any; for as for the rest, what with +their drowsiness, their plethora, their folly, and their vanity, +they are doing us anything but mischief. These fellows are +a pestilent set of heretics, whom we would gladly see burnt; they +are, with the most untiring perseverance, and in spite of divers +minatory declarations of the holy father, scattering their books +abroad through all Europe, and have caused many people in +Catholic countries to think that hitherto their priesthood have +endeavoured, as much as possible, to keep them blinded. +There is one fellow amongst them for whom we entertain a +particular aversion; a big, burly parson, with the face of a +lion, the voice of a buffalo, and a fist like a +sledge-hammer. The last time I was there, I observed that +his eye was upon me, and I did not like the glance he gave me at +all; I observed him clench his fist, and I took my departure as +fast as I conveniently could. Whether he suspected who I +was, I know not; but I did not like his look at all, and do not +intend to go again.’</p> +<p>‘Well, then,’ said I, ‘you confess that you +have redoubtable enemies to your plans in these regions, and that +even amongst the ecclesiastics there are some widely different +from those of the plethoric and Platitude schools.’</p> +<p>‘It is but too true,’ said the man in black; +‘and if the rest of your Church were like them we should +quickly bid adieu to all hope of converting these regions, but we +are thankful to be able to say that such folks are not numerous; +there are, moreover, causes at work quite sufficient to undermine +even their zeal. Their sons return at the <!-- page 24--><a +name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>vacations, +from Oxford and Cambridge, puppies, full of the nonsense which +they have imbibed from Platitude professors; and this nonsense +they retail at home, where it fails not to make some impression, +whilst the daughters scream—I beg their +pardons—warble about Scotland’s Montrose, and Bonny +Dundee, and all the Jacobs; so we have no doubt that their +papas’ zeal about the propagation of such a vulgar book as +the Bible will in a very little time be terribly +diminished. Old Rome will win, so you had better join +her.’</p> +<p>And the man in black drained the last drop in his glass.</p> +<p>‘Never,’ said I, ‘will I become the slave of +Rome.’</p> +<p>‘She will allow you latitude,’ said the man in +black; ‘do but serve her, and she will allow you to call +her “puta” at a decent time and place, her Popes +occasionally call her “puta.” A Pope has been +known to start from his bed at midnight and rush out into the +corridor, and call out “puta” three times in a voice +which pierced the Vatican; that Pope was—’</p> +<p>‘Alexander the Sixth, I dare say,’ said I; +‘the greatest monster that ever existed, though the +worthiest head which the popish system ever had—so his +conscience was not always still. I thought it had been +seared with a brand of iron.’</p> +<p>‘I did not allude to him, but to a much more modern +Pope,’ said the man in black; ‘it is true he brought +the word, which is Spanish, from Spain, his native country, to +Rome. He was very fond of calling the Church by that name, +and other Popes have taken it up. She will allow you to +call her by it if you belong to her.’</p> +<p>‘I shall call her so,’ said I, ‘without +belonging to her, or asking her permission.’</p> +<p>‘She will allow you to treat her as such if you belong +to her,’ said the man in black; ‘there is a chapel in +Rome where there is a wondrously fair statue—the son of a +cardinal—I mean his nephew—once— Well, she did +not cut off his head, but slightly boxed his cheek and bade him +go.’</p> +<p>‘I have read all about that in “Keysler’s +Travels,”’ said I; ‘do you tell her that I +would not touch her with a pair of tongs, unless to seize her +nose.’</p> +<p>‘She is fond of lucre,’ said the man in black; +‘but does not grudge a faithful priest a little private +perquisite,’ and he took out a very handsome gold +repeater.</p> +<p><!-- page 25--><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span>‘Are you not afraid,’ said I, ‘to +flash that watch before the eyes of a poor tinker in a +dingle?’</p> +<p>‘Not before the eyes of one like you,’ said the +man in black.</p> +<p>‘It is getting late,’ said I; ‘I care not +for perquisites.’</p> +<p>‘So you will not join us?’ said the man in +black.</p> +<p>‘You have had my answer,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘If I belong to Rome,’ said the man in black, +‘why should not you?’</p> +<p>‘I may be a poor tinker,’ said I, ‘but I may +never have undergone what you have. You remember, perhaps, +the fable of the fox who had lost his tail?’</p> +<p>The man in black winced, but almost immediately recovering +himself, he said, ‘Well, we can do without you, we are sure +of winning.’</p> +<p>‘It is not the part of wise people,’ said I, +‘to make sure of the battle before it is fought; +there’s the landlord of the public-house, who made sure +that his cocks would win, yet the cocks lost the main, and the +landlord is little better than a bankrupt.’</p> +<p>‘People very different from the landlord,’ said +the man in black, ‘both in intellect and station, think we +shall surely win; there are clever machinators among us who have +no doubt of our success.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said I, ‘I will set the landlord +aside, and will adduce one who was in every point a very +different person from the landlord, both in understanding and +station, he was very fond of laying schemes, and, indeed, many of +them turned out successful. His last and darling one, +however, miscarried, notwithstanding that by his calculations he +had persuaded himself that there was no possibility of its +failing—the person that I allude to was old +Fraser—’</p> +<p>‘Who?’ said the man in black, giving a start, and +letting his glass fall.</p> +<p>‘Old Fraser of Lovat,’ said I, ‘the prince +of all conspirators and machinators; he made sure of placing the +Pretender on the throne of these realms. “I can bring +into the field so many men,” said he; “my son-in-law, +Cluny, so many, and likewise my cousin, and my good +friend;” then speaking of those on whom the government +reckoned for support he would say, “So and so are lukewarm, +this person is ruled by his wife, who is with us, the clergy are +anything but hostile to us, and as for the <!-- page 26--><a +name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>soldiers and +sailors, half are disaffected to King George, and the rest +cowards.” Yet, when things came to a trial, this +person whom he had calculated upon to join the Pretender did not +stir from his home, another joined the hostile ranks, the +presumed cowards turned out heroes, and those whom he thought +heroes ran away like lusty fellows at Culloden; in a word, he +found himself utterly mistaken, and in nothing more than himself; +he thought he was a hero, and proved himself nothing more than an +old fox; he got up a hollow tree, didn’t he, just like a +fox?</p> +<blockquote><p>‘“L’opere sue non furon leonine, +ma di volpe.”’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The man in black sat silent for a considerable time, and at +length answered, in rather a faltering voice, ‘I was not +prepared for this; you have frequently surprised me by your +knowledge of things, which I should never have expected any +person of your appearance to be acquainted with, but that you +should be aware of my name is a circumstance utterly +incomprehensible to me. I had imagined that no person in +England was acquainted with it; indeed, I don’t see how any +person should be, I have revealed it to no one, not being +particularly proud of it. Yes, I acknowledge that my name +is Fraser, and that I am of the blood of that family or clan, of +which the rector of our college once said, that he was firmly of +opinion that every individual member was either rogue or +fool. I was born at Madrid, of pure, <i>oimè</i>, +Fraser blood. My parents at an early age took me to --- <a +name="citation26a"></a><a href="#footnote26a" +class="citation">[26a]</a> where they shortly died, not, however, +before they had placed me in the service of a cardinal, with whom +I continued some years, and who, when he had no further occasion +for me, sent me to the college, in the left-hand cloister of +which, as you enter, rest the bones of Sir John D---; <a +name="citation26b"></a><a href="#footnote26b" +class="citation">[26b]</a> there, in studying logic and humane +letters, I lost whatever of humanity I had retained when +discarded by the cardinal. Let me not, however, forget two +points—I am a Fraser, it is true, but not a Flannagan: I +may bear the vilest name of Britain, but not of Ireland; I was +bred up at the English house, and there is at --- a house for the +education of bog-trotters; I was not bred up at that; beneath the +lowest gulf there is one yet lower; whatever my blood may be it +is at least not Irish; whatever my <!-- page 27--><a +name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>education may +have been I was not bred at the Irish seminary—on those +accounts I am thankful—yes, <i>per dio</i>! I am +thankful. After some years at college—but why should +I tell you my history, you know it already perfectly well, +probably much better than myself. I am now a missionary +priest labouring in heretic England, like Parsons and Garnet of +old, save and except that, unlike them, I run no danger, for the +times are changed. As I told you before, I shall cleave to +Rome—I must; <i>no hay remedio</i>, as they say at Madrid, +and I will do my best to further her holy plans—he! +he!—but I confess I begin to doubt of their being +successful here—you put me out; old Fraser of Lovat! +I have heard my father talk of him; he had a gold-headed cane, +with which he once knocked my grandfather down—he was an +astute one, but, as you say, mistaken, particularly in +himself. I have read his life by Arbuthnot, it is in the +library of our college. Farewell! I shall come no +more to this dingle—to come would be of no utility; I shall +go and labour elsewhere, though . . . how you came to know my +name, is a fact quite inexplicable—farewell to you +both.’</p> +<p>He then arose, and without further salutation departed from +the dingle, in which I never saw him again. ‘How in +the name of wonder, came you to know that man’s +name?’ said Belle, after he had been gone some time.</p> +<p>‘I, Belle? I knew nothing of the fellow’s +name, I assure you.’</p> +<p>‘But you mentioned his name.’</p> +<p>‘If I did, it was merely casually, by way of +illustration. I was saying how frequently cunning people +were mistaken in their calculations, and I adduced the case of +old Fraser of Lovat, as one in point; I brought forward his name +because I was well acquainted with his history, from having +compiled and inserted it in a wonderful work, which I edited some +months ago, entitled “Newgate Lives and Trials,” <a +name="citation27"></a><a href="#footnote27" +class="citation">[27]</a> but without the slightest idea that it +was the name of him who was sitting with us; he, however, thought +that I was aware of his name. Belle! Belle! for a +long time I doubted in the truth of Scripture, owing to certain +conceited discourses which I had heard from certain conceited +individuals, but now I begin to <!-- page 28--><a +name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>believe +firmly; what wonderful texts there are in Scripture, Belle! +“The wicked trembleth +where—where—”’</p> +<p>‘“They were afraid where no fear was; thou hast +put them to confusion, because God hath despised +them,”’ said Belle; ‘I have frequently read it +before the clergyman in the great house of Long Melford. +But if you did not know the man’s name, why let him go away +supposing that you did?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, if he was fool enough to make such a mistake, I was +not going to undeceive him—no, no! Let the enemies of +old England make the most of all their blunders and mistakes, +they will have no help from me; but enough of the fellow, Belle, +let us now have tea, and after that—’</p> +<p>‘No Armenian,’ said Belle, ‘but I want to +ask a question: pray, are all people of that man’s name +either rogues or fools?’</p> +<p>‘It is impossible for me to say, Belle, this person +being the only one of the name I have ever personally +known. I suppose there are good and bad, clever and +foolish, amongst them, as amongst all large bodies of people; +however, after the tribe had been governed for upwards of thirty +years by such a person as old Fraser, it were no wonder if the +greater part had become either rogues or fools; he was a ruthless +tyrant, Belle, over his own people, and by his cruelty and +rapaciousness must either have stunned them into an apathy +approaching to idiocy, or made them artful knaves in their own +defence. The qualities of parents are generally transmitted +to their descendants—the progeny of trained pointers are +almost sure to point, even without being taught; if, therefore, +all Frasers are either rogues or fools, as this person seems to +insinuate, it is little to be wondered at, their parents or +grandparents having been in the training-school of old Fraser; +but enough of the old tyrant and his slaves. Belle, prepare +tea this moment or dread my anger. I have not a gold-headed +cane like old Fraser of Lovat, but I have, what some people would +dread much more, an Armenian rune-stick.’</p> +<h2><!-- page 29--><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +29</span>CHAPTER V</h2> +<p>FRESH ARRIVALS—PITCHING THE TENT—CERTIFICATED +WIFE—HIGH-FLYING NOTIONS</p> +<p>On the following morning, as I was about to leave my tent, I +heard the voice of Belle at the door, exclaiming, ‘Sleepest +thou, or wakest thou?’ ‘I was never more awake +in my life,’ said I, going out. ‘What is the +matter?’ ‘He of the horse-shoe,’ <a +name="citation29a"></a><a href="#footnote29a" +class="citation">[29a]</a> said she, ‘Jasper, <a +name="citation29b"></a><a href="#footnote29b" +class="citation">[29b]</a> of whom I have heard you talk, is +above there on the field with all his people; I went about a +quarter of an hour ago to fill the kettle at the spring, and saw +them arriving.’ ‘It is well,’ said I; +‘have you any objection to asking him and his wife to +breakfast?’ ‘You can do as you please,’ +said she; ‘I have cups enough, and have no objection to +their company.’ ‘We are the first occupiers of +the ground,’ said I, ‘and being so, should consider +ourselves in the light of hosts, and do our best to practise the +duties of hospitality.’ ‘How fond you are of +using that word,’ said Belle, ‘if you wish to invite +the man and his wife, do so, without more ado; remember, however, +that I have not cups enough, nor, indeed, tea enough, for the +whole company.’ Thereupon hurrying up the ascent, I +presently found myself outside the dingle. It was, as +usual, a brilliant morning, the dewy blades of the rye-grass +which covered the plain sparkled brightly in the beams of the +sun, which had probably been about two hours above the +horizon. A rather numerous body of my ancient friends and +allies occupied the ground in the vicinity of the mouth of the +dingle. About five yards on the right I perceived Mr. +Petulengro busily employed in erecting his tent; he held in his +hand an iron bar, sharp at the bottom, with a kind of arm +projecting from the top for the purpose of supporting a kettle or +cauldron over the fire, and which is called in the Romanian +language, ‘Kekauviskoe saster.’ <a +name="citation29c"></a><a href="#footnote29c" +class="citation">[29c]</a> With the sharp end of this Mr. +Petulengro was making holes in the earth at about twenty inches +distance from each other, into which he inserted certain long +rods, with a considerable bend towards the <!-- page 30--><a +name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>top, which +constituted no less than the timbers of the tent, and the +supporters of the canvas. <a name="citation30a"></a><a +href="#footnote30a" class="citation">[30a]</a> Mrs. +Petulengro and a female with a crutch in her hand, whom I +recognised as Mrs. Chikno, sat near him on the ground, whilst two +or three children, from six to ten years old, who composed the +young family of Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro were playing about.</p> +<p>‘Here we are, brother,’ said Mr. Petulengro, as he +drove the sharp end of the bar into the ground; ‘here we +are, and plenty of us—Bute dosta Romany chals.’ <a +name="citation30b"></a><a href="#footnote30b" +class="citation">[30b]</a></p> +<p>‘I am glad to see you all,’ said I, ‘and +particularly you, madam,’ said I, making a bow to Mrs. +Petulengro; ‘and you also, madam,’ taking off my hat +to Mrs. Chikno.</p> +<p>‘Good-day to you, sir,’ said Mrs. Petulengro; +‘you look as usual, charmingly, and speak so, too; you have +not forgot your manners.’</p> +<p>‘It is not all gold that glitters,’ said Mrs. +Chikno. ‘However, good-morrow to you, young +rye.’</p> +<p>‘I do not see Tawno,’ said I, looking around; +‘where is he?’</p> +<p>‘Where, indeed!’ said Mrs. Chikno; ‘I +don’t know; he who countenances him in the roving line can +best answer.’</p> +<p>‘He will be here anon,’ said Mr. Petulengro; +‘he has merely ridden down a by-road to show a farmer a +two-year-old colt, she heard me give him directions, but she +can’t be satisfied.’</p> +<p>‘I can’t, indeed,’ said Mrs. Chikno.</p> +<p>‘And why not, sister?’</p> +<p>‘Because I place no confidence in your words, brother; +as I said before, you countenances him.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said I, ‘I know nothing of your +private concerns; I am come on an errand. Isopel Berners, +down in the dell there, requests the pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. +Petulengro’s company at breakfast. She will be happy +also to see you, madam,’ said I, addressing Mrs. +Chikno.</p> +<p>‘Is that young female your wife, young man?’ said +Mrs. Chikno.</p> +<p>‘My wife?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Yes, young man, your wife, your lawful, certificated +wife.’</p> +<p>‘No,’ said I, ‘she is not my +wife.’</p> +<p>‘Then I will not visit her,’ said Mrs. Chikno; +‘I countenance nothing in the roving line.’</p> +<p><!-- page 31--><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +31</span>‘What do you mean by the roving line?’ I +demanded.</p> +<p>‘What do I mean by the roving line? Why, by it I +mean such conduct as is not tatcheno. <a +name="citation31a"></a><a href="#footnote31a" +class="citation">[31a]</a> When ryes and rawnies <a +name="citation31b"></a><a href="#footnote31b" +class="citation">[31b]</a> lives together in dingles, without +being certificated, I calls such behaviour being tolerably deep +in the roving-line, everything savouring of which I am determined +not to sanctify. I have suffered too much by my own +certificated husband’s outbreaks in that line to afford +anything of the kind the slightest shadow of +countenance.’</p> +<p>‘It is hard that people may not live in dingles together +without being suspected of doing wrong,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘So it is,’ said Mrs. Petulengro, interposing; +‘and, to tell you the truth, I am altogether surprised at +the illiberality of my sister’s remarks. I have often +heard say, that is in good company—and I have kept good +company in my time—that suspicion is king’s evidence +of a narrow and uncultivated mind, on which account I am +suspicious of nobody, not even of my own husband, whom some +people would think I have a right to be suspicious of, seeing +that on his account I once refused a lord; but ask him whether I +am suspicious of him, and whether I seeks to keep him close tied +to my apron-string; he will tell you nothing of the kind; but +that, on the contrary, I always allows him an agreeable latitude, +permitting him to go where he pleases, and to converse with +anyone to whose manner of speaking he may take a fancy. But +I have had the advantage of keeping good company, and +therefore—’</p> +<p>‘Meklis,’ <a name="citation31c"></a><a +href="#footnote31c" class="citation">[31c]</a> said Mrs. Chikno, +‘pray drop all that, sister; I believe I have kept as good +company as yourself, and with respect to that offer with which +you frequently fatigue those who keeps company with you, I +believe, after all, it was something in the roving and +uncertificated line.’</p> +<p>‘In whatever line it was,’ said Mrs. Petulengro, +‘the offer was a good one. The young duke—for +he was not only a lord, but a duke too—offered to keep me a +fine carriage, and to make me his second wife; for it is true +that he had another, who was old and stout, though mighty rich, +and highly good-natured, so much so, indeed, that the young lord +assured me that she would <!-- page 32--><a +name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>have no +manner of objection to the arrangement, more especially if I +would consent to live in the same house with her, being fond of +young and cheerful society. So you see—’</p> +<p>‘Yes, yes,’ said Mrs. Chikno, ‘I see what I +before thought, that it was altogether in the uncertificated +line.’</p> +<p>‘Meklis,’ said Mrs. Petulengro, ‘I use your +own word, madam, which is Romany—for my own part, I am not +fond of using Romany words, unless I can hope to pass them off +for French, which I cannot in the present company. I +heartily wish that there was no such language, and do my best to +keep it away from my children, lest the frequent use of it should +altogether confirm them in low and vulgar habits. I have +four children, madam, but—’</p> +<p>‘I suppose by talking of your four children you wish to +check me for having none,’ said Mrs. Chikno, bursting into +tears; ‘if I have no children, sister, it is no fault of +mine, it is—but why do I call you sister?’ said she, +angrily, ‘you are no sister of mine, you are a grasni <a +name="citation32"></a><a href="#footnote32" +class="citation">[32]</a>—a regular mare—a pretty +sister, indeed, ashamed of your own language. I remember +well that by your high-flying notions you drove your own +mother—’</p> +<p>‘We will drop it,’ said Mrs. Petulengro; ‘I +do not wish to raise my voice, and to make myself +ridiculous. Young gentleman,’ said she, ‘pray +present my compliments to Miss Isopel Berners, and inform her +that I am very sorry that I cannot accept her polite +invitation. I am just arrived, and have some slight +domestic matters to see to, amongst others, to wash my +children’s faces; but that in the course of the forenoon, +when I have attended to what I have to do, and have dressed +myself, I hope to do myself the honour of paying her a regular +visit, you will tell her that with my compliments. With +respect to my husband he can answer for himself, as I, not being +of a jealous disposition, never interferes with his +matters.’</p> +<p>‘And tell Miss Berners,’ said Mr. Petulengro, +‘that I shall be happy to wait upon her in company with my +wife as soon as we are regularly settled: at present I have much +on my hands, having not only to pitch my own tent, but this here +jealous woman’s, whose husband is absent on my +business.’</p> +<p><!-- page 33--><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +33</span>Thereupon I returned to the dingle, and, without saying +anything about Mrs. Chikno’s observations, communicated to +Isopel the messages of Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro. Isopel made +no other reply than by replacing in her coffer two additional +cups and saucers, which, in expectation of company, she had +placed upon the board. The kettle was by this time +boiling. We sat down, and as we breakfasted, I gave Isopel +Berners another lesson in the Armenian language.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<p>THE PROMISED VISIT—ROMAN FASHION—WIZARD AND +WITCH—CATCHING AT WORDS—THE TWO +FEMALES—DRESSING OF HAIR—THE NEW +ROADS—BELLE’S ALTERED APPEARANCE—HERSELF +AGAIN</p> +<p>About mid-day Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro came to the dingle to +pay the promised visit. Belle, at the time of their +arrival, was in her tent, but I was at the fire-place, engaged in +hammering part of the outer tire, or defence, which had come off +from one of the wheels of my vehicle. On perceiving them I +forthwith went to receive them. Mr. Petulengro was dressed +in Roman <a name="citation33"></a><a href="#footnote33" +class="citation">[33]</a> fashion, with a somewhat smartly-cut +sporting-coat, the buttons of which were half-crowns—and a +waistcoat, scarlet and black, the buttons of which were spaded +half-guineas: his breeches were of a stuff half velveteen, half +corduroy, the cords exceedingly broad. He had leggings of +buff cloth, furred at the bottom; and upon his feet were +highlows. Under his left arm was a long, black whalebone +riding-whip, with a red lash, and an immense silver knob. +Upon his head was a hat with a high peak, somewhat of the kind +which the Spaniards call <i>calané</i>, so much in favour +with the bravos of Seville and Madrid. Now, when I have +added that Mr. Petulengro had on a very fine white holland shirt, +I think I have described his array. Mrs. Petulengro—I +beg pardon for not having spoken of her first—was also +arrayed very much in the Roman fashion. Her hair, which was +exceedingly black and lustrous, fell in <!-- page 34--><a +name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>braids on +either side of her head. In her ears were rings, with long +drops of gold. Round her neck was a string of what seemed +very much like very large pearls, somewhat tarnished, however, +and apparently of considerable antiquity. ‘Here we +are, brother,’ said Mr. Petulengro—‘here we +are, come to see you—wizard and witch, witch and +wizard:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘“There’s a chovahanee, and a +chovahano,<br /> +The nav se len is Petulengro.”’ <a +name="citation34a"></a><a href="#footnote34a" +class="citation">[34a]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Hold your tongue, sir,’ said Mrs. Petulengro; +‘you make me ashamed of you with your vulgar ditties. +We are come a visiting now, and everything low should be left +behind.’</p> +<p>‘True,’ said Mr. Petulengro; ‘why bring +what’s low to the dingle, which is low enough +already?’</p> +<p>‘What, are you a catcher at words?’ said I. +‘I thought that catching at words had been confined to the +pot-house farmers and village witty bodies.’</p> +<p>‘All fools,’ said Mrs. Petulengro, ‘catch at +words, and very naturally, as by so doing they hope to prevent +the possibility of rational conversation. Catching at words +confined to pot-house farmers and village witty bodies! No, +nor to Jasper Petulengro. Listen for an hour or two to the +discourse of a set they call newspaper editors, and if you +don’t go out and eat grass as a dog does when he is sick, I +am no female woman. The young lord whose hand I refused +when I took up with wise Jasper, once brought two of them to my +mother’s tan, <a name="citation34b"></a><a +href="#footnote34b" class="citation">[34b]</a> when hankering +after my company: they did nothing but carp at each other’s +words, and a pretty hand they made of it. Ill-favoured dogs +they were, and their attempts at what they called wit almost as +unfortunate as their countenances.’</p> +<p><!-- page 35--><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +35</span>‘Well,’ said I, ‘madam, we will drop +all catchings and carpings for the present. Pray take your +seat on this stool, whilst I go and announce to Miss Isopel +Berners your arrival.’</p> +<p>Thereupon I went to Belle’s habitation, and informed her +that Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro had paid us a visit of ceremony, and +were awaiting her at the fire-place. ‘Pray go and +tell them that I am busy,’ said Belle, who was engaged with +her needle. ‘I do not feel disposed to take part in +any such nonsense.’ ‘I shall do no such +thing,’ said I, ‘and I insist upon your coming +forthwith, and showing proper courtesy to your visitors. If +you do not their feelings will be hurt, and you are aware that I +cannot bear that people’s feelings should be +outraged. Come this moment, or—’ +‘Or what?’ said Belle, half smiling. ‘I +was about to say something in Armenian,’ said I. +‘Well,’ said Belle, laying down her work, ‘I +will come.’ ‘Stay,’ said I, ‘your +hair is hanging about your ears, and your dress is in disorder: +you had better stay a minute or two to prepare yourself to appear +before your visitors, who have come in their very best +attire.’ ‘No,’ said Belle, ‘I will +make no alteration in my appearance; you told me to come this +moment, and you shall be obeyed.’</p> +<p>So Belle and I advanced towards our guests. As we drew +nigh Mr. Petulengro took off his hat, and made a profound +obeisance to Belle, whilst Mrs. Petulengro rose from the stool, +and made a profound curtsey. Belle, who had flung her hair +back over her shoulders, returned their salutations by bending +her head, and after slightly glancing at Mr. Petulengro, fixed +her large blue eyes full upon his wife. Both these females +were very handsome—but how unlike! Belle fair, with +blue eyes and flaxen hair, Mrs. Petulengro with olive complexion, +eyes black, and hair dark—as dark could be. Belle, in +demeanour calm and proud, the gypsy graceful, but full of +movement and agitation. And then, how different were those +two in stature! The head of the Romany rawnie scarcely +ascended to the breast of Isopel Berners. I could see that +Mrs. Petulengro gazed on Belle with unmixed admiration, so did +her husband. ‘Well,’ said the latter, +‘one thing I will say, which is, that there is only one on +earth worthy to stand up in front of this she, and that is the +beauty of the world, as far as man flesh is concerned, Tawno +Chikno; what a pity he did not come down!’</p> +<p><!-- page 36--><a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +36</span>‘Tawno Chikno,’ <a name="citation36a"></a><a +href="#footnote36a" class="citation">[36a]</a> said Mrs. +Petulengro, flaring up; ‘a pretty fellow he to stand up in +front of this gentlewoman, a pity he didn’t come, quotha? +not at all, the fellow is a sneak, afraid of his wife. He +stand up against this rawnie! <a name="citation36b"></a><a +href="#footnote36b" class="citation">[36b]</a> why the look she +has given me would knock the fellow down.’</p> +<p>‘It is easier to knock him down with a look than with a +fist,’ said Mr. Petulengro; ‘that is, if the look +comes from a woman, not that I am disposed to doubt that this +female gentlewoman is able to knock him down either one way or +the other. I have heard of her often enough, and have seen +her once or twice, though not so near as now. Well, +ma’am, my wife and I are come to pay our respects to you; +we are both glad to find that you have left off keeping company +with Flaming Bosville, <a name="citation36c"></a><a +href="#footnote36c" class="citation">[36c]</a> and have taken up +with my pal; he is not very handsome, but a +better—’</p> +<p>‘I take up with your pal, <a name="citation36d"></a><a +href="#footnote36d" class="citation">[36d]</a> as you call him; +you had better mind what you say,’ said Isopel Berners, +‘I take up with nobody.’</p> +<p>‘I merely mean taking up your quarters with him,’ +said Mr. Petulengro, ‘and I was only about to say a better +fellow-lodger you cannot have, or a more instructive, especially +if you have a desire to be inoculated with tongues, as he calls +them. I wonder whether you and he have had any tongue-work +already.’</p> +<p>‘Have you and your wife anything particular to say, if +you have nothing but this kind of conversation I must leave you, +as I am going to make a journey this afternoon, and should be +getting ready.’</p> +<p>‘You must excuse my husband, madam,’ said Mrs. +Petulengro, ‘he is not overburdened with understanding, and +has said but one word of sense since he has been here, which was +that we came to pay our respects to you. We have dressed +ourselves in our best Roman way, in order to do honour to you; +perhaps you do not like it, if so, I am sorry. I have no +French clothes, madam, if I had any, madam, I would have come in +them in order to do you more honour.’</p> +<p>‘I like to see you much better as you are,’ said +Belle; <!-- page 37--><a name="page37"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 37</span>‘people should keep to their +own fashions, and yours is very pretty.’</p> +<p>‘I am glad you are pleased to think it so, madam, it has +been admired in the great city, it created what they call a +sensation, and some of the great ladies—the court ladies, +imitated it, else I should not appear in it so often as I am +accustomed, for I am not very fond of what is Roman, having an +imagination that what is Roman is ungenteel; in fact, I once +heard the wife of a rich citizen say that gypsies were vulgar +creatures. I should have taken her saying very much to +heart, but for her improper pronunciation; she could not +pronounce her words, madam, which we gypsies, as they call us, +usually can, so I thought she was no very high purchase. +You are very beautiful, madam, though you are not dressed as I +could wish to see you, and your hair is hanging down in sad +confusion; allow me to assist you in arranging your hair, madam; +I will dress it for you in our fashion; I would fain see how your +hair would look in our poor gypsy fashion: pray allow me, +madam?’ and she took Belle by the hand.</p> +<p>‘I really can do no such thing,’ said Belle +withdrawing her hand; ‘I thank you for coming to see me, +but—’</p> +<p>‘Do allow me to officiate upon your hair, madam,’ +said Mrs. Petulengro, ‘I should esteem your allowing me a +great mark of condescension. You are very beautiful, madam, +and I think you doubly so, because you are so fair; I have a +great esteem for persons with fair complexions and hair; I have a +less regard for people with dark hair and complexions, +madam.’</p> +<p>‘Then why did you turn off the lord, and take up with +me?’ said Mr. Petulengro; ‘that same lord was fair +enough all about him.’</p> +<p>‘People do when they are young and silly what they +sometimes repent of when they are of riper years and +understandings. I sometimes think that had I not been +something of a simpleton, I might at this time be a great court +lady. Now, madam,’ said she, again taking Belle by +the hand, ‘do oblige me by allowing me to plait your hair a +little?’</p> +<p>‘I have really a good mind to be angry with you,’ +said Belle, giving Mrs. Petulengro a peculiar glance.</p> +<p>‘Do allow her to arrange your hair,’ said I, +‘she means <!-- page 38--><a name="page38"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 38</span>no harm, and wishes to do you honour; +do oblige her and me too, for I should like to see how your hair +would look dressed in her fashion.’</p> +<p>‘You hear what the young rye says?’ said Mrs. +Petulengro. ‘I am sure you will oblige the young rye, +if not myself. Many people would be willing to oblige the +young rye, if he would but ask them; but he is not in the habit +of asking favours. He has a nose of his own, which he keeps +tolerably exalted; he does not think small-beer of himself, +madam; and all the time I have been with him, I never heard him +ask a favour before; therefore, madam, I am sure you will oblige +him. My sister Ursula would be very willing to oblige him +in many things, but he will not ask her for anything, except for +such a favour as a word, which is a poor favour after all. +I don’t mean for her word; perhaps he will some day ask you +for your word. If so—’</p> +<p>‘Why here you are, after railing at me for catching at +words, catching at a word yourself,’ said Mr. +Petulengro.</p> +<p>‘Hold your tongue, sir,’ said Mrs. +Petulengro. ‘Don’t interrupt me in my +discourse; if I caught at a word now, I am not in the habit of +doing so. I am no conceited body; no newspaper Neddy; no +pot-house witty person. I was about to say, madam, that if +the young rye asks you at any time for your word, you will do as +you deem convenient; but I am sure you will oblige him by +allowing me to braid your hair.’</p> +<p>‘I shall not do it to oblige him,’ said Belle; +‘the young rye, as you call him, is nothing to +me.’</p> +<p>‘Well, then, to oblige me,’ said Mrs. Petulengro; +‘do allow me to become your poor tire-woman.’</p> +<p>‘It is great nonsense,’ said Belle, reddening; +‘however, as you came to see me, and ask the matter as a +particular favour to yourself—’</p> +<p>‘Thank you, madam,’ said Mrs. Petulengro, leading +Belle to the stool; ‘please to sit down here. Thank +you; your hair is very beautiful, madam,’ she continued, as +she proceeded to braid Belle’s hair; ‘so is your +countenance. Should you ever go to the great city, among +the grand folks, you would make a sensation, madam. I have +made one myself, who am dark; the chi she is kauley, <a +name="citation38"></a><a href="#footnote38" +class="citation">[38]</a> which last word signifies black, which +I am not, though rather dark. There’s no colour like +white, <!-- page 39--><a name="page39"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 39</span>madam; it’s so lasting, so +genteel. Gentility will carry the day, madam, even with the +young rye. He will ask words of the black lass, but beg the +word of the fair.’</p> +<p>In the meantime Mr. Petulengro and myself entered into +conversation. ‘Any news stirring, Mr. +Petulengro?’ said I. ‘Have you heard anything +of the great religious movements?’</p> +<p>‘Plenty,’ said Mr. Petulengro; ‘all the +religious people, more especially the Evangelicals—those +that go about distributing tracts—are very angry about the +fight between Gentleman Cooper and White-headed Bob, <a +name="citation39a"></a><a href="#footnote39a" +class="citation">[39a]</a> which they say ought not to have been +permitted to take place; and then they are trying all they can to +prevent the fight between the lion and the dogs, <a +name="citation39b"></a><a href="#footnote39b" +class="citation">[39b]</a> which they say is a disgrace to a +Christian country. Now, I can’t say that I have any +quarrel with the religious party and the Evangelicals; they are +always civil to me and mine, and frequently give us tracts, as +they call them, which neither I nor mine can read; but I cannot +say that I approve of any movements, religious or not, which have +in aim to put down all life and manly sport in this here +country.’</p> +<p>‘Anything else?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘People are becoming vastly sharp,’ said Mr. +Petulengro; ‘and I am told that all the old-fashioned, +good-tempered constables are going to be set aside, and a paid +body of men to be established, who are not to permit a tramper or +vagabond on the roads of England;—and talking of roads, +puts me in mind of a strange story I heard two nights ago, whilst +drinking some beer at a public-house, in company with my cousin +Sylvester. I had asked Tawno to go, but his wife would not +let him. Just opposite me, smoking their pipes, were a +couple of men, something like engineers, and they were talking of +a wonderful invention which was to make a wonderful alteration in +England; inasmuch as it would set aside all the old roads, which +in a little time would be ploughed up, and sowed with corn, and +cause all England to be laid down with iron roads, on which +people would go thundering along in vehicles, pushed forward by +fire and smoke. Now, brother, when I heard this, I did not +feel very comfortable; for I thought to myself, what a queer +place such a road would be to pitch one’s tent upon, and +how impossible it would be for one’s cattle to find a bite +<!-- page 40--><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +40</span>of grass upon it; and I thought likewise of the danger +to which one’s family would be exposed of being run over +and severely scorched by these same flying, fiery vehicles; so I +made bold to say, that I hoped such an invention would never be +countenanced, because it was likely to do a great deal of +harm. Whereupon, one of the men, giving me a glance, said, +without taking the pipe out of his mouth, that for his part, he +sincerely hoped that it would take effect; and if it did no other +good than stopping the rambles of gypsies, and other like scamps, +it ought to be encouraged. Well, brother, feeling myself +insulted, I put my hand into my pocket, in order to pull out +money, intending to challenge him to fight for a five-shilling +stake, but merely found sixpence, having left all my other money +at the tent; which sixpence was just sufficient to pay for the +beer which Sylvester and myself were drinking, of whom I +couldn’t hope to borrow anything—“poor as +Sylvester” being a by-word amongst us. So, not being +able to back myself, I held my peace, and let the Gorgio <a +name="citation40"></a><a href="#footnote40" +class="citation">[40]</a> have it all his own way, who, after +turning up his nose at me, went on discoursing about the said +invention, saying what a fund of profit it would be to those who +knew how to make use of it, and should have the laying down of +the new roads, and the shoeing of England with iron. And +after he had said this, and much more of the same kind, which I +cannot remember, he and his companion got up and walked away; and +presently I and Sylvester got up and walked to our camp; and +there I lay down in my tent by the side of my wife, where I had +an ugly dream of having camped upon an iron road; my tent being +overturned by a flying vehicle; my wife’s leg injured; and +all my affairs put into great confusion.’</p> +<p>‘Now, madam,’ said Mrs. Petulengro, ‘I have +braided your hair in our fashion; you look very beautiful, madam; +more beautiful, if possible, than before.’ Belle now +rose, and came forward with her tire-woman. Mr. Petulengro +was loud in his applause, but I said nothing, for I did not think +Belle was improved in appearance by having submitted to the +ministry of Mrs. Petulengro’s hand. Nature never +intended Belle to appear as a gypsy; she had made her too proud +and serious. A more proper part for her was that of a +heroine, a queenly heroine—that of Theresa of Hungary, for +example; or, better <!-- page 41--><a name="page41"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 41</span>still, that of Brynhilda the +Valkyrie, the beloved of Sigurd, the serpent-killer, who incurred +the curse of Odin, because, in the tumult of spears, she sided +with the young king, and doomed the old warrior to die, to whom +Odin had promised victory.</p> +<p>Belle looked at me for a moment in silence, then turning to +Mrs. Petulengro, she said: ‘You have had your will with me; +are you satisfied?’ ‘Quite so, madam,’ +said Mrs. Petulengro, ‘and I hope you will be so too, as +soon as you have looked in the glass.’ ‘I have +looked in one already,’ said Belle, ‘and the glass +does not flatter.’ ‘You mean the face of the +young rye,’ said Mrs. Petulengro, ‘never mind him, +madam; the young rye, though he knows a thing or two, is not a +university, nor a person of universal wisdom. I assure you +that you never looked so well before, and I hope that, from this +moment, you will wear your hair in this way.’ +‘And who is to braid it in this way?’ said Belle, +smiling. ‘I, madam,’ said Mrs. Petulengro, +‘I will braid it for you every morning, if you will but be +persuaded to join us. Do so, madam, and I think if you did, +the young rye would do so too.’ ‘The young rye +is nothing to me, nor I to him,’ said Belle, ‘we have +stayed some time together, but our paths will soon be +apart. Now farewell, for I am about to take a +journey.’ ‘And you will go out with your hair +as I have braided it,’ said Mrs. Petulengro, ‘if you +do everybody will be in love with you.’ +‘No,’ said Belle, ‘hitherto I have allowed you +to do what you please, but henceforth I shall have my own +way. Come, come,’ said she, observing that the gypsy +was about to speak, ‘we have had enough of nonsense, +whenever I leave this hollow it will be wearing my hair in my own +fashion.’ ‘Come, wife,’ said Mr. +Petulengro, ‘we will no longer intrude upon the rye and +rawnie, there is such a thing as being troublesome.’ +Thereupon Mr. Petulengro and his wife took their leave, with many +salutations. ‘Then you are going?’ said I, when +Belle and I were left alone. ‘Yes,’ said Belle, +‘I am going on a journey, my affairs compel +me.’ ‘But you will return again?’ said +I. ‘Yes,’ said Belle, ‘I shall return +once more.’ ‘Once more,’ said I, +‘what do you mean by once more? The Petulengros <a +name="citation41"></a><a href="#footnote41" +class="citation">[41]</a> will soon be gone, and will you abandon +me in this place?’ ‘You were alone here,’ +said Belle, ‘before I came, and I suppose, <!-- page +42--><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>found +it agreeable, or you would not have stayed in it.’ +‘Yes,’ said I, ‘that was before I knew you; but +having lived with you here, I should be very loth to live here +without you.’ ‘Indeed,’ said Belle, +‘I did not know that I was of so much consequence to +you. Well, the day is wearing away—I must go and +harness Traveller to the cart.’ ‘I will do +that,’ said I, ‘or anything else you may wish +me. Go and prepare yourself; I will see after Traveller and +the cart.’ Belle departed to her tent, and I set +about performing the task I had undertaken. In about half +an hour Belle again made her appearance—she was dressed +neatly and plainly. Her hair was no longer in the Roman +fashion, in which Pakomovna had plaited it, but was secured by a +comb; she held a bonnet in her hand. ‘Is there +anything else I can do for you?’ I demanded. +‘There are two or three bundles by my tent which you can +put into the cart,’ said Belle. I put the bundles +into the cart, and then led Traveller and the cart up the winding +path to the mouth of the dingle, near which was Mr. +Petulengro’s encampment. Belle followed. At the +top, I delivered the reins into her hands; we looked at each +other steadfastly for some time. Belle then departed, and I +returned to the dingle, where, seating myself on my stone, I +remained for upwards of an hour in thought.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<p>THE FESTIVAL—THE GYPSY SONG—PIRAMUS OF +ROME—THE SCOTCHMAN—GYPSY NAMES</p> +<p>On the following day there was much feasting amongst the +Romany chals of Mr. Petulengro’s party. Throughout +the forenoon the Romany chies did scarcely anything but cook +flesh, and the flesh which they cooked was swine’s +flesh. About two o’clock, the chals and chies +dividing themselves into various parties sat down and partook of +the fare, which was partly roasted, partly sodden. I dined +that day with Mr. Petulengro, and his wife and family, Ursula, +Mr. and Mrs. Chikno, and Sylvester and his two children. +Sylvester, it will be as <!-- page 43--><a +name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>well to say; +was a widower, and had consequently no one to cook his victuals +for him, supposing he had any, which was not always the case, +Sylvester’s affairs being seldom in a prosperous +state. He was noted for his bad success in trafficking, +notwithstanding the many hints which he received from Jasper, +under whose protection he had placed himself, even as Tawno +Chikno had done, who himself, as the reader has heard on a former +occasion, was anything but a wealthy subject, though he was at +all times better off than Sylvester, the Lazarus of the Romany +tribe.</p> +<p>All our party ate with a good appetite, except myself, who, +feeling rather melancholy that day, had little desire to +eat. I did not, like the others, partake of the pork, but +got my dinner entirely off the body of a squirrel which had been +shot the day before by a chal <a name="citation43a"></a><a +href="#footnote43a" class="citation">[43a]</a> of the name of +Piramus, who, besides being a good shot, was celebrated for his +skill in playing on the fiddle. During the dinner a horn +filled with ale passed frequently around; I drank of it more than +once, and felt inspirited by the draughts. The repast +concluded, Sylvester and his children departed to their tent, and +Mr. Petulengro, Tawno, and myself getting up, went and lay down +under a shady hedge, where Mr. Petulengro, lighting his pipe, +began to smoke, and where Tawno presently fell asleep. I +was about to fall asleep also, when I heard the sound of music +and song. Piramus was playing on the fiddle, whilst Mrs. +Chikno, who had a voice of her own, was singing in tones sharp +enough, but of great power, a gypsy song:</p> +<h3>POISONING THE PORKER, <a name="citation43b"></a><a +href="#footnote43b" class="citation">[43b]</a></h3> +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">By Mrs. Chikno</span>.</p> +<p>To mande shoon ye Romany chals<br /> +Who besh in the pus about the yag,<br /> +I’ll pen how we drab the baulo,<br /> +I’ll pen how we drab the baulo.</p> +<p><!-- page 44--><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +44</span>We jaws to the drab-engro ker,<br /> +Trin horsworth there of drab we lels,<br /> +And when to the swety <a name="citation44a"></a><a +href="#footnote44a" class="citation">[44a]</a> back we wels<br /> +We pens we’ll drab the baulo,<br /> +We’ll have a drab at a baulo.</p> +<p>And then we kairs the drab opré,<br /> +And then we jaws to the farming ker,<br /> +To mang a beti habben,<br /> +A beti poggado habben.</p> +<p>A rinkeno baulo there we dick,<br /> +And then we pens in Romano jib;<br /> +Wust lis odoi opré ye chick,<br /> +And the baulo he will lel lis,<br /> +The baulo he will lel lis.</p> +<p>Coliko coliko saulo we<br /> +Apopli to the farming ker<br /> +Will wel and mang him mullo,<br /> +Will wel and mang his truppo. <a name="citation44b"></a><a +href="#footnote44b" class="citation">[44b]</a></p> +<p>And so we kairs, and so we kairs;<br /> +The baulo in the rarde <a name="citation44c"></a><a +href="#footnote44c" class="citation">[44c]</a> mers;<br /> +We mang him on the saulo,<br /> +And rig to the tan the baulo.</p> +<p>And then we toves the wendror well<br /> +Till sore the wendror iuziou se,<br /> +Till kekkeno drab’s adrey lis,<br /> +Till drab there’s kek adrey lis.</p> +<p>And then his truppo well we hatch, <a +name="citation44d"></a><a href="#footnote44d" +class="citation">[44d]</a><br /> +Kin levinor at the kitchema,<br /> +And have a kosko habben,<br /> +A kosko Romano habben,</p> +<p>The boshom engro <a name="citation44e"></a><a +href="#footnote44e" class="citation">[44e]</a> kils, he kils,<br +/> +The tawnie juva <a name="citation44f"></a><a href="#footnote44f" +class="citation">[44f]</a> gils, she gils<br /> +A puro Romano gillie,<br /> +Now shoon the Romano gillie.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 45--><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +45</span>Which song I had translated in the following manner, in +my younger days for a lady’s album.</p> +<blockquote><p>Listen to me ye Roman lads, who are seated in the +straw about the fire, and I will tell how we poison the porker, I +will tell how we poison the porker.</p> +<p>We go to the house of the poison monger, <a +name="citation45a"></a><a href="#footnote45a" +class="citation">[45a]</a> where we buy three pennies’ +worth of bane, and when we return to our people we say, we will +poison the porker; we will try and poison the porker.</p> +<p>We then make up the poison, and then we take our way to the +house of the farmer, as if to beg a bit of victuals, a little +broken victuals.</p> +<p>We see a jolly porker, and then we say in Roman language, +‘Fling the bane yonder amongst the dirt, and the porker +soon will find it, the porker soon will find it.’</p> +<p>Early on the morrow, we will return to the farm house, and beg +the dead porker, the body of the dead porker.</p> +<p>And so we do, even so we do; the porker dieth during the +night; on the morrow we beg the porker, and carry to the tent the +porker.</p> +<p>And then we wash the inside <a name="citation45b"></a><a +href="#footnote45b" class="citation">[45b]</a> well, till all the +inside is perfectly clean, till there’s no bane within it, +not a poison grain within it.</p> +<p>And then we roast the body well, send for ale to the alehouse, +and have a merry banquet, a merry Roman banquet.</p> +<p>The fellow with the fiddle plays, he plays; the little lassie +sings, she sings an ancient Roman ditty; now hear the Roman +ditty.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 46--><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +46</span>SONG OF THE BROKEN CHASTITY. <a +name="citation46a"></a><a href="#footnote46a" +class="citation">[46a]</a></h3> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">By <span +class="smcap">Ursula</span>.</p> +<p>Penn’d the Romany chi <a name="citation46b"></a><a +href="#footnote46b" class="citation">[46b]</a> ké laki +dye<br /> +‘Miry dearie dye mi shom cambri!’ <a +name="citation46c"></a><a href="#footnote46c" +class="citation">[46c]</a><br /> +‘And savo <a name="citation46d"></a><a href="#footnote46d" +class="citation">[46d]</a> kair’d tute cambri,<br /> +Miry dearie chi, miry Romany chi?’<br /> +‘O miry dye a boro rye,<br /> +A bovalo <a name="citation46e"></a><a href="#footnote46e" +class="citation">[46e]</a> rye, a gorgiko rye,<br /> +Sos <a name="citation46f"></a><a href="#footnote46f" +class="citation">[46f]</a> kistur <a name="citation46g"></a><a +href="#footnote46g" class="citation">[46g]</a> pré a +pellengo grye,<br /> +’Twas yov sos kerdo man cambri.’<br /> +‘Tu tawnie vassavie lubbeny,<br /> +Tu chal <a name="citation46h"></a><a href="#footnote46h" +class="citation">[46h]</a> from miry tan abri; <a +name="citation46i"></a><a href="#footnote46i" +class="citation">[46i]</a><br /> +Had a Romany chal kair’d tute cambri,<br /> +Then I had penn’d ke tute chie, <a +name="citation46j"></a><a href="#footnote46j" +class="citation">[46j]</a><br /> +But tu shan a vassavie lubbeny<br /> +With gorgikie <a name="citation46k"></a><a href="#footnote46k" +class="citation">[46k]</a> rat to be cambri.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 47--><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +47</span>‘There’s some kernel in those songs, +brother,’ said Mr. Petulengro, when the songs and music +were over.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said I, ‘they are certainly very +remarkable songs. I say, Jasper, I hope you have not been +drabbing baulor <a name="citation47a"></a><a href="#footnote47a" +class="citation">[47a]</a> lately.’</p> +<p>‘And suppose we have, brother, what then?’</p> +<p>‘Why, it is a very dangerous practice, to say nothing of +the wickedness of it.’</p> +<p>‘Necessity has no law, brother.’</p> +<p>‘That is true,’ said I, ‘I have always said +so, but you are not necessitous, and should not drab +baulor.’</p> +<p>‘And who told you we had been drabbing +baulor?’</p> +<p>‘Why, you have had a banquet of pork, and after the +banquet Mrs. Chikno sang a song about drabbing baulor, so I +naturally thought you might have lately been engaged in such a +thing.’</p> +<p>‘Brother, you occasionally utter a word or two of +common-sense. It was natural for you to suppose, after +seeing that dinner of pork, and hearing that song, that we had +been drabbing baulor; I will now tell you that we have not been +doing so. What have you to say to that?’</p> +<p>‘That I am very glad of it.’</p> +<p>‘Had you tasted that pork, brother, you would have found +that it was sweet and tasty, which balluva <a +name="citation47b"></a><a href="#footnote47b" +class="citation">[47b]</a> that is drabbed can hardly be expected +to be. We have no reason to drab baulor at present, we have +money and credit; but necessity has no law. Our forefathers +occasionally drabbed baulor, some of our people may still do such +a thing, but only from compulsion.’</p> +<p>‘I see,’ said I, ‘and at your merry meetings +you sing songs upon the compulsatory deeds of your people, alias +their villainous actions; and after all, what would the stirring +poetry of any nation be, but for its compulsatory deeds? +Look at the poetry of Scotland, the heroic part founded almost +entirely on the villainous deeds of the Scotch nation; +cow-stealing, for example, which is very little better than +drabbing baulor; whilst the softer part is mostly about the slips +of its females among the broom, so that no upholder of Scotch +poetry could censure Ursula’s song as indelicate, even if +he understood it. What do you think, Jasper?’</p> +<p>‘I think, brother, as I before said, that occasionally +<!-- page 48--><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +48</span>you utter a word of common-sense; you were talking of +the Scotch, brother; what do you think of a Scotchman finding +fault with Romany?’</p> +<p>‘A Scotchman finding fault with Romany, Jasper? Oh +dear, but you joke, the thing could never be.’</p> +<p>‘Yes; and at Piramus’s fiddle; what do you think +of a Scotchman turning up his nose at Piramus’s +fiddle?’</p> +<p>‘A Scotchman turning up his nose at Piramus’s +fiddle! nonsense, Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘Do you know what I most dislike, brother?’</p> +<p>‘I do not, unless it be the constable, +Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘It is not the constable, it’s a beggar on +horseback, brother.’</p> +<p>‘What do you mean by a beggar on horseback?’</p> +<p>‘Why, a scamp, brother, raised above his proper place, +who takes every opportunity of giving himself fine airs. +About a week ago, my people and myself camped on a green by a +plantation in the neighbourhood of a great house. In the +evening we were making merry, the girls were dancing, while +Piramus was playing on the fiddle a tune of his own composing, to +which he has given his own name, Piramus of Rome, and which is +much celebrated amongst our people, and from which I have been +told that one of the grand gorgio composers, who once heard it, +has taken several hints. So, as we were making merry, a +great many grand people—lords and ladies, I believe, came +from the great house and looked on, as the girls danced to the +tune of Piramus of Rome, and seemed much pleased; and when the +girls had left off dancing, and Piramus playing, the ladies +wanted to have their fortunes told; so I bade Mikailia Chikno, +who can tell a fortune when she pleases better than anyone else, +tell them a fortune, and she, being in a good mind, told them a +fortune which pleased them very much. So after they had +heard their fortunes, one of them asked if any of our women could +sing, and I told them several could, more particularly +Leviathan—you know Leviathan, she is not here now, but some +miles distant, she is our best singer, Ursula coming next. +So the lady said she should like to hear Leviathan sing, +whereupon Leviathan sang the Gudlo pesham, <a +name="citation48"></a><a href="#footnote48" +class="citation">[48]</a> and Piramus played the tune of the same +name, which, as you know, means the honeycomb, the song and the +tune being well entitled to the name, being <!-- page 49--><a +name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>wonderfully +sweet. Well, everybody present seemed mighty well pleased +with the song and music, with the exception of one person, a +carroty-haired Scotch body; how he came there I don’t know, +but there he was; and coming forward, he began in Scotch as broad +as a barndoor, to find fault with the music and the song, saying +that he had never heard viler stuff than either. Well, +brother, out of consideration for the civil gentry with whom the +fellow had come, I held my peace for a long time, and in order to +get the subject changed, I said to Mikailia in Romany, ‘you +have told the ladies their fortunes, now tell the gentlemen +theirs, quick, quick—pen lende dukkerin. <a +name="citation49"></a><a href="#footnote49" +class="citation">[49]</a> Well, brother, the Scotchman, I +suppose, thinking I was speaking ill of him, fell into a greater +passion than before, and catching hold of the word +dukkerin—“Dukkerin,” said he, +“what’s dukkerin?” +“Dukkerin,” said I, “is fortune—a man or +woman’s destiny; don’t you like the +word?” “Word! d’ye ca’ that a word? +a bonnie word,” said he. “Perhaps you’ll +tell us what it is in Scotch,” said I, “in order that +we may improve our language by a Scotch word; a pal of mine has +told me that we have taken a great many words from foreign +lingos.” “Why, then, if that be the case, +fellow, I will tell you; it is e’en +‘spaeing,’” said he very seriously. +“Well, then,” said I, “I’ll keep my own +word, which is much the prettiest—spaeing! spaeing! why, I +should be ashamed to make use of the word, it sounds so much like +a certain other word,” and then I made a face as if I were +unwell. “Perhaps it’s Scotch also for +that?” “What do ye mean by speaking in that +guise to a gentleman?” said he, “you insolent +vagabond, without a name or a country.” “There +you are mistaken,” said I, “my country is Egypt, but +we ’Gyptians, like you Scotch, are rather fond of +travelling, and as for name—my name is Jasper Petulengro, +perhaps you have a better; what is it?” “Sandy +Macraw.” At that, brother, the gentlemen burst into a +roar of laughter, and all the ladies tittered.’</p> +<p>‘You were rather severe on the Scotchman, +Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘Not at all, brother, and suppose I were, he began +first; I am the civilest man in the world, and never interfere +with anybody who lets me and mine alone. He finds <!-- page +50--><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>fault +with Romany, forsooth! why L---d A’mighty, what’s +Scotch? He doesn’t like our songs; what are his +own? I understand them as little as he mine; I have heard +one or two of them, and pretty rubbish they seemed. But the +best of the joke is, the fellow’s finding fault with +Piramus’s fiddle—a chap from the land of bagpipes +finding fault with Piramus’s fiddle! Why, I’ll +back that fiddle against all the bagpipes in Scotland, and +Piramus against all the bagpipers; for though Piramus weighs but +ten stone, he shall flog a Scotchman of twenty.’</p> +<p>‘Scotchmen are never so fat as that,’ said I, +‘unless indeed, they have been a long time pensioners of +England. I say, Jasper, what remarkable names your people +have!’</p> +<p>‘And what pretty names, brother; there’s my own, +for example, Jasper; then there’s Ambrose <a +name="citation50"></a><a href="#footnote50" +class="citation">[50]</a> and Sylvester; then there’s +Culvato, which signifies Claude; then there’s Piramus, +that’s a nice name brother.’</p> +<p>‘Then there’s your wife’s name, Pakomovna, +then there’s Ursula and Morella.’</p> +<p>‘Then, brother, there’s Ercilla.’</p> +<p>‘Ercilla! the name of the great poet of Spain, how +wonderful; then Leviathan.’</p> +<p>‘The name of a ship, brother; Leviathan was named after +a ship, so don’t make a wonder out of her. But +there’s Sanpriel and Synfye.’</p> +<p>‘Ay, and Clementina and Lavinia, Camillia and Lydia, +Curlanda, and Orlanda; wherever did they get those +names?’</p> +<p>‘Where did my wife get her necklace, brother?’</p> +<p>‘She knows best, Jasper. I hope—’</p> +<p>‘Come, no hoping! She got it from her grandmother, +who died at the age of a hundred and three, and sleeps in +Coggeshall churchyard. She got it from her mother, who also +died very old, and who could give no other account of it than +that it had been in the family time out of mind.’</p> +<p>‘Whence could they have got it?’</p> +<p>‘Why, perhaps where they got their names, brother. +A gentleman who had travelled much, once told me that he had seen +the sister of it about the neck of an Indian queen.’</p> +<p>‘Some of your names, Jasper, appear to be church +names—your own, for example, and Ambrose and <!-- page +51--><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +51</span>Sylvester; perhaps you got them from the Papists, in the +times of Popery, but where did you get such a name as Piramus, a +name of Grecian romance. Then some of them appear to be +Slavonian; for example Mikailia and Pakomovna. I +don’t know much of Slavonian; but—’</p> +<p>‘What is Slavonian, brother?’</p> +<p>‘The family name of certain nations, the principal of +which is the Russian, and from which the word slave is originally +derived. You have heard of the Russians, Jasper?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, brother, and seen some. I saw their crallis +at the time of the peace; he was not a bad-looking man for a +Russian.’</p> +<p>‘By-the-bye, Jasper, I’m half inclined to think +that crallis <a name="citation51a"></a><a href="#footnote51a" +class="citation">[51a]</a> is a Slavish word. I saw +something like it in a lil <a name="citation51b"></a><a +href="#footnote51b" class="citation">[51b]</a> called +“Voltaire’s Life of Charles.” How you +should have come by such names and words is to me +incomprehensible.’</p> +<p>‘You seem posed, brother.’</p> +<p>‘I really know very little about you, Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘Very little indeed, brother. We know very little +about ourselves, and you know nothing, save what we have told +you; and we have now and then told you things about us which are +not exactly true, simply to make a fool of you brother. You +will say that was wrong; perhaps it was. Well, Sunday will +be here in a day or two, when we will go to church, where +possibly we shall hear a sermon on the disastrous consequences of +lying.’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<p>THE CHURCH—THE ARISTOCRATICAL PEW—DAYS OF +YORE—THE CLERGYMAN—‘IN WHAT WOULD A MAN BE +PROFITED?’</p> +<p>When two days had passed, Sunday came; I breakfasted by myself +in the solitary dingle; and then, having set things a little to +rights, I ascended to Mr. Petulengro’s encampment. I +could hear church-bells ringing around in the distance, appearing +to say, ‘Come to church, come to church,’ as clearly +as it was possible <!-- page 52--><a name="page52"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 52</span>for church-bells to say. I +found Mr. Petulengro seated by the door of his tent, smoking his +pipe, in rather an ungenteel undress. ‘Well, +Jasper,’ said I, ‘are you ready to go to church; for +if you are, I am ready to accompany you?’ ‘I am +not ready, brother,’ said Mr. Petulengro, ‘nor is my +wife; the church, too, to which we shall go is three miles off <a +name="citation52"></a><a href="#footnote52" +class="citation">[52]</a>; so it is of no use to think of going +there this morning, as the service would be three-quarters over +before we got there; if, however, you are disposed to go in the +afternoon, we are your people.’ Thereupon I returned +to my dingle, where I passed several hours in conning the Welsh +Bible, which the preacher, Peter Williams, had given me.</p> +<p>At last I gave over reading, took a slight refreshment, and +was about to emerge from the dingle, when I heard the voice of +Mr. Petulengro calling me. I went up again to the +encampment, where I found Mr. Petulengro, his wife, and Tawno +Chikno, ready to proceed to church. Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro +were dressed in Roman fashion, though not in the full-blown +manner in which they had paid their visit to Isopel and +myself. Tawno had on a clean white slop, with a nearly new +black beaver, with very broad rims, and the nap exceedingly +long. As for myself, I was dressed in much the same manner +as that in which I departed from London, having on, in honour of +the day, a shirt perfectly clean, having washed one on purpose +for the occasion, with my own hands, the day before, in the pond +of tepid water in which the newts and efts were in the habit of +taking their pleasure. We proceeded for upwards of a mile, +by footpaths through meadows and corn-fields; we crossed various +stiles; at last, passing over one, we found ourselves in a road, +wending along which for a considerable distance, we at last came +in sight of a church, the bells of which had been tolling +distinctly in our ears for some time; before, however, we reached +the church-yard the bells had ceased their melody. It was +surrounded by lofty beech-trees of brilliant green foliage. +We entered the gate, Mrs. Petulengro leading the way, and +proceeded to a small door near the east end of the church. +As we advanced, the sound of singing within the church rose upon +our ears. Arrived at the small door, Mrs. Petulengro opened +it and entered, followed by Tawno Chikno. I myself went +last <!-- page 53--><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +53</span>of all, following Mr. Petulengro, who, before I entered, +turned round, and, with a significant nod, advised me to take +care how I behaved. The part of the church which we had +entered was the chancel; on one side stood a number of venerable +old men—probably the neighbouring poor—and on the +other a number of poor girls belonging to the village school, +dressed in white gowns and straw bonnets, whom two elegant but +simply dressed young women were superintending. Every voice +seemed to be united in singing a certain anthem, which, +notwithstanding it was written neither by Tate nor Brady, +contains some of the sublimest words which were ever put +together, not the worst of which are those which burst on our +ears as we entered.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Every eye shall now behold Him,<br /> +Robed in dreadful majesty;<br /> +Those who set at nought and sold Him,<br /> +Pierced and nailed Him to the tree,<br /> + Deeply wailing,<br /> + Shall the true Messiah +see.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Still following Mrs. Petulengro, we proceeded down the chancel +and along the aisle; notwithstanding the singing, I could +distinctly hear as we passed many a voice whispering, ‘Here +come the gypsies! here come the gypsies!’ I felt +rather embarrassed, with a somewhat awkward doubt as to where we +were to sit; none of the occupiers of the pews, who appeared to +consist almost entirely of farmers, with their wives, sons and +daughters, opened a door to admit us. Mrs. Petulengro, +however, appeared to feel not the least embarrassment, but +tripped along the aisle with the greatest nonchalance. We +passed under the pulpit, in which stood the clergyman in his +white surplice, and reached the middle of the church, where we +were confronted by the sexton dressed in long blue coat, and +holding in his hand a wand. This functionary motioned +towards the lower end of the church, where were certain benches, +partly occupied by poor people and boys. Mrs. Petulengro, +however, with a toss of her head, directed her course to a +magnificent pew, which was unoccupied, which she opened and +entered, followed closely by Tawno Chikno, Mr. Petulengro, and +myself. The sexton did not appear by any means to approve +of the arrangement, and as I stood next the door <!-- page +54--><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>laid +his finger on my arm, as if to intimate that myself and +companions must quit our aristocratical location. I said +nothing, but directed my eyes to the clergyman, who uttered a +short and expressive cough; the sexton looked at him for a +moment, and then, bowing his head, closed the door—in a +moment more the music ceased. I took up a Prayer-book, on +which was engraved an earl’s coronet. The clergyman +uttered, ‘I will arise and go to my father.’ +England’s sublime liturgy had commenced.</p> +<p>Oh what feelings came over me on finding myself again in an +edifice devoted to the religion of my country. I had not +been in such a place I cannot tell for how long—certainly +not for years; and now I had found my way there again, it +appeared as if I had fallen asleep in the pew of the old church +of pretty D---. <a name="citation54a"></a><a href="#footnote54a" +class="citation">[54a]</a> I had occasionally done so when +a child, and had suddenly woke up. Yes, surely I had been +asleep and had woken up; but, no! alas, no! I had not been +asleep—at least not in the old church—if I had been +asleep I had been walking in my sleep, struggling, striving, +learning, and unlearning in my sleep. Years had rolled away +whilst I had been asleep—ripe fruit had fallen, green fruit +had come on whilst I had been asleep—how circumstances had +altered, and above all myself, whilst I had been asleep. +No, I had not been asleep in the old church! I was in a pew +it is true, but not the pew of black leather, in which I +sometimes fell asleep in days of yore, but in a strange pew; and +then my companions, they were no longer those of days of +yore. I was no longer with my respectable father and +mother, and my dear brother, but with the gypsy cral <a +name="citation54b"></a><a href="#footnote54b" +class="citation">[54b]</a> and his wife, and the gigantic Tawno, +the Antinous of the dusky people. And what was I +myself? No longer an innocent child, but a moody man, +bearing in my face, as I knew well, the marks of my strivings and +strugglings, of what I had learnt and unlearnt; nevertheless, the +general aspect of things brought to my mind what I had felt and +seen of yore. There was difference enough it is true, but +still there was a similarity—at least I thought +so—the church, the clergyman, and the clerk, differing in +many respects from those of pretty D---, put me strangely in mind +of them; and then the words!—by-the-by, was it not the +magic of the words which brought the dear enchanting past so +powerfully before the <!-- page 55--><a name="page55"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 55</span>mind of Lavengro? for the words were +the same sonorous words of high import which had first made an +impression on his childish ear in the old church of pretty +D---.</p> +<p>The liturgy was now over, during the reading of which my +companions behaved in a most unexceptionable manner, sitting down +and rising up when other people sat down and rose, and holding in +their hands Prayer-books which they found in the pew, into which +they stared intently, though I observed that, with the exception +of Mrs. Petulengro, who knew how to read a little, they held the +books by the top, and not the bottom, as is the usual way. +The clergyman now ascended the pulpit, arrayed in his black +gown. The congregation composed themselves to attention, as +did also my companions, who fixed their eyes upon the clergyman +with a certain strange immovable stare, which I believe to be +peculiar to their race. The clergyman gave out his text, +and began to preach. He was a tall, gentlemanly man, +seemingly between fifty and sixty, with greyish hair; his +features were very handsome, but with a somewhat melancholy cast: +the tones of his voice were rich and noble, but also with +somewhat of melancholy in them. The text which he gave out +was the following one, ‘In what would a man be profited, +provided he gained the whole world, and lost his own +soul?’</p> +<p>And on this text the clergyman preached long and well: he did +not read his sermon, but spoke it extempore; his doing so rather +surprised and offended me at first; I was not used to such a +style of preaching in a church devoted to the religion of my +country. I compared it within my mind with the style of +preaching used by the high-church rector in the old church of +pretty D---, and I thought to myself it was very different, and +being very different I did not like it, and I thought to myself +how scandalized the people of D--- would have been had they heard +it, and I figured to myself how indignant the high-church clerk +would have been had any clergyman got up in the church of D--- +and preached in such a manner. Did it not savour strongly +of dissent, methodism, and similar low stuff? Surely it +did; why the Methodist I had heard preach on the heath above the +old city, preached in the same manner—at least he preached +extempore; ay, and something like the present clergyman, for the +<!-- page 56--><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +56</span>Methodist spoke very zealously and with great feeling, +and so did the present clergyman; so I, of course, felt rather +offended with the clergyman for speaking with zeal and +feeling. However, long before the sermon was over I forgot +the offence which I had taken, and listened to the sermon with +much admiration, for the eloquence and powerful reasoning with +which it abounded.</p> +<p>Oh how eloquent he was when he talked of the inestimable value +of a man’s soul, which he said endured for ever, whilst his +body, as everyone knew, lasted at most for a very contemptible +period of time; and how forcibly he reasoned on the folly of a +man, who, for the sake of gaining the whole world—a thing, +he said, which provided he gained he could only possess for a +part of the time, during which his perishable body +existed—should lose his soul, that is, cause that precious +deathless portion of him to suffer indescribable misery time +without end.</p> +<p>There was one part of his sermon which struck me in a very +particular manner, he said: ‘That there were some people +who gained something in return for their souls; if they did not +get the whole world, they got a part of it—lands, wealth, +honour, or renown; mere trifles, he allowed, in comparison with +the value of a man’s soul, which is destined either to +enjoy delight, or suffer tribulation time without end; but which, +in the eyes of the worldly, had a certain value, and which +afforded a certain pleasure and satisfaction. But there +were also others who lost their souls and got nothing for +them—neither lands, wealth, renown, nor consideration, who +were poor outcasts, and despised by everybody. My +friends,’ he added, ‘if the man is a fool who barters +his soul for the whole world, what a fool he must be who barters +his soul for nothing.’</p> +<p>The eyes of the clergyman, as he uttered these words, wandered +around the whole congregation, and when he had concluded them, +the eyes of the whole congregation were turned upon my companions +and myself.</p> +<h2><!-- page 57--><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +57</span>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<p>RETURN FROM CHURCH—THE CUCKOO AND GYPSY—SPIRITUAL +DISCOURSE</p> +<p>The service over, my companions and myself returned towards +the encampment by the way we came. Some of the humble part +of the congregation laughed and joked at us as we passed. +Mr. Petulengro and his wife, however, returned their laughs and +jokes with interest. As for Tawno and myself, we said +nothing; Tawno, like most handsome fellows, having very little to +say for himself at any time; and myself, though not handsome, not +being particularly skilful at repartee. Some boys followed +us for a considerable time, making all kinds of observations +about gypsies, but as we walked at a great pace, we gradually +left them behind, and at last lost sight of them. Mrs. +Petulengro and Tawno Chikno walked together, even as they had +come, whilst Mr. Petulengro and myself followed at a little +distance.</p> +<p>‘That was a very fine preacher we heard,’ said I +to Mr. Petulengro, after we had crossed the stile into the +fields.</p> +<p>‘Very fine, indeed, brother,’ said Mr. Petulengro; +‘he is talked of, far and wide, for his sermons; folks say +that there is scarcely another like him in the whole of +England.’</p> +<p>‘He looks rather melancholy, Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘He lost his wife several years ago, who, they say, was +one of the most beautiful women ever seen. They say that it +was grief for her loss that made him come out mighty strong as a +preacher; for, though he was a clergyman, he was never heard of +in the pulpit before he lost his wife; since then the whole +country has rung with the preaching of the clergyman of M---, <a +name="citation57"></a><a href="#footnote57" +class="citation">[57]</a> as they call him. Those two nice +young gentlewomen whom you saw with the female childer are his +daughters.’</p> +<p>‘You seem to know all about him, Jasper. Did you +ever hear him preach before?’</p> +<p>‘Never, brother; but he has frequently been to our tent, +and his daughters, too, and given us tracts; for he <!-- page +58--><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 58</span>is +one of the people they call Evangelicals, who give folks tracts +which they cannot read.’</p> +<p>‘You should learn to read, Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘We have no time, brother.’</p> +<p>‘Are you not frequently idle?’</p> +<p>‘Never, brother; when we are not engaged in our traffic +we are engaged in taking our relaxation, so we have no time to +learn.’</p> +<p>‘You really should make an effort. If you were +disposed to learn to read, I would endeavour to assist you. +You would be all the better for knowing how to read.’</p> +<p>‘In what way, brother?’</p> +<p>‘Why, you could read the Scriptures, and by so doing +learn your duty towards your fellow-creatures.’</p> +<p>‘We know that already, brother; the constables and +justices have contrived to knock that tolerably into our +heads.’</p> +<p>‘Yet you frequently break the laws.’</p> +<p>‘So, I believe, do now and then those who know how to +read, brother.’</p> +<p>‘Very true, Jasper; but you really ought to learn to +read, as by so doing you might learn your duty towards +yourselves, and your chief duty is to take care of your own +souls; did not the preacher say: “In what is a man +profited, provided he gain the whole world?”’</p> +<p>‘We have not much of the world, brother.’</p> +<p>‘Very little indeed, Jasper. Did you not observe +how the eyes of the whole congregation were turned towards our +pew when the preacher said, “There are some people who lose +their souls, and get nothing in exchange; who are outcast, +despised, and miserable.” Now, was not what he said +quite applicable to the gypsies?’</p> +<p>‘We are not miserable, brother.’</p> +<p>‘Well, then, you ought to be, Jasper. Have you an +inch of ground of your own. Are you of the least use? +Are you not spoken ill of by everybody? What’s a +gypsy?’</p> +<p>‘What’s the bird noising yonder, +brother?’</p> +<p>‘The bird! Oh, that’s the cuckoo tolling; +but what has the cuckoo to do with the matter?’</p> +<p>‘We’ll see, brother; what’s the +cuckoo?’</p> +<p>‘What is it? you know as much about it as myself, +Jasper.’</p> +<p><!-- page 59--><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +59</span>‘Isn’t it a kind of roguish, chaffing bird, +brother?’</p> +<p>‘I believe it is, Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘Nobody knows whence it comes, brother?’</p> +<p>‘I believe not, Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘Very poor, brother, not a nest of its own?’</p> +<p>‘So they say, Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘With every person’s bad word, brother?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, Jasper, every person is mocking it.’</p> +<p>‘Tolerably merry, brother?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, tolerably merry, Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘Of no use at all, brother?’</p> +<p>‘None whatever, Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘You would be glad to get rid of the cuckoos, +brother?’</p> +<p>‘Why, not exactly, Jasper; the cuckoo is a pleasant, +funny bird, and its presence and voice give a great charm to the +green trees and fields; no, I can’t say I wish exactly to +get rid of the cuckoo.’</p> +<p>‘Well, brother, what’s a Romany chal?’</p> +<p>‘You must answer that question yourself, +Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘A roguish, chaffing fellow, a’n’t he, +brother?’</p> +<p>‘Ay, ay, Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘Of no use at all, brother?’</p> +<p>‘Just so, Jasper; I see—’</p> +<p>‘Something very much like a cuckoo, brother?’</p> +<p>‘I see what you are after, Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘You would like to get rid of us, wouldn’t +you?’</p> +<p>‘Why, no, not exactly.’</p> +<p>‘We are no ornament to the green lanes in spring and +summer time, are we, brother? and the voices of our chies with +their cukkerin <a name="citation59a"></a><a href="#footnote59a" +class="citation">[59a]</a> and dukkerin <a +name="citation59b"></a><a href="#footnote59b" +class="citation">[59b]</a> don’t help to make them +pleasant?’</p> +<p>‘I see what you are at, Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘You would wish to turn the cuckoos into barn-door +fowls, wouldn’t you?’</p> +<p>‘Can’t say I should, Jasper, whatever some people +might wish.’</p> +<p>‘And the chals and chies into radical weavers and +factory wenches, hey, brother?’</p> +<p>‘Can’t say that I should, Jasper. You are +certainly a picturesque people, and in many respects an ornament +both to town and country; painting and lil writing <a +name="citation59c"></a><a href="#footnote59c" +class="citation">[59c]</a> too, are under great obligations to +you. What pretty pictures <!-- page 60--><a +name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>are made out +of your campings and groupings, and what pretty books have been +written in which gypsies, or at least creatures intended to +represent gypsies, have been the principal figures. I think +if we were without you, we should begin to miss you.’</p> +<p>‘Just as you would the cuckoos, if they were all +converted into barn-door fowls. I tell you what, brother, +frequently as I have sat under a hedge in spring or summer time +and heard the cuckoo, I have thought that we chals and cuckoos +are alike in many respects, but especially in character. +Everybody speaks ill of us both, and everybody is glad to see +both of us again.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, Jasper, but there is some difference between men +and cuckoos; men have souls, Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘And why not cuckoos, brother?’</p> +<p>‘You should not talk so, Jasper; what you say is little +short of blasphemy. How should a bird have a +soul?’</p> +<p>‘And how should a man?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, we know very well that a man has a soul.’</p> +<p>‘How do you know it?’</p> +<p>‘We know very well.’</p> +<p>‘Would you take your oath of it, brother—your +bodily oath?’</p> +<p>‘Why, I think I might, Jasper!’</p> +<p>‘Did you ever see the soul, brother?’</p> +<p>‘No, I never saw it.’</p> +<p>‘Then how could you swear to it? A pretty figure +you would make in a court of justice, to swear to a thing which +you never saw. Hold up your head, fellow. When and +where did you see it? Now upon your oath, fellow, do you +mean to say that this Roman stole the donkey’s foal? +Oh, there’s no one for cross-questioning like Counsellor +P---. Our people when they are in a hobble always like to +employ him, though he is somewhat dear. Now, brother, how +can you get over the “upon your oath, fellow, will you say +that you have a soul?”’</p> +<p>‘Well, we will take no oaths on the subject; but you +yourself believe in the soul. I have heard you say that you +believe in dukkerin; now what is dukkerin but the soul +science?’</p> +<p>‘When did I say that I believed in it?’</p> +<p>‘Why, after that fight, when you pointed to the bloody +mark in the cloud, whilst he you wot of was galloping in <!-- +page 61--><a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +61</span>the barouch to the old town, amidst the rain-cataracts, +the thunder, and flame of heaven.’</p> +<p>‘I have some kind of remembrance of it, +brother.’</p> +<p>‘Then, again, I heard you say that the dook <a +name="citation61a"></a><a href="#footnote61a" +class="citation">[61a]</a> of Abershaw rode every night on +horseback down the wooded hill.’</p> +<p>‘I say, brother, what a wonderful memory you +have!’</p> +<p>‘I wish I had not, Jasper, but I can’t help it, it +is my misfortune.’</p> +<p>‘Misfortune! well, perhaps it is; at any rate it is very +ungenteel to have such a memory. I have heard my wife say +that to show you have a long memory looks very vulgar, and that +you can’t give a greater proof of gentility than by +forgetting a thing as soon as possible—more especially a +promise, or an acquaintance when he happens to be shabby. +Well, brother, I don’t deny that I may have said that I +believe in dukkerin, and in Abershaw’s dook, which you say +is his soul; but what I believe one moment, or say I believe, +don’t be certain that I shall believe the next, or say I +do.’</p> +<p>‘Indeed, Jasper, I heard you say on a previous occasion +on quoting a piece of a song, <a name="citation61b"></a><a +href="#footnote61b" class="citation">[61b]</a> that when a man +dies he is cast into the earth and there’s an end of +him.’</p> +<p>‘I did, did I? Lor’ what a memory you have, +brother. But you are not sure that I hold that opinion +now.’</p> +<p>‘Certainly not, Jasper. Indeed, after such a +sermon as we have been hearing, I should be very shocked if you +held such an opinion.’</p> +<p>‘However, brother, don’t be sure I do not, however +shocking such an opinion may be to you.’</p> +<p>‘What an incomprehensible people you are, +Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘We are rather so, brother; indeed, we have posed wiser +heads than yours before now.’</p> +<p>‘You seem to care for so little, and yet you rove about +a distinct race.’</p> +<p>‘I say, brother!’</p> +<p>‘Yes, Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘What do you think of our women?’</p> +<p>‘They have certainly very singular names, +Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘Names! Lavengro! However, brother, if you +had been as fond of things as of names, you would never have been +a pal of ours.’</p> +<p><!-- page 62--><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +62</span>‘What do you mean, Jasper?’</p> +<p>‘A’n’t they rum animals?’</p> +<p>‘They have tongues of their own, Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘Did you ever feel their teeth and nails, +brother?’</p> +<p>‘Never, Jasper, save Mrs. Herne’s. I have +always been very civil to them, so—’</p> +<p>‘They let you alone. I say, brother, some part of +the secret is in them.’</p> +<p>‘They seem rather flighty, Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘Ay, ay, brother!’</p> +<p>‘Rather fond of loose discourse!’</p> +<p>‘Rather so, brother.’</p> +<p>‘Can you always trust them, Jasper?’</p> +<p>‘We never watch them, brother.’</p> +<p>‘Can they always trust you?’</p> +<p>‘Not quite so well as we can them. However, we get +on very well together, except Mikailia and her husband; but +Mikailia is a cripple, and is married to the beauty of the world, +so she may be expected to be jealous—though he would not +part with her for a duchess, no more than I would part with my +rawnie, <a name="citation62a"></a><a href="#footnote62a" +class="citation">[62a]</a> nor any other chal with +his.’</p> +<p>‘Ay, but would not the chi part with the chal for a +duke, Jasper?’</p> +<p>‘My Pakomovna gave up the duke for me, +brother.’</p> +<p>‘But she occasionally talks of him, Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, brother, but Pakomovna was born on a common not +far from the sign of the gammon.’</p> +<p>‘Gammon of bacon, I suppose.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, brother; but gammon likewise +means—’</p> +<p>‘I know it does, Jasper; it means fun, ridicule, jest; +it is an ancient Norse word, and is found in the Edda.’</p> +<p>‘Lor’, brother! how learned in lils you +are!’</p> +<p>‘Many words of Norse are to be found in our vulgar +sayings, Jasper; for example—in that particularly vulgar +saying of ours, “Your mother is up,” <a +name="citation62b"></a><a href="#footnote62b" +class="citation">[62b]</a> there’s a noble Norse word; +mother, there, meaning not the female who bore us, but rage and +choler, as I discovered by reading the Sagas, Jasper.’</p> +<p><!-- page 63--><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>‘Lor’, brother! how book-learned you +be.’</p> +<p>‘Indifferently so, Jasper. Then you think you +might trust your wife with the duke?’</p> +<p>‘I think I could, brother, or even with +yourself.’</p> +<p>‘Myself, Jasper! Oh, I never troubled my head +about your wife; but I suppose there have been love affairs +between gorgios and Romany chies. <a name="citation63"></a><a +href="#footnote63" class="citation">[63]</a> Why novels are +stuffed with such matters; and then even one of your own songs +says so—the song which Ursula was singing the other +afternoon.’</p> +<p>‘That is somewhat of an old song, brother, and is sung +by the chies as a warning at our solemn festivals.’</p> +<p>‘Well! but there’s your sister-in-law, Ursula, +herself, Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘Ursula, herself, brother?’</p> +<p>‘You were talking of my having her, Jasper.’</p> +<p>‘Well, brother, why didn’t you have +her?’</p> +<p>‘Would she have had me?’</p> +<p>‘Of course, brother. You are so much of a Roman, +and speak Romany so remarkably well.’</p> +<p>‘Poor thing! she looks very innocent!’</p> +<p>‘Remarkably so, brother! however, though not born on the +same common with my wife, she knows a thing or two of Roman +matters.’</p> +<p>‘I should like to ask her a question or two, Jasper, in +connection with that song.’</p> +<p>‘You can do no better, brother. Here we are at the +camp. After tea, take Ursula under a hedge, and ask her a +question or two in connection with that song.’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<p>SUNDAY EVENING—URSULA—ACTION AT +LAW—MERIDIANA—MARRIED ALREADY</p> +<p>I took tea that evening with Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro and +Ursula, outside of their tent. Tawno was not present, being +engaged with his wife in his own tabernacle; Sylvester was there, +however, lolling listlessly upon the ground. As I looked +upon this man, I thought him one of the most disagreeable fellows +I had ever seen. <!-- page 64--><a name="page64"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 64</span>His features were ugly, and, +moreover, as dark as pepper; and, besides being dark, his skin +was dirty. As for his dress, it was torn and sordid. +His chest was broad, and his arms seemed powerful; but, upon the +whole, he looked a very caitiff. ‘I am sorry that man +has lost his wife,’ thought I; ‘for I am sure he will +never get another.’ What surprises me is, that he +ever found a woman disposed to unite her lot with his!</p> +<p>After tea I got up and strolled about the field. My +thoughts were upon Isopel Berners. I wondered where she +was, and how long she would stay away. At length becoming +tired and listless, I determined to return to the dingle, and +resume the reading of the Bible at the place where I had left +off. ‘What better could I do,’ methought, +‘on a Sunday evening?’ I was then near the wood +which surrounded the dingle, but at that side which was farthest +from the encampment, which stood near the entrance. +Suddenly, on turning round the southern corner of the copse, +which surrounded the dingle, I perceived Ursula seated under a +thorn-bush. I thought I never saw her look prettier than +then, dressed as she was, in her Sunday’s best.</p> +<p>‘Good-evening, Ursula,’ said I; ‘I little +thought to have the pleasure of seeing you here.’</p> +<p>‘Nor would you, brother,’ said Ursula, ‘had +not Jasper told me that you had been talking about me, and wanted +to speak to me under a hedge; so, hearing that, I watched your +motions, and came here and sat down.’</p> +<p>‘I was thinking of going to my quarters in the dingle, +to read the Bible, Ursula, but—’</p> +<p>‘Oh, pray then, go to your quarters, brother, and read +the Miduveleskoe lil; <a name="citation64"></a><a +href="#footnote64" class="citation">[64]</a> you can speak to me +under a hedge some other time.’</p> +<p>‘I think I will sit down with you, Ursula; for, after +all, reading godly books in dingles at eve, is rather sombre +work. Yes, I think I will sit down with you;’ and I +sat down by her side.</p> +<p>‘Well, brother, now you have sat down with me under the +hedge, what have you to say to me?’</p> +<p>‘Why, I hardly know, Ursula.’</p> +<p>‘Not know, brother; a pretty fellow you to ask young +women to come and sit with you under hedges, and, when they come, +not know what to say to them.’</p> +<p><!-- page 65--><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +65</span>‘Oh! ah! I remember; do you know, Ursula, +that I take a great interest in you?’</p> +<p>‘Thank ye, brother; kind of you, at any rate.’</p> +<p>‘You must be exposed to a great many temptations, +Ursula.’</p> +<p>‘A great many indeed, brother. It is hard to see +fine things, such as shawls, gold watches, and chains in the +shops, behind the big glasses, and to know that they are not +intended for one. Many’s the time I have been tempted +to make a dash at them; but I bethought myself that by so doing I +should cut my hands, besides being almost certain of being +grabbed and sent across the gull’s bath to the foreign +country.’</p> +<p>‘Then you think gold and fine things temptations, +Ursula?’</p> +<p>‘Of course, brother, very great temptations; don’t +you think them so?’</p> +<p>‘Can’t say I do, Ursula.’</p> +<p>‘Then more fool you, brother; but have the kindness to +tell me what you would call a temptation?’</p> +<p>‘Why, for example, the hope of honour and renown, +Ursula.’</p> +<p>‘The hope of honour and renown! very good, brother; but +I tell you one thing, that unless you have money in your pocket, +and good broadcloth on your back, you are not likely to obtain +much honour and—what do you call it? amongst the gorgios, +to say nothing of the Romany chals.’</p> +<p>‘I should have thought, Ursula, that the Romany chals, +roaming about the world as they do, free and independent, were +above being led by such trifles.’</p> +<p>‘Then you know nothing of the gypsies, brother; no +people on earth are fonder of those trifles, as you call them, +than the Romany chals, and more disposed to respect those who +have them.’</p> +<p>‘Then money and fine clothes would induce you to do +anything, Ursula?’</p> +<p>‘Ay, ay; brother, anything.’</p> +<p>‘To chore, <a name="citation65a"></a><a +href="#footnote65a" class="citation">[65a]</a> Ursula?’</p> +<p>‘Like enough, brother; gypsies have been transported +before now for choring.’</p> +<p>‘To hokkawar?’ <a name="citation65b"></a><a +href="#footnote65b" class="citation">[65b]</a></p> +<p><!-- page 66--><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +66</span>‘Ay, ay, I was telling dukkerin only yesterday, +brother.’</p> +<p>‘In fact, to break the law in everything?’</p> +<p>‘Who knows, brother, who knows? as I said before, gold +and fine clothes are great temptations.’</p> +<p>‘Well, Ursula, I am sorry for it, I should never have +thought you so depraved.’</p> +<p>‘Indeed, brother.’</p> +<p>‘To think that I am seated by one who is willing +to—to—’</p> +<p>‘Go on, brother.’</p> +<p>‘To play the thief.’</p> +<p>‘Go on, brother.’</p> +<p>‘The liar.’</p> +<p>‘Go on, brother.’</p> +<p>‘The—the—’</p> +<p>‘Go on, brother.’</p> +<p>‘The—the lubbeny.’ <a +name="citation66"></a><a href="#footnote66" +class="citation">[66]</a></p> +<p>‘The what, brother?’ said Ursula, starting from +her seat.</p> +<p>‘Why, the lubbeny; don’t you—’</p> +<p>‘I tell you what, brother,’ said Ursula, looking +somewhat pale, and speaking very low, ‘if I had only +something in my hand, I would do you a mischief.’</p> +<p>‘Why, what is the matter, Ursula?’ said I; +‘how have I offended you?’</p> +<p>‘How have you offended me? Why, didn’t you +insinivate just now that I was ready to play +the—the—’</p> +<p>‘Go on, Ursula.’</p> +<p>‘The—the—I’ll not say it; but I only +wish I had something in my hand.’</p> +<p>‘If I have offended, Ursula, I am very sorry for it; any +offence I may have given you was from want of understanding +you. Come, pray be seated, I have much to question you +about—to talk to you about.’</p> +<p>‘Seated, not I! It was only just now that you gave +me to understand that you was ashamed to be seated by me, a +thief, a liar.’</p> +<p>‘Well, did you not almost give me to understand that you +were both, Ursula?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t much care being called a thief and a +liar,’ said Ursula, ‘a person may be a liar and a +thief, and yet a very honest woman, but—’</p> +<p><!-- page 67--><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +67</span>‘Well, Ursula.’</p> +<p>‘I tell you what, brother, if you ever sinivate again +that I could be the third thing, so help me duvel! <a +name="citation67"></a><a href="#footnote67" +class="citation">[67]</a> I’ll do you a mischief. By +my God I will!’</p> +<p>‘Well, Ursula, I assure you that I shall sinivate, as +you call it, nothing of the kind about you. I have no +doubt, from what you have said, that you are a very paragon of +virtue—a perfect Lucretia; but—’</p> +<p>‘My name is Ursula, brother, and not Lucretia: Lucretia +is not of our family, but one of the Bucklands; she travels about +Oxfordshire; yet I am as good as she any day.’</p> +<p>‘Lucretia! how odd! Where could she have got that +name? Well, I make no doubt, Ursula, that you are quite as +good as she, and she as her namesake of ancient Rome; but there +is a mystery in this same virtue, Ursula, which I cannot fathom; +how a thief and a liar should be able, or indeed willing, to +preserve her virtue is what I don’t understand. You +confess that you are very fond of gold. Now, how is it that +you don’t barter your virtue for gold sometimes? I am +a philosopher, Ursula, and like to know everything. You +must be every now and then exposed to great temptation, Ursula; +for you are of a beauty calculated to captivate all hearts. +Come, sit down and tell me how you are enabled to resist such a +temptation as gold and fine clothes?’</p> +<p>‘Well, brother,’ said Ursula, ‘as you say +you mean no harm, I will sit down beside you, and enter into +discourse with you; but I will uphold that you are the coolest +hand that I ever came nigh, and say the coolest +things.’</p> +<p>And thereupon Ursula sat down by my side.</p> +<p>‘Well, Ursula, we will, if you please, discourse on the +subject of your temptations. I suppose that you travel very +much about, and show yourself in all kinds of places?’</p> +<p>‘In all kinds, brother; I travels, as you say, very much +about, attends fairs and races, and enters booths and +public-houses, where I tells fortunes, and sometimes dances and +sings.’</p> +<p>‘And do not people often address you in a very free +manner?’</p> +<p>‘Frequently, brother; and I give them tolerably free +answers.’</p> +<p><!-- page 68--><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +68</span>‘Do people ever offer to make you presents? +I mean presents of value, such as—’</p> +<p>‘Silk handkerchiefs, shawls, and trinkets; very +frequently, brother.’</p> +<p>‘And what do you do, Ursula?’</p> +<p>‘I take what people offers me, brother, and stows it +away as soon as I can.’</p> +<p>‘Well, but don’t people expect something for their +presents? I don’t mean dukkerin, dancing, and the +like; but such a moderate and innocent thing as a choomer, <a +name="citation68a"></a><a href="#footnote68a" +class="citation">[68a]</a> Ursula?’</p> +<p>‘Innocent thing, do you call it, brother?’</p> +<p>‘The world calls it so, Ursula. Well, do the +people who give you the fine things never expect a choomer in +return?’</p> +<p>‘Very frequently, brother.’</p> +<p>‘And do you ever grant it?’</p> +<p>‘Never, brother.’</p> +<p>‘How do you avoid it?’</p> +<p>‘I gets away as soon as possible, brother. If they +follows me, I tries to baffle them, by means of jests and +laughter; and if they persist, I uses bad and terrible language, +of which I have plenty in store.’</p> +<p>‘But if your terrible language has no effect?’</p> +<p>‘Then I screams for the constable, and if he comes not, +I uses my teeth and nails.’</p> +<p>‘And are they always sufficient?’</p> +<p>‘I have only had to use them twice, brother; but then I +found them sufficient.’</p> +<p>‘But suppose the person who followed you was highly +agreeable, Ursula? A handsome young officer of local +militia, for example, all dressed in Lincoln green, would you +still refuse him the choomer?’</p> +<p>‘We makes no difference, brother; the daughters of the +gypsy-father makes no difference; and, what’s more, sees +none.’</p> +<p>‘Well, Ursula, the world will hardly give you credit for +such indifference.’</p> +<p>‘What cares we for the world, brother! we are not of the +world.’</p> +<p>‘But your fathers, brothers, and uncles, give you credit +I suppose, Ursula.’</p> +<p>‘Ay, ay, brother, our fathers, brothers, and cokos <a +name="citation68b"></a><a href="#footnote68b" +class="citation">[68b]</a> <!-- page 69--><a +name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>gives us all +manner of credit; for example, I am telling lies and dukkerin in +a public-house where my batu <a name="citation69"></a><a +href="#footnote69" class="citation">[69]</a> or +coko—perhaps both—are playing on the fiddle; well, my +batu and my coko beholds me amongst the public-house crew, +talking nonsense and hearing nonsense; but they are under no +apprehension; and presently they sees the good-looking officer of +militia, in his greens and Lincolns, get up and give me a wink, +and I go out with him abroad, into the dark night perhaps; well, +my batu and my coko goes on fiddling, just as if I were six miles +off asleep in the tent, and not out in the dark street with the +local officer, with his Lincolns and his greens.’</p> +<p>‘They know they can trust you, Ursula?’</p> +<p>‘Ay, ay, brother; and, what’s more, I knows I can +trust myself.’</p> +<p>‘So you would merely go out to make a fool of him, +Ursula?’</p> +<p>‘Merely go out to make a fool of him, brother, I assure +you.’</p> +<p>‘But such proceedings really have an odd look, +Ursula.’</p> +<p>‘Amongst gorgios, very so, brother.’</p> +<p>‘Well, it must be rather unpleasant to lose one’s +character even amongst gorgios, Ursula; and suppose the officer, +out of revenge for being tricked and duped by you, were to say of +you the thing that is not, were to meet you on the race-course +the next day, and boast of receiving favours which he never had, +amidst a knot of jeering militia-men, how would you proceed, +Ursula? would you not be abashed?’</p> +<p>‘By no means, brother; I should bring my action of law +against him.’</p> +<p>‘Your action at law, Ursula?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, brother; I should give a whistle, whereupon all +one’s cokos and batus, and all my near and distant +relations, would leave their fiddling, dukkerin, and +horse-dealing, and come flocking about me. +“What’s the matter, Ursula?” says my +coko. “Nothing at all,” I replies, “save +and except that gorgio, in his greens and his Lincolns, says that +I have played the --- with him.” “Oho, he does, +Ursula,” says my coko, “try your action of law +against him, my lamb,” and he puts something privily into +my hands; whereupon I goes close up to the <!-- page 70--><a +name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span>grinning +gorgio, and staring him in the face, with my head pushed forward, +I cries out: “You say I did what was wrong with you last +night when I was out with you abroad?” +“Yes,” says the local officer, “I says you +did,” looking down all the time. “You are a +liar,” says I, and forthwith I breaks his head with the +stick which I holds behind me, and which my coko has conveyed +privily into my hand.’</p> +<p>‘And this is your action at law, Ursula?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, brother, this is my action at club-law.’</p> +<p>‘And would your breaking the fellow’s head quite +clear you of all suspicion in the eyes of your batus, cokos, and +what not?’</p> +<p>‘They would never suspect me at all, brother, because +they would know that I would never condescend to be over intimate +with a gorgio; the breaking the head would be merely intended to +justify Ursula in the eyes of the gorgios.’</p> +<p>‘And would it clear you in their eyes?’</p> +<p>‘Would it not, brother? When they saw the blood +running down from the fellow’s cracked poll on his greens +and Lincolns, they would be quite satisfied; why the fellow would +not be able to show his face at fair or merry-making for a year +and three-quarters.’</p> +<p>‘Did you ever try it, Ursula?’</p> +<p>‘Can’t say I ever did, brother, but it would +do.’</p> +<p>‘And how did you ever learn such a method of +proceeding?’</p> +<p>‘Why ’t is advised by gypsy liri, <a +name="citation70"></a><a href="#footnote70" +class="citation">[70]</a> brother. It’s part of our +way of settling difficulties amongst ourselves; for example, if a +young Roman were to say the thing which is not respecting Ursula +and himself, Ursula would call a great meeting of the people, who +would all sit down in a ring, the young fellow amongst them; a +coko would then put a stick in Ursula’s hand, who would +then get up and go to the young fellow, and say, “Did I +play the --- with you?” and were he to say +“Yes,” she would crack his head before the eyes of +all.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said I, ‘Ursula, I was bred an +apprentice to gorgio law, and of course ought to stand up for it, +whenever I conscientiously can, but I must say the gypsy manner +of bringing an action for defamation is much less tedious, and +far more satisfactory than the gorgiko one. <!-- page +71--><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>I +wish you now to clear up a certain point which is rather +mysterious to me. You say that for a Romany chi to do what +is unseemly with a gorgio, is quite out of the question, yet only +the other day I heard you singing a song in which a Romany chi +confesses herself to be cambri <a name="citation71a"></a><a +href="#footnote71a" class="citation">[71a]</a> by a grand +gorgious gentleman.’</p> +<p>‘A sad let down,’ said Ursula.</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said I, ‘sad or not, there’s +the song that speaks of the thing, which you give me to +understand is not.’</p> +<p>‘Well, if the thing ever was,’ said Ursula, +‘it was a long time ago, and perhaps after all not +true.’</p> +<p>‘Then why do you sing the song?’</p> +<p>‘I’ll tell you, brother; we sings the song now and +then to be a warning to ourselves to have as little to do as +possible in the way of acquaintance with the gorgios; and a +warning it is; you see how the young woman in the song was driven +out of her tent by her mother, with all kind of disgrace and bad +language; but you don’t know that she was afterwards buried +alive by her cokos and pals <a name="citation71b"></a><a +href="#footnote71b" class="citation">[71b]</a> in an uninhabited +place; the song doesn’t say it, but the story says it, for +there is a story about it, though, as I said before, it was a +long time ago, and perhaps, after all, wasn’t +true.’</p> +<p>‘But if such a thing were to happen at present, would +the cokos and pals bury the girl alive?’</p> +<p>‘I can’t say what they would do,’ said +Ursula; ‘I suppose they are not so strict as they were long +ago; at any rate she would be driven from the tan, <a +name="citation71c"></a><a href="#footnote71c" +class="citation">[71c]</a> and avoided by all her family and +relations as a gorgio’s acquaintance, so that, perhaps, at +last, she would be glad if they would bury her alive.’</p> +<p>‘Well, I can conceive that there would be an objection +on the part of the cokos and batus that a Romany chi should form +an improper acquaintance with a gorgio, but I should think that +the batus and cokos could hardly object to the chi’s +entering into the honourable estate of wedlock with a +gorgio.’</p> +<p>Ursula was silent.</p> +<p>‘Marriage is an honourable estate, Ursula.’</p> +<p>‘Well, brother, suppose it be?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t see why a Romany chi should object to +enter into the honourable estate of wedlock with a +gorgio.’</p> +<p><!-- page 72--><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +72</span>‘You don’t, brother; don’t +you?’</p> +<p>‘No,’ said I, ‘and, moreover, I am aware, +notwithstanding your evasion, Ursula, that marriages and +connections now and then occur between gorgios and Romany chies; +the result of which is the mixed breed called half-and-half, +which is at present travelling about England, and to which the +Flaming Tinman belongs, otherwise called Anselo Herne.’</p> +<p>‘As for the half-and-halfs,’ said Ursula, +‘they are a bad set; and there is not a worse blackguard in +England than Anselo Herne.’ <a name="citation72"></a><a +href="#footnote72" class="citation">[72]</a></p> +<p>‘All what you say may be very true, Ursula, but you +admit that there are half-and-halfs.’</p> +<p>‘The more’s the pity, brother.’</p> +<p>‘Pity or not, you admit the fact; but how do you account +for it?’</p> +<p>‘How do I account for it? Why, I will tell you, by +the break up of a Roman family, brother—the father of a +small family dies, and perhaps the mother, and the poor children +are left behind, sometimes they are gathered up by their +relations, and sometimes, if they have none, by charitable +Romans, who bring them up in the observance of gypsy law; but +sometimes they are not so lucky, and falls into the company of +gorgios, trampers, and basket-makers, who live in caravans, with +whom they take up, and so—I hate to talk of the matter, +brother, but so comes this race of the half-and-halfs.’</p> +<p>‘Then you mean to say, Ursula, that no Romany chi, +unless compelled by hard necessity, would have anything to do +with a gorgio?’</p> +<p>‘We are not over fond of gorgios, brother, and we hates +basket-makers, and folks that live in caravans.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said I, ‘suppose a gorgio, who is +not a basket-maker, a fine handsome gorgious gentleman, who lives +in a fine house—’</p> +<p>‘We are not fond of houses, brother, I never slept in a +house in my life.’</p> +<p>‘But would not plenty of money induce you?’</p> +<p>‘I hate houses, brother, and those who live in +them.’</p> +<p>‘Well, suppose such a person were willing to resign his +fine house, and for love of you to adopt gypsy law, speak Romany, +and live in a tan, would you have nothing to say to +him?’</p> +<p><!-- page 73--><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +73</span>‘Bringing plenty of money with him, +brother?’</p> +<p>‘Well, bringing plenty of money with him, +Ursula.’</p> +<p>‘Well, brother, suppose you produce your man; where is +he?’</p> +<p>‘I was merely supposing such a person, +Ursula.’</p> +<p>‘Then you don’t know of such a person, +brother?’</p> +<p>‘Why, no, Ursula; why do you ask?’</p> +<p>‘Because, brother, I was almost beginning to think that +you meant yourself.’</p> +<p>‘Myself! Ursula; I have no fine house to resign; nor +have I money. Moreover, Ursula, though I have a great +regard for you, and though I consider you very handsome, quite as +handsome, indeed, as Meridiana in—’</p> +<p>‘Meridiana! where did you meet with her?’ said +Ursula, with a toss of her head.</p> +<p>‘Why in old Pulci’s—’</p> +<p>‘At old Fulcher’s! that’s not true, +brother. Meridiana is a Borzlam, <a +name="citation73a"></a><a href="#footnote73a" +class="citation">[73a]</a> and travels with her own people, and +not with old Fulcher, <a name="citation73b"></a><a +href="#footnote73b" class="citation">[73b]</a> who is a gorgio, +and a basket-maker.’</p> +<p>‘I was not speaking of old Fulcher, but Pulci, a great +Italian writer, who lived many hundred years ago, and who, in his +poem called the “Morgante Maggiore,” speaks of +Meridiana, the daughter of—’</p> +<p>‘Old Carus Borzlam,’ said Ursula; ‘but if +the fellow you mention lived so many hundred years ago, how, in +the name of wonder, could he know anything of +Meridiana?’</p> +<p>‘The wonder, Ursula, is, how your people could ever have +got hold of that name, and similar ones. The Meridiana of +Pulci was not the daughter of old Carus Borzlam, but of Caradoro, +a great pagan king of the East, who, being besieged in his +capital by Manfredonio, another mighty pagan king, who wished to +obtain possession of his daughter, who had refused him, was +relieved in his distress by certain paladins of Charlemagne, with +one of whom, Oliver, his daughter Meridiana fell in +love.’</p> +<p>‘I see,’ said Ursula, ‘that it must have +been altogether a different person, for I am sure that Meridiana +Borzlam would never have fallen in love with Oliver. +Oliver! why that is the name of the curo-mengro, <a +name="citation73c"></a><a href="#footnote73c" +class="citation">[73c]</a> who lost the <!-- page 74--><a +name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 74</span>fight near +the chong gav, <a name="citation74a"></a><a href="#footnote74a" +class="citation">[74a]</a> the day of the great tempest, when I +got wet through. <a name="citation74b"></a><a href="#footnote74b" +class="citation">[74b]</a> No, no! Meridiana Borzlam +would never have so far forgot her blood as to take up with Tom +Oliver.’</p> +<p>‘I was not talking of that Oliver, Ursula, but of +Oliver, peer of France, and paladin of Charlemagne, with whom +Meridiana, daughter of Caradoro, fell in love, and for whose sake +she renounced her religion and became a Christian, and finally +ingravidata, or cambri, by him:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘“E nacquene un figliuol, dice la +storia,<br /> +Che dette a Carlo-man poi gran vittoria:”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>which means—’</p> +<p>‘I don’t want to know what it means,’ said +Ursula; ‘no good, I’m sure. Well, if the +Meridiana of Charles’s wain’s pal was no handsomer +than Meridiana Borzlam, she was no great catch, brother; for +though I am by no means given to vanity, I think myself better to +look at than she, though I will say she is no lubbeny, and would +scorn—’</p> +<p>‘I make no doubt she would, Ursula, and I make no doubt +that you are much handsomer than she, or even the Meridiana of +Oliver. What I was about to say, before you interrupted me, +is this, that though I have a great regard for you, and highly +admire you, it is only in a brotherly way, and—’</p> +<p>‘And you had nothing better to say to me,’ said +Ursula, ‘when you wanted to talk to me beneath a hedge, +than that you liked me in a brotherly way! well, I +declare—’</p> +<p>‘You seem disappointed, Ursula.’</p> +<p>‘Disappointed, brother! not I.’</p> +<p>‘You were just now saying that you disliked gorgios, so, +of course, could only wish that I, who am a gorgio, should like +you in a brotherly way; I wished to have a conversation with you +beneath a hedge, but only with the view of procuring from you +some information respecting the song which you sung the other +day, and the conduct of Roman females, which has always struck me +as being highly unaccountable, so, if you thought anything +else—’</p> +<p>‘What else should I expect from a picker-up of old <!-- +page 75--><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span>words, brother? Bah! I dislike a picker-up +of old words worse than a picker-up of old rags.’</p> +<p>‘Don’t be angry, Ursula, I feel a great interest +in you; you are very handsome, and very clever; indeed, with your +beauty and cleverness, I only wonder that you have not long since +been married.’</p> +<p>‘You do, do you, brother?’</p> +<p>‘Yes. However, keep up your spirits, Ursula, you +are not much past the prime of youth, so—’</p> +<p>‘Not much past the prime of youth! Don’t be +uncivil, brother, I was only twenty-two last month.’</p> +<p>‘Don’t be offended, Ursula, but twenty-two is +twenty-two, or, I should rather say, that twenty-two, in a woman +is more than twenty-six in a man. You are still very +beautiful, but I advise you to accept the first offer +that’s made to you.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you, brother, but your advice comes rather late; +I accepted the first offer that was made me five years +ago.’</p> +<p>‘You married five years ago, Ursula! is it +possible?’</p> +<p>‘Quite possible, brother, I assure you.’</p> +<p>‘And how came I to know nothing about it?’</p> +<p>‘How comes it that you don’t know many thousand +things about the Romans, brother? Do you think they tell +you all their affairs?’</p> +<p>‘Married Ursula! married! Well, I +declare!’</p> +<p>‘You seem disappointed, brother.’</p> +<p>‘Disappointed! Oh! no, not at all; but Jasper, +only a few weeks ago, told me that you were not married; and, +indeed, almost gave me to understand that you would be very glad +to get a husband.’</p> +<p>‘And you believed him? I’ll tell you, +brother, for your instruction, that there is not in the whole +world a greater liar than Jasper Petulengro.’</p> +<p>‘I am sorry to hear it, Ursula; but with respect to him +you married—who might he be? A gorgio, or a Romany +chal?’</p> +<p>‘Gorgio, or Romany chal? Do you think I would ever +condescend to a gorgio? It was a Camomescro, <a +name="citation75"></a><a href="#footnote75" +class="citation">[75]</a> brother, a Lovell, a distant relation +of my own.’</p> +<p>‘And where is he, and what became of him? Have you +any family?’</p> +<p>‘Don’t think I am going to tell you all my +history, <!-- page 76--><a name="page76"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 76</span>brother; and, to tell you the truth, +I am tired of sitting under hedges with you, talking +nonsense. I shall go to my house.’</p> +<p>‘Do sit a little longer, sister Ursula. I most +heartily congratulate you on your marriage. But where is +this same Lovell? I have never seen him: I should wish to +congratulate him, too. You are quite as handsome as the +Meridiana of Pulci, Ursula, ay, or the Despina of +Riciardetto. Riciardetto, Ursula, is a poem written by one +Fortiguerra, about ninety years ago, in imitation of the Morgante +of Pulci. It treats of the wars of Charlemagne and his +Paladins with various barbarous nations, who came to besiege +Paris. Despina was the daughter and heiress of Scricca, +King of Cafria; she was the beloved of Riciardetto, and was +beautiful as an angel; but I make no doubt you are quite as +handsome as she.’</p> +<p>‘Brother,’ said Ursula—but the reply of +Ursula I reserve for another chapter, the present having attained +to rather an uncommon length, for which, however, the importance +of the matter discussed is a sufficient apology.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<p>URSULA’S TALE—THE PATTERAN—THE DEEP +WATER—SECOND HUSBAND</p> +<p>‘Brother,’ said Ursula, plucking a dandelion which +grew at her feet, ‘I have always said that a more civil and +pleasant-spoken person than yourself can’t be found. +I have a great regard for you and your learning, and am willing +to do you any pleasure in the way of words or conversation. +Mine is not a very happy story, but as you wish to hear it, it is +quite at your service. Launcelot Lovell made me an offer, +as you call it, and we were married in Roman fashion; that is, we +gave each other our right hands, and promised to be true to each +other. We lived together two years, travelling sometimes by +ourselves, sometimes with our relations; I bore him two children, +both of which were still-born, partly, I believe, from the +fatigue I underwent in running about the country telling dukkerin +when I was not exactly in a state to do so, and partly from the +kicks and blows which my husband, Launcelot, was in the habit of +giving me every <!-- page 77--><a name="page77"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 77</span>night, provided I came home with less +than five shillings, which it is sometimes impossible to make in +the country, provided no fair or merry-making is going on. +At the end of two years my husband, Launcelot, whistled a horse +from a farmer’s field, and sold it for forty pounds; and +for that horse he was taken, put in prison, tried, and condemned +to be sent to the other country for life. Two days before +he was to be sent away, I got leave to see him in the prison, and +in the presence of the turnkey I gave him a thin cake of +gingerbread, in which there was a dainty saw which could cut +through iron. I then took on wonderfully, turned my eyes +inside out, fell down in a seeming fit, and was carried out of +the prison. That same night my husband sawed his irons off, +cut through the bars of his window, and dropping down a height of +fifty feet, lighted on his legs, and came and joined me on a +heath where I was camped alone. We were just getting things +ready to be off, when we heard people coming, and sure enough +they were runners after my husband, Launcelot Lovell; for his +escape had been discovered within a quarter of an hour after he +had got away. My husband, without bidding me farewell, set +off at full speed, and they after him, but they could not take +him, and so they came back and took me, and shook me, and +threatened me, and had me before the poknees, <a +name="citation77a"></a><a href="#footnote77a" +class="citation">[77a]</a> who shook his head at me, and +threatened me in order to make me discover where my husband was, +but I said I did not know, which was true enough, not that I +would have told him if I had. So at last the poknees and +the runners, <a name="citation77b"></a><a href="#footnote77b" +class="citation">[77b]</a> not being able to make anything out of +me, were obliged to let me go, and I went in search of my +husband. I wandered about with my cart for several days in +the direction in which I saw him run off, with my eyes bent on +the ground, but could see no marks of him; at last, coming to +four cross roads, I saw my husband’s patteran.’</p> +<p>‘You saw your husband’s patteran?’ <a +name="citation77c"></a><a href="#footnote77c" +class="citation">[77c]</a></p> +<p>‘Yes, brother. Do you know what patteran +means?’</p> +<p>‘Of course, Ursula; the gypsy trail, the handful of +grass which the gypsies strew in the roads as they travel, <!-- +page 78--><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +78</span>to give information to any of their companions who may +be behind, as to the route they have taken. The gypsy +patteran has always had a strange interest for me, +Ursula.’</p> +<p>‘Like enough, brother; but what does patteran +mean?’</p> +<p>‘Why, the gypsy trail, formed as I told you +before.’</p> +<p>‘And you know nothing more about patteran, +brother?’</p> +<p>‘Nothing at all, Ursula; do you?’</p> +<p>‘What’s the name for the leaf of a tree, +brother?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t know,’ said I; ‘it’s +odd enough that I have asked that question of a dozen Romany +chals and chies, and they always told me that they did not +know.’</p> +<p>‘No more they did, brother; there’s only one +person in England that knows, and that’s myself—the +name for a leaf is patteran. Now there are two that knows +it—the other is yourself.’</p> +<p>‘Dear me, Ursula, how very strange! I am much +obliged to you. I think I never saw you look so pretty as +you do now; but who told you?’</p> +<p>‘My mother, Mrs. Herne, told it me one day, brother, +when she was in a good humour, which she very seldom was, as no +one has a better right to know than yourself, as she hated you +mortally: it was one day when you had been asking our company +what was the word for a leaf, and nobody could tell you, that she +took me aside and told me, for she was in a good humour, and +triumphed in seeing you balked. She told me the word for +leaf was patteran, which our people use now for trail, having +forgotten the true meaning. She said that the trail was +called patteran, because the gypsies of old were in the habit of +making the marks with the leaves and branches of the trees, +placed in a certain manner. She said that nobody knew it +but herself, who was one of the old sort, and begged me never to +tell the word to any one but him I should marry, and to be +particularly cautious never to let you know it, whom she +hated. Well, brother, perhaps I have done wrong to tell +you; but, as I said before, I likes you, and am always ready to +do your pleasure in words and conversation; my mother, moreover, +is dead and gone, and, poor thing, will never know anything about +the matter. So, when I married, I told my husband about the +patteran, and we were in the habit of making our private trail +with leaves and branches of <!-- page 79--><a +name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>trees, which +none of the other gypsy people did; so, when I saw my +husband’s patteran, I knew it at once, and I followed it +upwards of two hundred miles towards the north; and then I came +to a deep, awful-looking water, with an overhanging bank, and on +the bank I found the patteran, which directed me to proceed along +the bank towards the east, and I followed my husband’s +patteran towards the east; and before I had gone half a mile, I +came to a place where I saw the bank had given way, and fallen +into the deep water. Without paying much heed I passed on, +and presently came to a public-house, not far from the water, and +I entered the public-house to get a little beer, and perhaps to +tell a dukkerin, for I saw a great many people about the door; +and when I entered I found there was what they calls an inquest +being held upon a body in that house, and the jury had just risen +to go and look at the body, and being a woman, and having a +curiosity, I thought I would go with them, and so I did; and no +sooner did I see the body than I knew it to be my +husband’s; it was much swelled and altered, but I knew it +partly by the clothes and partly by a mark on the forehead, and I +cried out, “It is my husband’s body,” and I +fell down in a fit, and the fit that time, brother, was not a +seeming one.’</p> +<p>‘Dear me,’ said I, ‘how terrible! but tell +me, Ursula, how did your husband come by his death?’</p> +<p>‘The bank, overhanging the deep water, gave way under +him, brother, and he was drowned; for, like most of our people, +he could not swim, or only a little. The body, after it had +been in the water a long time, came up of itself, and was found +floating. Well, brother, when the people of the +neighbourhood found that I was the wife of the drowned man, they +were very kind to me, and made a subscription for me, with which, +after having seen my husband buried, I returned the way I had +come, till I met Jasper and his people, and with them I have +travelled ever since: I was very melancholy for a long time, I +assure you, brother; for the death of my husband preyed very much +upon my mind.’</p> +<p>‘His death was certainly a very shocking one, Ursula; +but, really, if he had died a natural one, you could scarcely +have regretted it, for he appears to have treated you +barbarously.’</p> +<p>‘Women must bear, brother; and, barring that he <!-- +page 80--><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +80</span>kicked and beat me, and drove me out to tell dukkerin +when I could scarcely stand, he was not a bad husband. A +man, by gypsy law, brother, is allowed to kick and beat his wife, +and to bury her alive, if he thinks proper. I am a gypsy, +and have nothing to say against the law.’</p> +<p>‘But what has Mikailia Chikno to say about +it?’</p> +<p>‘She is a cripple, brother, the only cripple amongst the +Roman people: so she is allowed to do and say as she +pleases. Moreover, her husband does not think fit to kick +or beat her, though it is my opinion she would like him all the +better if he were occasionally to do so, and threaten to bury her +alive; at any rate, she would treat him better, and respect him +more.’</p> +<p>‘Your sister does not seem to stand much in awe of +Jasper Petulengro, Ursula.’</p> +<p>‘Let the matters of my sister and Jasper Petulengro +alone, brother; you must travel in their company some time before +you can understand them; they are a strange two, up to all kind +of chaffing: but two more regular Romans don’t breathe, and +I’ll tell you, for your instruction, that there isn’t +a better mare-breaker in England than Jasper Petulengro, if you +can manage Miss Isopel Berners as well as—’</p> +<p>‘Isopel Berners,’ said I, ‘how came you to +think of her?’</p> +<p>‘How should I but think of her, brother, living as she +does with you in Mumper’s dingle, and travelling about with +you; you will have, brother, more difficulty to manage her, than +Jasper has to manage my sister Pakomovna. I should have +mentioned her before, only I wanted to know what you had to say +to me; and when we got into discourse, I forgot her. I say, +brother, let me tell you your dukkerin, with respect to her, you +will never—’</p> +<p>‘I want to hear no dukkerin, Ursula.’</p> +<p>‘Do let me tell you your dukkerin, brother, you will +never manage—’</p> +<p>‘I want to hear no dukkerin, Ursula, in connection with +Isopel Berners. Moreover, it is Sunday, we will change the +subject; it is surprising to me that, after all you have +undergone, you should still look so beautiful. I suppose +you do not think of marrying again, Ursula?’</p> +<p>‘No, brother, one husband at a time is quite enough <!-- +page 81--><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +81</span>for any reasonable mort; especially such a good husband +as I have got.’</p> +<p>‘Such a good husband! why, I thought you told me your +husband was drowned?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, brother, my first husband was.’</p> +<p>‘And have you a second?’</p> +<p>‘To be sure, brother.’</p> +<p>‘And who is he? in the name of wonder.’</p> +<p>‘Who is he? Why Sylvester, to be sure.’</p> +<p>‘I do assure you, Ursula, that I feel disposed to be +angry with you; such a handsome young woman as yourself to take +up with such a nasty pepper-faced +good-for-nothing—’</p> +<p>‘I won’t hear my husband abused, brother; so you +had better say no more.’</p> +<p>‘Why, is he not the Lazarus of the gypsies? Has he +a penny of his own, Ursula?’</p> +<p>‘Then the more his want, brother, of a clever chi like +me to take care of him and his childer. I tell you what, +brother, I will chore, if necessary, and tell dukkerin for +Sylvester, if even so heavy as scarcely to be able to +stand. You call him lazy; you would not think him lazy if +you were in a ring with him; he is a proper man with his +hands. Jasper is going to back him for twenty pounds +against Slammocks of the Chong gav, the brother of Roarer and +Bell-metal. He says he has no doubt that he will +win.’</p> +<p>‘Well, if you like him, I, of course, can have no +objection. Have you been long married?’</p> +<p>‘About a fortnight, brother; that dinner, the other day, +when I sang the song, was given in celebration of the +wedding.’</p> +<p>‘Were you married in a church, Ursula?’</p> +<p>‘We were not, brother; none but gorgios, cripples, and +lubbenys, are ever married in a church; <a +name="citation81"></a><a href="#footnote81" +class="citation">[81]</a> we took each other’s words. +Brother, I have been with you near three hours beneath this +hedge. I will go to my husband.’</p> +<p>‘Does he know that you are here?’</p> +<p>‘He does, brother.’</p> +<p>‘And is he satisfied?’</p> +<p>‘Satisfied! of course. Lor’, you +gorgies! Brother, I <!-- page 82--><a +name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>go to my +husband and my house.’ And, thereupon, Ursula rose +and departed.</p> +<p>After waiting a little time I also arose; it was now dark, and +I thought I could do no better than betake myself to the dingle; +at the entrance of it I found Mr. Petulengro. ‘Well, +brother,’ said he, ‘what kind of conversation have +you and Ursula had beneath the hedge?’</p> +<p>‘If you wished to hear what we were talking about, you +should have come and sat down beside us; you knew where we +were.’</p> +<p>‘Well, brother, I did much the same, for I went and sat +down behind you.’</p> +<p>‘Behind the hedge, Jasper?’</p> +<p>‘Behind the hedge, brother.’</p> +<p>‘And heard all our conversation?’</p> +<p>‘Every word, brother; and a rum conversation it +was.’</p> +<p>‘’Tis an old saying, Jasper, that listeners never +hear any good of themselves; perhaps you heard the epithet that +Ursula bestowed upon you.’</p> +<p>‘If, by epitaph, you mean that she called me a liar, I +did, brother, and she was not much wrong, for I certainly do not +always stick exactly to truth; you, however, have not much to +complain of me.’</p> +<p>‘You deceived me about Ursula, giving me to understand +she was not married.’</p> +<p>‘She was not married when I told you so, brother; that +is, not to Sylvester; nor was I aware that she was going to marry +him. I once thought you had a kind of regard for her, and I +am sure she had as much for you as a Romany chi can have for a +gorgio. I half expected to have heard you make love to her +behind the hedge, but I begin to think you care for nothing in +this world but old words and strange stories. Lor’, +to take a young woman under a hedge, and talk to her as you did +to Ursula; and yet you got everything out of her that you wanted, +with your gammon about old Fulcher and Meridiana. You are a +cunning one, brother.’</p> +<p>‘There you are mistaken, Jasper. I am not +cunning. If people think I am, it is because, being made up +of art themselves, simplicity of character is a puzzle to +them. Your women are certainly extraordinary creatures, +Jasper.’</p> +<p><!-- page 83--><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +83</span>‘Didn’t I say they were rum animals? +Brother, we Romans shall always stick together as long as they +stick fast to us.’</p> +<p>‘Do you think they always will, Jasper?’</p> +<p>‘Can’t say, brother; nothing lasts for ever. +Romany chies are Romany chies still, though not exactly what they +were sixty years ago. My wife, though a rum one, is not +Mrs. Herne, brother. I think she is rather fond of +Frenchmen and French discourse. I tell you what, brother, +if ever gypsyism breaks up, it will be owing to our chies having +been bitten by that mad puppy they calls gentility.’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<p>THE DINGLE AT NIGHT—THE TWO SIDES OF THE +QUESTION—ROMAN FEMALES—FILLING THE KETTLE—THE +DREAM—THE TALL FIGURE</p> +<p>I descended to the bottom of the dingle. It was nearly +involved in obscurity. To dissipate the feeling of +melancholy which came over my mind, I resolved to kindle a fire; +and having heaped dry sticks upon my hearth, and added a billet +or two, I struck a light, and soon produced a blaze. +Sitting down, I fixed my eyes upon the blaze, and soon fell into +a deep meditation. I thought of the events of the day, the +scene at church, and what I had heard at church, the danger of +losing one’s soul, the doubts of Jasper Petulengro as to +whether one had a soul. I thought over the various +arguments which I had either heard, or which had come +spontaneously to my mind, for or against the probability of a +state of future existence. They appeared to me to be +tolerably evenly balanced. I then thought that it was at +all events taking the safest part to conclude that there was a +soul. It would be a terrible thing, after having passed +one’s life in the disbelief of the existence of a soul, to +wake up after death a soul, and to find one’s self a lost +soul. Yes, methought I would come to the conclusion that +one has a soul. Choosing the safe side, however, appeared +to me playing rather a dastardly part. I had never been an +admirer of people who chose the safe side in everything; indeed I +had always entertained a thorough contempt for <!-- page 84--><a +name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>them. +Surely it would be showing more manhood to adopt the dangerous +side, that of disbelief. I almost resolved to do +so—but yet in a question of so much importance, I ought not +to be guided by vanity. The question was not which was the +safe, but the true side—yet how was I to know which was the +true side? Then I thought of the Bible—which I had +been reading in the morning—that spoke of the soul and a +future state; but was the Bible true? I had heard learned +and moral men say that it was true, but I had also heard learned +and moral men say that it was not: how was I to decide? +Still that balance of probabilities! If I could but see the +way of truth, I would follow it, if necessary, upon hands and +knees—on that I was determined; but I could not see +it. Feeling my brain begin to turn round, I resolved to +think of something else; and forthwith began to think of what had +passed between Ursula and myself in our discourse beneath the +hedge.</p> +<p>I mused deeply on what she had told me as to the virtue of the +females of her race. How singular that virtue must be which +was kept pure and immaculate by the possessor, whilst indulging +in habits of falsehood and dishonesty! I had always thought +the gypsy females extraordinary beings. I had often +wondered at them, their dress, their manner of speaking, and, not +least, at their names; but, until the present day, I had been +unacquainted with the most extraordinary point connected with +them. How came they possessed of this extraordinary +virtue? Was it because they were thievish? I +remembered that an ancient thief-taker, who had retired from his +useful calling, and who frequently visited the office of my +master at law, the respectable S---, <a name="citation84"></a><a +href="#footnote84" class="citation">[84]</a> who had the +management of his property—I remembered to have heard this +worthy, with whom I occasionally held discourse, philosophic and +profound, when he and I chanced to be alone together in the +office, say that all first-rate thieves were sober, and of +well-regulated morals, their bodily passions being kept in +abeyance by their love of gain; but this axiom could scarcely +hold good with respect to these women—however thievish they +might be, they did care for something besides gain: they cared +for their husbands. If they did thieve, they merely thieved +<!-- page 85--><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +85</span>for their husbands; and though, perhaps, some of them +were vain, they merely prized their beauty because it gave them +favour in the eyes of their husbands. Whatever the husbands +were—and Jasper had almost insinuated that the males +occasionally allowed themselves some latitude—they appeared +to be as faithful to their husbands as the ancient Roman matrons +were to theirs. Roman matrons! and, after all, might not +these be in reality Roman matrons? They called themselves +Romans; might not they be the descendants of the old Roman +matrons? Might not they be of the same blood as +Lucretia? And were not many of their strange +names—Lucretia amongst the rest—handed down to them +from old Rome? It is true their language was not that of +old Rome; it was not, however, altogether different from +it. After all, the ancient Romans might be a tribe of these +people, who settled down and founded a village with the tilts of +carts, which by degrees, and the influx of other people, became +the grand city of the world. I liked the idea of the grand +city of the world owing its origin to a people who had been in +the habit of carrying their houses in their carts. Why, +after all, should not the Romans of history be a branch of these +Romans? There were several points of similarity between +them; if Roman matrons were chaste, both men and women were +thieves. Old Rome was the thief of the world; yet still +there were difficulties to be removed before I could persuade +myself that the old Romans and my Romans were identical; and in +trying to remove these difficulties, I felt my brain once more +beginning to turn, and in haste took up another subject of +meditation, and that was the patteran, and what Ursula had told +me about it.</p> +<p>I had always entertained a strange interest for that sign by +which in their wanderings the Romanese gave to those of their +people who came behind intimation as to the direction which they +took; but it now inspired me with greater interest than +ever—now that I had learnt that the proper meaning of it +was the leaves of trees. I had, as I have said in my +dialogue with Ursula, been very eager to learn the word for leaf +in the Romanian language, but had never learnt it till this day; +so patteran signified leaf, the leaf of a tree; and no one at +present knew that but myself and Ursula, who had learnt it from +Mrs. Herne, the last, it was said, of the old stock; and then I +thought <!-- page 86--><a name="page86"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 86</span>what strange people the gypsies must +have been in the old time. They were sufficiently strange +at present, but they must have been far stranger of old; they +must have been a more peculiar people—their language must +have been more perfect—and they must have had a greater +stock of strange secrets. I almost wish that I had lived +some two or three hundred years ago, that I might have observed +these people when they were yet stranger than at present. I +wondered whether I could have introduced myself to their company +at that period, whether I should have been so fortunate as to +meet such a strange, half-malicious, half good-humoured being as +Jasper, who would have instructed me in the language, then more +deserving of note than at present. What might I not have +done with that language, had I known it in its purity? Why, +I might have written books in it; yet those who spoke it would +hardly have admitted me to their society at that period, when +they kept more to themselves. Yet I thought that I might +possibly have gained their confidence, and have wandered about +with them, and learnt their language, and all their strange ways, +and then—and then—and a sigh rose from the depth of +my breast; for I began to think, ‘Supposing I had +accomplished all this, what would have been the profit of it? and +in what would all this wild gypsy dream have +terminated?’</p> +<p>Then rose another sigh, yet more profound, for I began to +think, ‘What was likely to be the profit of my present way +of life; the living in dingles, making pony and donkey shoes, +conversing with gypsy-women under hedges, and extracting from +them their odd secrets?’ What was likely to be the +profit of such a kind of life, even should it continue for a +length of time?—a supposition not very probable, for I was +earning nothing to support me, and the funds with which I had +entered upon this life were gradually disappearing. I was +living, it is true, not unpleasantly, enjoying the healthy air of +heaven; but, upon the whole, was I not sadly misspending my +time? Surely I was; and, as I looked back, it appeared to +me that I had always been doing so. What had been the +profit of the tongues which I had learnt? had they ever assisted +me in the day of hunger? No, no! it appeared to me that I +had always misspent my time, save in one instance, when by a +desperate effort I had collected all the powers of my +imagination, and written the Life of <!-- page 87--><a +name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>Joseph Sell; +<a name="citation87"></a><a href="#footnote87" +class="citation">[87]</a> but even when I wrote the life of Sell, +was I not in a false position? Provided I had not misspent +my time, would it have been necessary to make that effort, which, +after all, had only enabled me to leave London, and wander about +the country for a time? But could I, taking all +circumstances into consideration, have done better than I +had? With my peculiar temperament and ideas, could I have +pursued with advantage the profession to which my respectable +parents had endeavoured to bring me up? It appeared to me +that I could not, and that the hand of necessity had guided me +from my earliest years, until the present night in which I found +myself seated in the dingle, staring on the brands of the +fire. But ceasing to think of the past which, as +irrecoverably gone, it was useless to regret, even were there +cause to regret it, what should I do in future? Should I +write another book like the Life of Joseph Sell; take it to +London, and offer it to a publisher? But when I reflected +on the grisly sufferings which I had undergone whilst engaged in +writing the Life of Sell, I shrank from the idea of a similar +attempt; moreover, I doubted whether I possessed the power to +write a similar work—whether the materials for the life of +another Sell lurked within the recesses of my brain? Had I +not better become in reality what I had hitherto been merely +playing at—a tinker or a gypsy? But I soon saw that I +was not fitted to become either in reality. It was much +more agreeable to play the gypsy or the tinker, than to become +either in reality. I had seen enough of gypsying and +tinkering to be convinced of that. All of a sudden the idea +of tilling the soil came into my head; tilling the soil was a +healthful and noble pursuit! but my idea of tilling the soil had +no connection with Britain; for I could only expect to till the +soil in Britain as a serf. I thought of tilling it in +America, in which it was said there was plenty of wild, unclaimed +land, of which any one, who chose to clear it of its trees, might +take possession. I figured myself in America, in an immense +forest, clearing the land destined, by my exertions, to become a +fruitful and smiling plain. Methought I heard the crash of +the huge trees as they fell beneath my axe; and then I bethought +me that a man was intended to marry—I ought to marry; and +if I married, where was I likely to be more <!-- page 88--><a +name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 88</span>happy as a +husband and a father than in America, engaged in tilling the +ground? I fancied myself in America, engaged in tilling the +ground, assisted by an enormous progeny. Well, why not +marry, and go and till the ground in America? I was young, +and youth was the time to marry in, and to labour in. I had +the use of all my faculties; my eyes, it is true, were rather +dull from early study, and from writing the Life of Joseph Sell; +but I could see tolerably well with them, and they were not +bleared. I felt my arms, and thighs, and teeth—they +were strong and sound enough; so now was the time to labour, to +marry, eat strong flesh, and beget strong children—the +power of doing all this would pass away with youth, which was +terribly transitory. I bethought me that a time would come +when my eyes would be bleared, and, perhaps, sightless; my arms +and thighs strengthless and sapless; when my teeth would shake in +my jaws, even supposing they did not drop out. No going a +wooing then—no labouring—no eating strong flesh, and +begetting lusty children then; and I bethought me how, when all +this should be, I should bewail the days of my youth as misspent, +provided I had not in them founded for myself a home, and +begotten strong children to take care of me in the days when I +could not take care of myself; and thinking of these things, I +became sadder and sadder, and stared vacantly upon the fire till +my eyes closed in a doze.</p> +<p>I continued dozing over the fire, until rousing myself I +perceived that the brands were nearly consumed, and I thought of +retiring for the night. I arose, and was about to enter my +tent, when a thought struck me. ‘Suppose,’ +thought I, ‘that Isopel Berners should return in the midst +of the night, how dark and dreary would the dingle appear without +a fire! truly, I will keep up the fire, and I will do more; I +have no board to spread for her, but I will fill the kettle, and +heat it, so that, if she comes, I may be able to welcome her with +a cup of tea, for I know she loves tea.’ Thereupon, I +piled more wood upon the fire, and soon succeeded in producing a +better blaze than before; then, taking the kettle, I set out for +the spring. On arriving at the mouth of the dingle, which +fronted the east, I perceived that Charles’s wain was +nearly opposite to it, high above in the heavens, by which I knew +that the night was tolerably well advanced. The gypsy +encampment lay before me; all was hushed <!-- page 89--><a +name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 89</span>and still +within it, and its inmates appeared to be locked in slumber; as I +advanced, however, the dogs, which were fastened outside the +tents, growled and barked; but presently recognising me, they +were again silent, some of them wagging their tails. As I +drew near a particular tent, I heard a female voice +say—‘Some one is coming!’ and, as I was about +to pass it, the cloth which formed the door was suddenly lifted +up, and a black head, and part of a huge naked body +protruded. It was the head and upper part of the giant +Tawno, who, according to the fashion of gypsy men, lay next the +door, wrapped in his blanket; the blanket, had, however, fallen +off, and the starlight shone clear on his athletic tawny body, +and was reflected from his large staring eyes.</p> +<p>‘It is only I, Tawno,’ said I, ‘going to +fill the kettle, as it is possible that Miss Berners may arrive +this night.’ ‘Kos-ko,’ <a +name="citation89"></a><a href="#footnote89" +class="citation">[89]</a> drawled out Tawno, and replaced the +curtain. ‘Good, do you call it?’ said the sharp +voice of his wife; ‘there is no good in the matter; if that +young chap were not living with the rawnee in the illegal and +uncertificated line, he would not be getting up in the middle of +the night to fill her kettles.’ Passing on, I +proceeded to the spring, where I filled the kettle, and then +returned to the dingle.</p> +<p>Placing the kettle upon the fire, I watched it till it began +to boil; then removing it from the top of the brands, I placed it +close beside the fire, and leaving it simmering, I retired to my +tent, where, having taken off my shoes, and a few of my garments, +I lay down on my palliasse, and was not long in falling +asleep. I believe I slept soundly for some time, thinking +and dreaming of nothing; suddenly, however, my sleep became +disturbed, and the subject of the patterans began to occupy my +brain. I imagined that I saw Ursula tracing her husband, +Launcelot Lovell, by means of his patterans; I imagined that she +had considerable difficulty in doing so; that she was +occasionally interrupted by parish beadles and constables, who +asked her whither she was travelling, to whom she gave various +answers. Presently methought that, as she was passing by a +farmyard, two fierce and savage dogs flew at her; I was in great +trouble, I remember, and wished to assist her, but could not, for +though I seemed to see her, I was still at a distance; and now it +appeared that she had escaped from the dogs, and <!-- page +90--><a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>was +proceeding with her cart along a gravelly path which traversed a +wild moor; I could hear the wheels grating amidst sand and +gravel. The next moment I was awake, and found myself +silting up in my tent; there was a glimmer of light through the +canvas caused by the fire. A feeling of dread came over me, +which was perhaps natural on starting suddenly from one’s +sleep in that wild lone place; I half imagined that someone was +nigh the tent; the idea made me rather uncomfortable, and, to +dissipate it, I lifted up the canvas of the door and peeped out, +and, lo! I had an indistinct view of a tall figure standing by +the tent. ‘Who is that?’ said I, whilst I felt +my blood rush to my heart. ‘It is I,’ said the +voice of Isopel Berners; ‘you little expected me, I dare +say; well, sleep on, I do not wish to disturb you.’ +‘But I was expecting you,’ said I, recovering myself, +‘as you may see by the fire and the kettle. I will be +with you in a moment.’</p> +<p>Putting on in haste the articles of dress which I had flung +off, I came out of the tent, and addressing myself to Isopel, who +was standing beside her cart, I said: ‘Just as I was about +to retire to rest I thought it possible that you might come +to-night, and got everything in readiness for you. Now, sit +down by the fire whilst I lead the donkey and cart to the place +where you stay; I will unharness the animal, and presently come +and join you.’ ‘I need not trouble you,’ +said Isopel; ‘I will go myself and see after my +things.’ ‘We will go together,’ said I, +‘and then return and have some tea.’ Isopel +made no objection, and in about half an hour we had arranged +everything at her quarters. I then hastened and prepared +tea. Presently Isopel rejoined me, bringing her stool; she +had divested herself of her bonnet, and her hair fell over her +shoulders; she sat down, and I poured out the beverage, handing +her a cup. ‘Have you made a long journey +to-night?’ said I. ‘A very long one,’ +replied Belle, ‘I have come nearly twenty miles since six +o’clock.’ ‘I believe I heard you coming +in my sleep,’ said I; ‘did the dogs above bark at +you?’ ‘Yes,’ said Isopel, ‘very +violently; did you think of me in your sleep?’ +‘No,’ said I, ‘I was thinking of Ursula and +something she had told me.’ ‘When and where was +that?’ said Isopel. ‘Yesterday evening,’ +said I, ‘beneath the dingle hedge.’ ‘Then +you were talking with her beneath the hedge?’ +‘I was,’ said I, ‘but only upon gypsy +matters. Do <!-- page 91--><a name="page91"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 91</span>you know, Belle, that she has just +been married to Sylvester, so you need not think that she and +I—.’ ‘She and you are quite at liberty to +sit where you please,’ said Isopel. ‘However, +young man,’ she continued, dropping her tone, which she had +slightly raised, ‘I believe what you said, that you were +merely talking about gypsy matters, and also what you were going +to say, if it was, as I suppose, that she and you had no +particular acquaintance.’ Isopel was now silent for +some time. ‘What are you thinking of?’ said +I. ‘I was thinking,’ said Belle, ‘how +exceedingly kind it was of you to get everything in readiness for +me, though you did not know that I should come.’ +‘I had a presentiment that you would come,’ said I; +‘but you forget that I have prepared the kettle for you +before, though it was true I was then certain that you would +come.’ ‘I had not forgotten your doing so, +young man,’ said Belle; ‘but I was beginning to think +that you were utterly selfish, caring for nothing but the +gratification of your own strange whims.’ ‘I am +very fond of having my own way,’ said I, ‘but utterly +selfish I am not, as I dare say I shall frequently prove to +you. You will often find the kettle boiling when you come +home.’ ‘Not heated by you,’ said Isopel +with a sigh. ‘By whom else?’ said I; +‘surely you are not thinking of driving me +away?’ ‘You have as much right here as +myself,’ said Isopel, ‘as I have told you before; but +I must be going myself.’ ‘Well,’ said I, +‘we can go together; to tell you the truth, I am rather +tired of this place.’ ‘Our paths must be +separate,’ said Belle. ‘Separate,’ said +I, ‘what do you mean? I shan’t let you go +alone, I shall go with you; and you know the road is as free to +me as to you; besides, you can’t think of parting company +with me, considering how much you would lose by doing so; +remember that you scarcely know anything of the Armenian +language; now, to learn Armenian from me would take you twenty +years.’</p> +<p>Belle faintly smiled. ‘Come,’ said I, +‘take another cup of tea.’ Belle took another +cup of tea, and yet another; we had some indifferent +conversation, after which I arose and gave her donkey a +considerable feed of corn. Belle thanked me, shook me by +the hand, and then went to her own tabernacle, and I returned to +mine.</p> +<h2><!-- page 92--><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +92</span>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<p>VISIT TO THE LANDLORD—HIS MORTIFICATIONS—HUNTER +AND HIS CLAN—RESOLUTION</p> +<p>On the following morning, after breakfasting with Belle, who +was silent and melancholy, I left her in the dingle, and took a +stroll amongst the neighbouring lanes. After some time I +thought I would pay a visit to the landlord of the public house, +whom I had not seen since the day when he communicated to me his +intention of changing his religion. I therefore directed my +steps to the house, and on entering it found the landlord +standing in the kitchen. Just then two mean-looking +fellows, who had been drinking at one of the tables, and who +appeared to be the only customers in the house, got up, brushed +past the landlord, and saying in a surly tone, ‘We shall +pay you some time or other,’ took their departure. +‘That’s the way they serve me now,’ said the +landlord, with a sigh. ‘Do you know those +fellows,’ I demanded, ‘since you let them go away in +your debt?’ ‘I know nothing about them,’ +said the landlord, ‘save that they are a couple of +scamps.’ ‘Then why did you let them go away +without paying you?’ said I. ‘I had not the +heart to stop them,’ said the landlord; ‘and, to tell +you the truth, everybody serves me so now, and I suppose they are +right, for a child could flog me.’ +‘Nonsense,’ said I, ‘behave more like a man, +and with respect to those two fellows run after them, I will go +with you, and if they refuse to pay the reckoning I will help you +to shake some money out of their clothes.’ +‘Thank you,’ said the landlord; ‘but as they +are gone, let them go on. What they have drank is not of +much consequence.’ ‘What is the matter with +you?’ said I, staring at the landlord, who appeared +strangely altered; his features were wild and haggard, his +formerly bluff cheeks were considerably sunken in, and his figure +had lost much of its plumpness. ‘Have you changed +your religion already, and has the fellow in black commanded you +to fast?’ ‘I have not changed my religion +yet,’ said the landlord, with a kind of shudder; ‘I +am to change it publicly this day fortnight, and the idea of +doing so—I do not mind telling you—preys much upon my +mind; moreover, the noise <!-- page 93--><a +name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>of the thing +has got abroad, and everybody is laughing at me, and what’s +more, coming and drinking my beer, and going away without paying +for it, whilst I feel myself like one bewitched, wishing but not +daring to take my own part. Confound the fellow in black, I +wish I had never seen him! yet what can I do without him? +The brewer swears that unless I pay him fifty pounds within a +fortnight he’ll send a distress warrant into the house, and +take all I have. My poor niece is crying in the room above; +and I am thinking of going into the stable and hanging myself; +and perhaps it’s the best thing I can do, for it’s +better to hang myself before selling my soul than afterwards, as +I’m sure I should, like Judas Iscariot, whom my poor niece, +who is somewhat religiously inclined, has been talking to me +about.’ ‘I wish I could assist you,’ said +I, ‘with money, but that is quite out of my power. +However, I can give you a piece of advice. Don’t +change your religion by any means; you can’t hope to +prosper if you do; and if the brewer chooses to deal hardly with +you, let him. Everybody would respect you ten times more +provided you allowed yourself to be turned into the roads rather +than change your religion, than if you got fifty pounds for +renouncing it.’ ‘I am half inclined to take +your advice,’ said the landlord, ‘only, to tell you +the truth, I feel quite low, without any heart in +me.’ ‘Come into the bar,’ said I, +‘and let us have something together—you need not be +afraid of my not paying for what I order.’</p> +<p>We went into the bar-room, where the landlord and I discussed +between us two bottles of strong ale, which he said were part of +the last six which he had in his possession. At first he +wished to drink sherry, but I begged him to do no such thing, +telling him that sherry would do him no good, under the present +circumstances; nor, indeed, to the best of my belief under any, +it being of all wines the one for which I entertained the most +contempt. The landlord allowed himself to be dissuaded, +and, after a glass or two of ale, confessed that sherry was a +sickly disagreeable drink, and that he had merely been in the +habit of taking it from an idea he had that it was genteel. +Whilst quaffing our beverage, he gave me an account of the +various mortifications to which he had of late been subject, +dwelling with particular bitterness on the conduct <!-- page +94--><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>of +Hunter, who he said came every night and mouthed him, and +afterwards went away without paying for what he had drank or +smoked, in which conduct he was closely imitated by a clan of +fellows who constantly attended him. After spending several +hours at the public-house I departed, not forgetting to pay for +the two bottles of ale. The landlord, before I went, +shaking me by the hand, declared that he had now made up his mind +to stick to his religion at all hazards, the more especially as +he was convinced he should derive no good by giving it up.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<p>PREPARATIONS FOR THE FAIR—THE LAST LESSON—THE VERB +SIRIEL</p> +<p>It might be about five in the evening when I reached the gypsy +encampment. Here I found Mr. Petulengro, Tawno Chickno, +Sylvester, and others, in a great bustle, clipping and trimming +certain ponies and old horses which they had brought with +them. On inquiring of Jasper the reason of their being so +engaged, he informed me that they were getting the horses ready +for a fair, which was to be held on the morrow, at a place some +miles distant, at which they should endeavour to dispose of them, +adding—‘Perhaps, brother, you will go with us, +provided you have nothing better to do?’ Not having +any particular engagement, I assured him that I should have great +pleasure in being of the party. It was agreed that we +should start early on the following morning. Thereupon I +descended into the dingle. Belle was sitting before the +fire, at which the kettle was boiling. ‘Were you +waiting for me?’ I inquired. ‘Yes,’ said +Belle, ‘I thought that you would come, and I waited for +you.’ ‘That was very kind,’ said I. +‘Not half so kind,’ said she, ‘as it was of you +to get everything ready for me in the dead of last night, when +there was scarcely a chance of my coming.’ The +tea-things were brought forward, and we sat down. +‘Have you been far?’ said Belle. ‘Merely +to that public-house,’ said I, ‘to which you directed +me on the second day of our acquaintance.’ +‘Young men should not make a habit of visiting +public-houses,’ said Belle, ‘they are bad +places.’ ‘They may be <!-- page 95--><a +name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>so to some +people,’ said I, ‘but I do not think the worst +public-house in England could do me any harm.’ +‘Perhaps you are so bad already,’ said Belle, with a +smile, ‘that it would be impossible to spoil +you.’ ‘How dare you catch at my words?’ +said I; ‘come, I will make you pay for doing so—you +shall have this evening the longest lesson in Armenian which I +have yet inflicted upon you.’ ‘You may well say +inflicted,’ said Belle, ‘but pray spare me. I +do not wish to hear anything about Armenian, especially this +evening.’ ‘Why this evening?’ said +I. Belle made no answer. ‘I will not spare +you,’ said I; ‘this evening I intend to make you +conjugate an Armenian verb.’ ‘Well, be it +so,’ said Belle; ‘for this evening you shall +command.’ ‘To command is hramahyel,’ said +I. ‘Ram her ill, indeed,’ said Belle; ‘I +do not wish to begin with that.’ ‘No,’ +said I, ‘as we have come to the verbs, we will begin +regularly; hramahyel is a verb of the second conjugation. +We will begin with the first.’ ‘First of all +tell me,’ said Belle, ‘what a verb is?’ +‘A part of speech,’ said I, ‘which, according +to the dictionary, signifies some action or passion—for +example, I command you, or I hate you.’ ‘I have +given you no cause to hate me,’ said Belle, looking me +sorrowfully in the face.</p> +<p>‘I was merely giving two examples,’ said I, +‘and neither was directed at you. In those examples, +to command and hate are verbs. Belle, in Armenian there are +four conjugations of verbs; the first end in el, the second in +yel, the third in oul, and the fourth in il. Now, have you +understood me?’</p> +<p>‘I am afraid, indeed, it will all end ill,’ said +Belle. ‘Hold your tongue,’ said I, ‘or +you will make me lose my patience.’ ‘You have +already made me nearly lose mine,’ said Belle. +‘Let us have no unprofitable interruptions,’ said +I. ‘The conjugations of the Armenian verbs are +neither so numerous nor so difficult as the declensions of the +nouns; hear that, and rejoice. Come, we will begin with the +verb hntal, a verb of the first conjugation, which signifies to +rejoice. Come along; hntam, I rejoice; hntas, thou +rejoicest: why don’t you follow, Belle?’</p> +<p>‘I am sure I don’t rejoice, whatever you may +do,’ said Belle. ‘The chief difficulty, +Belle,’ said I, ‘that I find in teaching you the +Armenian grammar, proceeds from your applying to yourself and me +every example I give. <!-- page 96--><a +name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 96</span>Rejoice, in +this instance, is merely an example of an Armenian verb of the +first conjugation, and has no more to do with your rejoicing than +lal, which is also a verb of the first conjugation, and which +signifies to weep, would have to do with your weeping, provided I +made you conjugate it. Come along; hntam, I rejoice; hntas, +thou rejoicest, hntà, he rejoices; hntamk, we rejoice: +now, repeat those words.’</p> +<p>‘I can’t,’ said Belle, ‘they sound +more like the language of horses than of human beings. Do +you take me for—?’ ‘For what?’ said +I. Belle was silent. ‘Were you going to say +mare?’ said I. ‘Mare! mare! by-the-by, do you +know, Belle, that mare in old English stands for woman; and that +when we call a female an evil mare, the strict meaning of the +term is merely bad woman. So if I were to call you mare, +without prefixing bad, you must not be offended.’ +‘But I should, though,’ said Belle. ‘I +was merely attempting to make you acquainted with a philological +fact,’ said I. ‘If mare, which in old English, +and likewise in vulgar English, signifies a woman, sounds the +same as mare, which in modern and polite English signifies a +female horse, I can’t help it. There is no confusion +of sounds in Armenian, not, at least, in the same instance. +Belle, in Armenian, woman is ghin, the same word, by-the-by, a +sour queen, whereas mare is madagh tzi, which signifies a female +horse; and perhaps you will permit me to add that a hard-mouthed +jade is, in Armenian, madagh tzi hsdierah.’</p> +<p>‘I can’t bear this much longer,’ said +Belle. ‘Keep yourself quiet,’ said I; ‘I +wish to be gentle with you; and to convince you, we will skip +hntal, and also for the present verbs of the first conjugation, +and proceed to the second. Belle, I will now select for you +to conjugate the prettiest verb in Armenian; not only of the +second, but also of all the four conjugations; that verb is +siriel. Here is the present tense: siriem, siries, +sirè, siriemk, sirèk, sirien. You observe +that it runs on just in the same manner as hntal, save and except +that e is substituted for a; and it will be as well to tell you +that almost the only difference between the second, third, and +fourth conjugations, and the first, is the substituting in the +present, preterite, and other tenses, e, or ou, or i for a; so +you see that the Armenian verbs are by no means <!-- page 97--><a +name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +97</span>difficult. Come on, Belle, and say +siriem.’ Belle hesitated. ‘Pray oblige +me, Belle, by saying siriem!’ Belle still appeared to +hesitate. ‘You must admit, Belle, that it is much +softer than hntam.’ ‘It is so,’ said +Belle; ‘and to oblige you, I will say siriem.’ +‘Very well indeed, Belle,’ said I. ‘No +vartabied, or doctor, could have pronounced it better; and now, +to show you how verbs act upon pronouns in Armenian, I will say +siriem zkiez. Please to repeat siriem zkiez!’ +‘Siriem zkiez!’ said Belle, ‘that last word is +very hard to say.’ ‘Sorry that you think so, +Belle,’ said I. ‘Now please to say siriá +zis.’ Belle did so. ‘Exceedingly +well,’ said I. ‘Now say yerani thè +sirèir zis.’ ‘Yerani thè +sirèir zis,’ said Belle. +‘Capital!’ said I; ‘you have now said, I love +you—love me—ah! would that you would love +me!’</p> +<p>‘And I have said all these things?’ said +Belle. ‘Yes,’ said I; ‘you have said them +in Armenian.’ ‘I would have said them in no +language that I understood,’ said Belle; ‘and it was +very wrong of you to take advantage of my ignorance, and make me +say such things.’ ‘Why so?’ said I; +‘if you said them, I said them too.’ ‘You +did so,’ said Belle; ‘but I believe you were merely +bantering and jeering.’ ‘As I told you before, +Belle,’ said I, ‘the chief difficulty which I find in +teaching you Armenian proceeds from your persisting in applying +to yourself and me every example I give.’ ‘Then +you meant nothing after all?’ said Belle, raising her +voice. ‘Let us proceed,’ said I; +‘sirietsi, I loved.’ ‘You never loved any +one but yourself,’ said Belle; ‘and what’s +more—’ ‘Sirietsits, I will love,’ +said I, ‘siriestsies, thou wilt love.’ +‘Never one so thoroughly heartless,’ said +Belle. ‘I tell you what, Belle, you are becoming +intolerable; but we will change the verb, or rather I will now +proceed to tell you here, that some of the Armenian conjugations +have their anomalies; one species of these I wish to bring before +your notice. As old Villotte <a name="citation97"></a><a +href="#footnote97" class="citation">[97]</a> says—from +whose work I first contrived to pick up the rudiments of +Armenian—“Est verborum transitivorum, quorum +infinitivus—” But I forgot, you don’t +understand Latin. He says there are certain transitive +verbs, whose infinitive is in out-saniel; the preterite in outsi; +the imperative in oue: for example, parghatsoutsaniem, I +irritate—’</p> +<p><!-- page 98--><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +98</span>‘You do, you do!’ said Belle; ‘and it +will be better for both of us, if you leave off doing +so.’</p> +<p>‘You would hardly believe, Belle,’ said I, +‘that the Armenian is in some respects closely connected +with the Irish, but so it is; for example, that word +parghatsoutsaniem is evidently derived from the same root as +feargaim, which, in Irish, is as much as to say I vex.’</p> +<p>‘You do, indeed!’ said Belle, sobbing.</p> +<p>‘But how do you account for it?’</p> +<p>‘O man, man!’ said Belle, bursting into tears, +‘for what purpose do you ask a poor ignorant girl such a +question, unless it be to vex and irritate her? If you wish +to display your learning, do so to the wise and instructed, and +not to me, who can scarcely read or write. Oh, leave off +your nonsense; yet I know you will not do so, for it is the +breath of your nostrils! I could have wished we should have +parted in kindness, but you will not permit it. I have +deserved better at your hands than such treatment. The +whole time we have kept company together in this place, I have +scarcely had one kind word from you, but the +strangest—’ And here the voice of Belle was +drowned in her sobs.</p> +<p>‘I am sorry to see you take on so, dear Belle,’ +said I. ‘I really have given you no cause to be so +unhappy. Surely teaching you a little Armenian was a very +innocent kind of diversion.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, but you went on so long, and in such a strange +way, and made me repeat such strange examples, as you call them, +that I could not bear it.’</p> +<p>‘Why, to tell you the truth, Belle, it’s my way; +and I have dealt with you just as I would with—’</p> +<p>‘A hard-mouthed jade,’ said Belle, ‘and you +practising your horse-witchery upon her. I have been of an +unsubdued spirit, I acknowledge, but I was always kind to you; +and if you have made me cry, it’s a poor thing to boast +of.’</p> +<p>‘Boast of!’ said I; ‘a pretty thing indeed +to boast of; I had no idea of making you cry. Come, I beg +your pardon: what more can I do? Come, cheer up, +Belle. You were talking of parting; don’t let us +part, but depart, and that together.’</p> +<p>‘Our ways lie different,’ said Belle.</p> +<p>‘I don’t see why they should,’ said I. +‘Come, let us be off to America together.’</p> +<p><!-- page 99--><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>‘To America together?’ said Belle, looking +full at me.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said I; ‘where we will settle down in +some forest, and conjugate the verb siriel conjugally.’</p> +<p>‘Conjugally?’ said Belle.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said I; ‘as man and wife in America, +air yew ghin.’</p> +<p>‘You are jesting as usual,’ said Belle.</p> +<p>‘Not I, indeed. Come, Belle, make up your mind, +and let us be off to America; and leave priests, humbug, +learning, and languages behind us.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t think you are jesting,’ said Belle; +‘but I can hardly entertain your offers. However, +young man, I thank you.’</p> +<p>‘You had better make up your mind at once,’ said +I, ‘and let us be off. I shan’t make a bad +husband, I assure you. Perhaps you think I am not worthy of +you? To convince you, Belle, that I am, I am ready to try a +fall with you this moment upon the grass. Brynhilda, the +valkyrie, swore that no one should marry her who could not fling +her down. Perhaps you have done the same. The man who +eventually married her, got a friend of his, who was called +Sygurd, the serpent-killer, to wrestle with her, disguising him +in his own armour. Sygurd flung her down, and won her for +his friend, though he loved her himself. I shall not use a +similar deceit, nor employ Jasper Petulengro to personate +me—so get up, Belle, and I will do my best to fling you +down.’</p> +<p>‘I require no such thing of you, or anybody,’ said +Belle; ‘you are beginning to look rather wild.’</p> +<p>‘I every now and then do,’ said I. +‘Come, Belle, what do you say?’</p> +<p>‘I will say nothing at present on the subject,’ +said Belle; ‘I must have time to consider.’</p> +<p>‘Just as you please,’ said I, ‘to-morrow I +go to a fair with Mr. Petulengro—perhaps you will consider +whilst I am away. Come, Belle, let us have some more +tea. I wonder whether we shall be able to procure tea as +good as this in the American forest.’</p> +<h2><!-- page 100--><a name="page100"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 100</span>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<p>THE DAWN OF DAY—THE LAST FAREWELL—DEPARTURE FOR +THE FAIR—THE FINE HORSE—RETURN TO THE DINGLE—NO +ISOPEL</p> +<p>It was about the dawn of day when I was awakened by the voice +of Mr. Petulengro shouting from the top of the dingle, and +bidding me get up. I arose instantly, and dressed myself +for the expedition to the fair. On leaving my tent, I was +surprised to observe Belle, entirely dressed, standing close to +her own little encampment. ‘Dear me,’ said I, +‘I little expected to find you up so early. I suppose +Jasper’s call awakened you, as it did me.’ +‘I merely lay down in my things,’ said Belle, +‘and have not slept during the night.’ +‘And why did you not take off your things and go to +sleep?’ said I. ‘I did not undress,’ said +Belle, ‘because I wished to be in readiness to bid you +farewell when you departed; and as for sleeping I could +not.’ ‘Well, God bless you!’ said I, +taking Belle by the hand. Belle made no answer, and I +observed that her hand was very cold. ‘What is the +matter with you?’ said I, looking her in the face. +Belle looked at me for a moment in the eyes, and then cast down +her own—her features were very pale. ‘You are +really unwell,’ said I, ‘I had better not go to the +fair, but stay here, and take care of you.’ +‘No,’ said Belle, ‘pray go, I am not +unwell.’ ‘Then go to your tent,’ said I, +‘and do not endanger your health by standing abroad in the +raw morning air. God bless you, Belle, I shall be home +to-night, by which time I expect you will have made up your mind, +if not, another lesson in Armenian, however late the hour +be.’ I then wrung Belle’s hand, and ascended to +the plain above.</p> +<p>I found the Romany party waiting for me, and everything in +readiness for departing. Mr. Petulengro and Tawno Chikno +were mounted on two old horses. The rest, who intended to +go to the fair, amongst whom were two or three women, were on +foot. On arriving at the extremity of the plain, I looked +towards the dingle. Isopel Berners stood at the mouth, the +beams of the early morning sun shone full on her noble face and +figure. I waved my hand towards her. She slowly +lifted up her right arm. I turned away, and never saw +Isopel Berners again.</p> +<p><!-- page 101--><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +101</span>My companions and myself proceeded on our way. In +about two hours we reached the place where the fair was to be +held. After breakfasting on bread and cheese and ale behind +a broken stone wall, we drove our animals to the fair. The +fair was a common cattle and horse fair: there was little +merriment going on, but there was no lack of business. By +about two o’clock in the afternoon, Mr. Petulengro and his +people had disposed of their animals at what they conceived very +fair prices—they were all in high spirits, and Jasper +proposed to adjourn to a public-house. As we were +proceeding to one, a very fine horse, led by a jockey, made its +appearance on the ground. Mr. Petulengro stopped short, and +looked at it steadfastly: ‘Fino covar dove odoy sas miro <a +name="citation101"></a><a href="#footnote101" +class="citation">[101]</a>—a fine thing were that, if it +were but mine!’ he exclaimed. ‘If you covet +it,’ said I, ‘why do you not purchase +it?’ ‘We low gyptians never buy animals of that +description; if we did we could never sell them, and most likely +should be had up as horse-stealers.’ ‘Then why +did you say just now, “It were a fine thing if it were but +yours?”’ said I. ‘We gyptians always say +so when we see anything that we admire. An animal like that +is not intended for a little hare like me, but for some grand +gentleman like yourself. I say, brother, do you buy that +horse!’ ‘How should I buy the horse, you +foolish person!’ said I. ‘Buy the horse, +brother,’ said Mr. Petulengro, ‘if you have not the +money I can lend it you; though I be of lower Egypt.’ +‘You talk nonsense,’ said I; ‘however, I wish +you would ask the man the price of it.’ Mr. +Petulengro, going up to the jockey, inquired the price of the +horse—the man, looking at him scornfully, made no +reply. ‘Young man,’ said I, going up to the +jockey, ‘do me the favour to tell me the price of that +horse, as I suppose it is to sell.’ The jockey, who +was a surly-looking man, of about fifty, looked at me for a +moment, then, after some hesitation, said, laconically, +‘Seventy.’ ‘Thank you,’ said I, and +turned away. ‘Buy that horse,’ said Mr. +Petulengro, coming after me; ‘the dook tells me that in +less than three months he will be sold for twice +seventy.’ ‘I will have nothing to do with +him,’ said I; ‘besides, Jasper, I don’t like +his tail. Did you observe what a mean scrubby tail he +has?’ ‘What <!-- page 102--><a +name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>a fool you +are, brother,’ said Mr. Petulengro; ‘that very tail +of his shows his breeding. No good bred horse ever yet +carried a fine tail—’tis your scrubby-tailed horses +that are your out-and-outers. Did you ever hear of Syntax, +brother? That tail of his puts me in mind of Syntax. +Well, I say nothing more, have your own way—all I wonder at +is, that a horse like him was ever brought to such a fair of dog +cattle as this.’</p> +<p>We then made the best of our way to a public-house, where we +had some refreshment. I then proposed returning to the +encampment, but Mr. Petulengro declined, and remained drinking +with his companions till about six o’clock in the evening, +when various jockeys from the fair came in. After some +conversation a jockey proposed a game of cards; and in a little +time, Mr. Petulengro and another gypsy sat down to play a game of +cards with two of the jockeys.</p> +<p>Though not much acquainted with cards, I soon conceived a +suspicion that the jockeys were cheating Mr. Petulengro and his +companion, I therefore called Mr. Petulengro aside, and gave him +a hint to that effect. Mr. Petulengro, however, instead of +thanking me, told me to mind my own bread and butter, and +forthwith returned to his game. I continued watching the +players for some hours. The gypsies lost considerably, and +I saw clearly that the jockeys were cheating them most +confoundedly. I therefore once more called Mr. Petulengro +aside, and told him that the jockeys were cheating him, conjuring +him to return to the encampment. Mr. Petulengro, who was by +this time somewhat the worse for liquor, now fell into a passion, +swore several oaths, and asking me who had made me a Moses over +him and his brethren, told me to return to the encampment by +myself. Incensed at the unworthy return which my well-meant +words received, I forthwith left the house, and having purchased +a few articles of provision, I set out for the dingle +alone. It was dark night when I reached it, and descending +I saw the glimmer of a fire from the depths of the dingle; my +heart beat with fond anticipation of a welcome. +‘Isopel Berners is waiting for me,’ said I, +‘and the first word that I shall hear from her lips is that +she has made up her mind. We shall go to America, and be so +happy together.’ On reaching the bottom of the +dingle, however, I saw seated near the fire, <!-- page 103--><a +name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 103</span>not Isopel +Berners, but a gypsy girl, who told me that Miss Berners when she +went away had charged her to keep up the fire, and have a kettle +boiling against my arrival. Startled at these words, I +inquired at what hour Isopel had left, and whither she was gone, +and was told that she had left the dingle, with her cart, about +two hours after I departed; but where she was gone she (the girl) +did not know. I then asked whether she had left no message, +and the girl replied that she had left none, but had merely given +directions about the kettle and fire, putting, at the same time, +sixpence into her hand. ‘Very strange,’ thought +I; then dismissing the gypsy girl I sat down by the fire. I +had no wish for tea, but sat looking on the embers, wondering +what could be the motive of the sudden departure of Isopel. +‘Does she mean to return?’ thought I to myself. +‘Surely she means to return,’ Hope replied, ‘or +she would not have gone away without leaving any +message’—‘and yet she could scarcely mean to +return,’ muttered Foreboding, ‘or she would assuredly +have left some message with the girl.’ I then thought +to myself what a hard thing it would be, if, after having made up +my mind to assume the yoke of matrimony, I should be disappointed +of the woman of my choice. ‘Well, after all,’ +thought I, ‘I can scarcely be disappointed; if such an ugly +scoundrel as Sylvester had no difficulty in getting such a nice +wife as Ursula, surely I, who am not a tenth part so ugly, cannot +fail to obtain the hand of Isopel Berners, uncommonly fine damsel +though she be. Husbands do not grow upon hedge-rows; she is +merely gone after a little business and will return +to-morrow.’</p> +<p>Comforted in some degree by these hopeful imaginings, I +retired to my tent, and went to sleep.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<p>GLOOMY FOREBODINGS—THE POSTMAN’S MOTHER—THE +LETTER—BEARS AND BARONS—THE BEST OF ADVICE</p> +<p>Nothing occurred to me of any particular moment during the +following day. Isopel Berners did not return; but Mr. +Petulengro and his companions came home from the fair early in +the morning. <!-- page 104--><a name="page104"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 104</span>When I saw him, which was about +mid-day, I found him with his face bruised and swelled. It +appeared that some time after I had left him, he himself +perceived that the jockeys with whom he was playing cards were +cheating him and his companion, a quarrel ensued, which +terminated in a fight between Mr. Petulengro and one of the +jockeys, which lasted some time, and in which Mr. Petulengro, +though he eventually came off victor, was considerably +beaten. His bruises, in conjunction with his pecuniary +loss, which amounted to about seven pounds, were the cause of his +being much out of humour; before night, however, he had returned +to his usual philosophic frame of mind, and, coming up to me as I +was walking about, apologized for his behaviour on the preceding +day, and assured me that he was determined, from that time +forward, never to quarrel with a friend for giving him good +advice.</p> +<p>Two more days passed, and still Isopel Berners did not +return. Gloomy thoughts and forebodings filled my +mind. During the day I wandered about the neighbouring +roads in the hopes of catching an early glimpse of her and her +returning vehicle; and at night lay awake, tossing about on my +hard couch, listening to the rustle of every leaf, and +occasionally thinking that I heard the sound of her wheels upon +the distant road. Once at midnight, just as I was about to +fall into unconsciousness, I suddenly started up, for I was +convinced that I heard the sound of wheels. I listened most +anxiously, and the sound of wheels striking against stones was +certainly plain enough. ‘She comes at last,’ +thought I, and for a few moments I felt as if a mountain had been +removed from my breast;—‘here she comes at last, now, +how shall I receive her? Oh,’ thought I, ‘I +will receive her rather coolly, just as if I was not particularly +anxious about her—that’s the way to manage these +women.’ The next moment the sound became very loud, +rather too loud, I thought, to proceed from her wheels, and then +by degrees became fainter. Rushing out of my tent, I +hurried up the path to the top of the dingle, where I heard the +sound distinctly enough, but it was going from me, and evidently +proceeded from something much larger than the cart of +Isopel. I could, moreover, hear the stamping of a +horse’s hoof at a lumbering trot. Those only whose +hopes have been wrought up to a high pitch, and then suddenly +dashed down, can <!-- page 105--><a name="page105"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 105</span>imagine what I felt at that moment; +and yet when I returned to my lonely tent, and lay down on my +hard pallet, the voice of conscience told me that the misery I +was then undergoing, I had fully merited, from the unkind manner +in which I had intended to receive her, when for a brief minute I +supposed that she had returned.</p> +<p>It was on the morning after this affair, and the fourth, if I +forget not, from the time of Isopel’s departure, that, as I +was seated on my stone at the bottom of the dingle, getting my +breakfast, I heard an unknown voice from the path +above—apparently that of a person descending—exclaim, +‘Here’s a strange place to bring a letter to;’ +and presently an old woman, with a belt round her middle, to +which was attached a leathern bag, made her appearance, and stood +before me.</p> +<p>‘Well, if I ever!’ said she, as she looked about +her. ‘My good gentlewoman,’ said I, ‘pray +what may you please to want?’ +‘Gentlewoman!’ said the old dame, ‘please to +want!—well, I call that speaking civilly, at any +rate. It is true, civil words cost nothing; nevertheless, +we do not always get them. What I please to want is to +deliver a letter to a young man in this place; perhaps you be +he?’ ‘What’s the name on the +letter?’ said I, getting up and going to her. +‘There is no name upon it,’ said she, taking a letter +out of her scrip, and looking at it. ‘It is directed +to the young man in Mumper’s Dingle.’ +‘Then it is for me, I make no doubt,’ said I, +stretching out my hand to take it. ‘Please to pay me +ninepence first,’ said the old woman. +‘However,’ said she, ‘civility is civility, +and, being rather a scarce article, should meet with some +return. Here’s the letter, young man, and I hope you +will pay for it; for if you do not I must pay the postage +myself.’ ‘You are the postwoman, I +suppose,’ said I, as I took the letter. ‘I am +the postman’s mother,’ said the old woman; ‘but +as he has a wide beat, I help him as much as I can, and I +generally carry letters to places like this, to which he is +afraid to come himself.’ ‘You say the postage +is ninepence,’ said I, ‘here’s a +shilling.’ ‘Well, I call that +honourable,’ said the old woman, taking the shilling, and +putting it into her pocket—‘here’s your change, +young man,’ said she, offering me threepence. +‘Pray keep that for yourself,’ said I; ‘you +deserve it for your trouble.’ ‘Well, I call +<!-- page 106--><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +106</span>that genteel,’ said the old woman; ‘and as +one good turn deserves another, since you look as if you +couldn’t read, I will read your letter for you. +Let’s see it; it’s from some young woman or other, I +dare say.’ ‘Thank you,’ said I, +‘but I can read.’ ‘All the better for +you,’ said the old woman; ‘your being able to read +will frequently save you a penny, for that’s the charge I +generally make for reading letters; though as you behaved so +genteely to me, I should have charged you nothing. Well, if +you can read, why don’t you open the letter, instead of +keeping it hanging between your finger and thumb?’ +‘I am in no hurry to open it,’ said I, with a +sigh. The old woman looked at me for a +moment—‘Well, young man,’ said she, +‘there are some—especially those who can +read—who don’t like to open their letters when +anybody is by, more especially when they come from young +women. Well, I won’t intrude upon you, but leave you +alone with your letter. I wish it may contain something +pleasant. God bless you,’ and with these words she +departed.</p> +<p>I sat down on my stone, with my letter in my hand. I +knew perfectly well that it could have come from no other person +than Isopel Berners; but what did the letter contain? I +guessed tolerably well what its purport was—an eternal +farewell! yet I was afraid to open the letter, lest my +expectation should be confirmed. There I sat with the +letter, putting off the evil moment as long as possible. At +length I glanced at the direction, which was written in a fine +bold hand, and was directed, as the old woman had said, to the +young man in ‘Mumper’s Dingle,’ with the +addition near ---, in the county of ---. Suddenly the idea +occurred to me, that, after all, the letter might not contain an +eternal farewell, and that Isopel might have written, requesting +me to join her. Could it be so?’ ‘Alas! +no,’ presently said Foreboding. At last I became +ashamed of my weakness. The letter must be opened sooner or +later. Why not at once? So as the bather who, for a +considerable time has stood shivering on the bank, afraid to take +the decisive plunge, suddenly takes it, I tore open the letter +almost before I was aware. I had no sooner done so than a +paper fell out. I examined it; it contained a lock of +bright flaxen hair. ‘This is no good sign,’ +said I, as I thrust the lock and paper into my bosom, and +proceeded to read the letter, which ran as follows:</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 107--><a name="page107"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 107</span>‘<span class="smcap">To the +Young Man in Mumper’s Dingle</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,</p> +<p>I send these lines, with the hope and trust that they will +find you well, even as I am myself at this moment, and in much +better spirits, for my own are not such as I could wish they +were, being sometimes rather hysterical and vapourish, and at +other times, and most often, very low. I am at a sea-port, +and am just going on shipboard; and when you get these I shall be +on the salt waters, on my way to a distant country, and leaving +my own behind me, which I do not expect ever to see again.</p> +<p>‘And now, young man, I will, in the first place, say +something about the manner in which I quitted you. It must +have seemed somewhat singular to you that I went away without +taking any leave, or giving you the slightest hint that I was +going; but I did not do so without considerable reflection. +I was afraid that I should not be able to support a leave-taking; +and as you had said that you were determined to go wherever I +did, I thought it best not to tell you at all; for I did not +think it advisable that you should go with me, and I wished to +have no dispute.</p> +<p>‘In the second place, I wish to say something about an +offer of wedlock which you made me; perhaps, young man, had you +made it at the first period of our acquaintance, I should have +accepted it, but you did not, and kept putting off and putting +off, and behaving in a very strange manner, till I could stand +your conduct no longer, but determined upon leaving you and Old +England, which last step I had been long thinking about; so when +you made your offer at last everything was arranged—my cart +and donkey engaged to be sold—and the greater part of my +things disposed of. However, young man, when you did make +it, I frankly tell you that I had half a mind to accept it; at +last, however, after very much consideration, I thought it best +to leave you for ever, because, for some time past, I had become +almost convinced, that though with a wonderful deal of learning, +and exceedingly shrewd in some things, you were—pray +don’t be offended—at the root mad! and though mad +people, I have been told, sometimes make very good husbands, I +was unwilling that your friends, if you had any, should say that +Belle Berners, the workhouse girl, took advantage of your +infirmity; for there is no concealing that I was born and <!-- +page 108--><a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +108</span>bred up in a workhouse; notwithstanding that, my blood +is better than your own, and as good as the best; you having +yourself told me that my name is a noble name, and once, if I +mistake not, that it was the same word as baron, which is the +same thing as bear; and that to be called in old times a bear was +considered as a great compliment—the bear being a mighty +strong animal, on which account our forefathers called all their +great fighting-men barons, which is the same as bears.</p> +<p>‘However, setting matters of blood and family entirely +aside, many thanks to you, young man, from poor Belle, for the +honour you did her in making that same offer; for, after all, it +is an honour to receive an honourable offer, which she could see +clearly yours was, with no floriness nor chaff in it; but, on the +contrary, entire sincerity. She assures you that she shall +always bear it and yourself in mind, whether on land or water; +and as a proof of the good-will she bears to you, she has sent +you a lock of the hair which she wears on her head, which you +were often looking at, and were pleased to call flax, which word +she supposes you meant as a compliment, even as the old people +meant to pass a compliment to their great folks, when they called +them bears; though she cannot help thinking that they might have +found an animal as strong as a bear, and somewhat less uncouth, +to call their great folks after: even as she thinks yourself, +amongst your great store of words, might have found something a +little more genteel to call her hair after than flax, which, +though strong and useful, is rather a coarse and common kind of +article.</p> +<p>‘And as another proof of the goodwill she bears to you, +she sends you, along with the lock, a piece of advice, which is +worth all the hair in the world, to say nothing of the flax.</p> +<p>‘<i>Fear God</i>, and take your own part. <a +name="citation108"></a><a href="#footnote108" +class="citation">[108]</a> There’s Bible in that, +young man; see how Moses feared God, and how he took his own part +against everybody who meddled with him. And see how David +feared God, and took his own part against all the bloody enemies +which surrounded him—so fear God, young man, and never give +in! The world can bully, and is fond, provided it sees a +man in a kind of difficulty, of getting about him, calling him +coarse <!-- page 109--><a name="page109"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 109</span>names, and even going so far as to +hustle him; but the world, like all bullies, carries a white +feather in its tail, and no sooner sees a man taking off his +coat, and offering to fight his best, than it scatters here and +there, and is always civil to him afterwards. So when folks +are disposed to ill-treat you, young man, say, “Lord have +mercy upon me!” and then tip them Long Melford, <a +name="citation109"></a><a href="#footnote109" +class="citation">[109]</a> to which, as the saying goes, there is +nothing comparable for shortness all the world over; and these +last words, young man, are the last you will ever have from her +who is, nevertheless,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘Your affectionate female +servant,<br /> +‘<span class="smcap">Isopel Berners</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>After reading the letter I sat for some time motionless, +holding it in my hand. The day-dream in which I had been a +little time before indulging, of marrying Isopel Berners, of +going with her to America, and having by her a large progeny, who +were to assist me in felling trees, cultivating the soil, and who +would take care of me when I was old, was now thoroughly +dispelled. Isopel had deserted me, and was gone to America +by herself, where, perhaps, she would marry some other person, +and would bear him a progeny, who would do for him what in my +dream I had hoped my progeny by her would do for me. Then +the thought came into my head that though she was gone I might +follow her to America, but then I thought that if I did I might +not find her; America was a very large place, and I did not know +the port to which she was bound; but I could follow her to the +port from which she had sailed, and there possibly discover the +port to which she was bound; but then I did not even know the +port from which she had set out, for Isopel had not dated her +letter from any place. Suddenly it occurred to me that the +post-mark on the letter would tell me from whence it came, so I +forthwith looked at the back of the letter, and in the post-mark +read the name of a well-known and not very distant +sea-port. I then knew with tolerable certainty the port +where she had embarked, and I almost determined to follow her, +but I almost instantly determined to do no such thing. +Isopel Berners had abandoned me, and I would not follow her; +‘perhaps,’ whispered pride, ‘if I overtook her, +she would only despise me for running after her;’ and it +also told me <!-- page 110--><a name="page110"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 110</span>pretty roundly that, provided I ran +after her, whether I overtook her or not, I should heartily +despise myself. So I determined not to follow Isopel +Berners; I took her lock of hair, and looked at it, then put it +in her letter, which I folded up and carefully stowed away, +resolved to keep both for ever, but I determined not to follow +her. Two or three times, however, during the day, I wavered +in my determination, and was again and again almost tempted to +follow her, but every succeeding time the temptation was +fainter. In the evening I left the dingle, and sat down +with Mr. Petulengro and his family by the door of his tent; Mr. +Petulengro soon began talking of the letter which I had received +in the morning. ‘Is it not from Miss Berners, +brother?’ said he. I told him it was. ‘Is +she coming back, brother?’ ‘Never,’ said +I; ‘she is gone to America, and has deserted +me.’ ‘I always knew that you two were never +destined for each other,’ said he. ‘How did you +know that?’ I inquired. ‘The dook told me so, +brother; you are born to be a great traveller.’ +‘Well,’ said I, ‘if I had gone with her to +America, as I was thinking of doing, I should have been a great +traveller.’ ‘You are to travel in another +direction, brother,’ said he. ‘I wish you would +tell me all about my future wanderings,’ said I. +‘I can’t, brother,’ said Mr. Petulengro, +‘there’s a power of clouds before my +eye.’ ‘You are a poor seer, after all,’ +said I, and getting up, I retired to my dingle and my tent, where +I betook myself to my bed, and there, knowing the worst, and +being no longer agitated by apprehension, nor agonized by +expectation, I was soon buried in a deep slumber, the first which +I had fallen into for several nights.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<p>THE PUBLIC-HOUSE—LANDLORD ON HIS LEGS AGAIN—A BLOW +IN SEASON—THE WAY OF THE WORLD—THE GRATEFUL +MIND—THE HORSE’S NEIGH</p> +<p>It was rather late on the following morning when I +awoke. At first I was almost unconscious of what had +occurred on the preceding day; recollection, however, by degrees +returned, and I felt a deep melancholy coming over me, but +perfectly aware that no advantage could be <!-- page 111--><a +name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span>derived +from the indulgence of such a feeling, I sprang up, prepared my +breakfast, which I ate with a tolerable appetite, and then left +the dingle, and betook myself to the gypsy encampment, where I +entered into discourse with various Romanies, both male and +female. After some time, feeling myself in better spirits, +I determined to pay another visit to the landlord of the +public-house. From the position of his affairs when I had +last visited him, I entertained rather gloomy ideas with respect +to his present circumstances. I imagined that I should +either find him alone in his kitchen smoking a wretched pipe, or +in company with some surly bailiff or his follower, whom his +friend the brewer had sent into the house in order to take +possession of his effects.</p> +<p>Nothing more entirely differing from either of these +anticipations could have presented itself to my view than what I +saw about one o’clock in the afternoon, when I entered the +house. I had come, though somewhat in want of consolation +myself, to offer any consolation which was at my command to my +acquaintance Catchpole, and perhaps, like many other people who +go to a house with ‘drops of compassion trembling on their +eyelids,’ I felt rather disappointed at finding that no +compassion was necessary. The house was thronged with +company, the cries for ale and porter, hot brandy and water, cold +gin and water, were numerous; moreover, no desire to receive and +not to pay for the landlord’s liquids was +manifested—on the contrary, everybody seemed disposed to +play the most honourable part: ‘Landlord, here’s the +money for this glass of brandy and water—do me the favour +to take it; all right, remember I have paid you.’ +‘Landlord, here’s the money for the pint of +half-and-half—four-pence halfpenny, a’nt +it?—here’s sixpence, keep the change—confound +the change!’ The landlord, assisted by his niece, +bustled about; his brow erect, his cheeks plumped out, and all +his features exhibiting a kind of surly satisfaction. +Wherever he moved, marks of the most cordial amity were shown +him, hands were thrust out to grasp his, nor were looks of +respect, admiration, nay almost of adoration, wanting. I +observed one fellow, as the landlord advanced, take the pipe out +of his mouth, and gaze upon him with a kind of grin of wonder, +probably much the same as his ancestor, the Saxon lout of old, +put on when he saw his idol Thur dressed in a new <!-- page +112--><a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +112</span>kirtle. To avoid the press, I got into a corner, +where, on a couple of chairs, sat two respectable-looking +individuals, whether farmers or sow-gelders, I know not, but +highly respectable-looking, who were discoursing about the +landlord. ‘Such another,’ said one, ‘you +will not find in a summer’s day.’ ‘No, +nor in the whole of England,’ said the other. +‘Tom of Hopton,’ said the first; ‘ah! Tom of +Hopton,’ echoed the other; ‘the man who could beat +Tom of Hopton could beat the world.’ ‘I glory +in him,’ said the first. ‘So do I,’ said +the second, ‘I’ll back him against the world. +Let me hear any one say anything against him, and if I +don’t—’ then, looking at me, he added, +‘have you anything to say against him, young +man?’ ‘Not a word,’ said I, ‘save +that he regularly puts me out.’ ‘He’ll +put any one out,’ said the man, ‘any one out of +conceit with himself;’ then, lifting a mug to his mouth, he +added, with a hiccough, ‘I drink his health.’ +Presently the landlord, as he moved about, observing me, stopped +short: ‘Ah!’ said he, ‘are you here? I am +glad to see you, come this way. Stand back,’ said he +to his company, as I followed him to the bar, ‘stand back +for me and this gentleman.’ Two or three young +fellows were in the bar, seemingly sporting yokels, drinking +sherry and smoking. ‘Come, gentlemen,’ said the +landlord, ‘clear the bar, I must have a clear bar for me +and my friend here.’ ‘Landlord, what will you +take?’ said one—‘a glass of sherry? I +know you like it.’ ‘--- sherry and you +too,’ said the landlord; ‘I want neither sherry nor +yourself; didn’t you hear what I told you?’ +‘All right, old fellow,’ said the other, shaking the +landlord by the hand—‘all right; don’t wish to +intrude—but I suppose when you and your friend have done I +may come in again.’ Then, with ‘A sarvant, +sir,’ to me, he took himself into the kitchen, followed by +the rest of the sporting yokels.</p> +<p>Thereupon the landlord, taking a bottle of ale from a basket, +uncorked it, and pouring the contents into two large glasses, +handed me one, and motioning me to sit down, placed himself by +me; then, emptying his own glass at a draught, he gave a kind of +grunt of satisfaction, and fixing his eyes upon the opposite side +of the bar, remained motionless, without saying a word, buried +apparently in important cogitations. With respect to +myself, I swallowed my ale more leisurely, and was about to +address my friend, <!-- page 113--><a name="page113"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 113</span>when his niece, coming into the bar, +said that more and more customers were arriving, and how she +should supply their wants she did not know, unless her uncle +would get up and help her.</p> +<p>‘The customers!’ said the landlord, ‘let the +scoundrels wait till you have time to serve them, or till I have +leisure to see after them.’ ‘The kitchen +won’t contain half of them,’ said his niece. +‘Then let them sit out abroad,’ said the +landlord. ‘But there are not benches enough, +uncle,’ said the niece. ‘Then let them stand or +sit on the ground,’ said the uncle; ‘what care +I? I’ll let them know that the man who beat Tom of +Hopton stands as well again on his legs as ever.’ +Then, opening a side door which led from the bar into the +back-yard, he beckoned me to follow him. ‘You treat +your customers in rather a cavalier manner,’ said I, when +we were alone together in the yard.</p> +<p>‘Don’t I?’ said the landlord; ‘and +I’ll treat them more so yet; now I have got the whip-hand +of the rascals I intend to keep it. I dare say you are a +bit surprised with regard to the change which has come over +things since you were last here. I’ll tell you how it +happened. You remember in what a desperate condition you +found me, thinking of changing my religion, selling my soul to +the man in black, and then going and hanging myself like Pontius +Pilate; and I dare say you can’t have forgotten how you +gave me good advice, made me drink ale, and give up sherry. +Well, after you were gone, I felt all the better for your talk, +and what you had made me drink, and it was a mercy that I did +feel better, for my niece was gone out, poor thing! and I was +left alone in the house, without a soul to look at, or to keep me +from doing myself a mischief in case I was so inclined. +Well, things wore on in this way till it grew dusk, when in came +that blackguard Hunter with his train to drink at my expense, and +to insult me as usual; there were more than a dozen of them, and +a pretty set they looked. Well, they ordered about in a +very free and easy manner for upwards of an hour and a half, +occasionally sneering and jeering at me, as they had been in the +habit of doing for some time past; so, as I said before, things +wore on, and other customers came in, who, though they did not +belong to Hunter’s gang, also passed off their jokes upon +me; for, as you perhaps know, we English are a set of low hounds, +who <!-- page 114--><a name="page114"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 114</span>will always take part with the many +by way of making ourselves safe, and currying favour with the +stronger side. I said little or nothing, for my spirits had +again become very low, and I was verily scared and afraid. +All of a sudden I thought of the ale which I had drank in the +morning, and of the good it did me then, so I went into the bar, +opened another bottle, took a glass, and felt better; so I took +another, and feeling better still, I went back into the kitchen +just as Hunter and his crew were about leaving. “Mr. +Hunter,” said I, “you and your people will please to +pay me for what you have had?” “What do you +mean by my people?” said he, with an oath. “Ah! +what do you mean by calling us his people?” said the +clan. “We are nobody’s people;” and then +there was a pretty load of abuse, and threatening to serve me +out. “Well,” said I, “I was perhaps wrong +to call them your people, and beg your pardon and theirs. +And now you will please to pay me for what you have had yourself, +and afterwards I can settle with them.” “I +shall pay you when I think fit,” said Hunter. +“Yes,” said the rest, “and so shall we. +We shall pay you when we think fit.” “I tell +you what,” said Hunter, “I conceives I do such an old +fool as you an honour when I comes into his house and drinks his +beer, and goes away without paying for it,” and then there +was a roar of laughter from everybody, and almost all said the +same thing. “Now do you please to pay me, Mr. +Hunter?” said I. “Pay you!” said +Hunter—“pay you! Yes, here’s the +pay,” and thereupon he held out his thumb, twirling it +round till it just touched my nose. I can’t tell you +what I felt that moment; a kind of madhouse thrill came upon me, +and all I know is, that I bent back as far as I could, then +lunging out, struck him under the ear, sending him reeling two or +three yards, when he fell on the floor. I wish you had but +seen how my company looked at me and at each other. One or +two of the clan went to raise Hunter, and get him to fight, but +it was no go; though he was not killed, he had had enough for +that evening. Oh, I wish you had seen my customers; those +who did not belong to the clan, but had taken part with them, and +helped to jeer and flout me, now came and shook me by the hand, +wishing me joy, and saying as how “I was a brave fellow, +and had served the bully right!” As for the clan, +they all said Hunter was bound to do me justice; so they made +<!-- page 115--><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +115</span>him pay me what he owed for himself, and the reckoning +of those among them who said they had no money. Two or +three of them then led him away, while the rest stayed behind, +and flattered me, and worshipped me, and called Hunter all kinds +of dogs’ names. What do you think of that?’</p> +<p>‘Why,’ said I, ‘it makes good what I read in +a letter which I received yesterday. It is just the way of +the world.’</p> +<p>‘Ain’t it!’ said the landlord. +‘Well, that ain’t all; let me go on. Good +fortune never yet came alone. In about an hour comes home +my poor niece, almost in high sterricks with joy, smiling and +sobbing. She had been to the clergyman of M---, the great +preacher, to whose church she was in the habit of going, and to +whose daughters she was well known; and to him she told a +lamentable tale about my distresses, and about the snares which +had been laid for my soul; and so well did she plead my cause, +and so strong did the young ladies back all she said, that the +good clergyman promised to stand my friend, and to lend me +sufficient money to satisfy the brewer, and to get my soul out of +the snares of the man in black; and sure enough the next morning +the two young ladies brought me the fifty pounds, which I +forthwith carried to the brewer, who was monstrously civil, +saying that he hoped any little misunderstanding we had had would +not prevent our being good friends in future. That +ain’t all, the people of the neighbouring country hearing +as if by art witchcraft that I had licked Hunter, and was on good +terms with the brewer, forthwith began to come in crowds to look +at me, pay me homage, and be my customers. Moreover, fifty +scoundrels who owed me money, and who would have seen me starve +rather than help me as long as they considered me a down pin, +remembered their debts, and came and paid me more than they +owed. That ain’t all; the brewer, being about to +establish a stage-coach and three, to run across the country, +says it shall stop and change horses at my house, and the +passengers breakfast and sup as it goes and returns. He +wishes me—whom he calls the best man in England—to +give his son lessons in boxing, which he says he considers a fine +manly English art, and a great defence against +Popery—notwithstanding that only a month ago, when he +considered me a down pin, he was in <!-- page 116--><a +name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 116</span>the habit +of railing against it as a blackguard practice, and against me as +a blackguard for following it: so I am going to commence with +young hopeful to-morrow.’</p> +<p>‘I really cannot help congratulating you on your good +fortune,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘That ain’t all,’ said the landlord. +‘This very morning the folks of our parish made me +churchwarden, <a name="citation116"></a><a href="#footnote116" +class="citation">[116]</a> which they would no more have done a +month ago, when they considered me a down pin, than +they—’</p> +<p>‘Mercy upon us!’ said I, ‘if fortune pours +in upon you in this manner, who knows but that within a year they +may make you justice of the peace.’</p> +<p>‘Who knows, indeed!’ said the landlord. +‘Well, I will prove myself worthy of my good luck by +showing the grateful mind—not to those who would be kind to +me now, but to those who were, when the days were rather +gloomy. My customers shall have abundance of rough +language, but I’ll knock any one down who says anything +against the clergyman who lent me the fifty pounds, or against +the Church of England, of which he is parson and I am +churchwarden. I am also ready to do anything in reason for +him who paid me for the ale he drank, when I shouldn’t have +had the heart to collar him for the money had he refused to pay; +who never jeered or flouted me like the rest of my customers when +I was a down pin—and though he refused to fight cross +<i>for</i> me, was never cross <i>with</i> me, but listened to +all I had to say, and gave me all kinds of good advice. Now +who do you think I mean by this last? why, who but +yourself—who on earth but yourself? The parson is a +good man and a great preacher, and I’ll knock anybody down +who says to the contrary; and I mention him first, because why: +he’s a gentleman, and you a tinker. But I am by no +means sure you are not the best friend of the two; for I doubt, +do you see, whether I should have had the fifty pounds but for +you. You persuaded me to give up that silly drink they call +sherry, and drink ale; and what was it but drinking ale which +gave me courage to knock down that fellow Hunter—and +knocking him down was, I verily believe, the turning point of my +disorder. God don’t love those who won’t strike +out for themselves; and as far as I can calculate with respect to +time, it was just the moment after I had knocked down Hunter, +that the parson <!-- page 117--><a name="page117"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 117</span>consented to lend me the money, and +everything began to grow civil to me. So, dash my buttons +if I show the ungrateful mind to you! I don’t offer +to knock anybody down for you, because why—I daresay you +can knock a body down yourself; but I’ll offer something +more to the purpose; as my business is wonderfully on the +increase, I shall want somebody to help me in serving my +customers, and keeping them in order. If you choose to come +and serve for your board, and what they’ll give you, give +me your fist; or if you like ten shillings a week better than +their sixpences and ha’pence, only say so—though, to +be open with you, I believe you would make twice ten shillings +out of them—the sneaking, fawning, curry-favouring +humbugs!’</p> +<p>‘I am much obliged to you,’ said I, ‘for +your handsome offer, which, however, I am obliged to +decline.’</p> +<p>‘Why so?’ said the landlord.</p> +<p>‘I am not fit for service,’ said I; +‘moreover, I am about to leave this part of the +country.’ As I spoke, a horse neighed in the +stable. ‘What horse is that?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘It belongs to a cousin of mine, who put it into my +hands yesterday, in hopes that I might get rid of it for him, +though he would no more have done so a week ago, when he +considered me a down pin, than he would have given the horse +away. Are you fond of horses?’</p> +<p>‘Very much,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Then come and look at it.’ He led me into +the stable, where, in a stall, stood a noble-looking animal.</p> +<p>‘Dear me,’ said I, ‘I saw this horse at --- +fair.’</p> +<p>‘Like enough,’ said the landlord; ‘he was +there, and was offered for seventy pounds, but didn’t find +a bidder at any price. What do you think of him?’</p> +<p>‘He’s a splendid creature.’</p> +<p>‘I am no judge of horses,’ said the landlord; +‘but I am told he’s a first-rate trotter, good +leaper, and has some of the blood of Syntax. What does all +that signify?—the game is against his master, who is a down +pin, is thinking of emigrating, and wants money +confoundedly. He asked seventy pounds at the fair; but, +between ourselves, he would be glad to take fifty +here.’</p> +<p>‘I almost wish,’ said I, ‘that I were a rich +squire.’</p> +<p>‘You would buy him then,’ said the landlord. +Here he mused for some time, with a very profound look. +<!-- page 118--><a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +118</span>‘It would be a rum thing,’ said he, +‘if, some time or other that horse should come into your +hands. Didn’t you hear how he neighed when you talked +about leaving the country. My granny was a wise woman, and +was up to all kind of signs and wonders, sounds and noises, the +interpretation of the language of birds and animals, crowing and +lowing, neighing and braying. If she had been here, she +would have said at once that that horse was fated to carry you +away. On that point, however, I can say nothing, for under +fifty pounds no one can have him. Are you taking that money +out of your pocket to pay me for the ale? That won’t +do; nothing to pay; I invited you this time. Now, if you +are going, you had best get into the road through the +yard-gate. I won’t trouble you to make your way +through the kitchen and my fine-weather company—confound +them!’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<p>MR. PETULENGRO’S DEVICE—THE LEATHERN +PURSE—CONSENT TO PURCHASE A HORSE</p> +<p>As I returned along the road I met Mr. Petulengro and one of +his companions, who told me that they were bound for the +public-house; whereupon I informed Jasper how I had seen in the +stable the horse which we had admired at the fair. ‘I +shouldn’t wonder if you buy that horse after all, +brother,’ said Mr. Petulengro. With a smile at the +absurdity of such a supposition, I left him and his companion, +and betook myself to the dingle. In the evening I received +a visit from Mr. Petulengro, who forthwith commenced talking +about the horse, which he had again seen, the landlord having +shown it to him on learning that he was a friend of mine. +He told me that the horse pleased him more than ever, he having +examined his points with more accuracy than he had an opportunity +of doing on the first occasion, concluding by pressing me to buy +him. I begged him to desist from such foolish importunity, +assuring him that I had never so much money in all my life as +would enable me to purchase the horse. Whilst this +discourse was going on, Mr. Petulengro and myself were standing +together in the midst of the dingle. <!-- page 119--><a +name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>Suddenly he +began to move round me in a very singular manner, making strange +motions with his hands, and frightful contortions with his +features, till I became alarmed, and asked him whether he had not +lost his senses? Whereupon, ceasing his movements and +contortions, he assured me that he had not, but had merely been +seized with a slight dizziness, and then once more returned to +the subject of the horse. Feeling myself very angry, I told +him that if he continued persecuting me in this manner, I should +be obliged to quarrel with him; adding, that I believed his only +motive for asking me to buy the animal was to insult my +poverty. ‘Pretty poverty,’ said he, ‘with +fifty pounds in your pocket; however, I have heard say, that it +is always the custom of your rich people to talk of their +poverty, more especially when they wish to avoid laying out +money.’ Surprised at his saying that I had fifty +pounds in my pocket, I asked him what he meant; whereupon he told +me that he was very sure that I had fifty pounds in my pocket, +offering to lay me five shillings to that effect. +‘Done,’ said I; ‘I have scarcely more than the +fifth part of what you say.’ ‘I know better, +brother,’ said Mr. Petulengro; ‘and if you only pull +out what you have in the pocket of your slop, I am sure you will +have lost your wager.’ Putting my hand into the +pocket, I felt something which I had never felt there before, and +pulling it out, perceived that it was a clumsy leathern purse, +which I found, on opening, contained four ten-pound notes, and +several pieces of gold. ‘Didn’t I tell you so, +brother?’ said Mr. Petulengro. ‘Now, in the +first place, please to pay me the five shillings you have +lost.’ ‘This is only a foolish piece of +pleasantry,’ said I; ‘you put it into my pocket +whilst you were moving about me, making faces like a distracted +person. Here, take your purse back.’ +‘I?’ said Mr. Petulengro, ‘not I, indeed! +don’t think I am such a fool. I have won my wager, so +pay me the five shillings, brother.’ ‘Do drop +this folly,’ said I, ‘and take your purse;’ and +I flung it on the ground. ‘Brother,’ said Mr. +Petulengro, ‘you were talking of quarrelling with me just +now. I tell you now one thing, which is, that if you do not +take back the purse, I will quarrel with you; and it shall be for +good and all. I’ll drop your acquaintance, no longer +call you my pal, and not even say sarshan <a +name="citation119"></a><a href="#footnote119" +class="citation">[119]</a> to <!-- page 120--><a +name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 120</span>you when I +meet you by the roadside. Hir mi diblis <a +name="citation120"></a><a href="#footnote120" +class="citation">[120]</a> I never will.’ I saw by +Jasper’s look and tone that he was in earnest, and, as I +had really a regard for the strange being, I scarcely knew what +to do. ‘Now, be persuaded, brother,’ said Mr. +Petulengro, taking up the purse, and handing it to me; ‘be +persuaded; put the purse into your pocket, and buy the +horse.’ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘if I did +so, would you acknowledge the horse to be yours, and receive the +money again as soon as I should be able to repay you?’</p> +<p>‘I would, brother, I would,’ said he; +‘return me the money as soon as you please, provided you +buy the horse.’ ‘What motive have you for +wishing me to buy that horse?’ said I. +‘He’s to be sold for fifty pounds,’ said +Jasper, ‘and is worth four times that sum; though, like +many a splendid bargain, he is now going a begging; buy him, and +I’m confident that, in a little time, a grand gentleman of +your appearance may have anything he asks for him, and found a +fortune by his means. Moreover, brother, I want to dispose +of this fifty pounds in a safe manner. If you don’t +take it, I shall fool it away in no time, perhaps at +card-playing, for you saw how I was cheated by those blackguard +jockeys the other day—we gyptians don’t know how to +take care of money: our best plan when we have got a handful of +guineas is to make buttons with them; but I have plenty of golden +buttons, and don’t wish to be troubled with more, so you +can do me no greater favour than vesting the money in this +speculation, by which my mind will be relieved of considerable +care and trouble for some time at least.’</p> +<p>Perceiving that I still hesitated, he said, ‘Perhaps, +brother, you think that I did not come honestly by the money: by +the honestest manner in the world, brother, for it is the money I +earnt by fighting in the ring: I did not steal it, brother, nor +did I get it by disposing of spavined donkeys, or glandered +ponies—nor is it, brother, the profits of my wife’s +witchcraft and dukkerin.’</p> +<p>‘But,’ said I, ‘you had better employ it in +your traffic.’ ‘I have plenty of money for my +traffic, independent of this capital,’ said Mr. Petulengro; +‘ay, brother, and enough besides to back the husband of my +wife’s sister, Sylvester, against Slammocks of the Chong +gav for twenty pounds, which I am thinking of doing.’</p> +<p><!-- page 121--><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +121</span>‘But,’ said I, ‘after all, the horse +may have found another purchaser by this time.’ +‘Not he,’ said Mr. Petulengro, ‘there is nobody +in this neighbourhood to purchase a horse like that, unless it be +your lordship—so take the money, brother,’ and he +thrust the purse into my hand. Allowing myself to be +persuaded, I kept possession of the purse. ‘Are you +satisfied now?’ said I. ‘By no means, +brother,’ said Mr. Petulengro, ‘you will please to +pay me the five shillings which you lost to me.’ +‘Why,’ said I, ‘the fifty pounds which I found +in my pocket were not mine, but put in by yourself.’ +‘That’s nothing to do with the matter, +brother,’ said Mr. Petulengro; ‘I betted you five +shillings that you had fifty pounds in your pocket, which sum you +had: I did not say that they were your own, but merely that you +had fifty pounds; you will therefore pay me, brother, or I shall +not consider you an honourable man.’ Not wishing to +have any dispute about such a matter, I took five shillings out +of my under pocket, and gave them to him. Mr. Petulengro +took the money with great glee, observing—‘These five +shillings I will take to the public-house forthwith, and spend in +drinking with four of my brethren, and doing so will give me an +opportunity of telling the landlord that I have found a customer +for his horse, and that you are the man. It will be as well +to secure the horse as soon as possible; for though the dook +tells me that the horse is intended for you, I have now and then +found that the dook is, like myself, somewhat given to +lying.’</p> +<p>He then departed, and I remained alone in the dingle. I +thought at first that I had committed a great piece of folly in +consenting to purchase this horse; I might find no desirable +purchaser for him until the money in my possession should be +totally exhausted, and then I might be compelled to sell him for +half the price I had given for him, or be even glad to find a +person who would receive him at a gift; I should then remain sans +horse, and indebted to Mr. Petulengro. Nevertheless, it was +possible that I might sell the horse very advantageously, and by +so doing, obtain a fund sufficient to enable me to execute some +grand enterprise or other. My present way of life afforded +no prospect of support, whereas the purchase of the horse did +afford a possibility of bettering my condition, so, after all, +had I not done right in consenting to purchase the horse? the +purchase was to be made with <!-- page 122--><a +name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 122</span>another +person’s property it is true, and I did not exactly like +the idea of speculating with another person’s property, but +Mr. Petulengro had thrust his money upon me, and if I lost his +money, he could have no one but himself to blame; so I persuaded +myself that I had upon the whole done right, and having come to +that persuasion I soon began to enjoy the idea of finding myself +on horseback again, and figured to myself all kinds of strange +adventures which I should meet with on the roads before the horse +and I should part company.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<p>TRYING THE HORSE—THE FEATS OF TAWNO—MAN WITH THE +RED WAISTCOAT—DISPOSAL OF PROPERTY</p> +<p>I saw nothing more of Mr. Petulengro that evening; on the +morrow, however, he came and informed me that he had secured the +horse for me, and that I was to go and pay for it at noon. +At the hour appointed, therefore, I went with Mr. Petulengro and +Tawno to the public, where, as before, there was a crowd of +company. The landlord received us in the bar with marks of +much satisfaction and esteem, made us sit down, and treated us +with some excellent mild draught ale. ‘Who do you +think has been here this morning?’ he said to me. +‘Why that fellow in black, who came to carry me off to a +house of Popish devotion, where I was to pass seven days and +nights in meditation, as I think he called it, before I publicly +renounced the religion of my country. I read him a pretty +lecture, calling him several unhandsome names, and asking him +what he meant by attempting to seduce a churchwarden of the +Church of England. I tell you what, he ran some danger, for +some of my customers, learning his errand, laid hold on him, and +were about to toss him in a blanket, and then duck him in the +horse-pond. I, however, interfered, and said that what he +came about was between me and him, and that it was no business of +theirs. To tell you the truth, I felt pity for the poor +devil, more especially when I considered that they merely sided +against him because they thought him the weakest, and that they +would have wanted to serve me in the same manner had they +considered me a down <!-- page 123--><a name="page123"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 123</span>pin; so I rescued him from their +hands, told him not to be afraid, for that nobody should touch +him, and offered to treat him to some cold gin and water with a +lump of sugar in it; and, on his refusing, told him that he had +better make himself scarce, which he did, and I hope I shall +never see him again. So I suppose you are come for the +horse; mercy upon us!—who would have thought you would have +become the purchaser? The horse, however, seemed to know it +by its neighing. How did you ever come by the money? +However, that’s no matter of mine. I suppose you are +strongly backed by certain friends you have.’</p> +<p>I informed the landlord that he was right in supposing that I +came for the horse, but that, before I paid for him, I should +wish to prove his capabilities. ‘With all my +heart,’ said the landlord. ‘You shall mount him +this moment.’ Then, going into the stable, he saddled +and bridled the horse, and presently brought him out before the +door. I mounted him, Mr. Petulengro putting a heavy whip +into my hand, and saying a few words to me in his own mysterious +language. ‘The horse wants no whip,’ said the +landlord. ‘Hold your tongue, daddy,’ said Mr. +Petulengro. ‘My pal knows quite well what to do with +the whip; he’s not going to beat the horse with +it.’ About four hundred yards from the house there +was a hill, to the foot of which the road ran almost on a perfect +level; towards the foot of this hill I trotted the horse, who set +off at a long, swift pace, seemingly at the rate of about sixteen +miles an hour. On reaching the foot of the hill, I wheeled +the animal round, and trotted him towards the house—the +horse sped faster than before. Ere he had advanced a +hundred yards, I took off my hat, in obedience to the advice +which Mr. Petulengro had given me, in his own language, and +holding it over the horse’s head, commenced drumming on the +crown with the knob of the whip; the horse gave a slight start, +but instantly recovering himself, continued his trot till he +arrived at the door of the public-house, amidst the acclamations +of the company, who had all rushed out of the house to be +spectators of what was going on. ‘I see now what you +wanted the whip for,’ said the landlord, ‘and sure +enough that drumming on your hat was no bad way of learning +whether the horse was quiet or not. Well, did you ever see +a more quiet horse, or a better trotter?’ ‘My +cob shall <!-- page 124--><a name="page124"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 124</span>trot against him,’ said a +fellow dressed in velveteen, mounted on a low powerful-looking +animal—‘my cob shall trot against him to the hill and +back again—come on!’ We both started; the cob +kept up gallantly against the horse for about half the way to the +hill, when he began to lose ground; at the foot of the hill he +was about fifteen yards behind. Whereupon I turned slowly +and waited for him. We then set off towards the house, but +now the cob had no chance, being at least twenty yards behind +when I reached the door. This running of horses, the wild +uncouth forms around me, and the ale and beer which were being +guzzled from pots and flagons, put me wonderfully in mind of the +ancient horse-races of the heathen north. I almost imagined +myself Gunnar of Hlitharend at the race of—.</p> +<p>‘Are you satisfied?’ said the landlord. +‘Didn’t you tell me that he could leap?’ I +demanded. ‘I am told he can,’ said the +landlord; ‘but I can’t consent that he should be +tried in that way, as he might be damaged.’ +‘That’s right!’ said Mr. Petulengro, +‘don’t trust my pal to leap that horse; he’ll +merely fling him down and break his neck and his own. +There’s a better man than he close by; let him get on his +back and leap him.’ ‘You mean yourself, I +suppose,’ said the landlord. ‘Well, I call that +talking modestly, and nothing becomes a young man more than +modesty.’ ‘It ain’t I, daddy,’ said +Mr. Petulengro. ‘Here’s the man,’ said +he, pointing to Tawno. ‘Here’s the horse-leaper +of the world!’ ‘You mean the +horse-back-breaker,’ said the landlord. ‘That +big fellow would break down my cousin’s horse.’ +‘Why he weighs only sixteen stone,’ said Mr. +Petulengro; ‘and his sixteen stone, with his way of +handling a horse, does not press so much as any other one’s +thirteen. Only let him get on the horse’s back and +you’ll see what he can do!’ ‘No,’ +said the landlord, ‘it won’t do.’ +Whereupon Mr. Petulengro became very much excited, and, pulling +out a handful of money, said: ‘I’ll tell you what, +I’ll forfeit these guineas if my black pal there does the +horse any kind of damage; duck me in the horse-pond if I +don’t.’ ‘Well,’ said the landlord, +‘for the sport of the thing I consent, so let your white +pal get down, and your black pal mount as soon as he +pleases.’ I felt rather mortified at Mr. +Petulengro’s interference, and showed no disposition to +quit my seat; whereupon he came up <!-- page 125--><a +name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 125</span>to me and +said, ‘Now, brother, do get out of the saddle; you are no +bad hand at trotting, I am willing to acknowledge that; but at +leaping a horse there is no one like Tawno. Let every dog +be praised for his own gift. You have been showing off in +your line for the last half-hour, now do give Tawno a chance of +exhibiting a little; poor fellow, he hasn’t often a chance +of exhibiting, as his wife keeps him so much in +sight.’ Not wishing to appear desirous of engrossing +the public attention, and feeling rather desirous to see how +Tawno, of whose exploits in leaping horses I had frequently +heard, would acquit himself in the affair, I at length +dismounted, and Tawno at a bound leaped into the saddle, where he +really looked like Gunnar of Hlitharend, save and except that the +complexion of Gunnar was florid, whereas that of Tawno was of +nearly Mulatto darkness, and that all Tawno’s features were +cast in the Grecian model, whereas Gunnar had a snub nose. +‘There’s a leaping-bar behind the house,’ said +the landlord. ‘Leaping-bar!’ said Mr. +Petulengro, scornfully. ‘Do you think my black pal +ever rides at a leaping-bar? No more than at a +windle-straw. Leap over that meadow wall, +Tawno.’ Just pass the house, in the direction in +which I had been trotting, was a wall about four feet high, +beyond which was a small meadow. Tawno rode the horse +gently up to the wall, permitted him to look over, then backed +him for about ten yards, and pressing his calves against the +horse’s sides, he loosed the rein, and the horse launching +forward, took the leap in gallant style. ‘Well done, +man and horse!’ said Mr. Petulengro; ‘now come back, +Tawno.’ The leap from the side of the meadow was, +however, somewhat higher; and the horse, when pushed at it, at +first turned away; whereupon Tawno backed him to a greater +distance, pushed the horse to a full gallop, giving a wild cry; +whereupon the horse again took the wall, slightly grazing one of +his legs against it. ‘A near thing,’ said the +landlord, ‘but a good leap. Now, no more leaping, so +long as I have control over the animal.’ The horse +was then led back to the stable; and the landlord, myself, and +companions going into the bar, I paid down the money for the +horse.</p> +<p>Scarcely was the bargain concluded, when two or three of the +company began to envy me the possession of the horse, and forcing +their way into the bar, with much noise <!-- page 126--><a +name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 126</span>and +clamour, said that the horse had been sold too cheap. One +fellow in particular, with a red waistcoat, the son of a wealthy +farmer, said that if he had but known that the horse had been so +good a one, he would have bought it at the first price asked for +it, which he was now willing to pay, that is, to-morrow, +supposing—‘Supposing your father will let you have +the money,’ said the landlord, ‘which, after all, +might not be the case; but, however that may be, it is too late +now. I think myself the horse has been sold for too little +money, but if so all the better for the young man, who came +forward when no other body did with his money in his hand. +There, take yourselves out of my bar,’ said he to the +fellows; ‘and a pretty scoundrel you,’ said he to the +man of the red waistcoat, ‘to say the horse has been sold +too cheap, why, it was only yesterday you said he was good for +nothing, and were passing all kinds of jokes at him. Take +yourself out of my bar, I say, you and all of you,’ and he +turned the fellows out. I then asked the landlord whether +he would permit the horse to remain in the stable for a short +time, provided I paid for his entertainment, and on his willingly +consenting, I treated my friends with ale, and then returned with +them to the encampment.</p> +<p>That evening I informed Mr. Petulengro and his party that on +the morrow I intended to mount my horse, and leave that part of +the country in quest of adventures; inquiring of Jasper where, in +the event of my selling the horse advantageously, I might meet +with him, and repay the money I had borrowed of him; whereupon +Mr. Petulengro informed me that in about ten weeks I might find +him at a certain place at the Chong gav. I then stated that +as I could not well carry with me the property which I possessed +in the dingle, which after all was of no considerable value, I +resolved to bestow the said property, namely, the pony, tent, +tinker-tools, etc., on Ursula and her husband, partly because +they were poor, and partly on account of the great kindness which +I bore to Ursula, from whom I had, on various occasions, +experienced all manner of civility, particularly in regard to +crabbed words. On hearing this intelligence, Ursula +returned many thanks to her gentle brother as she called me, and +Sylvester was so overjoyed that, casting aside his usual phlegm, +he said I was the best friend he had ever had in the world, and +in testimony of his gratitude <!-- page 127--><a +name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>swore that +he would permit me to give his wife a choomer in the presence of +the whole company, which offer, however, met with a very +mortifying reception; the company frowning disapprobation, Ursula +protesting against anything of the kind, and I myself showing no +forwardness to avail myself of it, having inherited from nature a +considerable fund of modesty, to which was added no slight store +acquired in the course of my Irish education. I passed that +night alone in the dingle in a very melancholy manner, with +little or no sleep, thinking of Isopel Berners; and in the +morning when I quitted it I shed several tears, as I reflected +that I should probably never again see the spot where I had +passed so many hours in her company.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +<p>FAREWELL TO THE ROMANS—THE LANDLORD AND HIS +NIECE—SET OUT AS A TRAVELLER</p> +<p>On reaching the plain above, I found my Romany friends +breakfasting, and on being asked by Mr. Petulengro to join them, +I accepted the invitation. No sooner was breakfast over +than I informed Ursula and her husband that they would find the +property, which I had promised them, below in the dingle, +commending the little pony Ambrol to their best care. I +took leave of the whole company, which was itself about to break +up camp and to depart in the direction of London, and made the +best of my way to the public-house. I had a small bundle in +my hand, and was dressed in the same manner as when I departed +from London, having left my waggoner’s slop with the other +effects in the dingle. On arriving at the public-house, I +informed the landlord that I was come for my horse, inquiring, at +the same time, whether he could not accommodate me with a bridle +and saddle. He told me that the bridle and saddle, with +which I had ridden the horse on the preceding day, were at my +service for a trifle; that he had received them some time since +in payment for a debt, and that he had himself no use for +them. The leathers of the bridle were rather shabby, and +the bit rusty, and the saddle was old-fashioned; but I was happy +to purchase them for seven shillings, more <!-- page 128--><a +name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 128</span>especially +as the landlord added a small valise, which he said could be +strapped to the saddle, and which I should find very convenient +for carrying my things in. I then proceeded to the stable, +told the horse we were bound on an expedition, and giving him a +feed of corn, left him to discuss it, and returned to the +bar-room to have a little farewell chat with the landlord and at +the same time to drink with him a farewell glass of ale. +Whilst we were talking and drinking, the niece came and joined +us: she was a decent, sensible, young woman, who appeared to take +a great interest in her uncle, whom she regarded with a singular +mixture of pride and disapprobation—pride for the renown +which he had acquired by his feats of old, and disapprobation for +his late imprudences. She said that she hoped that his +misfortunes would be a warning to him to turn more to his God +than he had hitherto done, and to give up cock-fighting and other +low-life practices. To which the landlord replied, that +with respect to cock-fighting he intended to give it up entirely, +being determined no longer to risk his capital upon birds, and +with respect to his religious duties he should attend the church +of which he was churchwarden at least once a quarter, adding, +however, that he did not intend to become either canter or +driveller, neither of which characters would befit a publican +surrounded by such customers as he was, and that to the last day +of his life he hoped to be able to make use of his fists. +After a stay of about two hours I settled accounts; and having +bridled and saddled my horse, and strapped on the valise, I +mounted, shook hands with the landlord and his niece, and +departed, notwithstanding that they both entreated me to tarry +until the evening, it being then the heat of the day.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +<p>AN ADVENTURE ON THE ROADS—THE SIX FLINT STONES—A +RURAL SCENE—MEAD—THE OLD MAN AND HIS BEES</p> +<p>I bent my course in the direction of the north, more induced +by chance than any particular motive; all quarters of the world +having about equal attractions for me. I was in high +spirits at finding myself once more on horseback, and trotted +gaily on, until the heat of the weather induced me to slacken my +pace, more out of pity <!-- page 129--><a +name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>for my +horse than because I felt any particular inconvenience from +it—heat and cold being then, and still, matters of great +indifference to me. What I thought of I scarcely know, save +and except that I have a glimmering recollection that I felt some +desire to meet with one of those adventures, which upon the roads +of England are generally as plentiful as blackberries in autumn; +and Fortune, who has generally been ready to gratify my +inclinations, provided it cost her very little by so doing, was +not slow in furnishing me with an adventure, perhaps as +characteristic of the English roads as anything which could have +happened.</p> +<p>I might have travelled about six miles, amongst cross-roads +and lanes, when suddenly I found myself upon a broad and very +dusty road, which seemed to lead due north. As I wended +along this, I saw a man upon a donkey, riding towards me. +The man was commonly dressed, with a broad felt hat on his head, +and a kind of satchel on his back; he seemed to be in a mighty +hurry, and was every now and then belabouring the donkey with a +cudgel. The donkey, however, which was a fine large +creature of the silver-grey species, did not appear to sympathize +at all with its rider in his desire to get on, but kept its head +turned back as much as possible, moving from one side of the road +to the other, and not making much forward way. As I passed, +being naturally of a very polite disposition, I gave the man the +sele of the day, asking him, at the same time, why he beat the +donkey; whereupon the fellow, eyeing me askance, told me to mind +my own business, with the addition of something which I need not +repeat. I had not proceeded a furlong before I saw seated +on the dust by the wayside, close by a heap of stones, and with +several flints before him, a respectable-looking old man, with a +straw hat and a white smock, who was weeping bitterly.</p> +<p>‘What are you crying for, father?’ said I. +‘Have you come to any hurt?’ ‘Hurt +enough,’ sobbed the old man, ‘I have been just +tricked out of the best ass in England by a villain, who gave me +nothing but these trash in return,’ pointing to the stones +before him. ‘I really scarcely understand you,’ +said I, ‘I wish you would explain yourself more +clearly.’ ‘I was riding on my ass from +market,’ said the old man, ‘when I met here a fellow +with a sack on his back, who, after staring at the ass and <!-- +page 130--><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +130</span>me a moment or two, asked me if I would sell her. +I told him that I could not think of selling her, as she was very +useful to me, and though an animal, my true companion, whom I +loved as much as if she were my wife and daughter. I then +attempted to pass on, but the fellow stood before me, begging me +to sell her; saying that he would give me anything for her, well, +seeing that he persisted, I said at last that if I sold her, I +must have six pounds for her, and I said so to get rid of him, +for I saw that he was a shabby fellow, who had probably not six +shillings in the world; but I had better have held my +tongue,’ said the old man, crying more bitterly than +before, ‘for the words were scarcely out of my mouth, when +he said he would give me what I asked, and taking the sack from +his back, he pulled out a steelyard, and going to the heap of +stones there, he took up several of them and weighed them, then +flinging them down before me, he said, “There are six +pounds, neighbour; now, get off the ass, and hand her over to +me.” Well, I sat like one dumbfoundered for a time, +till at last I asked him what he meant? “What do I +mean,” said he, “you old rascal, why I mean to claim +my purchase,” and then he swore so awfully, that scarcely +knowing what I did I got down, and he jumped on the animal and +rode off as fast as he could.’ ‘I suppose he +was the fellow,’ said I, ‘whom I just now met upon a +fine grey ass, which he was beating with a cudgel.’ +‘I dare say he was,’ said the old man, ‘I saw +him beating her as he rode away, and I thought I should have +died.’ ‘I never heard such a story,’ said +I; ‘well, do you mean to submit to such a piece of roguery +quietly?’ ‘Oh, dear,’ said the old man, +‘what can I do? I am seventy-nine years of age; I am +bad on my feet, and daren’t go after him.’ +‘Shall I go?’ said I; ‘the fellow is a thief, +and any one has a right to stop him.’ ‘Oh, if +you could but bring her again to me,’ said the old man, +‘I would bless you to my dying day; but have a care; I +don’t know but after all the law may say that she is his +lawful purchase. I asked six pounds for her, and he gave me +six pounds.’ ‘Six flints you mean,’ said +I; ‘no, no, the law is not quite so bad as that either; I +know something about her, and am sure that she will never +sanction such a quibble. At all events, I’ll ride +after the fellow.’ Thereupon turning the horse round, +I put him to his very best trot; I rode nearly a mile without +obtaining a glimpse <!-- page 131--><a name="page131"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 131</span>of the fellow, and was becoming +apprehensive that he had escaped me by turning down some by-path, +two or three of which I had passed. Suddenly, however, on +the road making a slight turning, I perceived him right before +me, moving at a tolerably swift pace, having by this time +probably overcome the resistance of the animal. Putting my +horse to a full gallop, I shouted at the top of my voice, +‘Get off that donkey, you rascal, and give her up to me, or +I’ll ride you down.’ The fellow hearing the +thunder of the horse’s hoofs behind him, drew up on one +side of the road. ‘What do you want?’ said he, +as I stopped my charger, now almost covered with sweat and foam, +close beside him. ‘Do you want to rob +me?’ ‘To rob you?’ said I. +‘No! but to take from you that ass, of which you have just +robbed its owner.’ ‘I have robbed no +man,’ said the fellow; ‘I just now purchased it +fairly of its master, and the law will give it to me; he asked +six pounds for it, and I gave him six pounds.’ +‘Six stones, you mean, you rascal,’ said I; +‘get down, or my horse shall be upon you in a +moment;’ then with a motion of my reins, I caused the horse +to rear, pressing his sides with my heels as if I intended to +make him leap. ‘Stop,’ said the man, +‘I’ll get down, and then try if I can’t serve +you out.’ He then got down, and confronted me with +his cudgel; he was a horrible-looking fellow, and seemed prepared +for anything. Scarcely, however, had he dismounted, when +the donkey jerked the bridle out of his hand, and probably in +revenge for the usage she had received, gave him a pair of +tremendous kicks on the hip with her hinder legs, which +overturned him, and then scampered down the road the way she had +come. ‘Pretty treatment this,’ said the fellow, +getting up without his cudgel, and holding his hand to his side, +‘I wish I may not be lamed for life.’ +‘And if you be,’ said I, ‘it would merely serve +you right, you rascal, for trying to cheat a poor old man out of +his property by quibbling at words.’ +‘Rascal!’ said the fellow, ‘you lie, I am no +rascal; and as for quibbling with words—suppose I +did! What then? All the first people does it! +The newspapers does it! The gentlefolks that calls +themselves the guides of the popular mind does it! +I’m no ignoramus. I reads the newspapers, and knows +what’s what.’ ‘You read them to some +purpose,’ said I. ‘Well, if you are lamed for +life, and unfitted for any active line—turn <!-- page +132--><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +132</span>newspaper editor; I should say you are perfectly +qualified, and this day’s adventure may be the foundation +of your fortune,’ thereupon I turned round and rode +off. The fellow followed me with a torrent of abuse. +‘Confound you!’ said he—yet that was not the +expression either—‘I know you; you are one of the +horse-patrol, come down into the country on leave to see your +relations. Confound you, you and the like of you have +knocked my business on the head near Lunnon, and I suppose we +shall have you shortly in the country.’ ‘To the +newspaper office,’ said I, ‘and fabricate falsehoods +out of flint stones;’ then touching the horse with my +heels, I trotted off, and coming to the place where I had seen +the old man, I found him there, risen from the ground, and +embracing his ass.</p> +<p>I told him that I was travelling down the road, and said, that +if his way lay in the same direction as mine, he could do no +better than accompany me for some distance, lest the fellow, who, +for aught I knew, might be hovering nigh, might catch him alone, +and again get his ass from him. After thanking me for my +offer, which he said he would accept, he got upon his ass, and we +proceeded together down the road. My new acquaintance said +very little of his own accord; and when I asked him a question, +answered rather incoherently. I heard him every now and +then say, ‘Villain!’ to himself, after which he would +pat the donkey’s neck, from which circumstance I concluded +that his mind was occupied with his late adventure. After +travelling about two miles, we reached a place where a drift-way +on the right led from the great road; here my companion stopped, +and on my asking him whether he was going any farther, he told me +that the path to the right was the way to his home.</p> +<p>I was bidding him farewell, when he hemmed once or twice, and +said, that as he did not live far off, he hoped that I would go +with him and taste some of his mead. As I had never tasted +mead, of which I had frequently read in the compositions of the +Welsh bards, and, moreover, felt rather thirsty from the heat of +the day, I told him that I should have great pleasure in +attending him. Whereupon, turning off together, we +proceeded about half a mile, sometimes between stone walls, and +at other times hedges, till we reached a small hamlet, through +which we passed, and presently came to a very pretty cottage, +delightfully situated within a garden, surrounded by a <!-- page +133--><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +133</span>hedge of woodbines. Opening a gate at one corner +of the garden, he led the way to a large shed, which stood partly +behind the cottage, which he said was his stable; thereupon he +dismounted and led his donkey into the shed, which was without +stalls, but had a long rack and manger. On one side he tied +his donkey, after taking off her caparisons, and I followed his +example, tying my horse at the other side with a rope halter +which he gave me; he then asked me to come in and taste his mead, +but I told him that I must attend to the comfort of my horse +first, and forthwith, taking a whisp of straw, rubbed him +carefully down. Then taking a pailful of clear water which +stood in the shed, I allowed the horse to drink about half a +pint; and then turning to the old man, who all the time had stood +by looking at my proceedings, I asked him whether he had any +oats? ‘I have all kinds of grain,’ he replied; +and, going out, he presently returned with two measures, one a +large and the other a small one, both filled with oats, mixed +with a few beans, and handing the large one to me for the horse, +he emptied the other before the donkey, who, before she began to +despatch it, turned her nose to her master’s face, and +fairly kissed him. Having given my horse his portion, I +told the old man that I was ready to taste his mead as soon as he +pleased, whereupon he ushered me into his cottage, where, making +me sit down by a deal table in a neatly-sanded kitchen, he +produced from an old-fashioned closet a bottle, holding about a +quart, and a couple of cups, which might each contain about half +a pint, then opening the bottle and filling the cups with a +brown-coloured liquor, he handed one to me, and taking a seat +opposite to me, he lifted the other, nodded, and saying to +me—‘Health and welcome,’ placed it to his lips +and drank.</p> +<p>‘Health and thanks,’ I replied; and being very +thirsty, emptied my cup at a draught; I had scarcely done so, +however, when I half repented. The mead was deliciously +sweet and mellow, but appeared strong as brandy; my eyes reeled +in my head, and my brain became slightly dizzy. ‘Mead +is a strong drink,’ said the old man, as he looked at me, +with a half smile on his, countenance. ‘This is, at +any rate,’ said I, ‘so strong indeed, that I would +not drink another cup for any consideration.’ +‘And I would not ask you,’ said the old man; +‘for, if you did, you would most probably be <!-- page +134--><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +134</span>stupid all day, and wake next morning with a +headache. Mead is a good drink, but woundily strong, +especially to those who be not used to it, as I suppose you are +not?’ ‘Where do you get it?’ said +I. ‘I make it myself,’ said the old man, +‘from the honey which my bees make.’ +‘Have you many bees?’ I inquired. ‘A +great many,’ said the old man. ‘And do you keep +them,’ said I, ‘for the sake of making mead with +their honey?’ ‘I keep them,’ he replied, +‘partly because I am fond of them, and partly for what they +bring me in; they make me a great deal of honey, some of which I +sell, and with a little I make me some mead to warm my poor heart +with, or occasionally to treat a friend with like +yourself.’ ‘And do you support yourself +entirely by means of your bees?’ ‘No,’ +said the old man; ‘I have a little bit of ground behind my +house, which is my principal means of support.’ +‘And do you live alone?’ ‘Yes,’ +said he; ‘with the exception of the bees and the donkey, I +live quite alone.’ ‘And have you always lived +alone?’ The old man emptied his cup, and his heart +being warmed with the mead, he told me his history, which was +simplicity itself. His father was a small yeoman, who, at +his death had left him, his only child, the cottage, with a small +piece of ground behind it, and on this little property he had +lived ever since. About the age of twenty-five he had +married an industrious young woman, by whom he had one daughter, +who died before reaching years of womanhood. His wife, +however, had survived her daughter many years, and had been a +great comfort to him, assisting him in his rural occupations; +but, about four years before the present period, he had lost her, +since which time he had lived alone, making himself as +comfortable as he could; cultivating his ground, with the help of +a lad from the neighbouring village, attending to his bees, and +occasionally riding his donkey to market, and hearing the word of +God, which he said he was sorry he could not read, twice a week +regularly at the parish church. Such was the old +man’s tale.</p> +<p>When he had finished speaking, he led me behind his house, and +showed me his little domain. It consisted of about two +acres in admirable cultivation; a small portion of it formed a +kitchen garden, whilst the rest was sown with four kinds of +grain, wheat, barley, pease, <!-- page 135--><a +name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>and +beans. The air was full of ambrosial sweets, resembling +those proceeding from an orange grove; a place which, though I +had never seen at that time, I since have. In the garden +was the habitation of the bees, a long box, supported upon three +oaken stumps. It was full of small round glass windows, and +appeared to be divided into a great many compartments, much +resembling drawers placed sideways. He told me that, as one +compartment was filled, the bees left it for another, so that +whenever he wanted honey, he could procure some without injuring +the insects. Through the little round windows I could see +several of the bees at work; hundreds were going in and out of +the doors; hundreds were buzzing about on the flowers, the +woodbines, and beans. As I looked around on the +well-cultivated field, the garden, and the bees, I thought I had +never before seen so rural and peaceful a scene.</p> +<p>When we returned to the cottage we again sat down, and I asked +the old man whether he was not afraid to live alone. He +told me that he was not, for that, upon the whole, his neighbours +were very kind to him. I mentioned the fellow who had +swindled him of his donkey upon the road. ‘That was +no neighbour of mine,’ said the old man, ‘and, +perhaps, I shall never see him again or his like.’ +‘It’s a dreadful thing,’ said I, ‘to have +no other resource, when injured, than to shed tears on the +road.’ ‘It is so,’ said the old man, +‘but God saw the tears of the old, and sent a +helper.’ ‘Why did you not help yourself?’ +said I. ‘Instead of getting off your ass, why did you +not punch at the fellow, or at any rate use dreadful language, +call him villain, and shout robbery?’ +‘Punch!’ said the old man, ‘shout! what, with +these hands, and this voice—Lord, how, you run on! I +am old, young chap, I am old!’ ‘Well,’ +said I, ‘it is a shameful thing to cry even when +old.’ ‘You think so now,’ said the old +man, ‘because you are young and strong; perhaps, when you +are as old as I, you will not be ashamed to cry.’</p> +<p>Upon the whole I was rather pleased with the old man, and much +with all about him. As evening drew nigh, I told him that I +must proceed on my journey; whereupon he invited me to tarry with +him during the night, telling me that he had a nice room and bed +above at my service. I, however, declined; and bidding him +farewell, mounted <!-- page 136--><a name="page136"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 136</span>my horse, and departed. +Regaining the road, I proceeded once more in the direction of the +north; and, after a few hours, coming to a comfortable +public-house, I stopped and put up for the night.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<p>THE SINGULAR NOISE—SLEEPING IN A MEADOW—THE +BOOK—CURE FOR WAKEFULNESS—LITERARY +TEA-PARTY—POOR BYRON</p> +<p>I did not awake till rather late the next morning; and when I +did, I felt considerable drowsiness, with a slight headache, +which I was uncharitable enough to attribute to the mead which I +had drank on the preceding day. After feeding my horse, and +breakfasting, I proceeded on my wanderings. Nothing +occurred worthy of relating till mid-day was considerably past, +when I came to a pleasant valley, between two gentle hills. +I had dismounted, in order to ease my horse, and was leading him +along by the bridle, when, on my right, behind a bank in which +some umbrageous ashes were growing, I heard a singular +noise. I stopped short and listened, and presently said to +myself, ‘Surely this is snoring, perhaps that of a +hedgehog.’ On further consideration, however, I was +convinced that the noise which I heard, and which certainly +seemed to be snoring, could not possibly proceed from the +nostrils of so small an animal, but must rather come from those +of a giant, so loud and sonorous was it. About two or three +yards further was a gate, partly open, to which I went, and +peeping into the field, saw a man lying on some rich grass, under +the shade of one of the ashes; he was snoring away at a great +rate. Impelled by curiosity, I fastened the bridle of my +horse to the gate, and went up to the man. He was a +genteely-dressed individual, rather corpulent, with dark +features, and seemingly about forty-five. He lay on his +back, his hat slightly over his brow, and at his right hand lay +an open book. So strenuously did he snore that the wind +from his nostrils agitated, perceptibly, a fine cambric frill +which he wore at his bosom. I gazed upon him for some time, +expecting that he might awake; but he did not, but kept on +snoring, his breast heaving convulsively. At last, the <!-- +page 137--><a name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +137</span>noise he made became so terrible, that I felt alarmed +for his safety, imagining that a fit might seize him, and he lose +his life whilst asleep. I therefore exclaimed, ‘Sir, +sir, awake! you sleep overmuch.’ But my voice failed +to rouse him, and he continued snoring as before; whereupon I +touched him slightly with my riding wand, but failing to wake +him, I touched him again more vigorously; whereupon he opened his +eyes, and, probably imagining himself in a dream, closed them +again. But I was determined to arouse him, and cried as +loud as I could, ‘Sir, sir, pray sleep no +more!’ He heard what I said, opened his eyes again, +stared at me with a look of some consciousness, and, half raising +himself upon his elbows, asked me what was the matter. +‘I beg your pardon,’ said I, ‘but I took the +liberty of awaking you because you appeared to be much disturbed +in your sleep—I was fearful, too, that you might catch a +fever from sleeping under a tree.’ ‘I run no +risk,’ said the man, ‘I often come and sleep here; +and as for being disturbed in my sleep, I felt very comfortable; +I wish you had not awoken me.’ ‘Well,’ +said I, ‘I beg your pardon once more. I assure you +that what I did was with the best intention.’ +‘Oh! pray make no farther apology,’ said the +individual, ‘I make no doubt that what you did was done +kindly; but there’s an old proverb, to the effect, +“that you should let sleeping dogs lie,”’ he +added, with a smile. Then, getting up, and stretching +himself with a yawn, he took up his book and said, ‘I have +slept quite long enough, and it’s quite time for me to be +going home.’ ‘Excuse my curiosity,’ said +I, ‘if I inquire what may induce you to come and sleep in +this meadow?’ ‘To tell you the truth,’ +answered he, ‘I am a bad sleeper.’ ‘Pray +pardon me,’ said I, ‘if I tell you that I never saw +one sleep more heartily.’ ‘If I did so,’ +said the individual, ‘I am beholden to this meadow and this +book; but I am talking riddles, and will explain myself. I +am the owner of a very pretty property, of which this valley +forms part. Some years ago, however, up started a person +who said the property was his; a lawsuit ensued, and I was on the +brink of losing my all, when, most unexpectedly, the suit was +determined in my favour. Owing, however, to the anxiety to +which my mind had been subjected for years, my nerves had become +terribly shaken; and no sooner was the trial terminated than +sleep forsook my pillow. I sometimes passed nights <!-- +page 138--><a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +138</span>without closing an eye; I took opiates, but they rather +increased than alleviated my malady. About three weeks ago +a friend of mine put this book into my hand, and advised me to +take it every day to some pleasant part of my estate, and try and +read a page or two, assuring me, if I did that I should +infallibly fall asleep. I took his advice, and selecting +this place, which I considered the pleasantest part of my +property, I came, and lying down, commenced reading the book, and +before finishing a page was in a dead slumber. Every day +since then I have repeated the experiment, and every time with +equal success. I am a single man, without any children; and +yesterday I made my will, in which, in the event of my +friend’s surviving me, I have left him all my fortune, in +gratitude for his having procured for me the most invaluable of +all blessings—sleep.’</p> +<p>‘Dear me,’ said I, ‘how very +extraordinary! Do you think that your going to sleep is +caused by the meadow or the book?’ ‘I suppose +by both,’ said my new acquaintance, ‘acting in +co-operation.’ ‘It may be so,’ said I; +‘the magic influence does certainly not proceed from the +meadow alone; for since I have been here, I have not felt the +slightest inclination to sleep. Does the book consist of +prose or poetry?’ ‘It consists of +poetry,’ said the individual. ‘Not +Byron’s?’ said I. ‘Byron’s!’ +repeated the individual, with a smile of contempt; ‘no, no; +there is nothing narcotic in Byron’s poetry. I +don’t like it. I used to read it, but it thrilled, +agitated, and kept me awake. No, this is not Byron’s +poetry, but the inimitable ---’s <a +name="citation138a"></a><a href="#footnote138a" +class="citation">[138a]</a>—mentioning a name which I had +never heard till then. ‘Will you permit me to look at +it?’ said I. ‘With pleasure,’ he +answered, politely handing me the book. <a +name="citation138b"></a><a href="#footnote138b" +class="citation">[138b]</a> I took the volume, and glanced +over the contents. It was written in blank verse, and +appeared to abound in descriptions of scenery; there was much +mention of mountains, valleys, streams, and waterfalls, harebells +and daffodils. These descriptions were interspersed with +dialogues, which, though they proceeded from the mouths of +pedlars and rustics, were of the most edifying description; +mostly on subjects moral or metaphysical, and couched in the most +gentlemanly and unexceptionable language, without the slightest +mixture of vulgarity, coarseness, or pie-bald grammar. Such +appeared to me <!-- page 139--><a name="page139"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 139</span>to be the contents of the book; but +before I could form a very clear idea of them, I found myself +nodding, and a surprising desire to sleep coming over me. +Rousing myself, however, by a strong effort, I closed the book, +and, returning it to the owner, inquired of him, ‘Whether +he had any motive in coming and lying down in the meadow, besides +the wish of enjoying sleep?’ ‘None +whatever,’ he replied; ‘indeed, I should be very glad +not to be compelled to do so, always provided I could enjoy the +blessing of sleep; for by lying down under trees, I may possibly +catch the rheumatism, or be stung by serpents; and, moreover, in +the rainy season and winter the thing will be impossible, unless +I erect a tent, which will possibly destroy the +charm.’ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘you need +give yourself no farther trouble about coming here, as I am fully +convinced that with this book in your hand, you may go to sleep +anywhere, as your friend was doubtless aware, though he wished to +interest your imagination for a time by persuading you to lie +abroad; therefore, in future, whenever you feel disposed to +sleep, try to read the book, and you will be sound asleep in a +minute; the narcotic influence lies in the book, and not in the +field.’ ‘I will follow your advice,’ said +the individual, ‘and this very night take it with me to +bed; though I hope in time to be able to sleep without it, my +nerves being already much quieted from the slumbers I have +enjoyed in this field.’ He then moved towards the +gate, where we parted; he going one way, and I and my horse the +other.</p> +<p>More than twenty years subsequent to this period, after much +wandering about the world, returning to my native country, I was +invited to a literary tea-party, where, the discourse turning +upon poetry, I, in order to show that I was not more ignorant +than my neighbours, began to talk about Byron, for whose writings +I really entertained a considerable admiration, though I had no +particular esteem for the man himself. At first I received +no answer to what I said—the company merely surveying me +with a kind of sleepy stare. At length a lady, about the +age of forty, with a large wart on her face, observed, in a +drawling tone, ‘That she had not read Byron—at least +since her girlhood—and then only a few passages; but that +the impression on her mind was, that his writings were of a +highly objectionable character.’ ‘I also read a +<!-- page 140--><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +140</span>little of him in my boyhood,’ said a gentleman, +about sixty, but who evidently, from his dress and demeanour, +wished to appear about thirty, ‘but I highly disapproved of +him; for, notwithstanding he was a nobleman, he is frequently +very coarse, and very fond of raising emotion. Now emotion +is what I dislike;’ drawling out the last syllable of the +word dislike. ‘There is only one poet for +me—the divine ---’; and then he mentioned a name +which I had only once heard, and afterwards quite forgotten; the +name mentioned by the snorer in the field. ‘Ah! there +is no one like him!’ murmured some more of the company; +‘the poet of nature—of nature without its +vulgarity.’ I wished very much to ask these people +whether they were ever bad sleepers, and whether they had read +the poet, so called, from a desire of being set to sleep. +Within a few days, however, I learnt that it had of late become +very fashionable and genteel to appear half asleep, and that one +could exhibit no better mark of superfine breeding than by +occasionally in company setting one’s ronchal organ in +action. I then ceased to wonder at the popularity, which I +found nearly universal, of ---’s poetry; for, certainly in +order to make one’s self appear sleepy in company, or +occasionally to induce sleep, nothing could be more efficacious +than a slight pre-lection of his poems. So, poor Byron, +with his fire and emotion—to say nothing of his mouthings +and coxcombry—was dethroned, as I had prophesied he would +be more than twenty years before, on the day of his funeral, +though I had little idea that his humiliation would have been +brought about by one, whose sole strength consists in setting +people to sleep. Well, all things are doomed to terminate +in sleep. Before that termination, however, I will venture +to prophesy that people will become a little more +awake—snoring and yawning be a little less in +fashion—and poor Byron be once more reinstated on his +throne, though his rival will always stand a good chance of being +worshipped by those whose ruined nerves are insensible to the +narcotic powers of opium and morphine.</p> +<h2><!-- page 141--><a name="page141"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 141</span>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<p>DRIVERS AND FRONT OUTSIDE PASSENGERS—FATIGUE OF BODY AND +MIND—UNEXPECTED GREETING—MY INN—THE +GOVERNOR—ENGAGEMENT</p> +<p>I continued my journey, passing through one or two +villages. The day was exceedingly hot, and the roads +dusty. In order to cause my horse as little fatigue as +possible, and not to chafe his back, I led him by the bridle, my +doing which brought upon me a shower of remarks, jests, and +would-be witticisms from the drivers and front outside passengers +of sundry stage-coaches, which passed me in one direction or the +other. In this way I proceeded till considerably past noon, +when I felt myself very fatigued, and my horse appeared no less +so; and it is probable that the lazy and listless manner in which +we were moving on tired us both much more effectually than +hurrying along at a swift trot would have done, for I have +observed that when the energies of the body are not exerted a +languor frequently comes over it. At length, arriving at a +very large building with an archway, near the entrance of a town, +<a name="citation141"></a><a href="#footnote141" +class="citation">[141]</a> I sat down on what appeared to be a +stepping-block, and presently experienced a great depression of +spirits. I began to ask myself whither I was going, and +what I should do with myself and the horse which I held by the +bridle? It appeared to me that I was alone in the world +with the poor animal, who looked for support to me, who knew not +how to support myself. Then the image of Isopel Berners +came into my mind, and when I bethought me how I had lost her for +ever, and how happy I might have been with her in the New World +had she not deserted me, I became yet more miserable.</p> +<p>As I sat in this state of mind, I suddenly felt some one clap +me on the shoulder, and heard a voice say: ‘Ha! comrade of +the dingle, what chance has brought you into these +parts?’ I turned round, and beheld a man in the dress +of a postillion, whom I instantly recognised as he to <!-- page +142--><a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +142</span>whom I had rendered assistance on the night of the +storm.</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ said I, ‘is it you? I am glad to +see you, for I was feeling very lonely and melancholy.’</p> +<p>‘Lonely and melancholy,’ he replied, ‘how is +that? how can anyone be lonely and melancholy with such a noble +horse as that you hold by the bridle?’</p> +<p>‘The horse,’ said I, ‘is one cause of my +melancholy, for I know not in the world what to do with +it.’</p> +<p>‘Is it your own?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said I, ‘I may call it my own, though +I borrowed the money to purchase it.’</p> +<p>‘Well, why don’t you sell it?’</p> +<p>‘It is not always easy to find a purchaser for a horse +like this,’ said I; ‘can you recommend me +one?’</p> +<p>‘I? Why, no, not exactly: but you’ll find a +purchaser shortly—pooh! If you have no other cause +for disquiet than that horse, cheer up, man; don’t be cast +down. Have you nothing else on your mind? By-the-by, +what’s become of the young woman you were keeping company +with in that queer lodging-place of yours?’</p> +<p>‘She has left me,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘You quarrelled, I suppose?’</p> +<p>‘No,’ said I, ‘we did not exactly quarrel, +but we are parted.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ replied he, ‘but you will soon come +together again.’</p> +<p>‘No,’ said I; ‘we are parted for +ever.’</p> +<p>‘For ever! Pooh! you little know how people +sometimes come together again who think they are parted for +ever. Here’s something on that point relating to +myself. You remember when I told you my story in that +dingle of yours, that I mentioned a young woman, my +fellow-servant when I lived with the English family in Mumbo +Jumbo’s town, and how she and I, when our foolish governors +were thinking of changing their religion, agreed to stand by each +other, and be true to old Church of England, and to give our +governors warning, provided they tried to make us +renegades. Well, she and I parted soon after that, and +never thought to meet again, yet we met the other day in the +fields, for she lately came to live with a great family not far +from here, and we have since agreed to marry, to take a little +farm, for we have both a trifle of money, and live together till +“death us do part.” <!-- page 143--><a +name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 143</span>So much for +parting for ever! But what do I mean by keeping you +broiling in the sun with your horse’s bridle in your hand, +and you on my own ground? Do you know where you are? +Why, that great house is my inn, that is, it’s my +master’s, the best fellow in ---. Come along, you and +your horse both will find a welcome at my inn.’</p> +<p>Thereupon he led the way into a large court, in which there +were coaches, chaises, and a great many people; taking my horse +from me, he led it into a nice cool stall, and fastening it to +the rack, he then conducted me into a postillion’s +keeping-room, which at that time chanced to be empty, and he then +fetched a pot of beer and sat down by me.</p> +<p>After a little conversation he asked me what I intended to do, +and I told him frankly that I did not know, whereupon he observed +that, provided I had no objection, he had little doubt that I +could be accommodated for some time at his inn. ‘Our +upper ostler,’ said he, ‘died about a week ago; he +was a clever fellow, and besides his trade understood reading and +accounts.’</p> +<p>‘Dear me,’ said I, interrupting him, ‘I am +not fitted for the place of ostler—moreover, I refused the +place of ostler at a public-house, which was offered to me only a +few days ago.’ The postillion burst into a +laugh. ‘Ostler at a public-house, indeed! Why, +you would not compare a berth at a place like that with the +situation of ostler at my inn, the first road-house in +England! However, I was not thinking of the place of ostler +for you; you are, as you say, not fitted for it, at any rate, not +at a house like this. We have, moreover, the best +under-ostler in all England—old Bill, with the drawback +that he is rather fond of drink. We could make shift with +him very well provided we could fall in with a man of writing and +figures, who could give an account of the hay and corn which +comes in and goes out, and wouldn’t object to give a look +occasionally at the yard. Now it appears to me that you are +just such a kind of man, and if you will allow me to speak to the +governor, I don’t doubt that he will gladly take you, as he +feels kindly disposed towards you from what he has heard me say +concerning you.’</p> +<p>‘And what should I do with my horse?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘The horse need give you no uneasiness,’ said the +postillion: ‘I know he will be welcome here both for bed +and manger, and perhaps in a little time you may find a <!-- page +144--><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +144</span>purchaser, as a vast number of sporting people frequent +this house.’ I offered two or three more objections, +which the postillion overcame with great force of argument, and +the pot being nearly empty, he drained it to the bottom drop, and +then starting up, left me alone.</p> +<p>In about twenty minutes he returned, accompanied by a highly +intelligent looking individual dressed in blue and black, with a +particularly white cravat, and without a hat on his head; this +individual, whom I should have mistaken for a gentleman but for +the intelligence depicted in his face, he introduced to me as the +master of the inn. The master of the inn shook me warmly by +the hand, told me that he was happy to see me in his house, and +thanked me in the handsomest terms for the kindness I had shown +to his servant in the affair of the thunder-storm. Then +saying that he was informed I was out of employ, he assured me +that he should be most happy to engage me to keep his hay and +corn account, and as general superintendent of the yard, and that +with respect to the horse, which he was told I had, he begged to +inform me that I was perfectly at liberty to keep it at the inn +upon the very best, until I could find a purchaser; that with +regard to wages—but he had no sooner mentioned wages than I +cut him short, saying that provided I stayed I should be most +happy to serve him for bed and board, and requested that he would +allow me until the next morning to consider of his offer; he +willingly consented to my request, and, begging that I would call +for anything I pleased, left me alone with the postillion.</p> +<p>I passed that night until about ten o’clock with the +postillion, when he left me, having to drive a family about ten +miles across the country; before his departure, however, I told +him that I had determined to accept the offer of his governor, as +he called him. At the bottom of my heart I was most happy +that an offer had been made, which secured to myself and the +animal a comfortable retreat at a moment when I knew not whither +in the world to take myself and him.</p> +<h2><!-- page 145--><a name="page145"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 145</span>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +<p>AN INN OF TIMES GONE BY—A FIRST-RATE PUBLICAN—HAY +AND CORN—OLD-FASHIONED +OSTLER—HIGHWAYMEN—MOUNTED POLICE—GROOMING</p> +<p>The inn of which I had become an inhabitant was a place of +infinite life and bustle. Travellers of all descriptions, +from all the cardinal points, were continually stopping at it: +and to attend to their wants, and minister to their convenience, +an army of servants, of one description or other, was +kept—waiters, chambermaids, grooms, postillions, +shoe-blacks, cooks, scullions, and what not, for there was a +barber and hair-dresser, who had been at Paris, and talked French +with a cockney accent, the French sounding all the better, as no +accent is so melodious as the cockney. Jacks creaked in the +kitchens turning round spits, on which large joints of meat piped +and smoked before the great big fires. There was running up +and down stairs, and along galleries, slamming of doors, cries of +‘Coming, sir,’ and ‘Please to step this way, +ma’am,’ during eighteen hours of the +four-and-twenty. Truly a very great place for life and +bustle was this inn. And often in after life, when lonely +and melancholy, I have called up the time I spent there, and +never failed to become cheerful from the recollection.</p> +<p>I found the master of the house a very kind and civil +person. Before being an innkeeper he had been in some other +line of business, but, on the death of the former proprietor of +the inn had married his widow, who was still alive, but being +somewhat infirm, lived in a retired part of the house. I +have said that he was kind and civil; he was, however, not one of +those people who suffer themselves to be made fools of by +anybody; he knew his customers, and had a calm clear eye, which +would look through a man without seeming to do so. The +accommodation of his house was of the very best description; his +wines were good, his viands equally so, and his charges not +immoderate; though he very properly took care of himself. +He was no vulgar innkeeper, had a host of friends, and deserved +them all. During the time I lived with him, he was +presented, by a large assemblage of his friends and customers, +with a dinner at his own <!-- page 146--><a +name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>house, +which was very costly, and at which the best of wines were +sported, and after the dinner with a piece of plate, estimated at +fifty guineas. He received the plate, made a neat speech of +thanks, and when the bill was called for, made another neat +speech, in which he refused to receive one farthing for the +entertainment, ordering in at the same time two dozen more of the +best champagne, and sitting down amidst uproarious applause, and +cries of ‘You shall be no loser by it!’ Nothing +very wonderful in such conduct, some people will say; I +don’t say there is, nor have I any intention to endeavour +to persuade the reader that the landlord was a Carlo Borromeo; he +merely gave a quid pro quo; but it is not every person who will +give you a quid pro quo. Had he been a vulgar publican, he +would have sent in a swinging bill after receiving the plate; +‘but then no vulgar publican would have been presented with +plate;’ perhaps not, but many a vulgar public character has +been presented with plate, whose admirers never received a quid +pro quo, except in the shape of a swinging bill.</p> +<p>I found my duties of distributing hay and corn, and keeping an +account thereof, anything but disagreeable, particularly after I +had acquired the good-will of the old ostler, who at first looked +upon me with rather an evil eye, considering me somewhat in the +light of one who had usurped an office which belonged to himself +by the right of succession; but there was little gall in the old +fellow, and, by speaking kindly to him, never giving myself any +airs of assumption; but above all, by frequently reading the +newspapers to him—for, though passionately fond of news and +politics, he was unable to read—I soon succeeded in placing +myself on excellent terms with him. A regular character was +that old ostler; he was a Yorkshireman by birth, but had seen a +great deal of life in the vicinity of London, to which, on the +death of his parents, who were very poor people, he went at a +very early age. Amongst other places where he had served as +ostler was a small inn at Hounslow, much frequented by +highwaymen, whose exploits he was fond of narrating, especially +those of Jerry Abershaw, <a name="citation146"></a><a +href="#footnote146" class="citation">[146]</a> who, he said, was +a capital rider; and on hearing his accounts <!-- page 147--><a +name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>of that +worthy I half regretted that the old fellow had not been in +London, and I had not formed his acquaintance about the time I +was thinking of writing the life of the said Abershaw, not +doubting that with his assistance I could have produced a book at +least as remarkable as the life and adventures of that entirely +imaginary personage, Joseph Sell; perhaps, however, I was +mistaken; and whenever Abershaw’s life shall appear before +the public—and my publisher credibly informs me that it has +not yet appeared—I beg and entreat the public to state +which it likes best, the life of Abershaw, or that of Sell, for +which latter work I am informed that during the last few months +there has been a prodigious demand. <a name="citation147a"></a><a +href="#footnote147a" class="citation">[147a]</a> My old +friend, however, after talking of Abershaw, would frequently add, +that, good rider as Abershaw certainly was, he was decidedly +inferior to Richard Ferguson, <a name="citation147b"></a><a +href="#footnote147b" class="citation">[147b]</a> generally called +Galloping Dick, who was a pal of Abershaw’s, and had +enjoyed a career as long, and nearly as remarkable, as his +own. I learned from him that both were capital customers at +the Hounslow inn, and that he had frequently drank with them in +the corn-room. He said that no man could desire more jolly +or entertaining companions over a glass of ‘summat’; +but that upon the road it was anything but desirable to meet +them; there they were terrible, cursing and swearing, and +thrusting the muzzles of their pistols into people’s +mouths; and at this part of his locution the old man winked, and +said, in a somewhat lower voice, that upon the whole they were +right in doing so, and that when a person had once made up his +mind to become a highwayman, his best policy was to go the whole +hog, fearing nothing, but making everybody afraid of him; that +people never thought of resisting a savage-faced, foul-mouthed +highwayman, and if he were taken, were afraid to bear witness +against him, lest he should get off and cut their throats some +time or other upon the roads; whereas people would resist being +robbed by a sneaking, pale-visaged rascal, and would swear bodily +against him on the first opportunity; adding, that Abershaw and +Ferguson, two most awful fellows, had enjoyed a long career, +whereas two disbanded officers of the army, who wished to rob a +coach like gentlemen, <!-- page 148--><a name="page148"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 148</span>had begged the passengers’ +pardon, and talked of hard necessity, had been set upon by the +passengers themselves, amongst whom were three women, pulled from +their horses, conducted to Maidstone, and hanged with as little +pity as such contemptible fellows deserved. ‘There is +nothing like going the whole hog,’ he repeated, ‘and +if ever I had been a highwayman, I would have done so; I should +have thought myself all the more safe; and, moreover, +shouldn’t have despised myself. To curry favour with +those you are robbing, sometimes at the expense of your own +comrades, as I have known fellows do, why it is the +greatest—’</p> +<p>‘So it is,’ interposed my friend the postillion, +who chanced to be present at a considerable part of the old +ostler’s discourse; ‘it is, as you say, the greatest +of humbug, and merely, after all, gets a fellow into trouble; but +no regular bred highwayman would do it. I say, George, +catch the Pope of Rome trying to curry favour with anybody he +robs; catch old Mumbo Jumbo currying favour with the Archbishop +of Canterbury and the Dean and Chapter, should he meet them in a +stage-coach; it would be with him, Bricconi Abbasso, as he +knocked their teeth out with the butt of his trombone, and the +old regular-built ruffian would be all the safer for it, as Bill +would say, as ten to one the Archbishop and Chapter, after such a +spice of his quality, would be afraid to swear against him, and +to hang him, even if he were in their power, though that would be +the proper way; for, if it is the greatest of all humbug for a +highwayman to curry favour with those he robs, the next greatest +is to try to curry favour with a highwayman when you have got +him, by letting him off.’</p> +<p>Finding the old man so well acquainted with the history of +highwaymen, and taking considerable interest in the subject, +having myself edited a book <a name="citation148"></a><a +href="#footnote148" class="citation">[148]</a> containing the +lives of many remarkable people who had figured on the highway, I +forthwith asked him how it was that the trade of highwayman had +become extinct in England, as at present we never heard of anyone +following it. Whereupon he told me that many causes had +contributed to bring about that result; the principal of which +were the following: the refusal to license houses which were +known to afford shelter to highwaymen, which, amongst many <!-- +page 149--><a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +149</span>others, had caused the inn at Hounslow to be closed; +the inclosure of many a wild heath in the country, on which they +were in the habit of lurking, and particularly the establishing +in the neighbourhood of London of a well-armed mounted patrol, +who rode the highwaymen down, and delivered them up to justice, +which hanged them without ceremony.</p> +<p>‘And that would be the way to deal with Mumbo Jumbo and +his gang,’ said the postillion, ‘should they show +their visages in these realms; and I hear by the newspapers that +they are becoming every day more desperate. Take away the +license from their public-houses, cut down the rookeries and +shadowy old avenues in which they are fond of lying in wait, in +order to sally out upon people as they pass in the roads; but, +above all, establish a good mounted police to ride after the +ruffians and drag them by the scruff of the neck to the next +clink, <a name="citation149"></a><a href="#footnote149" +class="citation">[149]</a> where they might lie till they could +be properly dealt with by law; instead of which, the Government +are repealing the wise old laws enacted against such characters, +giving fresh licenses every day to their public-houses, and +saying that it would be a pity to cut down their rookeries and +thickets, because they look so very picturesque; and, in fact, +giving them all kind of encouragement; why, if such behaviour is +not enough to drive an honest man mad, I know not what is. +It is of no use talking, I only wish the power were in my hands, +and if I did not make short work of them, might I be a mere +jackass postillion all the remainder of my life.’</p> +<p>Besides acquiring from the ancient ostler a great deal of +curious information respecting the ways and habits of the heroes +of the road, with whom he had come in contact in the early +portion of his life, I picked up from him many excellent hints +relating to the art of grooming horses. Whilst at the inn, +I frequently groomed the stage and post-horses, and those driven +up by travellers in their gigs: I was not compelled, nor indeed +expected, to do so; but I took pleasure in the occupation; and I +remember at that period one of the principal objects of my +ambition was to be a first-rate groom, and to make the skins of +the creatures I took in hand look sleek and glossy like those of +moles. I have said that I derived <!-- page 150--><a +name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 150</span>valuable +hints from the old man, and, indeed, became a very tolerable +groom, but there was a certain finishing touch which I could +never learn from him, though he possessed it himself, and which I +could never attain to by my own endeavours; though my want of +success certainly did not proceed from want of application, for I +have rubbed the horses down, purring and buzzing all the time, +after the genuine ostler fashion, until the perspiration fell in +heavy drops upon my shoes, and when I had done my best, and asked +the old fellow what he thought of my work, I could never extract +from him more than a kind of grunt, which might be translated: +‘Not so very bad, but I have seen a horse groomed much +better,’ which leads me to suppose that a person, in order +to be a first-rate groom, must have something in him when he is +born which I had not, and, indeed, which many other people have +not who pretend to be grooms. What does the reader +think?</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> +<p>STABLE HARTSHORN—HOW TO MANAGE A HORSE ON A +JOURNEY—YOUR BEST FRIEND</p> +<p>Of one thing I am certain, that the reader must be much +delighted with the wholesome smell of the stable, with which many +of these pages are redolent; what a contrast to the sickly odours +exhaled from those of some of my contemporaries, especially of +those who pretend to be of the highly fashionable class, and who +treat of reception-rooms, well may they be styled so, in which +dukes, duchesses, earls, countesses, archbishops, bishops, +mayors, mayoresses—not forgetting the writers themselves, +both male and female—congregate and press upon one another; +how cheering, how refreshing, after having been nearly knocked +down with such an atmosphere, to come in contact with genuine +stable hartshorn. Oh! the reader shall have yet more of the +stable, and of that old ostler, for which he or she will +doubtless exclaim, ‘Much obliged!’—and lest I +should forget to perform my promise, the reader shall have it +now.</p> +<p>I shall never forget an harangue from the mouth of the old +man, which I listened to one warm evening as he and <!-- page +151--><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 151</span>I +sat on the threshold of the stable, after having attended to some +of the wants of a batch of coach-horses. It related to the +manner in which a gentleman should take care of his horse and +self, whilst engaged in a journey on horseback, and was addressed +to myself, on the supposition of my one day coming to an estate, +and of course becoming a gentleman.</p> +<p>‘When you are a gentleman,’ said he, ‘should +you ever wish to take a journey on a horse of your own, and you +could not have a much better than the one you have here eating +its fill in the box yonder—I wonder by-the-by, how you ever +came by it—you can’t do better than follow the advice +I am about to give you, both with respect to your animal and +yourself. Before you start, merely give your horse a couple +of handfuls of corn, and a little water, somewhat under a quart, +and if you drink a pint of water yourself out of the pail, you +will feel all the better during the whole day; then you may walk +and trot your animal for about ten miles, till you come to some +nice inn, where you may get down and see your horse led into a +nice stall, telling the ostler not to feed him till you +come. If the ostler happens to be a dog-fancier, and has an +English terrier dog like that of mine there, say what a nice dog +it is, and praise its black and tawn; and if he does not happen +to be a dog-fancier, ask him how he’s getting on, and +whether he ever knew worse times; that kind of thing will please +the ostler, and he will let you do just what you please with your +own horse, and when your back is turned, he’ll say to his +comrades what a nice gentleman you are, and how he thinks he has +seen you before; then go and sit down to breakfast, and before +you have finished breakfast, get up and go and give your horse a +feed of corn, chat with the ostler two or three minutes till your +horse has taken the shine out of his corn, which will prevent the +ostler taking any of it away when your back is turned, for such +things are sometimes done—not that I ever did such a thing +myself when I was at the inn at Hounslow. Oh, dear me, +no! Then go and finish your breakfast, and when you have +finished your breakfast and called for the newspaper, go and +water your horse, letting him have about one pailful, then give +him another feed of corn, and enter into discourse with the +ostler about bull-baiting, the prime minister, and the like; and +when your horse has once more taken the shine out <!-- page +152--><a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 152</span>of +his corn, go back to your room and your newspaper—and I +hope for your sake it may be the “Globe,” for +that’s the best paper going—then pull the bell-rope +and order in your bill, which you will pay without counting it +up—supposing you to be a gentleman. Give the waiter +sixpence, and order out your horse, and when your horse is out, +pay for the corn, and give the ostler a shilling, then mount your +horse and walk him gently for five miles; and whilst you are +walking him in this manner, it may be as well to tell you to take +care that you do not let him down and smash his knees, more +especially if the road be a particularly good one, for it is not +at a desperate hiverman <a name="citation152"></a><a +href="#footnote152" class="citation">[152]</a> pace, and over +very bad roads, that a horse tumbles and smashes his knees, but +on your particularly nice road, when the horse is going gently +and lazily, and is half asleep, like the gemman on his back; +well, at the end of the five miles, when the horse has digested +his food, and is all right, you may begin to push your horse on, +trotting him a mile at a heat, and then walking him a quarter of +a one, that his wind may be not distressed; and you may go on in +that manner for thirty miles, never galloping of course, for none +but fools or hivermen ever gallop horses on roads; and at the end +of that distance you may stop at some other nice inn for +dinner. I say, when your horse is led into the stable, +after that same thirty miles trotting and walking, don’t +let the saddle be whisked off at once, for if you do your horse +will have such a sore back as will frighten you, but let your +saddle remain on your horse’s back, with the girths +loosened, till after his next feed of corn, and be sure that he +has no corn, much less water, till after a long hour and more; +after he is fed he may be watered to the tune of half a pail, and +then the ostler can give him a regular rub down; you may then sit +down to dinner, and when you have dined get up and see to your +horse as you did after breakfast, in fact you must do much after +the same fashion you did at t’other inn; see to your horse, +and by no means disoblige the ostler. So when you have seen +to your horse a second time, you will sit down to your bottle of +wine—supposing you to be a gentleman—and after you +have finished it, and your argument about the corn-laws with any +commercial gentleman who happens to be in the room, you may mount +your horse again—not forgetting to do the <!-- page +153--><a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +153</span>proper thing to the waiter and ostler; you may mount +your horse again and ride him, as you did before, for about +five-and-twenty miles, at the end of which you may put up for the +night after a very fair day’s journey, for no +gentleman—supposing he weighs sixteen stone, as I suppose +you will by the time you become a gentleman—ought to ride a +horse more than sixty-five miles in one day, provided he has any +regard for his horse’s back, or his own either. See +to your horse at night, and have him well rubbed down. The +next day you may ride your horse forty miles just as you please, +but never foolishly, and those forty miles will bring you to your +journey’s end, unless your journey be a plaguy long one, +and if so, never ride your horse more than five-and-thirty miles +a day, always, however, seeing him well fed, and taking more care +of him than yourself; which is but right and reasonable, seeing +as how the horse is the best animal of the two.</p> +<p>‘When you are a gentleman,’ said he, after a +pause, ‘the first thing you must think about is to provide +yourself with a good horse for your own particular riding; you +will, perhaps, keep a coach and pair, but they will be less your +own than your lady’s, should you have one, and your young +gentry, should you have any; or, if you have neither, for madam, +your housekeeper, and the upper female servants; so you need +trouble your head less about them, though, of course, you would +not like to pay away your money for screws; but be sure you get a +good horse for your own riding; and that you may have a good +chance of having a good one, buy one that’s young and has +plenty of belly—a little more than the one has which you +now have, though you are not yet a gentleman; you will, of +course, look to his head, his withers, legs and other points, but +never buy a horse at any price that has not plenty of belly, no +horse that has not belly is ever a good feeder, and a horse that +ain’t a good feeder can’t be a good horse; never buy +a horse that is drawn up in the belly behind, a horse of that +description can’t feed, and can never carry sixteen +stone.</p> +<p>‘So when you have got such a horse be proud of +it—as I dare say you are of the one you have now—and +wherever you go swear there ain’t another to match it in +the country, and if anybody gives you the lie, take him by the +nose and tweak it off, just as you would do if anybody <!-- page +154--><a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +154</span>were to speak ill of your lady, or, for want of her, of +your housekeeper. Take care of your horse as you would of +the apple of your eye—I am sure I would, if I were a +gentleman, which I don’t ever expect to be, and hardly +wish, seeing as how I am sixty-nine, and am rather too old to +ride—yes, cherish and take care of your horse as perhaps +the best friend you have in the world; for, after all, who will +carry you through thick and thin as your horse will? not your +gentlemen friends, I warrant, nor your housekeeper, nor your +upper servants, male or female; perhaps your lady would, that is, +if she is a wopper, and one of the right sort; the others would +be more likely to take up mud and pelt you with it, provided they +saw you in trouble, than to help you. So take care of your +horse, and feed him every day with your own hands; give him +three-quarters of a peck of corn each day, mixed up with a little +hay-chaff, and allow him besides one hundred weight of hay in the +course of the week; some say that the hay should be hardland hay, +because it is wholesomest, but I say, let it be clover hay, +because the horse likes it best; give him through summer and +winter, once a week, a pailful of bran mash, cold in summer and +in winter hot; ride him gently about the neighbourhood every day, +by which means you will give exercise to yourself and horse, and, +moreover, have the satisfaction of exhibiting yourself and your +horse to advantage, and hearing, perhaps, the men say what a fine +horse, and the ladies saying what a fine man: never let your +groom mount your horse, as it is ten to one, if you do, your +groom will be wishing to show off before company, and will fling +your horse down. I was groom to a gemman before I went to +the inn at Hounslow, and flung him a horse down worth ninety +guineas, by endeavouring to show off before some ladies that I +met on the road. Turn your horse out to grass throughout +May and the first part of June, for then the grass is sweetest, +and the flies don’t sting so bad as they do later in +summer; afterwards merely turn him out occasionally in the swale +of the morn and the evening; after September the grass is good +for little, lash and sour at best; every horse should go out to +grass, if not his blood becomes full of greasy humours, and his +wind is apt to become affected, but he ought to be kept as much +as possible from the heat and flies, always got up at night, and +never turned out late in the year—<!-- page 155--><a +name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>Lord! if I +had always such a nice attentive person to listen to me as you +are, I could go on talking about ’orses to the end of +time.’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> +<p>THE STAGE-COACHMEN OF ENGLAND—A BULLY SERVED +OUT—BROUGHTON’S GUARD—THE BRAZEN HEAD</p> +<p>I lived on very good terms, not only with the master and the +old ostler, but with all the domestics and hangers-on at the inn: +waiters, chambermaids, cooks, and scullions, not forgetting the +‘boots,’ of which there were three. As for the +postillions, I was sworn brother with them all, and some of them +went so far as to swear that I was the best fellow in the world; +for which high opinion entertained by them of me, I believe I was +principally indebted to the good account their comrade gave of +me, whom I had so hospitably received in the dingle. I +repeat that I lived on good terms with all the people connected +with the inn, and was noticed and spoken kindly to by some of the +guests—especially by that class termed commercial +travellers—all of whom were great friends and patronizers +of the landlord, and were the principal promoters of the dinner, +and subscribers to the gift of plate, which I have already spoken +of, the whole fraternity striking me as the jolliest set of +fellows imaginable, the best customers to an inn, and the most +liberal to servants; there was one description of persons, +however, frequenting the inn, which I did not like at all, and +which I did not get on well with, and these people were the +stage-coachmen.</p> +<p>The stage-coachmen of England, at the time of which I am +speaking, considered themselves mighty fine gentry, nay, I verily +believe the most important personages of the realm, and their +entertaining this high opinion of themselves can scarcely be +wondered at: they were low fellows, but masters of driving; +driving was in fashion, and sprigs of nobility used to dress as +coachmen and imitate the slang and behaviour of coachmen, from +whom occasionally they would take lessons in driving as they sat +beside them on the box, which post of honour any sprig of +nobility who happened to take a place on <!-- page 156--><a +name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 156</span>a coach +claimed as his unquestionable right; and then these sprigs would +smoke cigars and drink sherry with the coachmen in bar-rooms, and +on the road; and, when bidding them farewell, would give them a +guinea or a half-guinea, and shake them by the hand, so that +these fellows, being low fellows, very naturally thought no small +liquor of themselves, but would talk familiarly of their friends +lords so and so, the honourable misters so and so, and Sir Harry +and Sir Charles, and be wonderfully saucy to any one who was not +a lord, or something of the kind; and this high opinion of +themselves received daily augmentation from the servile homage +paid them by the generality of the untitled male passengers, +especially those on the fore part of the coach, who used to +contend for the honour of sitting on the box with the coachman +when no sprig was nigh to put in his claim. Oh! what +servile homage these craven creatures did pay these same coach +fellows, more especially after witnessing this or t’other +act of brutality practised upon the weak and +unoffending—upon some poor friendless woman travelling with +but little money, and perhaps a brace of hungry children with +her, or upon some thin and half-starved man travelling on the +hind part of the coach from London to Liverpool with only +eighteen pence in his pocket after his fare was paid, to defray +his expenses on the road; for as the insolence of these knights +was vast, so was their rapacity enormous; they had been so long +accustomed to have crowns and half-crowns rained upon them by +their admirers and flatterers that they would look at a shilling, +for which many an honest labourer was happy to toil for ten hours +under a broiling sun, with the utmost contempt; would blow upon +it derisively, or fillip it into the air before they pocketed it; +but when nothing was given them, as would occasionally +happen—for how could they receive from those who had +nothing? and nobody was bound to give them anything, as they had +certain wages from their employers—then what a scene would +ensue! Truly the brutality and rapacious insolence of +English coachmen had reached a climax; it was time that these +fellows should be disenchanted, and the time—thank +Heaven!—was not far distant. Let the craven dastards +who used to curry favour with them, and applaud their brutality, +lament their loss now that they and their <!-- page 157--><a +name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 157</span>vehicles +have disappeared from the roads; I, who have ever been an enemy +to insolence, cruelty, and tyranny, loathe their memory, and, +what is more, am not afraid to say so, well aware of the storm of +vituperation, partly learnt from them, which I may expect from +those who used to fall down and worship them.</p> +<p>Amongst the coachmen who frequented the inn was one who was +called ‘the bang-up coachman.’ He drove to our +inn in the forepart of every day, one of what were called the +fast coaches, and afterwards took back the corresponding +vehicle. He stayed at our house about twenty minutes, +during which time the passengers of the coach which he was to +return with dined; those at least who were inclined for dinner, +and could pay for it. He derived his sobriquet of +‘The bang-up coachman’ partly from his being dressed +in the extremity of coach dandyism, and partly from the peculiar +insolence of his manner, and the unmerciful fashion in which he +was in the habit of lashing on the poor horses committed to his +charge. He was a large tall fellow, of about thirty, with a +face which, had it not been bloated by excess, and insolence and +cruelty stamped most visibly upon it, might have been called +good-looking. His insolence, indeed, was so great that he +was hated by all the minor fry connected with coaches along the +road upon which he drove, especially the ostlers, whom he was +continually abusing or finding fault with. Many was the +hearty curse which he received when his back was turned; but the +generality of people were much afraid of him, for he was a +swinging strong fellow, and had the reputation of being a +fighter, and in one or two instances had beaten in a barbarous +manner individuals who had quarrelled with him.</p> +<p>I was nearly having a fracas with this worthy. One day, +after he had been drinking sherry with a sprig, he swaggered into +the yard where I happened to be standing; just then a waiter came +by carrying upon a tray part of a splendid Cheshire cheese, with +a knife, plate, and napkin. Stopping the waiter, the +coachman cut with the knife a tolerably large lump out of the +very middle of the cheese, stuck it on the end of the knife, and +putting it to his mouth, nibbled a slight piece off it, and then, +tossing the rest away with disdain, flung the knife down upon the +tray, motioning the waiter to proceed. ‘I +wish,’ said I, ‘you may not want before you die what +you have just flung <!-- page 158--><a name="page158"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 158</span>away,’ whereupon the fellow +turned furiously towards me; just then, however, his coach being +standing at the door, there was a cry for coachman, so that he +was forced to depart, contenting himself for the present with +shaking his fist at me, and threatening to serve me out on the +first opportunity; before, however, the opportunity occurred he +himself got served out in a most unexpected manner.</p> +<p>The day after this incident he drove his coach to the inn, and +after having dismounted and received the contributions of the +generality of the passengers, he strutted up, with a cigar in his +mouth, to an individual who had come with him, and who had just +asked me a question with respect to the direction of a village +about three miles off, to which he was going. +‘Remember the coachman,’ said the knight of the box +to this individual, who was a thin person of about sixty, with a +white hat, rather shabby black coat and buff-coloured trowsers, +and who held an umbrella and a small bundle in his hand. +‘If you expect me to give you anything,’ said he to +the coachman, ‘you are mistaken; I will give you +nothing. You have been very insolent to me as I rode behind +you on the coach, and have encouraged two or three trumpery +fellows, who rode along with you, to cut scurvy jokes at my +expense, and now you come to me for money; I am not so poor but I +could have given you a shilling had you been civil; as it is, I +will give you nothing.’ ‘Oh! you won’t, +won’t you?’ said the coachman; ‘dear me! +I hope I shan’t starve because you won’t give me +anything—a shilling! Why, I could afford to give you +twenty if I thought fit, you pauper! Civil to you, indeed! +things are come to a fine pass if I need be civil to you! +Do you know who you are speaking to? Why, the best lords in +the country are proud to speak to me. Why, it was only the +other day that the Marquis of --- said to me—’ +And then he went on to say what the Marquis said to him; after +which, flinging down his cigar, he strutted up the road, swearing +to himself about paupers.</p> +<p>‘You say it is three miles to ---,’ said the +individual to me; ‘I think I shall light my pipe, and smoke +it as I go along.’ Thereupon he took out from a +side-pocket a tobacco-box and short meerschaum pipe, and +implements for striking a light, filled his pipe, lighted it, and +commenced smoking. Presently the coachman drew near; I saw +at once that there was mischief in his eye; <!-- page 159--><a +name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 159</span>the man +smoking was standing with his back towards him, and he came so +nigh to him, seemingly purposely, that as he passed a puff of +smoke came of necessity against his face. ‘What do +you mean by smoking in my face?’ said he, striking the pipe +of the elderly individual out of his mouth. The other, +without manifesting much surprise, said, ‘I thank you; and +if you will wait a minute, I will give you a receipt for that +favour.’ Then, gathering up his pipe, and taking off +his coat and hat, he laid them on a stepping-block which stood +near, and rubbing his hands together, he advanced towards the +coachman in an attitude of offence, holding his hands crossed +very near to his face. The coachman, who probably expected +anything but such a movement from a person of the age and +appearance of the individual whom he had insulted, stood for a +moment motionless with surprise; but, recollecting himself, he +pointed at him derisively with his finger; the next moment, +however, the other was close upon him, had struck aside the +extended hand with his left fist, and given him a severe blow on +the nose with his right, which he immediately followed by a +left-hand blow in the eye; then drawing his body slightly +backward, with the velocity of lightning he struck the coachman +full in the mouth, and the last blow was the severest of all, for +it cut the coachman’s lips nearly through; blows so quickly +and sharply dealt I had never seen. The coachman reeled +like a fir-tree in a gale, and seemed nearly unsensed. +‘Ho! what’s this? a fight! a fight!’ sounded +from a dozen voices, and people came running from all directions +to see what was going on. The coachman, coming somewhat to +himself, disencumbered himself of his coat and hat; and, +encouraged by two or three of his brothers of the whip, showed +some symptoms of fighting, endeavouring to close with his foe, +but the attempt was vain, his foe was not to be closed with; he +did not shift or dodge about, but warded off the blows of his +opponent with the greatest sang-froid, always using the guard +which I have already described, and putting in, in return, short +chopping blows with the swiftness of lightning. In a very +few minutes the countenance of the coachman was literally cut to +pieces, and several of his teeth were dislodged; at length he +gave in; stung with mortification, however, he repented, and +asked for another round; it was granted, to his own complete +demolition. The coachman did not <!-- page 160--><a +name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 160</span>drive his +coach back that day; he did not appear on the box again for a +week; but he never held up his head afterwards. Before I +quitted the inn he had disappeared from the road, going no one +knew where.</p> +<p>The coachman, as I have said before, was very much disliked +upon the road, but there was an esprit de corps amongst the +coachmen, and those who stood by did not like to see their +brother chastised in such tremendous fashion. ‘I +never saw such a fight before,’ said one. +‘Fight! why, I don’t call it a fight at all, this +chap here ha’n’t got a scratch, whereas Tom is cut to +pieces; it is all along of that guard of his; if Tom could have +got within his guard he would have soon served the old chap +out.’ ‘So he would,’ said another, +‘it was all owing to that guard. However, I think I +see into it, and if I had not to drive this afternoon, I would +have a turn with the old fellow and soon serve him +out.’ ‘I will fight him now for a +guinea,’ said the other coachman, half taking off his coat; +observing, however, that the elderly individual made a motion +towards him, he hitched it upon his shoulder again, and added, +‘that is, if he had not been fighting already, but as it +is, I am above taking an advantage, especially of such a poor old +creature as that.’ And when he had said this, he +looked around him, and there was a feeble titter of approbation +from two or three of the craven crew, who were in the habit of +currying favour with the coachmen. The elderly individual +looked for a moment at these last, and then said: ‘To such +fellows as you I have nothing to say;’ then turning to the +coachmen, ‘and as for you,’ he said, ‘ye +cowardly bullies, I have but one word, which is, that your reign +upon the roads is nearly over, and that a time is coming when ye +will be no longer wanted or employed in your present capacity, +when ye will either have to drive dung-carts, assist as ostlers +at village ale-houses, or rot in the workhouse.’ Then +putting on his coat and hat, and taking up his bundle, not +forgetting his meerschaum, and the rest of his smoking apparatus, +he departed on his way. Filled with curiosity, I followed +him.</p> +<p>‘I am quite astonished that you should be able to use +your hands in the way you have done,’ said I, as I walked +with this individual in the direction in which he was bound.</p> +<p>‘I will tell you how I became able to do so,’ said +the <!-- page 161--><a name="page161"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 161</span>elderly individual, proceeding to +fill and light his pipe as he walked along. ‘My +father was a journeyman engraver, who lived in a very riotous +neighbourhood in the outskirts of London. Wishing to give +me something of an education, he sent me to a day-school, two or +three streets distant from where we lived, and there, being +rather a puny boy, I suffered much persecution from my +school-fellows, who were a very blackguard set. One day, as +I was running home, with one of my tormentors pursuing me, old +Sergeant Broughton, <a name="citation161"></a><a +href="#footnote161" class="citation">[161]</a> the retired +fighting-man, seized me by the arm—’</p> +<p>‘Dear me,’ said I; ‘has it ever been your +luck to be acquainted with Sergeant Broughton?’</p> +<p>‘You may well call it luck,’ said the elderly +individual; ‘but for him I should never have been able to +make my way through the world. He lived only four doors +from our house; so, as I was running along the street, with my +tyrant behind me, Sergeant Broughton seized me by the arm. +“Stop, my boy,” said he; “I have frequently +seen that scamp ill-treating you; now I will teach you how to +send him home with a bloody nose; down with your bag of books; +and now, my game chick,” whispered he to me, placing +himself between me and my adversary, so that he could not observe +his motions; “clench your fist in this manner, and hold +your arms in this, and when he strikes at you, move them as I now +show you, and he can’t hurt you; now, don’t be +afraid, but go at him.” I confess that I was somewhat +afraid, but I considered myself in some degree under the +protection of the famous Sergeant, and, clenching my fist, I went +at my foe, using the guard which my ally recommended. The +result corresponded to a certain degree with the predictions of +the Sergeant; I gave my foe a bloody nose and a black eye, +though, notwithstanding my recent lesson in the art of +self-defence, he contrived to give me two or three clumsy +blows. From that moment I was the especial favourite of the +Sergeant, who gave me farther lessons, so that in a little time I +became a very fair boxer, beating everybody of my own size who +attacked me. The old gentleman, however, made me promise +never to be quarrelsome, nor to turn his instructions to account, +except in self-defence. I have always borne in mind my +promise, and have made it a point of conscience never to fight +unless absolutely <!-- page 162--><a name="page162"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 162</span>compelled. Folks may rail +against boxing if they please, but being able to box may +sometimes stand a quiet man in good stead. How should I +have fared to-day, but for the instructions of Sergeant +Broughton? But for them, the brutal ruffian who insulted me +must have passed unpunished. He will not soon forget the +lesson which I have just given him—the only lesson he could +understand. What would have been the use of reasoning with +a fellow of that description? Brave old Broughton! I +owe him much.’</p> +<p>‘And your manner of fighting,’ said I, ‘was +the manner employed by Sergeant Broughton?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said my new acquaintance; ‘it was the +manner in which he beat every one who attempted to contend with +him, till, in an evil hour, he entered the ring with Slack, <a +name="citation162a"></a><a href="#footnote162a" +class="citation">[162a]</a> without any training or preparation, +and by a chance blow lost the battle to a man who had been beaten +with ease by those who, in the hands of Broughton, appeared like +so many children. It was the way of fighting of him who +first taught Englishmen to box scientifically, who was the head +and father of the fighters of what is now called the old school, +the last of which were Johnson and Big Ben.’ <a +name="citation162b"></a><a href="#footnote162b" +class="citation">[162b]</a></p> +<p>‘A wonderful man that Big Ben,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘He was so,’ said the elderly individual; +‘but had it not been for Broughton, I question whether Ben +would have ever been the fighter he was. Oh! there is no +one like old Broughton; but for him I should at the present +moment be sneaking along the road, pursued by the hissings and +hootings of the dirty flatterers of that black-guard +coachman.’</p> +<p>‘What did you mean,’ said I, ‘by those words +of yours, that the coachmen would speedily disappear from the +roads?’</p> +<p>‘I meant,’ said he, ‘that a new method of +travelling is about to be established, which will supersede the +old. I am a poor engraver, as my father was before me; but +engraving is an intellectual trade, and by following it, I have +been brought in contact with some of the cleverest men in +England. It has even made me acquainted with the projector +of the scheme, which he has told me many <!-- page 163--><a +name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 163</span>of the +wisest heads of England have been dreaming of during a period of +six hundred years, and which it seems was alluded to by a certain +Brazen Head in the story-book of Friar Bacon, who is generally +supposed to have been a wizard, but in reality was a great +philosopher. Young man, in less than twenty years, by which +time I shall be dead and gone, England will be surrounded with +roads of metal, on which armies may travel with mighty velocity, +and of which the walls of brass and iron by which the friar +proposed to defend his native land are types.’ He +then, shaking me by the hand, proceeded on his way, whilst I +returned to the inn.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> +<p>FRANCIS ARDRY—HIS MISFORTUNES—DOG AND LION +FIGHT—GREAT MEN OF THE WORLD</p> +<p>A few days after the circumstance which I have last +commemorated, it chanced that, as I was standing at the door of +the inn, one of the numerous stage-coaches which were in the +habit of stopping there, drove up, and several passengers got +down. I had assisted a woman with a couple of children to +dismount, and had just delivered to her a band-box, which +appeared to be her only property, which she had begged me to +fetch down from the roof, when I felt a hand laid upon my +shoulder, and heard a voice exclaim, ‘Is it possible, old +fellow, that I find you in this place?’ I turned +round, and wrapped in a large blue cloak, I beheld my good friend +Francis Ardry. <a name="citation163a"></a><a href="#footnote163a" +class="citation">[163a]</a> I shook him most warmly by the +hand, and said, ‘If you are surprised to see me, I am no +less so to see you, where are you bound to?’</p> +<p>‘I am bound for L---, <a name="citation163b"></a><a +href="#footnote163b" class="citation">[163b]</a> at any rate I am +booked for that seaport,’ said my friend in reply.</p> +<p>‘I am sorry for it,’ said I, ‘for in that +case we shall have to part in a quarter of an hour, the coach by +which you came stopping no longer.’</p> +<p>‘And whither are you bound?’ demanded my +friend.</p> +<p>‘I am stopping at present in this house, quite +undetermined as to what to do.’</p> +<p><!-- page 164--><a name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +164</span>‘Then come along with me,’ said Francis +Ardry.</p> +<p>‘That I can scarcely do,’ said I, ‘I have a +horse in the stall which I cannot afford to ruin by racing to +L--- by the side of your coach.’</p> +<p>My friend mused for a moment: ‘I have no particular +business at L---,’ said he; ‘I was merely going +thither to pass a day or two, till an affair, in which I am +deeply interested, at C--- <a name="citation164"></a><a +href="#footnote164" class="citation">[164]</a> shall come +off. I think I shall stay with you for four-and-twenty +hours at least; I have been rather melancholy of late, and cannot +afford to part with a friend like you at the present moment; it +is an unexpected piece of good fortune to have met you; and I +have not been very fortunate of late,’ he added, +sighing.</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said I, ‘I am glad to see you once +more, whether fortunate or not; where is your baggage?’</p> +<p>‘Yon trunk is mine,’ said Francis, pointing to a +trunk of black Russian leather upon the coach.</p> +<p>‘We will soon have it down,’ said I, and at a word +which I gave to one of the hangers-on at the inn, the trunk was +taken from the top of the coach. ‘Now,’ said I +to Francis Ardry, ‘follow me, I am a person of some +authority in this house;’ thereupon I led Francis Ardry +into the house, and a word which I said to a waiter forthwith +installed Francis Ardry in a comfortable private sitting-room, +and his trunk in the very best sleeping-room of our extensive +establishment.</p> +<p>It was now about one o’clock: Francis Ardry ordered +dinner for two, to be ready at four, and a pint of sherry to be +brought forthwith, which I requested my friend the waiter might +be the very best, and which in effect turned out as I requested; +we sat down, and when we had drank to each other’s health, +Frank requested me to make known to him how I had contrived to +free myself from my embarrassments in London, what I had been +about since I quitted that city, and the present posture of my +affairs.</p> +<p>I related to Francis Ardry how I had composed the Life of +Joseph Sell, and how the sale of it to the bookseller had enabled +me to quit London with money in my pocket, which had supported me +during a long course of ramble in the country, into the +particulars of which I, however, did not enter with any +considerable degree of fulness. I summed up my account by +saying that ‘I was at present a kind of overlooker in the +stables of the inn, <!-- page 165--><a name="page165"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 165</span>had still some pounds in my purse, +and, moreover, a capital horse in the stall.’</p> +<p>‘No very agreeable posture of affairs,’ said +Francis Ardry, looking rather seriously at me.</p> +<p>‘I make no complaints,’ said I, ‘my +prospects are not very bright, it is true, but sometimes I have +visions, both waking and sleeping, which, though always strange, +are invariably agreeable. Last night, in my chamber near +the hayloft, I dreamt that I had passed over an almost +interminable wilderness—an enormous wall rose before me, +the wall, methought, was the great wall of China:—strange +figures appeared to be beckoning to me from the top of the wall; +such visions are not exactly to be sneered at. Not that +such phantasmagoria,’ said I, raising my voice, ‘are +to be compared for a moment with such desirable things as +fashion, fine clothes, cheques from uncles, parliamentary +interest, the love of splendid females. Ah! woman’s +love,’ said I, and sighed.</p> +<p>‘What’s the matter with the fellow?’ said +Francis Ardry.</p> +<p>‘There is nothing like it,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Like what?’</p> +<p>‘Love, divine love,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Confound love,’ said Francis Ardry, ‘I hate +the very name; I have made myself a pretty fool by it, but trust +me for ever being caught at such folly again. In an evil +hour I abandoned my former pursuits and amusements for it; in one +morning spent at Joey’s there was more real pleasure than +in—’</p> +<p>‘Surely,’ said I, ‘you are not hankering +after dog-fighting again, a sport which none but the gross and +unrefined care anything for? No, one’s thoughts +should be occupied by something higher and more rational than +dog-fighting; and what better than love—divine love? +Oh, there’s nothing like it!’</p> +<p>‘Pray, don’t talk nonsense,’ said Francis +Ardry.</p> +<p>‘Nonsense,’ said I; ‘why I was repeating, to +the best of my recollection, what I heard you say on a former +occasion.’</p> +<p>‘If ever I talked such stuff,’ said Francis Ardry, +‘I was a fool; and indeed I cannot deny that I have been +one: no, there is no denying that I have been a fool. What +do you think? That false Annette <a +name="citation165"></a><a href="#footnote165" +class="citation">[165]</a> has cruelly abandoned me.’</p> +<p><!-- page 166--><a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +166</span>‘Well,’ said I, ‘perhaps you have +yourself to thank for her having done so; did you never treat her +with coldness, and repay her marks of affectionate interest with +strange fits of eccentric humour?’</p> +<p>‘Lord! how little you know of women,’ said Francis +Ardry; ‘had I done as you suppose, I should probably have +possessed her at the present moment. I treated her in a +manner diametrically opposite to that. I loaded her with +presents, was always most assiduous to her, always at her feet, +as I may say, yet she nevertheless abandoned me—and for +whom? I am almost ashamed to say—for a +fiddler.’</p> +<p>I took a glass of wine, Francis Ardry followed my example, and +then proceeded to detail to me the treatment which he had +experienced from Annette, and from what he said, it appeared that +her conduct to him had been in the highest degree reprehensible; +notwithstanding he had indulged her in everything, she was never +civil to him, but loaded him continually with taunts and insults, +and had finally, on his being unable to supply her with a sum of +money which she had demanded, decamped from the lodgings which he +had taken for her, carrying with her all the presents which at +various times he had bestowed upon her, and had put herself under +the protection of a gentleman who played the bassoon at the +Italian Opera, at which place it appeared that her sister had +lately been engaged as a danseuse. My friend informed me +that at first he had experienced great agony at the ingratitude +of Annette, but at last had made up his mind to forget her, and +in order more effectually to do so, had left London with the +intention of witnessing a fight, which was shortly coming off at +a town in these parts, between some dogs and a lion; <a +name="citation166"></a><a href="#footnote166" +class="citation">[166]</a> which combat, he informed me, had for +some time past been looked forward to with intense eagerness by +the gentlemen of the sporting world.</p> +<p>I commended him for his resolution, at the same time advising +him not to give up his mind entirely to dog-fighting, as he had +formerly done, but, when the present combat should be over, to +return to his rhetorical studies, and above all to marry some +rich and handsome lady on the first opportunity, as, with his +person and expectations, he had only to sue for the hand of <!-- +page 167--><a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +167</span>the daughter of a marquis to be successful, telling +him, with a sigh, that all women were not Annettes, and that upon +the whole there was nothing like them. To which advice he +answered, that he intended to return to rhetoric as soon as the +lion fight should be over, but that he never intended to marry, +having had enough of women; adding, that he was glad he had no +sister, as, with the feelings which he entertained with respect +to her sex, he should be unable to treat her with common +affection, and concluded by repeating a proverb which he had +learnt from an Arab whom he had met at Venice, to the effect +that, ‘one who has been stung by a snake, shivers at the +sight of a string.’</p> +<p>After a little more conversation, we strolled to the stable, +where my horse was standing; my friend, who was a connoisseur in +horse-flesh, surveyed the animal with attention, and after +inquiring where and how I had obtained him, asked what I intended +to do with him; on my telling him that I was undetermined, and +that I was afraid the horse was likely to prove a burden to me, +he said, ‘It is a noble animal, and if you mind what you +are about, you may make a small fortune by him. I do not +want such an animal myself, nor do I know any one who does; but a +great horse-fair will be held shortly at a place where, it is +true, I have never been, but of which I have heard a great deal +from my acquaintances, where it is said a first-rate horse is +always sure to fetch its value; that place is Horncastle, in +Lincolnshire; you should take him thither.’</p> +<p>Francis Ardry and myself dined together, and after dinner +partook of a bottle of the best port which the inn +afforded. After a few glasses, we had a great deal of +conversation; I again brought the subject of marriage and love, +divine love, upon the carpet, but Francis almost immediately +begged me to drop it; and on my having the delicacy to comply, he +reverted to dog-fighting, on which he talked well and learnedly; +amongst other things, he said that it was a princely sport of +great antiquity, and quoted from Quintus Curtius to prove that +the princes of India must have been of the fancy, they having, +according to that author, treated Alexander to a fight between +certain dogs and a lion. Becoming, notwithstanding my +friend’s eloquence and learning, somewhat tired of the +subject, I began to talk about Alexander. Francis Ardry +<!-- page 168--><a name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +168</span>said he was one of the two great men whom the world has +produced, the other being Napoleon; I replied that I believed +Tamerlane was a greater man than either; but Francis Ardry knew +nothing of Tamerlane, save what he had gathered from the play of +Timour the Tartar. ‘No,’ said he; +‘Alexander and Napoleon are the great men of the world, +their names are known everywhere. Alexander has been dead +upwards of two thousand years, but the very English bumpkins +sometimes christen their boys by the name of Alexander—can +there be a greater evidence of his greatness? As for +Napoleon, there are some parts of India in which his bust is +worshipped.’ Wishing to make up a triumvirate I +mentioned the name of Wellington, to which Francis Ardry merely +said, ‘bah!’ and resumed the subject of +dog-fighting.</p> +<p>Francis Ardry remained at the inn during that day and the +next, and then departed to the dog and lion fight; I never saw +him afterwards, and merely heard of him once after the lapse of +some years, and what I then heard was not exactly what I could +have wished to hear. He did not make much of the advantages +which he possessed, a pity, for how great were those +advantages—person, intellect, eloquence, connection, +riches! yet, with all these advantages, one thing highly needful +seems to have been wanting in Francis. A desire, a craving, +to perform something great and good. Oh! what a vast deal +may be done with intellect, courage, riches, accompanied by the +desire of doing something great and good! Why, a person may +carry the blessings of civilization and religion to barbarous, +yet at the same time to beautiful and romantic lands; and what a +triumph there is for him who does so! What a crown of +glory! of far greater value that those surrounding the brows of +your mere conquerors. Yet who has done so in these +times? Not many; not three, not two, something seems to +have been always wanting: there is, however, one instance in +which the various requisites have been united, and the crown, the +most desirable in the world—at least which I consider to be +the most desirable—achieved, and only one, that of Brooke +of Borneo. <a name="citation168"></a><a href="#footnote168" +class="citation">[168]</a></p> +<h2><!-- page 169--><a name="page169"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 169</span>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> +<p>MR. PLATITUDE AND THE MAN IN BLACK—THE +POSTILLION’S ADVENTURES—THE LONE HOUSE—A GOODLY +ASSEMBLAGE</p> +<p>It never rains, but it pours. I was destined to see at +this inn more acquaintances than one. On the day of Francis +Ardry’s departure, shortly after he had taken leave of me, +as I was standing in the corn-chamber at a kind of writing-table +or desk, fastened to the wall, with a book before me, in which I +was making out an account of the corn and hay lately received and +distributed, my friend the postillion came running in out of +breath. ‘Here they both are,’ he gasped out; +‘pray do come and look at them!’</p> +<p>‘Whom do you mean?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Why, that red-haired Jack Priest, and that idiotic +parson, Platitude; they have just been set down by one of the +coaches, and want a post-chaise to go across the country in; and +what do you think? I am to have the driving of them. +I have no time to lose, for I must get myself ready: so do come +and look at them.’</p> +<p>I hastened into the yard of the inn; two or three of the +helpers of our establishment were employed in drawing forward a +post-chaise out of the chaise-house, which occupied one side of +the yard, and which was spacious enough to contain nearly twenty +of these vehicles, though it was never full, several of them +being always out upon the roads, as the demand upon us for +post-chaises across the country was very great. +‘There they are,’ said the postillion, softly, +nodding towards two individuals, in one of whom I recognised the +man in black, and in the other Mr. Platitude; ‘there they +are; have a good look at them, while I go and get +ready.’ The man in black and Mr. Platitude were +walking up and down the yard, Mr. Platitude was doing his best to +make himself appear ridiculous, talking very loudly in +exceedingly bad Italian, evidently for the purpose of attracting +the notice of the bystanders, in which he succeeded, all the +stable-boys and hangers on about the yard, attracted by his +vociferation, grinning at his ridiculous figure as he limped up +and down. The man in black said little or nothing, but from +the glances which he cast sideways appeared to be thoroughly +ashamed of his companion; the worthy couple presently arrived +close to where I was standing, and the <!-- page 170--><a +name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 170</span>man in +black, who was nearest to me, perceiving me, stood still as if +hesitating, but recovering himself in a moment, he moved on +without taking any further notice; Mr. Platitude exclaimed as +they passed, in broken lingo, ‘I hope we shall find the +holy doctors all assembled,’ and as they returned, ‘I +make no doubt that they will all be rejoiced to see +me.’ Not wishing to be standing an idle gazer, I went +to the chaise and assisted in attaching the horses, which had now +been brought out, to the pole. The postillion presently +arrived, and finding all ready took the reins and mounted the +box, whilst I very politely opened the door for the two +travellers; Mr. Platitude got in first, and, without taking any +notice of me, seated himself on the farther side. In got +the man in black and seated himself nearest to me. +‘All is right,’ said I, as I shut the door, whereupon +the postillion cracked his whip, and the chaise drove out of the +yard. Just as I shut the door, however, and just as Mr. +Platitude had recommenced talking in jergo, at the top of his +voice, the man in black turned his face partly towards me, and +gave me a wink with his left eye.</p> +<p>I did not see my friend the postillion till the next morning, +when he gave me an account of the adventures he had met with on +his expedition. It appeared that he had driven the man in +black and the Reverend Platitude across the country by roads and +lanes which he had some difficulty in threading. At length, +when he had reached a part of the country where he had never been +before, the man in black pointed out to him a house near the +corner of a wood, to which he informed him they were bound. +The postillion said it was a strange-looking house, with a wall +round it; and, upon the whole, bore something of the look of a +madhouse. There was already a post-chaise at the gate, from +which three individuals had alighted—one of them the +postillion said was a mean-looking scoundrel, with a regular +petty-larceny expression in his countenance. He was dressed +very much like the man in black, and the postillion said that he +could almost have taken his bible oath that they were both of the +same profession. The other two he said were parsons, he +could swear that, though he had never seen them before; there +could be no mistake about them. Church of England parsons +the postillion swore they were, with their black coats, white +cravats, and airs, in which clumsiness <!-- page 171--><a +name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 171</span>and conceit +were most funnily blended—Church of England parsons of the +Platitude description, who had been in Italy, and seen the Pope, +and kissed his toe, and picked up a little broken Italian, and +come home greater fools than they went forth. It appeared +that they were all acquaintances of Mr. Platitude, for when the +postillion had alighted and let Mr. Platitude and his companion +out of the chaise, Mr. Platitude shook the whole three by the +hand, conversed with his two brothers in a little broken jergo, +and addressed the petty-larceny looking individual by the title +of Reverend Doctor. In the midst of these greetings, +however, the postillion said the man in black came up to him, and +proceeded to settle with him for the chaise; he had shaken hands +with nobody, and had merely nodded to the others; ‘and +now,’ said the postillion, ‘he evidently wished to +get rid of me, fearing, probably, that I should see too much of +the nonsense that was going on. It was whilst settling with +me that he seemed to recognise me for the first time, for he +stared hard at me, and at last asked whether I had not been in +Italy; to which question, with a nod and a laugh, I replied that +I had. I was then going to ask him about the health of the +image of Holy Mary, and to say that I hoped it had recovered from +its horsewhipping; but he interrupted me, paid me the money for +the fare, and gave me a crown for myself, saying he would not +detain me any longer. I say, partner, I am a poor +postillion, but when he gave me the crown I had a good mind to +fling it in his face. I reflected, however, that it was not +mere gift-money, but coin which I had earned, and hardly too, so +I put it in my pocket, and I bethought me, moreover, that, knave +as I knew him to be, he had always treated me with civility; so I +nodded to him, and he said something which, perhaps, he meant for +Latin, but which sounded very much like “vails,” and +by which he doubtless alluded to the money which he had given +me. He then went into the house with the rest, the coach +drove away which had brought the others, and I was about to get +on the box and follow; observing, however, two more chaises +driving up, I thought I would be in no hurry, so I just led my +horses and chaise a little out of the way, and pretending to be +occupied about the harness, I kept a tolerably sharp look-out at +the new arrivals. Well, partner, the next vehicle that +drove up was a gentleman’s <!-- page 172--><a +name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 172</span>carriage +which I knew very well, as well as those with it, who were a +father and son, the father a good kind of old gentleman, and a +justice of the peace, therefore not very wise, as you may +suppose; the son a puppy who has been abroad, where he contrived +to forget his own language, though only nine months absent, and +now rules the roast over his father and mother, whose only child +he is, and by whom he is thought wondrous clever. So this +foreigneering chap brings his poor old father to this out of the +way house to meet these Platitudes and petty larceny villains, +and perhaps would have brought his mother too, only, simple +thing, by good fortune she happens to be laid up with the +rheumatiz. Well, the father and son, I beg pardon I mean +the son and father, got down and went in, and then after their +carriage was gone, the chaise behind drove up, in which was a +huge fat fellow, weighing twenty stone at least, but with +something of a foreign look, and with him—who do you +think? Why, a rascally Unitarian minister—that is, a +fellow who had been such a minister—but who some years ago +leaving his own people, who had bred him up and sent him to their +college at York, went over to the High Church, and is now, I +suppose, going over to some other church, for he was talking, as +he got down, wondrous fast in Latin, or what sounded something +like Latin, to the fat fellow, who appeared to take things +wonderfully easy, and merely grunted to the dog Latin which the +scoundrel had learnt at the expense of the poor Unitarians at +York. So they went into the house, and presently arrived +another chaise, but ere I could make any farther observations, +the porter of the out-of-the-way house came up to me, asking what +I was stopping there for? bidding me go away, and not pry into +other people’s business. “Pretty +business,” said I to him, “that is being transacted +in a play like this,” and then I was going to say something +uncivil, but he went to attend to the new comers, and I took +myself away on my own business as he bade me, not however, before +observing that these two last were a couple of +blackcoats.’</p> +<p>The postillion then proceeded to relate how he made the best +of his way to a small public-house, about a mile off, where he +had intended to bait, and how he met on the way a landau and +pair, belonging to a Scotch coxcomb whom he had known in London, +about whom he related <!-- page 173--><a name="page173"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 173</span>some curious particulars, and then +continued: ‘Well, after I had passed him and his turn-out, +I drove straight to the public-house, where I baited my horses, +and where I found some of the chaises and drivers who had driven +the folks to the lunatic-looking mansion, and were now waiting to +take them up again. Whilst my horses were eating their +bait, I sat me down, as the weather was warm, at a table outside, +and smoked a pipe and drank some ale, in company with the +coachman of the old gentleman who had gone to the house with his +son, and the coachman then told me that the house was a Papist +house, and that the present was a grand meeting of all the fools +and rascals in the country, who came to bow down to images, and +to concert schemes—pretty schemes, no doubt—for +overturning the religion of the country, and that for his part he +did not approve of being concerned with such doings, and that he +was going to give his master warning next day. So, as we +were drinking and discoursing, up drove the chariot of the +Scotchman, and down got his valet and the driver, and whilst the +driver was seeing after the horses, the valet came and sat down +at the table where the gentleman’s coachman and I were +drinking. I knew the fellow well, a Scotchman like his +master, and just of the same kidney, with white kid gloves, red +hair frizzled, a patch of paint on his face, and his hands +covered with rings. This very fellow, I must tell you, was +one of those most busy in endeavouring to get me turned out of +the servants’ club in Park Lane, because I happened to +serve a literary man; so he sat down, and in a kind of affected +tone cried out, “Landlord, bring me a glass of cold +negus.” The landlord, however, told him that there +was no negus, but that if he pleased he could have a jug of as +good beer as any in the country. “Confound the +beer,” said the valet, “do you think I am accustomed +to such vulgar beverage?” However, as he found there +was nothing better to be had, he let the man bring him some beer, +and when he had got it, soon showed that he could drink it easily +enough; so, when he had drank two or three draughts, he turned +his eyes in a contemptuous manner, first on the coachman and then +on me; I saw the scamp recollected me, for after staring at me +and at my dress for about half a minute, he put on a broad grin, +and flinging his head back he uttered a loud laugh. Well, I +did not like this, as you <!-- page 174--><a +name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 174</span>may well +believe, and taking the pipe out of my mouth, I asked him if he +meant anything personal, to which he answered that he had said +nothing to me, and that he had a right to look where he pleased, +and laugh when he pleased. Well, as to a certain extent he +was right as to looking and laughing, and as I have occasionally +looked at a fool and laughed, though I was not the fool in this +instance, I put my pipe into my mouth and said no more. +This quiet and well-regulated behaviour of mine, however, the +fellow interpreted into fear; so, after drinking a little more, +he suddenly started up, and striding once or twice before the +table, he asked me what I meant by that impertinent question of +mine, saying that he had a good mind to wring my nose for my +presumption. “You have?” said I, getting up and +laying down my pipe. “Well, I’ll now give you +an opportunity.” So I put myself in an attitude, and +went up to him, saying, “I have an old score to settle with +you, you scamp; you wanted to get me turned out of the club, +didn’t you?” And thereupon, remembering that he +had threatened to wring my nose, I gave him a snorter upon his +own. I wish you could have seen the fellow when he felt the +smart; so far from trying to defend himself, he turned round, and +with his hand to his face, attempted to run away, but I was now +in a regular passion, and following him up, got before him, and +was going to pummel away at him when he burst into tears, and +begged me not to hurt him, saying that he was sorry if he had +offended me, and that, if I pleased, he would go down on his +knees, or do anything else I wanted. Well, when I heard him +talk in this manner, I, of course, let him be; I could hardly +help laughing at the figure he cut, his face all blubbered with +tears and blood and paint; but I did not laugh at the poor +creature either, but went to the table and took up my pipe and +smoked and drank as if nothing had happened; and the fellow, +after having been to the pump, came and sat down, crying and +trying to curry favour with me and the coachman; presently, +however, putting on a confidential look, he began to talk of the +Popish house, and of the doings there, and said he supposed as +how we were of the party, and that it was all right; and then he +began to talk of the Pope of Rome, and what a nice man he was, +and what a fine thing it was to be of his religion, especially if +folks went over to him; and how it advanced them in the <!-- page +175--><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +175</span>world, and gave them consideration; and how his master, +who had been abroad and seen the Pope, and kissed his toe, was +going over to the Popish religion, and had persuaded him to +consent to do so, and to forsake his own, which I think the +scoundrel called the ’Piscopal Church of Scotland, and how +many others of that Church were going over, thinking to better +their condition in life by so doing, and to be more thought on; +and how many of the English Church were thinking of going over +too—and that he had no doubt that it would all end right +and comfortably.’ Well, as he was going on in this +way, the old coachman began to spit, and getting up, flung all +the beer that was in his jug upon the ground, and going away, +ordered another jug of beer, and sat down at another table, +saying that he would not drink in such company; and I, too, got +up, and flung what beer remained in my jug—there +wasn’t more than a drop—in the fellow’s face, +saying I would scorn to drink any more in such company; and then +I went to my horses, put them to, paid my reckoning, and drove +home.’</p> +<p>The postillion having related his story, to which I listened +with all due attention, mused for a moment, and then said: +‘I dare say you remember how, some time since, when old +Bill had been telling us how the Government a long time ago had +done away with robbing on the highway by putting down the +public-houses and places which the highwaymen frequented, and by +sending out a good mounted police to hunt them down, I said that +it was a shame that the present Government did not employ +somewhat the same means in order to stop the proceedings of Mumbo +Jumbo and his gang now-a-days in England. Howsomever, since +I have driven a fare to a Popish rendezvous, and seen something +of what is going on there, I should conceive that the Government +are justified in allowing the gang the free exercise of their +calling. Anybody is welcome to stoop and pick up nothing or +worse than nothing, and if Mumbo Jumbo’s people, after +their expeditions, return to their haunts with no better plunder +in the shape of converts than what I saw going into yonder place +of call, I should say they are welcome to what they get; for if +that’s the kind of rubbish they steal out of the Church of +England, or any other Church, who in his senses but would say a +good riddance, and many thanks for your trouble; at any rate, +that is my opinion of the matter.’</p> +<h2><!-- page 176--><a name="page176"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 176</span>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> +<p>DELIBERATIONS WITH SELF—RESOLUTION—INVITATION TO +DINNER—THE COMMERCIAL TRAVELLER—THE LANDLORD’S +OFFER—THE COMET WINE</p> +<p>It was now that I had frequent deliberations with +myself. Should I continue at the inn in my present +position? I was not very much captivated with it; there was +little poetry in keeping an account of the corn, hay, and straw +which came in, and was given out, and I was fond of poetry; +moreover, there was no glory at all to be expected in doing so, +and I was fond of glory. Should I give up that situation, +and remaining at the inn, become ostler under old Bill? +There was more poetry in rubbing down horses than in keeping an +account of straw, hay, and corn; there was also some prospect of +glory attached to the situation of ostler, for the grooms and +stable-boys occasionally talked of an ostler, a great way down +the road, who had been presented by some sporting people, not +with a silver vase, as our governor had been, but with a silver +currycomb, in testimony of their admiration for his skill; but I +confess that the poetry of rubbing down had become, as all other +poetry becomes, rather prosy by frequent repetition, and with +respect to the chance of deriving glory from the employment, I +entertained in the event of my determining to stay, very slight +hope of ever attaining skill in the ostler art sufficient to +induce sporting people to bestow upon me a silver +currycomb. I was not half so good an ostler as old Bill, +who had never been presented with a silver currycomb, and I never +expected to become so, therefore what chance had I? It was +true, there was a prospect of some pecuniary emolument to be +derived by remaining in either situation. It was very +probable that, provided I continued to keep an account of the hay +and corn coming in and expended, the landlord would consent to +allow me a pound a week, which at the end of a dozen years, +provided I kept myself sober, would amount to a considerable +sum. I might, on the retirement of old Bill, by taking his +place, save up a decent sum of money, provided, unlike him, I +kept myself sober, and laid by all the shillings and sixpences I +<!-- page 177--><a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +177</span>got; but the prospect of laying up a decent sum of +money was not of sufficient importance to induce me to continue +either at my wooden desk, or in the inn-yard. The reader +will remember what difficulty I had to make up my mind to become +a merchant under the Armenian’s auspices, even with the +prospect of making two or three hundred thousand pounds by +following the Armenian way of doing business, so it was not +probable that I should feel disposed to be book-keeper or ostler +all my life with no other prospect than being able to make a tidy +sum of money. If, indeed, besides the prospect of making a +tidy-sum at the end of perhaps forty years ostlering, I had been +certain of being presented with a silver currycomb with my name +engraved upon it, which I might have left to my descendants, or, +in default thereof, to the parish church destined to contain my +bones, with directions that it might be soldered into the wall +above the arch leading from the body of the church into the +chancel—I will not say that with such a certainty of +immortality, combined with such a prospect of moderate pecuniary +advantage, I might not have thought it worth my while to stay, +but I entertained no such certainty, and taking everything into +consideration, I determined to mount my horse and leave the +inn.</p> +<p>This horse had caused me for some time past no little +perplexity; I had frequently repented of having purchased him, +more especially as the purchase had been made with another +person’s money, and had more than once shown him to people +who, I imagined, were likely to purchase him; but, though they +were profuse in his praise, as people generally are in the praise +of what they don’t intend to purchase, they never made me +an offer, and now that I had determined to mount on his back and +ride away, what was I to do with him in the sequel? I could +not maintain him long. Suddenly I bethought me of +Horncastle, which Francis Ardry had mentioned as a place where +the horse was likely to find a purchaser, and not having +determined upon any particular place to which to repair, I +thought that I could do no better than betake myself to +Horncastle in the first instance, and there endeavour to dispose +of my horse.</p> +<p>On making inquiries with respect to the situation of +Horncastle, and the time when the fair would be held, I learned +that the town was situated in Lincolnshire, about a hundred and +fifty miles from the inn at which I was at <!-- page 178--><a +name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 178</span>present +sojourning, and that the fair would be held nominally within +about a month, but that it was always requisite to be on the spot +some days before the nominal day of the fair, as all the best +horses were generally sold before that time, and the people who +came to purchase gone away with what they had bought.</p> +<p>The people of the inn were very sorry on being informed of my +determination to depart. Old Bill told me that he had hoped +as how I had intended to settle down there, and to take his place +as ostler when he was fit for no more work, adding, that though I +did not know much of the business, yet he had no doubt but that I +might improve. My friend the postillion was particularly +sorry, and taking me with him to the tap-room called for two +pints of beer, to one of which he treated me; and whilst we were +drinking told me how particularly sorry he was at the thought of +my going, but that he hoped I should think better of the +matter. On my telling him that I must go, he said that he +trusted I should put off my departure for three weeks, in order +that I might be present at his marriage, the banns of which were +just about to be published. He said that nothing would give +him greater pleasure than to see me dance a minuet with his wife +after the marriage dinner; but I told him it was impossible that +I should stay, my affairs imperatively calling me elsewhere; and +that with respect to my dancing a minuet, such a thing was out of +the question, as I had never learned to dance. At which he +said that he was exceedingly sorry, and finding me determined to +go, wished me success in all my undertakings.</p> +<p>The master of the house, to whom, as in duty bound, I +communicated my intention before I spoke of it to the servants, +was, I make no doubt, very sorry, though he did not exactly tell +me so. What he said was, that he had never expected that I +should remain long there, as such a situation never appeared to +him quite suitable to me, though I had been very diligent, and +had given him perfect satisfaction. On his inquiring when I +intended to depart, I informed him next day, whereupon he begged +that I would defer my departure till the next day but one, and do +him the favour of dining with him on the morrow. I informed +him that I should be only too happy.</p> +<p>On the following day at four o’clock I dined with the +landlord, in company with a commercial traveller. The <!-- +page 179--><a name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +179</span>dinner was good, though plain, consisting of boiled +mackerel—rather a rarity in those parts at that +time—with fennel sauce, a prime baron of roast beef after +the mackerel, then a tart and noble Cheshire cheese; we had prime +sherry at dinner, and whilst eating the cheese prime porter, that +of Barclay, the only good porter in the world. After the +cloth was removed we had a bottle of very good port; and whilst +partaking of the port I had an argument with the commercial +traveller on the subject of the corn-laws.</p> +<p>The commercial traveller, having worsted me in the argument on +the subject of the corn-laws, got up in great glee, saying that +he must order his gig, as business must be attended to. +Before leaving the room, however, he shook me patronizingly by +the hand, and said something to the master of the house, but in +so low a tone that it escaped my ear.</p> +<p>No sooner had he departed than the master of the house told me +that his friend the traveller had just said that I was a +confounded sensible young fellow, and not at all opinionated, a +sentiment in which he himself perfectly agreed—then hemming +once or twice, he said that as I was going on a journey he hoped +I was tolerably well provided with money, adding that travelling +was rather expensive, especially on horseback, the manner in +which he supposed, as I had a horse in the stable, I intended to +travel. I told him that though I was not particularly well +supplied with money, I had sufficient for the expenses of my +journey, at the end of which I hoped to procure more. He +then hemmed again, and said that since I had been at the inn I +had rendered him a great deal of service in more ways than one, +and that he could not think of permitting me to depart without +making me some remuneration; then putting his hand into his +waistcoat pocket he handed me a cheque for ten pounds, which he +had prepared beforehand, the value of which he said I could +receive at the next town, or that, if I wished it, any waiter in +the house would cash it for me. I thanked him for his +generosity in the best terms I could select, but, handing him +back his cheque, I told him that I could not accept it, saying +that, so far from his being my debtor, I believed myself to be +indebted to him, as not only myself but my horse had been living +at his house for several weeks. He replied that, as for my +board at a house like <!-- page 180--><a name="page180"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 180</span>his, it amounted to nothing, and as +for the little corn and hay which the horse had consumed it was +of no consequence, and that he must insist upon my taking the +cheque. But I again declined, telling him that doing so +would be a violation of a rule which I had determined to follow, +and which nothing but the greatest necessity would ever compel me +to break through—never to incur obligations. +‘But,’ said he, ‘receiving this money will not +be incurring an obligation: it is your due.’ ‘I +do not think so,’ said I; ‘I did not engage to serve +you for money, nor will I take any from you.’ +‘Perhaps you will take it as a loan?’ said he. +‘No,’ I replied, ‘I never borrow.’ +‘Well,’ said the landlord, smiling, ‘you are +different from all others that I am acquainted with. I +never yet knew any one else who scrupled to borrow and receive +obligations. Why, there are two baronets in this +neighbourhood who have borrowed money of me, ay, and who have +never repaid what they borrowed; and there are a dozen squires +who are under considerable obligations to me, who I dare say will +never return them. Come, you need not be more scrupulous +than your superiors—I mean in station.’ +‘Every vessel must stand on its own bottom,’ said I; +‘they take pleasure in receiving obligations, I take +pleasure in being independent. Perhaps they are wise, and I +am a fool, I know not, but one thing I am certain of, which is, +that were I not independent I should be very unhappy: I should +have no visions then.’ ‘Have you any +relations?’ said the landlord, looking at me +compassionately. ‘Excuse me, but I don’t think +you are exactly fit to take care of yourself.’ +‘There you are mistaken,’ said I, ‘I can take +precious good care of myself; ay, and can drive a precious hard +bargain when I have occasion, but driving bargains is a widely +different thing from receiving gifts. I am going to take my +horse to Horncastle, and when there I shall endeavour to obtain +his full value—ay, to the last penny.’</p> +<p>‘Horncastle!’ said the landlord, ‘I have +heard of that place; you mustn’t be dreaming visions when +you get there, or they’ll steal the horse from under +you. Well,’ said he, rising, ‘I shall not press +you farther on the subject of the cheque. I intend, +however, to put you under an obligation to me.’ He +then rang the bell, and having ordered two fresh glasses to be +brought, he went out and presently returned with a small pint +bottle, which <!-- page 181--><a name="page181"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 181</span>he uncorked with his own hand; then +sitting down, he said: ‘The wine that I bring here, is port +of eighteen hundred and eleven, the year of the comet, the best +vintage on record; the wine which we have been drinking,’ +he added, ‘is good, but not to be compared with this, which +I never sell, and which I am chary of. When you have drank +some of it, I think you will own that I have conferred an +obligation upon you;’ he then filled the glasses, the wine +which he poured out diffusing an aroma through the room; then +motioning me to drink, he raised his own glass to his lips, +saying: ‘Come, friend, I drink to your success at +Horncastle.’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2> +<p>TRIUMPHAL DEPARTURE—NO SEASON LIKE YOUTH—EXTREME +OLD AGE—BEAUTIFUL ENGLAND—THE RATCATCHER—A +MISADVENTURE</p> +<p>I departed from the inn much in the same fashion as I had come +to it, mounted on a splendid horse indifferently well +caparisoned, with the small valise attached to my crupper, in +which, besides the few things I had brought with me, was a small +book of roads with a map, which had been presented to me by the +landlord. I must not forget to state that I did not ride +out of the yard, but that my horse was brought to me at the front +door by old Bill, who insisted upon doing so, and who refused a +five-shilling piece which I offered him; and it will be as well +to let the reader know that the landlord shook me by the hand as +I mounted, and that the people attached to the inn, male and +female—my friend the postillion at the head—assembled +before the house to see me off, and gave me three cheers as I +rode away. Perhaps no person ever departed from an inn with +more éclat or better wishes; nobody looked at me askance, +except two stage-coachmen who were loitering about, one of whom +said to his companion, ‘I say, Jim! twig his portmanteau! a +regular Newmarket turn out by ---!’</p> +<p>It was in the cool of the evening of a bright day—all +the days of that summer were bright—that I departed. +I felt at first rather melancholy at finding myself again +launched into the wide world, and leaving the friends <!-- page +182--><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +182</span>whom I had lately made behind me; but by occasionally +trotting the horse, and occasionally singing a song of Romanvile, +<a name="citation182a"></a><a href="#footnote182a" +class="citation">[182a]</a> I had dispelled the feeling of +melancholy by the time I had proceeded three miles down the main +road. It was at the end of these three miles, just opposite +a milestone, that I struck into a cross road. After riding +about seven miles, threading what are called, in postillion +parlance, cross-country roads, I reached another high road, +tending to the east, along which I proceeded for a mile or two, +when coming to a small inn, about nine o’clock, I halted +and put up for the night.</p> +<p>Early on the following morning I proceeded on my journey, but +fearing to gall the horse, I no longer rode him, but led him by +the bridle, until I came to a town at the distance of about ten +miles from the place where I had passed the night. Here I +stayed during the heat of the day, more on the horse’s +account than my own, and towards evening resumed my journey, +leading the animal by the bridle as before; and in this manner I +proceeded for several days, travelling on an average from twenty +to twenty-five miles a day, always leading the animal, except +perhaps now and then of an evening, when, if I saw a good piece +of road before me, I would mount and put the horse into a trot, +which the creature seemed to enjoy as much as myself, showing his +satisfaction by snorting and neighing, whilst I gave utterance to +my own exhilaration by shouts, or by ‘the chi she is kaulo +she soves pré lakie dumo,’ <a +name="citation182b"></a><a href="#footnote182b" +class="citation">[182b]</a> or by something else of the same kind +in Romanvile.</p> +<p>On the whole, I journeyed along very pleasantly, certainly +quite as pleasantly as I do at present, now that I am become a +gentleman, and weigh sixteen stone, though some people would say +that my present manner of travelling is much the most preferable, +riding as I now do, instead of leading my horse; receiving the +homage of ostlers instead of their familiar nods; sitting down to +dinner in the parlour of the best inn I can find, instead of +passing the brightest part of the day in the kitchen of a <!-- +page 183--><a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +183</span>village alehouse; carrying on my argument after dinner +on the subject of the corn-laws, with the best commercial +gentlemen on the road, instead of being glad, whilst sipping a +pint of beer, to get into conversation with blind trampers, or +maimed Abraham sailors, <a name="citation183"></a><a +href="#footnote183" class="citation">[183]</a> regaling +themselves on half-pints at the said village hostelries. +Many people will doubtless say that things have altered +wonderfully with me for the better, and they would say right, +provided I possessed now what I then carried about with me in my +journeys—the spirit of youth. Youth is the only +season for enjoyment, and the first twenty-five years of +one’s life are worth all the rest of the longest life of +man, even though those five-and-twenty be spent in penury and +contempt, and the rest in the possession of wealth, honours, +respectability, ay, and many of them in strength and health, such +as will enable one to ride forty miles before dinner, and over +one’s pint of port—for the best gentleman in the land +should not drink a bottle—carry on one’s argument, +with gravity and decorum, with any commercial gentleman who, +responsive to one’s challenge, takes the part of common +sense and humanity against ‘protection’ and the lord +of land.</p> +<p>Ah! there is nothing like youth—not that after-life is +valueless. Even in extreme old age one may get on very +well, provided we will but accept of the bounties of God. I +met the other day an old man, who asked me to drink. +‘I am not thirsty,’ said I, ‘and will not drink +with you.’ ‘Yes, you will,’ said the old +man, ‘for I am this day one hundred years old; and you will +never again have an opportunity of drinking the health of a man +on his hundredth birthday.’ So I broke my word, and +drank. ‘Yours is a wonderful age,’ said +I. ‘It’s a long time to look back to the +beginning of it,’ said the old man: ‘yet, upon the +whole, I am not sorry to have lived it all.’ +‘How have you passed your time?’ said I. +‘As well as I could,’ said the old man; ‘always +enjoying a good thing when it came honestly within my reach; not +forgetting to praise God for putting it there.’ +‘I suppose you were fond of a glass of good ale when you +were young?’ ‘Yes,’ said the old man, +‘I was; and so, thank God, I am still.’ And he +drank off a glass of ale.</p> +<p>On I went in my journey, traversing England from west to +east—ascending and descending hills—crossing rivers +<!-- page 184--><a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +184</span>by bridge and ferry—and passing over extensive +plains. What a beautiful country is England! People +run abroad to see beautiful countries, and leave their own behind +unknown, unnoticed—their own the most beautiful! And +then, again, what a country for adventures! especially to those +who travel it on foot, or on horseback. People run abroad +in quest of adventures, and traverse Spain and Portugal on mule +or on horseback; whereas there are ten times more adventures to +be met with in England than in Spain, Portugal, or stupid Germany +to boot. Witness the number of adventures narrated in the +present book—a book entirely devoted to England. Why, +there is not a chapter in the present book which is not full of +adventures, with the exception of the present one, and this is +not yet terminated.</p> +<p>After traversing two or three counties, I reached the confines +of Lincolnshire. During one particularly hot day I put up +at a public-house, to which, in the evening, came a party of +harvesters to make merry, who, finding me wandering about the +house a stranger, invited me to partake of their ale; so I drank +with the harvesters, who sang me songs about rural life, such +as—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Sitting in the swale; and listening to the +swindle of the flail, as it sounds dub-a-dub on the corn, from +the neighbouring barn.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In requital for which I treated them with a song, not of +Romanvile, but the song of ‘Sivord and the horse +Grayman.’ I remained with them till it was dark, +having, after sunset, entered into deep discourse with a +celebrated ratcatcher, who communicated to me the secrets of his +trade, saying, amongst other things, ‘When you see the rats +pouring out of their holes, and running up my hands and arms, +it’s not after me they comes, but after the oils I carries +about me they comes;’ and who subsequently spoke in the +most enthusiastic manner of his trade, saying that it was the +best trade in the world, and most diverting, and that it was +likely to last for ever; for whereas all other kinds of vermin +were fast disappearing from England, rats were every day becoming +more abundant. I had quitted this good company, and having +mounted my horse, was making my way towards a town at about six +miles’ distance, at a swinging trot, my thoughts deeply +engaged on what I had gathered from the ratcatcher, when all on +<!-- page 185--><a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +185</span>a sudden a light glared upon the horse’s face, +who purled round in great terror, and flung me out of the saddle, +as from a sling, or with as much violence as the horse Grayman, +in the ballad, flings Sivord the Snareswayne. I fell upon +the ground—felt a kind of crashing about my neck—and +forthwith became senseless.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> +<p>NOVEL SITUATION—THE ELDERLY INDIVIDUAL—THE +SURGEON—A KIND OFFER—CHIMERICAL IDEAS—STRANGE +DREAM</p> +<p>How long I remained senseless I cannot say; for a considerable +time I believe; at length, opening my eyes, I found myself lying +on a bed in a middle-sized chamber, lighted by a candle, which +stood on a table; an elderly man stood near me, and a yet more +elderly female was holding a phial of very pungent salts to my +olfactory organ. I attempted to move, but felt very +stiff—my right arm appeared nearly paralyzed, and there was +a strange dull sensation in my head. ‘You had better +remain still, young man,’ said the elderly individual, +‘the surgeon will be here presently; I have sent a message +for him to the neighbouring village.’ ‘Where am +I?’ said I, ‘and what has happened?’ +‘You are in my house,’ said the old man, ‘and +you have been flung from a horse. I am sorry to say that I +was the cause. As I was driving home, the lights in my gig +frightened the animal.’ ‘Where is the +horse?’ said I. ‘Below, in my stable,’ +said the elderly individual. ‘I saw you fall, but +knowing that on account of my age I could be of little use to +you, I instantly hurried home; the accident did not occur more +than a furlong off, and procuring the assistance of my lad, and +two or three neighbouring cottagers, I returned to the spot where +you were lying senseless. We raised you up, and brought you +here. My lad then went in quest of the horse, who had run +away as we drew nigh. When we saw him first, he was +standing near you; he caught him with some difficulty, and +brought him home. What are you about?’ said the old +man, as I strove to get off the bed. ‘I want to see +the horse,’ said I. ‘I entreat you to be +still,’ said the old man; ‘the horse is safe, I <!-- +page 186--><a name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +186</span>assure you.’ ‘I am thinking about his +knees,’ said I. ‘Instead of thinking about your +horse’s knees,’ said the old man, ‘be thankful +that you have not broke your own neck.’ ‘You do +not talk wisely,’ said I; ‘when a man’s neck is +broke he is provided for; but when his horse’s knees are +broke he is a lost jockey, that is if he has nothing but his +horse to depend upon. A pretty figure I should cut at +Horncastle, mounted on a horse blood-raw at the +knees.’ ‘Oh, you are going to +Horncastle,’ said the old man seriously, ‘then I can +sympathize with you in your anxiety about your horse, being a +Lincolnshire man, and the son of one who bred horses. I +will myself go down into the stable and examine into the +condition of your horse, so pray remain quiet till I return; it +would certainly be a terrible thing to appear at Horncastle on a +broken-kneed horse.’</p> +<p>He left the room and returned at the end of about ten minutes, +followed by another person. ‘Your horse is +safe,’ said he, ‘and his knees are unblemished; not a +hair ruffled. He is a fine animal, and will do credit to +Horncastle; but here is the surgeon come to examine into your own +condition.’ The surgeon was a man about thirty-five, +thin and rather tall; his face was long and pale, and his hair, +which was light, was carefully combed back as much as possible +from his forehead. He was dressed very neatly, and spoke in +a very precise tone. ‘Allow me to feel your pulse, +friend?’ said he, taking me by the right wrist. I +uttered a cry, for at the motion which he caused a thrill of +agony darted through my arm. ‘I hope your arm is not +broke, my friend,’ said the surgeon; ‘allow me to +see. First of all, we must divest you of this cumbrous +frock.’</p> +<p>The frock was removed with some difficulty, and then the upper +vestments of my frame, with more difficulty still. The +surgeon felt my arm, moving it up and down, causing me +unspeakable pain. ‘There is no fracture,’ said +he, at last, ‘but a contusion—a violent +contusion. I am told you were going to Horncastle: I am +afraid you will be hardly able to ride your horse thither in time +to dispose of him; however, we shall see; your arm must be +bandaged, friend; after which I will bleed you, and administer a +composing draught.’</p> +<p>To be short, the surgeon did as he proposed, and when he had +administered the composing draught, he said, <!-- page 187--><a +name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 187</span>‘Be +of good cheer; I should not be surprised if you are yet in time +for Horncastle.’ He then departed with the master of +the house, and the woman, leaving me to my repose. I soon +began to feel drowsy, and was just composing myself to slumber, +lying on my back, as the surgeon had advised me, when I heard +steps ascending the stairs, and in a moment more the surgeon +entered again, followed by the master of the house. +‘I hope we don’t disturb you,’ said the former; +‘my reason for returning is to relieve your mind from any +anxiety with respect to your horse. I am by no means sure +that you will be able, owing to your accident, to reach +Horncastle in time; to quiet you, however, I will buy your horse +for any reasonable sum. I have been down to the stable, and +approve of his figure. What do you ask for +him?’ ‘This is a strange time of night,’ +said I, ‘to come to me about purchasing my horse, and I am +hardly in a fitting situation to be applied to about such a +matter. What do you want him for?’ ‘For +my own use,’ said the surgeon; ‘I am a professional +man, and am obliged to be continually driving about; I cover at +least one hundred and fifty miles every week.’ +‘He will never answer your purpose,’ said I; +‘he is not a driving horse, and was never between shafts in +his life; he is for riding, more especially for trotting, at +which he has few equals.’ ‘It matters not to me +whether he is for riding or driving,’ said the surgeon; +‘sometimes I ride, sometimes drive; so if we can come to +terms, I will buy him, though remember it is chiefly to remove +any anxiety from your mind about him.’ ‘This is +no time for bargaining,’ said I, ‘if you wish to have +the horse for a hundred guineas, you may; if +not—’ ‘A hundred guineas!’ said the +surgeon. ‘My good friend, you must surely be +light-headed; allow me to feel your pulse,’ and he +attempted to feel my left wrist. ‘I am not +light-headed,’ said I, ‘and I require no one to feel +my pulse; but I should be light-headed if I were to sell my horse +for less than I have demanded; but I have a curiosity to know +what you would be willing to offer.’ ‘Thirty +pounds,’ said the surgeon, ‘is all I can afford to +give, and that is a great deal for a country surgeon to offer for +a horse.’ ‘Thirty pounds,’ said I, +‘why he cost me nearly double that sum. To tell you +the truth, I am afraid you want to take advantage of my +situation.’ ‘Not in the least, friend,’ +<!-- page 188--><a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +188</span>said the surgeon—‘not in the least; I only +wished to set your mind at rest about your horse; but as you +think he is worth more than I can afford to offer, take him to +Horncastle by all means; I will do my best to cure you in +time. Good night, I will see you again on the +morrow.’ Thereupon he once more departed with the +master of the house. ‘A sharp one,’ I heard him +say, with a laugh, as the door closed upon him.</p> +<p>Left to myself, I again essayed to compose myself to rest, but +for some time in vain. I had been terribly shaken by my +fall, and had subsequently, owing to the incision of the +surgeon’s lancet, been deprived of much of the vital fluid; +it is when the body is in such a state that the merest trifles +affect and agitate the mind; no wonder, then, that the return of +the surgeon and the master of the house for the purpose of +inquiring whether I would sell my horse, struck me as being +highly extraordinary, considering the hour of the night, and the +situation in which they knew me to be. What could they mean +by such conduct—did they wish to cheat me of the +animal? ‘Well, well,’ said I, ‘if they +did, what matters, they found their match; yes, yes,’ said +I, ‘but I am in their power, perhaps’—but I +instantly dismissed the apprehension which came into my mind, +with a pooh, nonsense! in a little time, however, a far more +foolish and chimerical idea began to disturb me—the idea of +being flung from my horse? was I not disgraced for ever as a +horseman by being flung from my horse? Assuredly, I +thought; and the idea of being disgraced as a horseman, operating +on my nervous system, caused me very acute misery. +‘After all,’ said I to myself, ‘it was perhaps +the contemptible opinion which the surgeon must have formed of my +equestrian powers, which induced him to offer to take my horse +off my hands; he perhaps thought I was unable to manage a horse, +and therefore in pity returned in the dead of night to offer to +purchase the animal which had flung me; and then the thought that +the surgeon had conceived a contemptible opinion of my equestrian +powers, caused me the acutest misery, and continued tormenting me +until some other idea (I have forgot what it was, but doubtless +equally foolish) took possession of my mind. At length, +brought on by the agitation of my spirits, there came over me the +same feeling of horror that I had experienced of old when I was a +boy, and likewise of late within the dingle; it <!-- page +189--><a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +189</span>was, however, not so violent as it had been on those +occasions, and I struggled manfully against it, until by degrees +it passed away, and then I fell asleep; and in my sleep I had an +ugly dream. I dreamt that I had died of the injuries I had +received from my fall, and that no sooner had my soul departed +from my body than it entered that of a quadruped, even my own +horse in the stable—in a word, I was, to all intents and +purposes, my own steed; and as I stood in the stable chewing hay +(and I remember that the hay was exceedingly tough), the door +opened, and the surgeon who had attended me came in. +‘My good animal,’ said he, ‘as your late master +has scarcely left enough to pay for the expenses of his funeral, +and nothing to remunerate me for my trouble, I shall make bold to +take possession of you. If your paces are good, I shall +keep you for my own riding; if not I shall take you to +Horncastle, your original destination.’ He then +bridled and saddled me, and, leading me out, mounted, and then +trotted me up and down before the house, at the door of which the +old man, who now appeared to be dressed in regular jockey +fashion, was standing. ‘I like his paces well,’ +said the surgeon; ‘I think I shall take him for my own +use.’ ‘And what am I to have for all the +trouble his master caused me?’ said my late entertainer, on +whose countenance I now observed, for the first time, a +diabolical squint. ‘The consciousness of having done +your duty to a fellow-creature in succouring him in a time of +distress, must be your reward,’ said the surgeon. +‘Pretty gammon, truly,’ said my late entertainer; +‘what would you say if I were to talk in that way to +you? Come, unless you choose to behave jonnock, <a +name="citation189"></a><a href="#footnote189" +class="citation">[189]</a> I shall take the bridle and lead the +horse back into the stable.’ ‘Well,’ said +the surgeon, ‘we are old friends, and I don’t wish to +dispute with you, so I’ll tell you what I will do; I will +ride the animal to Horncastle, and we will share what he fetches +like brothers.’ ‘Good,’ said the old man, +‘but if you say that you have sold him for less than a +hundred, I shan’t consider you jonnock; remember what the +young fellow said—that young fellow—.’ I +heard no more, for the next moment I found myself on a broad road +leading, as I supposed, in the direction of Horncastle, the +surgeon still in the saddle, and my legs moving at a rapid +trot. <!-- page 190--><a name="page190"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 190</span>‘Get on,’ said the +surgeon, jerking my mouth with the bit; whereupon, full of rage, +I instantly set off at a full gallop, determined, if possible, to +dash my rider to the earth. The surgeon, however, kept his +seat, and, so far from attempting to abate my speed, urged me on +to greater efforts with a stout stick, which methought he held in +his hand. In vain did I rear and kick, attempting to get +rid of my foe; but the surgeon remained as saddle-fast as ever +the Maugrabin sorcerer in the Arabian tale what time he rode the +young prince transformed into a steed to his enchanted palace in +the wilderness. At last, as I was still madly dashing on, +panting and blowing, and had almost given up all hope, I saw at a +distance before me a heap of stones by the side of the road, +probably placed there for the purpose of repairing it; a thought +appeared to strike me—I will shy at those stones, and if I +can’t get rid of him so, resign myself to my fate. So +I increased my speed, till arriving within about ten yards of the +heap, I made a desperate start, turning half round with nearly +the velocity of a millstone. Oh, the joy I experienced when +I felt my enemy canted over my neck, and saw him lying senseless +in the road. ‘I have you now in my power,’ I +said, or rather neighed, as, going up to my prostrate foe, I +stood over him. ‘Suppose I were to rear now, and let +my fore feet fall upon you, what would your life be worth? that +is, supposing you are not killed already; but lie there, I will +do you no farther harm, but trot to Horncastle without a rider, +and when there—’ and without further reflection off I +trotted in the direction of Horncastle, but had not gone far +before my bridle, falling from my neck, got entangled with my off +fore foot. I felt myself falling, a thrill of agony shot +through me—my knees would be broken, and what should I do +at Horncastle with a pair of broken knees? I struggled, but +I could not disengage my off fore foot, and downward I fell, but +before I had reached the ground I awoke, and found myself half +out of bed, my bandaged arm in considerable pain, and my left +hand just touching the floor.</p> +<p>With some difficulty I readjusted myself in bed. It was +now early morning, and the first rays of the sun were beginning +to penetrate the white curtains of a window on my left, which +probably looked into a garden, as I caught a glimpse or two of +the leaves of trees through a small uncovered part at the +side. For some <!-- page 191--><a name="page191"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 191</span>time I felt uneasy and anxious, my +spirits being in a strange fluttering state. At last my +eyes fell upon a small row of tea-cups, seemingly of china, which +stood on a mantelpiece exactly fronting the bottom of the +bed. The sight of these objects, I know not why, soothed +and pacified me; I kept my eyes fixed upon them, as I lay on my +back on the bed, with my head upon the pillow, till at last I +fell into a calm and refreshing sleep.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> +<p>THE MORNING AFTER A FALL—THE TEAPOT—UNPRETENDING +HOSPITALITY—THE CHINESE STUDENT</p> +<p>It might be about eight o’clock in the morning when I +was awakened by the entrance of the old man. ‘How +have you rested?’ said he, coming up to the bedside, and +looking me in the face. ‘Well,’ said I, +‘and I feel much better, but I am still very +sore.’ I surveyed him now for the first time with +attention. He was dressed in a sober-coloured suit, and was +apparently between sixty and seventy. In stature he was +rather above the middle height, but with a slight stoop, his +features were placid, and expressive of much benevolence, but, as +it appeared to me, with rather a melancholy cast—as I gazed +upon them, I felt ashamed that I should ever have conceived in my +brain a vision like that of the preceding night, in which he +appeared in so disadvantageous a light. At length he said, +‘It is now time for you to take some refreshment. I +hear my old servant coming up with your breakfast.’ +In a moment the elderly female entered with a tray, on which was +some bread and butter, a teapot and cup. The cup was of +common blue earthenware, but the pot was of china, curiously +fashioned, and seemingly of great antiquity. The old man +poured me out a cupful of tea, and then, with the assistance of +the woman, raised me higher, and propped me up with +pillows. I ate and drank; when the pot was emptied of its +liquid (it did not contain much), I raised it up with my left +hand to inspect it. The sides were covered with curious +characters, seemingly hieroglyphics. After surveying them +for some time, I replaced it upon the tray. ‘You seem +fond of china,’ said I to the old man, after the servant +had retired <!-- page 192--><a name="page192"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 192</span>with the breakfast things, and I had +returned to my former posture; ‘you have china on the +mantelpiece, and that was a remarkable teapot out of which I have +just been drinking.’</p> +<p>The old man fixed his eyes intently on me, and methought the +expression of his countenance became yet more melancholy. +‘Yes,’ said he, at last, ‘I am fond of +china—I have reason to be fond of china—but for china +I should—’ and here he sighed again.</p> +<p>‘You value it for the quaintness and singularity of its +form,’ said I; ‘it appears to be less adapted for +real use than our own pottery.’</p> +<p>‘I care little about its form,’ said the old man; +‘I care for it simply on account of—However, why talk +to you on a subject which can have no possible interest for +you? I expect the surgeon here presently.’</p> +<p>‘I do not like that surgeon at all,’ said I. +‘How strangely he behaved last night, coming back, when I +was just falling asleep, to ask me if I would sell my +horse.’</p> +<p>The old man smiled. ‘He has but one +failing,’ said he, ‘an itch for horse-dealing; but +for that he might be a much richer man than he is; he is +continually buying and exchanging horses, and generally finds +himself a loser by his bargains: but he is a worthy creature, and +skilful in his profession—it is well for you that you are +under his care.’</p> +<p>The old man then left me, and in about an hour returned with +the surgeon, who examined me and reported favourably as to my +case. He spoke to me with kindness and feeling, and did not +introduce the subject of the horse. I asked him whether he +thought I should be in time for the fair. ‘I saw some +people making their way thither to-day,’ said he; +‘the fair lasts three weeks, and it has just +commenced. Yes, I think I may promise you that you will be +in time for the very heat of it. In a few days you will be +able to mount your saddle with your arm in a sling, but you must +by no means appear with your arm in a sling at Horncastle, as +people would think your horse had flung you, and that you wanted +to dispose of him because he was a vicious brute. You must, +by all means, drop the sling before you get to +Horncastle.’</p> +<p>For three days I kept my apartment by the advice of the +surgeon. I passed my time as I best could. Stretched +on my bed, I either abandoned myself to reflection, or <!-- page +193--><a name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +193</span>listened to the voices of the birds in the neighbouring +garden. Sometimes, as I lay awake at night, I would +endeavour to catch the tick of a clock, which methought sounded +from some distant part of the house.</p> +<p>The old man visited me twice or thrice every day to inquire +into my state. His words were few on these occasions, and +he did not stay long. Yet his voice and his words were +kind. What surprised me most in connection with this +individual was, the delicacy of conduct which he exhibited in not +letting a word proceed from his lips which could testify +curiosity respecting who I was, or whence I came. All he +knew of me was, that I had been flung from my horse on my way to +a fair for the purpose of disposing of the animal; and that I was +now his guest. I might be a common horse-dealer for what he +knew, yet I was treated by him with all the attention which I +could have expected had I been an alderman of Boston’s +heir, and known to him as such. The county in which I am +now, thought I at last, must be either extraordinarily devoted to +hospitality, or this old host of mine must be an extraordinary +individual. On the evening of the fourth day, feeling tired +of my confinement, I put my clothes on in the best manner I +could, and left the chamber. Descending a flight of stairs, +I reached a kind of quadrangle, from which branched two or three +passages; one of these I entered, which had a door at the farther +end, and one on each side; the one to the left standing partly +open, I entered it, and found myself in a middle-sized room with +a large window, or rather glass-door, which looked into a garden, +and which stood open. There was nothing remarkable in this +room, except a large quantity of china. There was china on +the mantelpiece—china on two tables, and a small beaufet, +which stood opposite the glass-door, was covered with +china—there were cups, teapots, and vases of various forms, +and on all of them I observed characters—not a teapot, not +a teacup, not a vase of whatever form or size, but appeared to +possess hieroglyphics on some part or other. After +surveying these articles for some time with no little interest, I +passed into the garden, in which there were small parterres of +flowers, and two or three trees, and which, where the house did +not abut, was bounded by a wall. Turning to the right by a +walk by the side of the house, I passed by a door—probably +the one I had seen at the <!-- page 194--><a +name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>end of the +passage—and arrived at another window similar to that +through which I had come, and which also stood open. I was +about to pass by it, when I heard the voice of my entertainer +exclaiming, ‘Is that you? Pray come in.’</p> +<p>I entered the room, which seemed to be a counterpart of the +one which I had just left. It was of the same size, had the +same kind of furniture, and appeared to be equally well stocked +with china; one prominent article it possessed, however, which +the other room did not exhibit—namely, a clock, which, with +its pendulum moving tick-a-tick, hung against the wall opposite +to the door, the sight of which made me conclude that the sound +which methought I had heard in the stillness of the night was not +an imaginary one. There it hung on the wall, with its +pendulum moving tick-a-tick. The old gentleman was seated +in an easy chair a little way into the room, having the glass +door on his right hand. On a table before him lay a large +open volume, in which I observed Roman letters as well as +characters. A few inches beyond the book on the table, +covered all over with hieroglyphics, stood a china vase. +The eyes of the old man were fixed upon it.</p> +<p>‘Sit down,’ said he, motioning me with his hand to +a stool close by, but without taking his eyes from the +vase. ‘I can’t make it out,’ said he, at +last, removing his eyes from the vase, and leaning back on the +chair—‘I can’t make it out.’</p> +<p>‘I wish I could assist you,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Assist me,’ said the old man, looking at me, with +a half smile.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said I, ‘but I don’t understand +Chinese.’</p> +<p>‘I suppose not,’ said the old man, with another +slight smile; ‘but—but—’</p> +<p>‘Pray proceed,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘I wished to ask you,’ said the old man, +‘how you knew that the characters on yon piece of crockery +were Chinese; or, indeed, that there was such a +language?’</p> +<p>‘I knew the crockery was china,’ said I, +‘and naturally enough supposed what was written upon it to +be Chinese; as for there being such a language—the English +have a language, the French have a language, and why not the +Chinese?’</p> +<p>‘May I ask you a question?’</p> +<p><!-- page 195--><a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +195</span>‘As many as you like.’</p> +<p>‘Do you know any language besides English?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said I, ‘I know a little of two or +three.’</p> +<p>‘May I ask their names?’</p> +<p>‘Why not?’ said I. ‘I know a little +French.’</p> +<p>‘Anything else?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, a little Welsh, and a little Haik.’</p> +<p>‘What is Haik?’</p> +<p>‘Armenian.’</p> +<p>‘I am glad to see you in my house,’ said the old +man, shaking me by the hand; ‘how singular that one coming +as you did should know Armenian!’</p> +<p>‘Not more singular,’ said I, ‘than that one +living in such a place as this should know Chinese. How +came you to acquire it?’</p> +<p>The old man looked at me, and sighed. ‘I beg +pardon,’ said I, ‘for asking what is, perhaps, an +impertinent question; I have not imitated your own delicacy; you +have never asked me a question without first desiring permission, +and here I have been days and nights in your house an intruder on +your hospitality, and you have never so much as asked me who I +am.’</p> +<p>‘In forbearing to do that,’ said the old man, +‘I merely obeyed the Chinese precept: “Ask no +questions of a guest;” it is written on both sides of the +teapot out of which you have had your tea.’</p> +<p>‘I wish I knew Chinese,’ said I. ‘Is +it a difficult language to acquire?’</p> +<p>‘I have reason to think so,’ said the old +man. ‘I have been occupied upon it five-and-thirty +years, and I am still very imperfectly acquainted with it; at +least, I frequently find upon my crockery sentences the meaning +of which to me is very dark, though it is true these sentences +are mostly verses, which are, of course, more difficult to +understand than mere prose.’</p> +<p>‘Are your Chinese studies,’ said I, +‘confined to crockery literature?’</p> +<p>‘Entirely,’ said the old man; ‘I read +nothing else.’</p> +<p>‘I have heard,’ said I, ‘that the Chinese +have no letters, but that for every word they have a separate +character—is it so?’</p> +<p>‘For every word they have a particular character,’ +said the old man; ‘though, to prevent confusion, they have +arranged their words under two hundred and fourteen <!-- page +196--><a name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +196</span>what we should call radicals, but which they call +keys. As we arrange all our words in a dictionary under +twenty-four letters, so do they arrange all their words, or +characters, under two hundred and fourteen radical signs; the +simplest radicals being the first and the more complex the +last.’</p> +<p>‘Does the Chinese resemble any of the European languages +in words?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘I am scarcely competent to inform you,’ said the +old man; ‘but I believe not.’</p> +<p>‘What does that character represent?’ said I, +pointing to one on the vase.</p> +<p>‘A knife,’ said the old man; ‘that character +is one of the simplest radicals or keys.’</p> +<p>‘And what is the sound of it?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Tau,’ said the old man.</p> +<p>‘Tau!’ said I—‘tau!’</p> +<p>‘A strange word for a knife! is it not?’ said the +old man.</p> +<p>‘Tawse!’ said I—‘tawse!’</p> +<p>‘What is tawse?’ said the old man.</p> +<p>‘You were never at school at Edinburgh, I +suppose?’</p> +<p>‘Never,’ said the old man.</p> +<p>‘That accounts for your not knowing the meaning of +tawse,’ said I; ‘had you received the rudiments of a +classical education at the High School, you would have known the +meaning of tawse full well. It is a leathern thong, with +which refractory urchins are recalled to a sense of their duty by +the dominie. Tau—tawse—how singular!’</p> +<p>‘I cannot see what the two words have in common, except +a slight agreement in sound.’</p> +<p>‘You will see the connection,’ said I, ‘when +I inform you that the thong, from the middle to the bottom, is +cut or slit into two or three parts, from which slits or cuts, +unless I am very much mistaken, it derives its name—tawse, +a thong with slits or cuts, used for chastising disorderly +urchins at the High School, from the French tailler, to cut; +evidently connected with the Chinese tau, a knife—how very +extraordinary!’</p> +<h2><!-- page 197--><a name="page197"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 197</span>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> +<p>CONVALESCENCE—THE SURGEON’S BILL—LETTER OF +RECOMMENDATION—COMMENCEMENT OF THE OLD MAN’S +HISTORY</p> +<p>Two days—three days passed away—and I still +remained at the house of my hospitable entertainer: my bruised +limb rapidly recovering the power of performing its +functions. I passed my time agreeably enough, sometimes in +my chamber, communing with my own thoughts; sometimes in the +stable, attending to, and not unfrequently conversing with, my +horse; and at mealtime—for I seldom saw him at any +other—discoursing with the old gentleman, sometimes on the +Chinese vocabulary, sometimes on Chinese syntax, and once or +twice on English horseflesh; though on this latter subject, +notwithstanding his descent from a race of horse traders, he did +not enter with much alacrity. As a small requital for his +kindness, I gave him one day, after dinner, unasked, a brief +account of my history and pursuits. He listened with +attention; and when it was concluded, thanked me for the +confidence which I had reposed in him. ‘Such +conduct,’ said he, ‘deserves a return. I will +tell you my own history: it is brief, but may perhaps not prove +uninteresting to you—though the relation of it will give me +some pain.’ ‘Pray, then, do not recite +it,’ said I. ‘Yes,’ said the old man, +‘I will tell you, for I wish you to know it.’ +He was about to begin when he was interrupted by the arrival of +the surgeon. The surgeon examined into the state of my +bruised limb, and told me, what indeed I already well knew, that +it was rapidly improving. ‘You will not even require +a sling,’ said he, ‘to ride to Horncastle. When +do you propose going?’ he demanded. ‘When do +you think I may venture?’ I replied. ‘I think, +if you are a tolerably good horseman, you may mount the day after +to-morrow,’ answered the medical man. +‘By-the-by, are you acquainted with anybody at +Horncastle?’ ‘With no living soul,’ I +answered. ‘Then you would scarcely find stable room +for your horse. But I am happy to be able to assist +you. I have a friend there who keeps a small inn, and who, +during the time of the fair, keeps a stall vacant for any +quadruped I may bring, until he <!-- page 198--><a +name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 198</span>knows +whether I am coming or not. I will give you a letter to +him, and he will see after the accommodation of your horse. +To-morrow I will pay you a farewell visit, and bring you the +letter.’ ‘Thank you,’ said I; ‘and +do not forget to bring your bill.’ The surgeon looked +at the old man, who gave him a peculiar nod. +‘Oh!’ said he, in reply to me, ‘for the little +service I have rendered you I require no remuneration. You +are in my friend’s house, and he and I understand each +other.’ ‘I never receive such favours,’ +said I, ‘as you have rendered me, without remunerating +them; therefore I shall expect your bill.’ ‘Oh! +just as you please,’ said the surgeon; and, shaking me by +the hand more warmly than he had hitherto done, he took his +leave.</p> +<p>On the evening of the next day, the last which I spent with my +kind entertainer, I sat at tea with him in a little summer-house +in his garden, partially shaded by the boughs of a large +fig-tree. The surgeon had shortly before paid me his +farewell visit, and had brought me the letter of introduction to +his friend at Horncastle, and also his bill, which I found +anything but extravagant. After we had each respectively +drank the contents of two cups—and it may not be amiss here +to inform the reader that though I took cream with my tea, as I +always do when I can procure that addition, the old man, like +most people bred up in the country drank his without it—he +thus addressed me: ‘I am, as I told you on the night of +your accident, the son of a breeder of horses, a respectable and +honest man. When I was about twenty he died, leaving me, +his only child, a comfortable property, consisting of about two +hundred acres of land and some fifteen hundred pounds in +money. My mother had died about three years +previously. I felt the death of my mother keenly, but that +of my father less than was my duty; indeed, truth compels me to +acknowledge that I scarcely regretted his death. The cause +of this want of proper filial feeling was the opposition which I +had experienced from him in an affair which deeply concerned +me. I had formed an attachment for a young female in the +neighbourhood, who, though poor, was of highly respectable birth, +her father having been a curate of the Established Church. +She was, at the time of which I am speaking, an orphan, having +lost both her parents, and supported herself by keeping a small +school. My attachment was returned, <!-- page 199--><a +name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 199</span>and we had +pledged our vows, but my father, who could not reconcile himself +to her lack of fortune, forbade our marriage in the most positive +terms. He was wrong, for she was a fortune in +herself—amiable and accomplished. Oh! I cannot +tell you all she was’—and here the old man drew his +hand across his eyes. ‘By the death of my father, the +only obstacle to our happiness appeared to be removed. We +agreed, therefore, that our marriage should take place within the +course of a year; and I forthwith commenced enlarging my house +and getting my affairs in order. Having been left in the +easy circumstances which I have described, I determined to follow +no business, but to pass my life in a strictly domestic manner, +and to be very, very happy. Amongst other property derived +from my father were several horses, which I disposed of in this +neighbourhood, with the exception of two remarkably fine ones, +which I determined to take to the next fair at Horncastle, the +only place where I expected to be able to obtain what I +considered to be their full value. At length the time +arrived for the commencement of the fair, which was within three +months of the period which my beloved and myself had fixed upon +for the celebration of our nuptials. To the fair I went, a +couple of trusty men following me with the horses. I soon +found a purchaser for the animals, a portly, plausible person <a +name="citation199"></a><a href="#footnote199" +class="citation">[199]</a> of about forty, dressed in a blue +riding coat, brown top boots, and leather breeches. There +was a strange-looking urchin with him, attired in nearly similar +fashion, with a beam in one of his eyes, who called him +father. The man paid me for the purchase in +bank-notes—three fifty-pound notes for the two +horses. As we were about to take leave of each other, he +suddenly produced another fifty-pound note, inquiring whether I +could change it, complaining at the same time of the difficulty +of procuring change in the fair. As I happened to have +plenty of small money in my possession, and as I felt obliged to +him for having purchased my horses at what I considered to be a +good price, I informed him that I should be very happy to +accommodate him; so I changed him the note, and he, having taken +possession of the horses, went his way, and I myself returned +home.</p> +<p>‘A month passed; during this time I paid away two of +<!-- page 200--><a name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +200</span>the notes which I had received at Horncastle from the +dealer—one of them in my immediate neighbourhood, and the +other at a town about fifteen miles distant, to which I had +repaired for the purpose of purchasing some furniture. All +things seemed to be going on most prosperously, and I felt quite +happy, when one morning, as I was overlooking some workmen who +were employed about my house, I was accosted by a constable, who +informed me that he was sent to request my immediate appearance +before a neighbouring bench of magistrates. Concluding that +I was merely summoned on some unimportant business connected with +the neighbourhood, I felt no surprise, and forthwith departed in +company with the officer. The demeanour of the man upon the +way struck me as somewhat singular. I had frequently spoken +to him before, and had always found him civil and respectful, but +he was now reserved and sullen, and replied to two or three +questions which I put to him in anything but a courteous +manner. On arriving at the place where the magistrates were +sitting—an inn at a small town about two miles +distant—I found a more than usual number of people +assembled, who appeared to be conversing with considerable +eagerness. At sight of me they became silent, but crowded +after me as I followed the man into the magistrates’ +room. There I found the tradesman to whom I had paid the +note for the furniture, at the town fifteen miles off, in +attendance, accompanied by an agent of the Bank of England; the +former, it seems, had paid the note into a provincial bank, the +proprietors of which, discovering it to be a forgery, had +forthwith written up to the Bank of England, who had sent down +their agent to investigate the matter. A third individual +stood beside them—the person in my own immediate +neighbourhood to whom I had paid the second note; this, by some +means or other, before the coming down of the agent, had found +its way to the same provincial bank, and also being pronounced a +forgery, it had speedily been traced to the person to whom I had +paid it. It was owing to the apparition of this second note +that the agent had determined, without further inquiry, to cause +me to be summoned before the rural tribunal.</p> +<p>‘In a few words the magistrates’ clerk gave me to +understand the state of the case. I was filled with +surprise and consternation. I knew myself to be perfectly +<!-- page 201--><a name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +201</span>innocent of any fraudulent intention, but at the time +of which I am speaking it was a matter fraught with the greatest +danger to be mixed up, however innocently, with the passing of +false money. The law with respect to forgery was terribly +severe, and the innocent as well as the guily occasionally +suffered. Of this I was not altogether ignorant; +unfortunately, however, in my transactions with the stranger, the +idea of false notes being offered to me, and my being brought +into trouble by means of them, never entered my mind. +Recovering myself a little, I stated that the notes in question +were two of three notes which I had received at Horncastle, for a +pair of horses, which it was well known I had carried +thither.</p> +<p>‘Thereupon, I produced from my pocket-book the third +note, which was forthwith pronounced a forgery. I had +scarcely produced the third note, when I remembered the one which +I had changed for the Horncastle dealer, and with the remembrance +came the almost certain conviction that it was also a forgery; I +was tempted for a moment to produce it, and to explain the +circumstances—would to God I had done so!—but shame +at the idea of having been so wretchedly duped prevented me, and +the opportunity was lost. I must confess that the agent of +the bank behaved, upon the whole, in a very handsome manner; he +said that as it was quite evident that I had disposed of certain +horses at the fair, it was very possible that I might have +received the notes in question in exchange for them, and that he +was willing, as he had received a very excellent account of my +general conduct, to press the matter no farther—that is, +provided—. And here he stopped. Thereupon, one +of the three magistrates, who were present, asked me whether I +chanced to have any more of these spurious notes in my +possession. He had certainly a right to ask the question, +but there was something peculiar in his tone—insinuating +suspicion. It is certainly difficult to judge of the +motives which rule a person’s conduct, but I cannot help +imagining that he was somewhat influenced in his behaviour on +that occasion, which was anything but friendly, by my having +refused to sell him the horses at a price less than that which I +expected to get at the fair; be this as it may, the question +filled me with embarrassment, and I bitterly repented not having +at first been more explicit. Thereupon <!-- page 202--><a +name="page202"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 202</span>the +magistrate, in the same kind of tone, demanded to see my +pocket-book. I knew that to demur would be useless, and +produced it, and forthwith amongst two or three small country +notes, appeared the fourth which I had received from the +Horncastle dealer. The agent, took it up and examined it +with attention. “Well, is it a genuine note,” +said the magistrate? “I am sorry to say that it is +not,” said the agent; “it is a forgery, like the +other three.” The magistrate shrugged his shoulders, +as indeed did several people in the room. “A regular +dealer in forged notes,” said a person close behind me; +“who would have thought it?”</p> +<p>‘Seeing matters begin to look so serious, I aroused +myself, and endeavoured to speak in my own behalf, giving a +candid account of the manner in which I became possessed of the +notes; but my explanation did not appear to meet much credit: the +magistrate, to whom I have in particular alluded, asked, why I +had not at once stated the fact of my having received a fourth +note; and the agent, though in a very quiet tone, observed that +he could not help thinking it somewhat strange that I should have +changed a note of so much value for a perfect stranger, even +supposing that he had purchased my horses, and had paid me their +value in hard cash; and I noticed that he laid a particular +emphasis on the last words. I might have observed that I +was an inexperienced young man, who meaning no harm myself, +suspected none in others, but I was confused, stunned, and my +tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of my mouth. The men +who had taken my horses to Horncastle, and for whom I had sent, +as they lived close at hand, now arrived, but the evidence which +they could give was anything but conclusive in my favour; they +had seen me in company with an individual at Horncastle, to whom +by my orders they had delivered certain horses, but they had seen +no part of the money transaction; the fellow, whether from design +or not, having taken me aside into a retired place, where he had +paid me the three spurious notes, and induced me to change the +fourth, which throughout the affair was what bore most materially +against me. How matters might have terminated I do not +know, I might have been committed to prison, and I might have +been—. Just then, when I most needed a friend, and +least expected to find one, for though amongst those <!-- page +203--><a name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +203</span>present there were several who were my neighbours, and +who had professed friendship for me, none of them when they saw +that I needed support and encouragement came forward to yield me +any, but, on the contrary, appeared by their looks to enjoy my +terror and confusion—just then a friend entered the room in +the person of the surgeon of the neighbourhood, the father of him +who has attended you; he was not on very intimate terms with me, +but he had occasionally spoken to me, and had attended my father +in his dying illness, and chancing to hear that I was in trouble, +he now hastened to assist me. After a short preamble, in +which he apologized to the bench for interfering, he begged to be +informed of the state of the case, whereupon the matter was laid +before him in all its details. He was not slow in taking a +fair view of it, and spoke well and eloquently in my +behalf—insisting on the improbability that a person of my +habits and position would be wilfully mixed up with a transaction +like that of which it appeared I was suspected—adding, that +as he was fully convinced of my innocence, he was ready to enter +into any surety with respect to my appearance at any time to +answer anything which might be laid to my charge. This last +observation had particular effect, and as he was a person +universally respected, both for his skill in his profession and +his general demeanour, people began to think that a person in +whom he took an interest could scarcely be concerned in anything +criminal, and though my friend the magistrate—I call him so +ironically—made two or three demurs, it was at last agreed +between him and his brethren of the bench, that, for the present, +I should be merely called upon to enter into my own recognizance +for the sum of two hundred pounds, to appear whenever it should +be deemed requisite to enter into any farther investigation of +the matter.</p> +<p>‘So I was permitted to depart from the tribunal of petty +justice without handcuffs, and uncollared by a constable; but +people looked coldly and suspiciously upon me. The first +thing I did was to hasten to the house of my beloved, in order to +inform her of every circumstance attending the transaction. +I found her, but how? A malicious female individual had +hurried to her with a distorted tale, to the effect that I had +been taken up as an utterer of forged notes; that an immense +number had been found in my possession; that I was already +committed, <!-- page 204--><a name="page204"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 204</span>and that probably I should be +executed. My affianced one tenderly loved me, and her +constitution was delicate; fit succeeded fit, she broke a +blood-vessel, and I found her deluged in blood; the surgeon had +just been sent for; he came and afforded her every possible +relief. I was distracted; he bade me have hope, but I +observed he looked very grave.</p> +<p>‘By the skill of the surgeon, the poor girl was saved in +the first instance from the arms of death, and for a few weeks +she appeared to be rapidly recovering; by degrees, however, she +became melancholy; a worm preyed upon her spirit; a slow fever +took possession of her frame. I subsequently learned that +the same malicious female, who had first carried to her an +exaggerated account of the affair, and who was a distant relative +of her own, frequently visited her, and did all in her power to +excite her fears with respect to its eventual termination. +Time passed on in a very wretched manner. Our friend the +surgeon showing to us both every mark of kindness and +attention.</p> +<p>‘It was owing to this excellent man that my innocence +was eventually established. Having been called to a town on +the borders of Yorkshire to a medical consultation, he chanced to +be taking a glass of wine with the landlord of the inn at which +he stopped, when the waiter brought in a note to be changed, +saying, “That the Quaker gentleman who had been for some +days in the house, and was about to depart, had sent it to be +changed, in order that he might pay his bill.” The +landlord took the note and looked at it. “A +fifty-pound bill,” said he; “I don’t like +changing bills of that amount, lest they should prove bad ones; +however, as it comes from a Quaker gentleman, I suppose it is all +right.” The mention of a fifty-pound note aroused the +attention of my friend, and he requested to be permitted to look +at it; he had scarcely seen it, when he was convinced that it was +one of the same description as those which had brought me into +trouble, as it corresponded with them in two particular features, +which the agent of the bank had pointed out to him and others as +evidence of their spuriousness. My friend, without a +moment’s hesitation, informed the landlord that the note +was a bad one, expressing at the time a great wish to see the +Quaker gentleman who wanted to have it changed. “That +you can easily do,” said the <!-- page 205--><a +name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 205</span>landlord, +and forthwith conducted him into the common room, where he saw a +respectable-looking man, dressed like a Quaker, and seemingly +about sixty years of age.</p> +<p>‘My friend, after a short apology, showed him the note +which he held in his hand, stating that he had no doubt it was a +spurious one, and begged to be informed where he had taken it, +adding, that a particular friend of his was at present in +trouble, owing to his having taken similar notes from a stranger +at Horncastle; but that he hoped that he, the Quaker, could give +information, by means of which the guilty party, or parties, +could be arrested. At the mention of Horncastle, it +appeared to my friend that the Quaker gave a slight start. +At the conclusion of this speech, however, he answered, with +great tranquillity, that he had received it in the way of +business at ---, naming one of the principal towns in Yorkshire, +from a very respectable person, whose name he was perfectly +willing to communicate, and likewise his own, which he said was +James, and that he was a merchant residing at Liverpool; that he +would write to his friend at ---, requesting him to make +inquiries on the subject; that just at that moment he was in a +hurry to depart, having some particular business at a town about +ten miles off, to go to which he had bespoken a post-chaise of +the landlord; that with respect to the note, it was doubtless a +very disagreeable thing to have a suspicious one in his +possession, but that it would make little difference to him, as +he had plenty of other money, and thereupon he pulled out a +purse, containing various other notes, and some gold, observing, +“that his only motive for wishing to change the other note +was a desire to be well provided with change;” and finally, +that if they had any suspicion with respect to him, he was +perfectly willing to leave the note in their possession till he +should return, which he intended to do in about a +fortnight. There was so much plausibility in the speech of +the Quaker, and his appearance and behaviour were so perfectly +respectable, that my friend felt almost ashamed of the suspicion +which at first he had entertained of him, though, at the same +time, he felt an unaccountable unwillingness to let the man +depart without some farther interrogation. The landlord, +however, who did not wish to disoblige one who had been, and +might probably be again, a profitable customer, declared that he +was perfectly satisfied; that he had no wish to detain the note, +which he made no doubt the gentleman had received in the way of +business, and that as the matter concerned him alone, he would +leave it to him to make the necessary inquiries. +“Just as you please, friend,” said the Quaker, +pocketing the suspicious note, “I will now pay my +bill.” Thereupon he discharged the bill with a +five-pound note, which he begged the landlord to inspect +carefully, and with two pieces of gold.</p> +<p>‘The landlord had just taken the money, receipted the +bill, and was bowing to his customer, when the door opened, and a +lad, dressed in a kind of grey livery, appeared, and informed the +Quaker that the chaise was ready. “Is that boy your +servant?” asked the surgeon. “He is, +friend,” said the Quaker. “Hast thou any reason +for asking me that question?” “And has he been +long in your service?” “Several years,” +replied the Quaker. “I took him into my house out of +compassion, he being an orphan, but as the chaise is waiting, I +will bid thee farewell.” “I am afraid I must +stop your journey for the present,” said the surgeon; +“that boy has exactly the same blemish in the eye which a +boy had who was in company with the man at Horncastle, from whom +my friend received the forged notes, and who there passed for his +son.” “I know nothing about that,” said +the Quaker, “but I am determined to be detained here no +longer, after the satisfactory account which I have given as to +the note’s coming into my possession.” He then +attempted to leave the room, but my friend detained him, a +struggle ensued, during which a wig which the Quaker wore fell +off, whereupon he instantly appeared to lose some twenty years of +his age. “Knock the fellow down, father,” said +the boy, “I’ll help you.”</p> +<p>‘And, forsooth, the pretended Quaker took the +boy’s advice, and knocked my friend down in a +twinkling. The landlord, however, and waiter, seeing how +matters stood, instantly laid hold of him; but there can be no +doubt that he would have escaped from the whole three had not +certain guests who were in the house, hearing the noise, rushed +in, and helped to secure him. The boy was true to his word, +assisting him to the best of his ability, flinging himself +between the legs of his father’s assailants, causing +several of them to stumble and fall. At length, the fellow +was secured, and led before a magistrate; the boy, to whom he was +heard to say something which <!-- page 207--><a +name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 207</span>nobody +understood, and to whom, after the man’s capture, no one +paid much attention, was no more seen.</p> +<p>‘The rest, as far as this man was concerned, may be told +in a few words; nothing to criminate him was found on his person, +but on his baggage being examined, a quantity of spurious notes +were discovered. Much of his hardihood now forsook him, and +in the hope of saving his life he made some very important +disclosures; amongst other things, he confessed that it was he +who had given me the notes in exchange for the horses, and also +the note to be changed. He was subsequently tried on two +indictments, in the second of which I appeared against him. +He was condemned to die; but, in consideration of the disclosures +he had made, his sentence was commuted to perpetual +transportation.</p> +<p>‘My innocence was thus perfectly established before the +eyes of the world, and all my friends hastened to congratulate +me. There was one who congratulated me more than all the +rest—it was my beloved one, but—but—she was +dying—’</p> +<p>Here the old man drew his hand before his eyes and remained +for some time without speaking; at length he removed his hand, +and commenced again with a broken voice: ‘You will pardon +me if I hurry over this part of my story; I am unable to dwell +upon it. How dwell upon a period when I saw my only earthly +treasure pine away gradually day by day, and knew that nothing +could save her! She saw my agony, and did all she could to +console me, saying that she was herself quite resigned. A +little time before her death she expressed a wish that we should +be united. I was too happy to comply with her +request. We were united, I brought her to this house, +where, in less than a week, she expired in my arms.’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> +<p>THE OLD MAN’S STORY CONTINUED—MISERY IN THE +HEAD—THE STRANGE MARKS—TEA-DEALER FROM +LONDON—DIFFICULTIES OF THE CHINESE LANGUAGE</p> +<p>After another pause the old man once more resumed his +narration: ‘If ever there was a man perfectly miserable it +was myself, after the loss of that cherished woman. I sat +solitary in the house, in which I <!-- page 208--><a +name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 208</span>had hoped +in her company to realize the choicest earthly happiness, a prey +to the bitterest reflections; many people visited and endeavoured +to console me—amongst them was the clergyman of the parish, +who begged me to be resigned, and told me that it was good to be +afflicted. I bowed my head, but I could not help thinking +how easy it must be for those who feel no affliction, to bid +others to be resigned, and to talk of the benefit resulting from +sorrow; perhaps I should have paid more attention to his +discourse than I did, provided he had been a person for whom it +was possible to entertain much respect, but his own heart was +known to be set on the things of this world.</p> +<p>‘Within a little time he had an opportunity, in his own +case, of practising resignation, and of realizing the benefit of +being afflicted. A merchant, to whom he had entrusted all +his fortune, in the hope of a large interest, became suddenly a +bankrupt, with scarcely any assets. I will not say that it +was owing to this misfortune that the divine died within less +than a month after its occurrence, but such was the fact. +Amongst those who most frequently visited me was my friend the +surgeon; he did not confine himself to the common topics of +consolation, but endeavoured to impress upon me the necessity of +rousing myself, advising me to occupy my mind with some pursuit, +particularly recommending agriculture; but agriculture possessed +no interest for me, nor, indeed, any pursuit within my reach; my +hopes of happiness had been blighted, and what cared I for +anything; so at last he thought it best to leave me to myself, +hoping that time would bring with it consolation; and I remained +solitary in my house, waited upon by a male and a female +servant. Oh, what dreary moments I passed! My only +amusement—and it was a sad one—was to look at the +things which once belonged to my beloved, and which were now in +my possession. Oh, how fondly would I dwell upon +them! There were some books; I cared not for books, but +these had belonged to my beloved. Oh, how fondly did I +dwell on them! Then there was her hat and bonnet—oh, +me, how fondly did I gaze upon them! and after looking at her +things for hours, I would sit and ruminate on the happiness I had +lost. How I execrated the moment I had gone to the fair to +sell horses! “Would that I had never been at +Horncastle <!-- page 209--><a name="page209"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 209</span>to sell horses!” I would say; +“I might at this moment have been enjoying the company of +my beloved, leading a happy, quiet, easy life, but for that fatal +expedition.” That thought worked on my brain, till my +brain seemed to turn round.</p> +<p>‘One day I sat at the breakfast table gazing vacantly +around me, my mind was in a state of inexpressible misery; there +was a whirl in my brain, probably like that which people feel who +are rapidly going mad; this increased to such a degree that I +felt giddiness coming upon me. To abate this feeling I no +longer permitted my eyes to wander about, but fixed them upon an +object on the table, and continued gazing at it for several +minutes without knowing what it was. At length the misery +in my head was somewhat stilled, my lips moved, and I heard +myself saying, “What odd marks!” I had fastened +my eyes on the side of a teapot, and by keeping them fixed upon +it, had become aware of a fact that had escaped my notice +before—namely, that there were marks upon it. I kept +my eyes fixed upon them, and repeated at intervals, “What +strange marks!”—for I thought that looking upon the +marks tended to abate the whirl in my head. I kept tracing +the marks one after the other, and I observed that though they +all bore a resemblance to each other, they were all to a certain +extent different. The smallest portion possible of curious +interest had been awakened within me, and, at last, I asked +myself within my own mind, “What motive could induce people +to put such odd marks on their crockery? They were not +pictures, they were not letters. What motive could people +have for putting them there?” At last I removed my +eyes from the teapot, and thought for a few moments about the +marks; presently, however, I felt the whirl returning; the marks +became almost effaced from my mind, and I was beginning to revert +to my miserable ruminations, when suddenly methought I heard a +voice say, “The marks! the marks! cling to the marks! +or—” So I fixed my eyes again upon the marks, +inspecting them more attentively, if possible, than I had done +before, and, at last, I came to the conclusion that they were not +capricious or fanciful marks, but were arranged +systematically. When I had gazed at them for a considerable +time I turned the teapot round, and on the other side I observed +marks of a similar kind, which <!-- page 210--><a +name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 210</span>I soon +discovered were identical with the ones I had been +observing. All the marks were something alike, but all +somewhat different, and on comparing them with each other, I was +struck with the frequent occurrence of a mark crossing an upright +line, or projecting from it, now on the right, now on the left +side, and I said to myself, “Why does this mark sometimes +cross the upright line, and sometimes project?” and the +more I thought on the matter the less did I feel of the misery in +my head.</p> +<p>‘The things were at length removed, and I sat, as I had +for some time past been wont to sit after my meals, silent and +motionless; but in the present instance my mind was not entirely +abandoned to the one mournful idea which had so long distressed +it. It was, to a certain extent, occupied with the marks on +the teapot; it is true that the mournful idea strove hard with +the marks on the teapot for the mastery in my mind, and at last +the painful idea drove the marks of the teapot out. They, +however, would occasionally return and flit across my mind for a +moment or two, and their coming was like a momentary relief from +intense pain. I thought once or twice that I would have the +teapot placed before me, that I might examine the marks at +leisure, but I considered that it would be as well to defer the +re-examination of the marks till the next morning. At that +time I did not take tea of an evening. By deferring the +examination thus, I had something to look forward to on the next +morning. The day was a melancholy one, but it certainly was +more tolerable to me than any of the others had been since the +death of my beloved. As I lay awake that night I +occasionally thought of the marks, and in my sleep methought I +saw them upon the teapot vividly before me. On the morrow I +examined the marks again. How singular they looked! +Surely they must mean something, and if so, what could they mean? +and at last I thought within myself whether it would be possible +for me to make out what they meant. That day I felt more +relief than on the preceding day, and towards night I walked a +little about.</p> +<p>‘In about a week’s time I received a visit from my +friend the surgeon. After a little discourse, he told me +that he perceived I was better than when he had last seen me, and +asked me what I had been about. I told him that I had been +principally occupied in considering certain <!-- page 211--><a +name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 211</span>marks which +I had found on a teapot, and wondering what they could +mean. He smiled at first, but instantly assuming a serious +look, he asked to see the teapot. I produced it, and after +having surveyed the marks with attention, he observed that they +were highly curious, and also wondered what they meant. +“I strongly advise you,” said he, “to attempt +to make them out, and also to take moderate exercise, and to see +after your concerns.” I followed his advice. +Every morning I studied the marks on the teapot, and in the +course of the day took moderate exercise, and attended to little +domestic matters, as became the master of a house.</p> +<p>‘I subsequently learned that the surgeon, in advising me +to study the marks, and endeavour to make out their meaning, +merely hoped that by means of them my mind might by degrees be +diverted from the mournful idea on which it had so long +brooded. He was a man well skilled in his profession, but +had read and thought very little on matters unconnected with +it. He had no idea that the marks had any particular +signification, or were anything else but common and fortuitous +ones. That I became at all acquainted with their nature was +owing to a ludicrous circumstance which I will now relate.</p> +<p>‘One day, chancing to be at a neighbouring town, I was +struck with the appearance of a shop recently established. +It had an immense bow-window, and every part of it to which a +brush could be applied was painted in a gaudy flaming +style. Large bowls of green and black tea were placed upon +certain chests, which stood at the window. I stopped to +look at them; such a display, whatever it may be at the present +time, being, at the period of which I am speaking, quite uncommon +in a country town. The tea, whether black or green, was +very shining and inviting, and the bowls, of which there were +three, standing on as many chests, were very grand and +foreign-looking. Two of these were white, with figures and +trees painted upon them in blue; the other, which was the +middlemost, had neither trees nor figures upon it, but, as I +looked through the window, appeared to have on its sides the very +same kind of marks which I had observed on the teapot at home; +there were also marks on the tea-chests somewhat similar, but +much larger, and, apparently, not executed with so much +care. “Best teas direct from China,” said a +voice close to my <!-- page 212--><a name="page212"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 212</span>side, and looking round I saw a +youngish man with a frizzled head, flat face, and an immensely +wide mouth, standing in his shirt-sleeves by the door. +“Direct from China,” said he. “Perhaps +you will do me the favour to walk in and scent them?” +“I do not want any tea,” said I; “I was only +standing at the window examining those marks on the bowl and the +chests. I have observed similar ones on a teapot at +home.” “Pray walk in, sir,” said the +young fellow, extending his mouth till it reached nearly from ear +to ear—“pray walk in, and I shall be happy to give +you any information respecting the manners and customs of the +Chinese in my power.” Thereupon I followed him into +his shop, where he began to harangue on the manners, customs, and +peculiarities of the Chinese, especially their manner of +preparing tea, not forgetting to tell me that the only genuine +Chinese tea ever imported into England was to be found in his +shop. “With respect to those marks,” said he, +“on the bowl and the chests, they are nothing more nor less +than Chinese writing expressing something, though what I +can’t exactly tell you. Allow me to sell you this +pound of tea,” he added, showing me a paper parcel. +“On the envelope there is a printed account of the Chinese +system of writing, extracted from authors of the most established +reputation. These things I print, principally with the hope +of in some degree removing the worse than Gothic ignorance +prevalent amongst the natives of these parts. I am from +London myself. With respect to all that relates to the +Chinese real Imperial tea, I assure you, sir, +that—” Well, to make short of what you +doubtless consider a very tiresome story, I purchased the tea and +carried it home. The tea proved imperially bad, but the +paper envelope really contained some information on the Chinese +language and writing, amounting to about as much as you gained +from me the other day. On learning that the marks on the +teapot expressed words, I felt my interest with respect to them +considerably increased, and returned to the task of inspecting +them with greater zeal than before, hoping, by continually +looking at them, to be able eventually to understand their +meaning, in which hope you may easily believe I was disappointed, +though my desire to understand what they represented continued on +the increase. In this dilemma I determined to apply again +to the shopkeeper from whom I bought the tea. I <!-- page +213--><a name="page213"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +213</span>found him in rather low spirits, his shirt-sleeves were +soiled, and his hair was out of curl. On my inquiring how +he got on, he informed me that he intended speedily to leave, +having received little or no encouragement, the people in their +Gothic ignorance preferring to deal with an old-fashioned +shopkeeper over the way, who, so far from possessing any +acquaintance with the polity and institutions of the Chinese, did +not, he firmly believed, know that tea came from China. +“You are come for some more, I suppose?” said +he. On receiving an answer in the negative he looked +somewhat blank, but when I added that I came to consult with him +as to the means which I must take in order to acquire the Chinese +language he brightened up. “You must get a +grammar,” said he, rubbing his hands. “Have you +not one?” said I. “No,” he replied, +“but any bookseller can procure you one.” As I +was taking my departure he told me that as he was about to leave +the neighbourhood the bowl at the window which bore the +inscription, besides some other pieces of porcelain of a similar +description, were at my service, provided I chose to purchase +them. I consented, and two or three days afterwards took +from off his hands all the china in his possession which bore +inscriptions, paying what he demanded. Had I waited till +the sale of his effects, which occurred within a few weeks, I +could probably have procured it for a fifth part of the sum which +I paid, the other pieces realizing very little. I did not, +however, grudge the poor fellow what he got from me, as I +considered myself to be somewhat in his debt for the information +he had afforded me.</p> +<p>‘As for the rest of my story, it may be briefly +told. I followed the advice of the shopkeeper and applied +to a bookseller, who wrote to his correspondent in London. +After a long interval, I was informed that if I wished to learn +Chinese I must do so through the medium of French, there being +neither Chinese grammar nor dictionary in our language. I +was at first very much disheartened. I determined, however, +at last to gratify my desire of learning Chinese, even at the +expense of learning French. I procured the books, and in +order to qualify myself to turn them to account, took lessons in +French from a little Swiss, the usher of a neighbouring +boarding-school. I was very stupid in acquiring French; +perseverance, however, enabled me to acquire a knowledge <!-- +page 214--><a name="page214"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +214</span>sufficient for the object I had in view. In about +two years I began to study Chinese by myself through the medium +of the French.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said I, ‘and how did you get on with +the study of Chinese?’</p> +<p>And then the old man proceeded to inform me how he got on with +the study of Chinese, enumerating all the difficulties he had had +to encounter, dilating upon his frequent despondency of mind, and +occasionally his utter despair of ever mastering Chinese. +He told me that more than once he had determined upon giving up +the study, but then the misery in his head forthwith returned, to +escape from which he had as often resumed it. It appeared, +however, that ten years elapsed before he was able to use ten of +the two hundred and fourteen keys which serve to undo the locks +of Chinese writing.</p> +<p>‘And are you able at present to use the entire +number?’ I demanded.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said the old man; ‘I can at present +use the whole number. I know the key for every particular +lock, though I frequently find the words unwilling to give +way.’</p> +<p>‘Has nothing particular occurred to you,’ said I, +‘during the time that you have been prosecuting your +studies?’</p> +<p>‘During the whole time in which I have been engaged in +these studies,’ said the old man, ‘only one +circumstance has occurred which requires any particular +mention—the death of my old friend the surgeon, who was +carried off suddenly by a fit of apoplexy. His death was a +great shock to me, and for a time interrupted my studies. +His son, however, who succeeded him, was very kind to me, and, in +some degree, supplied his father’s place; and I gradually +returned to my Chinese locks and keys.’</p> +<p>‘And in applying keys to the Chinese locks you employ +your time?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said the old man, ‘in making out the +inscriptions on the various pieces of porcelain, which I have at +different times procured, I pass my time. The first +inscription which I translated was that on the teapot of my +beloved.’</p> +<p>‘And how many other pieces of porcelain may you have at +present in your possession?’</p> +<p>‘About fifteen hundred.’</p> +<p><!-- page 215--><a name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +215</span>‘And how did you obtain them?’ I +demanded.</p> +<p>‘Without much labour,’ said the old man, ‘in +the neighbouring towns and villages—chiefly at +auctions—of which, about twenty years ago, there were many +in these parts.’</p> +<p>‘And may I ask your reasons for confining your studies +entirely to the crockery literature of China, when you have all +the rest at your disposal?’</p> +<p>‘The inscriptions enable me to pass my time,’ said +the old man; ‘what more would the whole literature of China +do?’</p> +<p>‘And from those inscriptions,’ said I, ‘what +a book it is in your power to make, whenever so disposed! +“Translations from the crockery literature of +China.” Such a book would be sure to take. Even +glorious John himself would not disdain to publish it.’</p> +<p>The old man smiled. ‘I have no desire for literary +distinction,’ said he; ‘no ambition. My +original wish was to pass my life in easy, quiet +obscurity—with her whom I loved. I was disappointed +in my wish; she was removed, who constituted my only felicity in +this life: desolation came to my heart, and misery to my +head. To escape from the latter I had recourse to +Chinese. By degrees the misery left my head, but the +desolation of heart yet remains.’</p> +<p>‘Be of good cheer,’ said I. ‘Through +the instrumentality of this affliction you have learnt Chinese, +and, in so doing, learnt to practise the duties of +hospitality. Who but a man who could read Runes on a +teapot, would have received an unfortunate wayfarer as you have +received me?’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said the old man, ‘let us hope that +all is for the best. I am by nature indolent, and, but for +this affliction, should, perhaps, have hardly taken the trouble +to do my duty to my fellow-creatures. I am very, very +indolent,’ said he, slightly glancing towards the clock; +‘therefore let us hope that all is for the best. But, +oh! these trials, they are very hard to bear.’</p> +<h2><!-- page 216--><a name="page216"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 216</span>CHAPTER XXXV</h2> +<p>THE LEAVE-TAKING—SPIRIT OF THE HEARTH—WHAT’S +O’CLOCK</p> +<p>The next morning, having breakfasted with my old friend, I +went into the stable to make the necessary preparations for my +departure; there, with the assistance of a stable lad, I cleaned +and caparisoned my horse, and then, returning into the house, I +made the old female attendant such a present as I deemed would be +some compensation for the trouble I had caused. Hearing +that the old gentleman was in the study, I repaired to him. +‘I am come to take leave of you,’ said I, ‘and +to thank you for all the hospitality which I have received at +your hands.’ The eyes of the old man were fixed +steadfastly on the inscription which I had found him studying on +a former occasion. ‘At length,’ he murmured to +himself. ‘I have it—I think I have it;’ +and then, looking at me, he said: ‘So you are about to +depart?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said I, ‘my horse will be at the +front door in a few minutes. I am glad, however, before I +go, to find that you have mastered the inscription.’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said the old man, ‘I believe I have +mastered it. It seems to consist of some verses relating to +the worship of the Spirit of the Hearth.’</p> +<p>‘What is the Spirit of the Hearth?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘One of the many demons which the Chinese +worship,’ said the old man. ‘They do not +worship one God, but many.’ And then the old man told +me a great many highly-interesting particulars respecting the +demon worship of the Chinese.</p> +<p>After the lapse of at least half an hour I said: ‘I must +not linger here any longer, however willing. Horncastle is +distant, and I wish to be there to-night. Pray can you +inform me what’s o’clock?’</p> +<p>The old man, rising, looked towards the clock which hung on +the side of the room at his left hand, on the farther side of the +table at which he was seated.</p> +<p>‘I am rather short-sighted,’ said I, ‘and +cannot distinguish the numbers at that distance.’</p> +<p>‘It is ten o’clock,’ said the old man; +‘I believe somewhat past.’</p> +<p>‘A quarter, perhaps?’</p> +<p><!-- page 217--><a name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +217</span>‘Yes,’ said the old man, ‘a quarter, +or—’</p> +<p>‘Or?’</p> +<p>‘Seven minutes, or ten minutes past ten.’</p> +<p>‘I do not understand you.’</p> +<p>‘Why, to tell you the truth,’ said the old man, +with a smile, ‘there is one thing to the knowledge of which +I could never exactly attain.’</p> +<p>‘Do you mean to say,’ said I, ‘that you do +not know what’s o’clock?’</p> +<p>‘I can give a guess,’ said the old man, ‘to +within a few minutes.’</p> +<p>‘But you cannot tell the exact moment?’</p> +<p>‘No,’ said the old man.</p> +<p>‘In the name of wonder,’ said I, ‘with that +thing there on the wall continually ticking in your ear, how +comes it that you do not know what’s +o’clock?’</p> +<p>‘Why,’ said the old man, ‘I have contented +myself with giving a tolerably good guess; to do more would have +been too great trouble.’</p> +<p>‘But you have learnt Chinese,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said the old man, ‘I have learnt +Chinese.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said I, ‘I really would counsel you +to learn to know what’s o’clock as soon as +possible. Consider what a sad thing it would be to go out +of the world not knowing what’s o’clock. A +millionth part of the trouble required to learn Chinese would, if +employed, infallibly teach you to know what’s +o’clock.’</p> +<p>‘I had a motive for learning Chinese,’ said the +old man, ‘the hope of appeasing the misery in my +head. With respect to not knowing what’s +o’clock, I cannot see anything particularly sad in the +matter. A man may get through the world very creditably +without knowing what’s o’clock. Yet, upon the +whole, it is no bad thing to know what’s +o’clock—you, of course, do? It would be too +good a joke if two people were to be together, one knowing +Armenian and the other Chinese, and neither knowing what’s +o’clock. I’ll now see you off.’</p> +<h2><!-- page 218--><a name="page218"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 218</span>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> +<p>ARRIVAL AT HORNCASTLE—THE INN AND OSTLERS—THE +GARRET—FIGURE OF A MAN WITH A CANDLE</p> +<p>Leaving the house of the old man who knew Chinese, but could +not tell what was o’clock, I wended my way to Horncastle, +which I reached in the evening of the same day, without having +met any adventure on the way worthy of being marked down in this +very remarkable history.</p> +<p>The town was a small one, seemingly ancient, and was crowded +with people and horses. I proceeded, without delay, to the +inn to which my friend the surgeon had directed me. +‘It is of no use coming here,’ said two or three +ostlers, as I entered the yard—‘all full—no +room whatever;’ whilst one added, in an undertone, +‘That ’ere ain’t a bad-looking +horse.’ ‘I want to see the master of this +inn,’ said I, as I dismounted from the horse. +‘See the master,’ said an ostler—the same who +had paid the negative kind of compliment to the +horse—‘a likely thing, truly. My master is +drinking wine with some of the grand gentry, and can’t be +disturbed for the sake of the like of you.’ ‘I +bring a letter to him,’ said I, pulling out the +surgeon’s epistle. ‘I wish you would deliver it +to him,’ I added, offering a half-crown. ‘Oh, +it’s you, is it?’ said the ostler, taking the letter +and the half-crown. ‘My master will be right glad to +see you. Why you hain’t been here for many a long +year. I’ll carry the note to him at +once.’ And with these words he hurried into the +house. ‘That’s a nice horse, young man,’ +said another ostler. ‘What will you take for +it?’ to which interrogation I made no answer. +‘If you wish to sell him,’ said the ostler, coming up +to me, and winking knowingly, ‘I think I and my partners +might offer you a summut under seventy pounds;’ to which +kind of half-insinuated offer I made no reply, save by winking in +the same kind of knowing manner in which I had observed him +wink. ‘Rather leary!’ said a third +ostler. ‘Well, young man, perhaps you will drink +to-night with me and my partners, when we can talk the matter +over.’ Before I had time to answer, the landlord, a +well-dressed, good-looking man, made his appearance with the +ostler; he bore the letter in his hand. Without glancing at +me, he betook himself <!-- page 219--><a name="page219"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 219</span>at once to consider the horse, going +round him, and observing every point with the utmost +minuteness. At last, after having gone round the horse +three times, he stopped beside me, and keeping his eyes on the +horse, bent his head towards his right shoulder. +‘That horse is worth some money,’ said he, turning +towards me suddenly, and slightly touching me on the arm with the +letter which he held in his hand; to which observation I made no +reply, save by bending my head towards the right shoulder as I +had seen him do. ‘The young man is going to talk to +me and my partners about it to-night,’ said the ostler who +had expressed an opinion that he and his friends might offer me +somewhat under seventy pounds for the animal. +‘Pooh!’ said the landlord, ‘the young man knows +what he is about; in the meantime lead the horse to the reserved +stall, and see well after him. My friend,’ said he, +taking me aside after the ostler had led the animal away, +‘recommends you to me in the strongest manner, on which +account alone I take you and your horse in. I need not +advise you not to be taken in, as I should say, by your look, +that you are tolerably awake; but there are queer hands at +Horncastle at this time, and those fellows of mine, you +understand me—; but I have a great deal to do at present, +so you must excuse me,’ and thereupon went into the +house.</p> +<p>That same evening I was engaged at least two hours in the +stable, in rubbing the horse down, and preparing him for the +exhibition which I intended he should make in the fair on the +following day. The ostler, to whom I had given the +half-crown, occasionally assisted me, though he was too much +occupied by the horses of other guests to devote any length of +time to the service of mine; he more than once repeated to me his +firm conviction that himself and partners could afford to offer +me summut for the horse; and at a later hour when, in compliance +with his invitation, I took a glass of summut with himself and +partners, in a little room surrounded with corn-chests, on which +we sat, both himself and partners endeavoured to impress upon me, +chiefly by means of nods and winks, their conviction that they +could afford to give me summut for the horse, provided I were +disposed to sell him; in return for which intimation, with as +many nods and winks as they had all collectively used, I +endeavoured to impress upon them my conviction that I could get +summut <!-- page 220--><a name="page220"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 220</span>handsomer in the fair than they +might be disposed to offer me, seeing as how—which how I +followed by a wink and a nod, which they seemed perfectly to +understand, one or two of them declaring that if the case was so, +it made a great deal of difference, and that they did not wish to +be any hindrance to me, more particularly as it was quite clear I +had been an ostler like themselves.</p> +<p>It was late at night when I began to think of retiring to +rest. On inquiring if there was any place in which I could +sleep, I was informed that there was a bed at my service, +provided I chose to sleep in a two-bedded room, one of the beds +of which was engaged by another gentleman. I expressed my +satisfaction at this arrangement, and was conducted by a +maid-servant up many pairs of stairs to a garret, in which were +two small beds, in one of which she gave me to understand another +gentleman slept; he had, however, not yet retired to rest; I +asked who he was, but the maid-servant could give me no +information about him, save that he was a highly respectable +gentleman, and a friend of her master’s. Presently, +bidding me good night, she left me with a candle; and I, having +undressed myself and extinguished the light, went to bed. +Notwithstanding the noises which sounded from every part of the +house, I was not slow in falling asleep, being thoroughly +tired. I know not how long I might have been in bed, +perhaps two hours, when I was partially awakened by a light +shining upon my face, whereupon, unclosing my eyes, I perceived +the figure of a man, with a candle in one hand, staring at my +face, whilst with the other hand he held back the curtain of the +bed. As I have said before, I was only partially awakened, +my power of perception was consequently very confused; it +appeared to me, however, that the man was dressed in a green +coat; that he had curly brown or black hair, and that there was +something peculiar in his look. Just as I was beginning to +recollect myself, the curtain dropped, and I heard, or thought I +heard, a voice say, ‘Don’t know the +cove.’ Then there was a rustling like a person +undressing, whereupon being satisfied that it was my fellow +lodger, I dropped asleep, but was awakened again by a kind of +heavy plunge upon the other bed, which caused it to rock and +creak, when I observed that the light had been extinguished, +probably blown out, if I might judge from a rather disagreeable +smell of burnt <!-- page 221--><a name="page221"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 221</span>wick which remained in the room, and +which kept me awake till I heard my companion breathing hard, +when, turning on the other side, I was again once more speedily +in the arms of slumber.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII</h2> +<p>HORNCASTLE FAIR</p> +<p>It had been my intention to be up and doing early on the +following morning, but my slumbers proved so profound, that I did +not wake until about eight; on arising, I again found myself the +sole occupant of the apartment, my more alert companion having +probably risen at a much earlier hour. Having dressed +myself, I descended, and going to the stable, found my horse +under the hands of my friend the ostler, who was carefully +rubbing him down. ‘There ain’t a better horse +in the fair,’ said he to me, ‘and as you are one of +us, and appear to be all right, I’ll give you a piece of +advice—don’t take less than a hundred and fifty for +him; if you mind your hits, you may get it, for I have known two +hundred given in this fair for one no better, if so +good.’ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘thank you +for your advice, which I will take, and, if successful, will give +you “summut” handsome.’ ‘Thank +you,’ said the ostler; ‘and now let me ask whether +you are up to all the ways of this here place?’ +‘I have never been here before,’ said I, ‘but I +have a pair of tolerably sharp eyes in my head.’ +‘That I see you have,’ said the ostler, ‘but +many a body, with as sharp a pair of eyes as yourn, has lost his +horse in this fair, for want of having been here +before. Therefore,’ said he, ‘I’ll +give you a caution or two.’ Thereupon the ostler +proceeded to give me at least half a dozen cautions, only two of +which I shall relate to the reader: the first, not to stop to +listen to what any chance customer might have to say; and the +last—the one on which he appeared to lay most +stress—by no manner of means to permit a Yorkshireman to +get up into the saddle. ‘For,’ said he, +‘if you do, it is three to one that he rides off with the +horse. He can’t help it. Trust a cat amongst +cream, but never trust a Yorkshireman on the saddle of a good +horse. By-the-by,’ he continued, ‘that saddle +of yours is not a particularly good one, no more is <!-- page +222--><a name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +222</span>the bridle. A shabby saddle and a bridle have +more than once spoiled the sale of a good horse. I tell you +what, as you seem a decent kind of a young chap, I’ll lend +you a saddle and bridle of my master’s, almost bran new; he +won’t object I know, as you are a friend of his, only you +must not forget your promise to come down with summut handsome +after you have sold the animal.’</p> +<p>After a slight breakfast I mounted the horse, which, decked +out in his borrowed finery, really looked better by a large sum +of money than on any former occasion. Making my way out of +the yard of the inn, I was instantly in the principal street of +the town, up and down which an immense number of horses were +being exhibited, some led, and others with riders. ‘A +wonderful small quantity of good horses in the fair this +time!’ I heard a stout jockey-looking individual say, who +was staring up the street with his side towards me. +‘Halloo, young fellow!’ said he, a few moments after +I had passed, ‘whose horse is that? Stop! I +want to look at him!’ Though confident that he was +addressing himself to me, I took no notice, remembering the +advice of the ostler, and proceeded up the street. My horse +possessed a good walking step; but walking, as the reader knows, +was not his best pace, which was the long trot, at which I could +not well exercise him in the street, on account of the crowd of +men and animals. However, as he walked along, I could +easily perceive that he attracted no slight attention amongst +those who, by their jockey dress and general appearance, I +imagined to be connoisseurs. I heard various calls to stop, +to none of which I paid the slightest attention. In a few +minutes I found myself out of the town, when, turning round for +the purpose of returning, I found I had been followed by several +of the connoisseur-looking individuals, whom I had observed in +the fair. ‘Now would be the time for a +display,’ thought I; and looking around me I observed two +five-barred gates, one on each side of the road, and fronting +each other. Turning my horse’s head to one, I pressed +my heels to his sides, loosened the reins, and gave an +encouraging cry, whereupon the animal cleared the gate in a +twinkling. Before he had advanced ten yards in the field to +which the gate opened, I had turned him round, and again giving +him cry and rein, I caused him to leap back again into the road, +and still allowing <!-- page 223--><a name="page223"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 223</span>him head, I made him leap the other +gate; and forthwith turning him round, I caused him to leap once +more into the road, where he stood proudly tossing his head, as +much as to say, ‘What more?’ ‘A fine +horse! a capital horse!’ said several of the +connoisseurs. ‘What do you ask for him?’ +‘Too much for any of you to pay,’ said I. +‘A horse like this is intended for other kind of customers +than any of you.’ ‘How do you know that?’ +said one—the very same person whom I had heard complaining +in the street of the paucity of good horses in the fair. +‘Come, let us know what you ask for him?’ +‘A hundred and fifty pounds!’ said I; ‘neither +more nor less.’ ‘Do you call that a great +price?’ said the man. ‘Why, I thought you would +have asked double that amount! You do yourself injustice, +young man.’ ‘Perhaps I do,’ said I; +‘but that’s my affair; I do not choose to take +more.’ ‘I wish you would let me get into the +saddle,’ said the man; ‘the horse knows you, and +therefore shows to more advantage; but I should like to see how +he would move under me, who am a stranger. Will you let me +get into the saddle, young man?’ ‘No,’ +said I, ‘I will not let you get into the +saddle.’ ‘Why not?’ said the man. +‘Lest you should be a Yorkshireman,’ said I; +‘and should run away with the horse.’ +‘Yorkshire?’ said the man; ‘I am from Suffolk; +silly Suffolk—so you need not be afraid of my running away +with the horse.’ ‘Oh! if that’s the +case,’ said I, ‘I should be afraid that the horse +would run away with you; so I will by no means let you +mount.’ ‘Will you let me look in his +mouth?’ said the man. ‘If you please,’ +said I; ‘but I tell you, he’s apt to +bite.’ ‘He can scarcely be a worse bite than +his master,’ said the man, looking into the horse’s +mouth; ‘he’s four off. I say, young man, will +you warrant this horse?’ ‘No,’ said I; +‘I never warrant horses; the horses that I ride can always +warrant themselves.’ ‘I wish you would let me +speak a word to you,’ said he. ‘Just come +aside. It’s a nice horse,’ said he, in a half +whisper, after I had ridden a few paces aside with him. +‘It’s a nice horse,’ said he, placing his hand +upon the pommel of the saddle, and looking up in my face, +‘and I think I can find you a customer. If you would +take a hundred, I think my lord would purchase it, for he has +sent me about the fair to look him up a horse, by which he could +hope to make a honest penny.’ ‘Well,’ +said I, <!-- page 224--><a name="page224"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 224</span>‘and could he not make a +honest penny, and yet give me the price I ask?’ +‘Why,’ said the go-between, ‘a hundred and +fifty pounds is as much as the animal is worth, or nearly so; and +my lord, do you see—’ ‘I see no reason at +all,’ said I, ‘why I should sell the animal for less +than he is worth, in order that his lordship may be benefited by +him; so that if his lordship wants to make an honest penny, he +must find some person who would consider the disadvantage of +selling him a horse for less than it is worth, as counterbalanced +by the honour of dealing with a lord, which I should never do; +but I can’t be wasting my time here. I am going back +to the ---, where if you, or any person, are desirous of +purchasing the horse, you must come within the next half-hour, or +I shall probably not feel disposed to sell him at +all.’ ‘Another word, young man,’ said the +jockey; but without staying to hear what he had to say, I put the +horse to his best trot, and re-entering the town, and threading +my way as well as I could through the press, I returned to the +yard of the inn, where, dismounting, I stood still, holding the +horse by the bridle.</p> +<p>I had been standing in this manner about five minutes, when I +saw the jockey enter the yard, accompanied by another +individual. They advanced directly towards me. +‘Here is my lord come to look at the horse, young +man,’ said the jockey. My lord, <a +name="citation224"></a><a href="#footnote224" +class="citation">[224]</a> as the jockey called him, was a tall +figure of about five-and-thirty. He had on his head a hat +somewhat rusty, and on his back a surtout of blue rather the +worse for wear. His forehead, if not high, was exceedingly +narrow; his eyes were brown, with a rat-like glare in them; the +nose was rather long, and the mouth very wide; the cheek-bones +high, and the cheeks, as to hue and consistency, exhibiting very +much the appearance of a withered red apple; there was a gaunt +expression of hunger in the whole countenance. He had +scarcely glanced at the horse, when drawing in his cheeks, he +thrust out his lips very much after the manner of a baboon, when +he sees a piece of sugar held out towards him. ‘Is +this horse yours?’ said he, suddenly turning towards me, +with a kind of smirk. ‘It’s my horse,’ +said I; ‘are you the person who wishes to make a honest +penny by it?’ ‘How!’ said he, drawing up +his head with a very consequential look, and speaking <!-- page +225--><a name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +225</span>with a very haughty tone, ‘what do you +mean?’ We looked at each other full in the face; +after a few moments the muscles of the mouth of him of the hungry +look began to move violently, the face was puckered into +innumerable wrinkles, and the eyes became half closed. +‘Well,’ said I, ‘have you ever seen me +before? I suppose you are asking yourself that +question.’ ‘Excuse me, sir,’ said he, +dropping his lofty look, and speaking in a very subdued and civil +tone, ‘I have never had the honour of seeing you before, +that is’—said he, slightly glancing at me again, and +again moving the muscles of his mouth—‘no, I have +never seen you before,’ he added, making me a low bow, +‘I have never had that pleasure; my business with you at +present is to inquire the lowest price you are willing to take +for this horse. My agent here informs me that you ask one +hundred and fifty pounds, which I can’t think of giving; +the horse is a showy horse, but look, my dear sir, he has a +defect here, and there in his near fore-leg I observe something +which looks very like a splint—yes, upon my credit,’ +said he, touching the animal, ‘he has a splint, or +something which will end in one. A hundred and fifty +pounds, sir! What could have induced you ever to ask +anything like that for this animal? I protest that, in my +time, I have frequently bought a better for ---. Who are +you, sir? I am in treaty for this horse,’ said he to +a man who had come up whilst he was talking, and was now looking +into the horse’s mouth. ‘Who am I?’ said +the man, still looking into the horse’s +mouth—‘who am I? his lordship asks me. Ah, I +see, close on five,’ said he, releasing the horse’s +jaws, and looking at me. This new comer was a thin, +wiry-made individual, with wiry curling brown hair; his face was +dark, and wore an arch and somewhat roguish expression; upon one +of his eyes was a kind of speck or beam; he might be about forty, +wore a green jockey coat, and held in his hand a black +riding-whip, with a knob of silver wire. As I gazed upon +his countenance it brought powerfully to my mind the face which, +by the light of the candle, I had seen staring over me on the +preceding night, when lying in bed and half asleep. Close +beside him, and seemingly in his company, stood an exceedingly +tall figure, that of a youth, seemingly about one-and-twenty, +dressed in a handsome riding-dress, and wearing on his head a +singular hat, green in <!-- page 226--><a +name="page226"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 226</span>colour, and +with a very high peak. ‘What do you ask for this +horse?’ said he of the green coat, winking at me with the +eye which had a beam in it, whilst the other shone and sparkled +like Mrs. Colonel W---’s Golconda diamond. ‘Who +are you, sir, I demand once more?’ said he of the hungry +look. ‘Who am I? Why who should I be but Jack +Dale, who buys horses for himself and other folk; I want one at +present for this short young gentleman,’ said he, motioning +with his finger to the gigantic youth. ‘Well, +sir,’ said the other, ‘and what business have you to +interfere between me and any purchase I may be disposed to +make?’ ‘Well, then,’ said the other, +‘be quick and purchase the horse, or perhaps I +may.’ ‘Do you think I am to be dictated to by a +fellow of your description?’ said his lordship; +‘begone, or—’ ‘What do you ask for +this horse?’ said the other to me, very coolly. +‘A hundred and fifty,’ said I. ‘I +shouldn’t mind giving it you,’ said he. +‘You will do no such thing,’ said his lordship, +speaking so fast that he almost stuttered. +‘Sir,’ said he to me, ‘I must give you what you +ask. Symmonds, take possession of the animal for me,’ +said he to the other jockey who attended him. ‘You +will please to do no such thing without my consent,’ said +I; ‘I have not sold him.’ ‘I have this +moment told you that I will give you the price you demand,’ +said his lordship, ‘is not that sufficient?’ +‘No,’ said I, ‘there is a proper manner of +doing everything. Had you come forward in a manly and +gentlemanly manner to purchase the horse, I should have been +happy to sell him to you, but after all the fault you have found +with him, I would not sell him to you at any price, so send your +friend to find up another.’ ‘You behave in this +manner, I suppose,’ said his lordship, ‘because this +fellow has expressed a willingness to come to your terms. I +would advise you to be cautious how you trust the animal in his +hands; I think I have seen him before, and could tell +you—’ ‘What can you tell of me?’ +said the other, going up to him, ‘except that I have been a +poor dicky-boy, <a name="citation226a"></a><a +href="#footnote226a" class="citation">[226a]</a> and that now I +am a dealer in horses, and that my father was lagged? <a +name="citation226b"></a><a href="#footnote226b" +class="citation">[226b]</a> that is all you could tell of me, and +that I don’t mind telling myself; but there are two things +they can’t say of me, they can’t say that I am either +a coward, or a screw either, except so far as one who gets <!-- +page 227--><a name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +227</span>his bread by horses may be expected to be; and they +can’t say of me that I ever ate up an ice which a young +woman was waiting for, or that I ever backed out of a +fight. Horse!’ said he, motioning with his finger +tauntingly to the other, ‘what do you want with a horse, +except to take the bread out of the mouth of a poor +man—to-morrow is not the battle of Waterloo, so that you +don’t want to back out of danger by pretending to have hurt +yourself by falling from the creature’s back, my lord of +the white feather—come, none of your fierce looks—I +am not afraid of you.’ In fact, the other had assumed +an expression of the deadliest malice, his teeth were clenched, +his lips quivered and were quite pale; the rat-like eyes +sparkled, and he made a half spring, à la rat, towards his +adversary, who only laughed. Restraining himself, however, +he suddenly turned to his understrapper, saying, ‘Symmonds, +will you see me thus insulted? Go and trounce this +scoundrel; you can, I know.’ ‘Symmonds trounce +me!’ said the other, going up to the person addressed, and +drawing his hand contemptuously over his face; ‘why I beat +Symmonds in this very yard in one round three years ago, +didn’t I, Symmonds?’ said he to the understrapper, +who held down his head, muttering in a surly tone, ‘I +didn’t come here to fight; let every one take his own +part.’ ‘That’s right, Symmonds,’ +said the other, ‘especially every one from whom there is +nothing to be got. I would give you half-a crown for all +the trouble you have had, provided I were not afraid that my Lord +Plume there would get it from you as soon as you leave the yard +together. Come, take yourselves both off; there’s +nothing to be made here.’ Indeed, his lordship seemed +to be of the same opinion, for after a further glance at the +horse, a contemptuous look at me, and a scowl at the jockey, he +turned on his heel, muttering something which sounded like +fellows, and stalked out of the yard, followed by Symmonds.</p> +<p>‘And now, young man,’ said the jockey, or whatever +he was, turning to me with an arch leer, ‘I suppose I may +consider myself as the purchaser of this here animal, for the use +and behoof of this young gentleman,’ making a sign with his +head towards the tall young man by his side. ‘By no +means,’ said I, ‘I am utterly unacquainted with +either of you, and before parting with the horse I must be +satisfied as to the respectability of the purchaser.’ +<!-- page 228--><a name="page228"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +228</span>‘Oh! as to that matter,’ said he, ‘I +have plenty of vouchers for my respectability about me;’ +and, thrusting his hand into his bosom below his waistcoat, he +drew out a large bundle of notes. ‘These are the kind +of things,’ said he, ‘which vouch best for a +man’s respectability.’ ‘Not +always,’ said I; ‘indeed, sometimes these kind of +things need vouchers for themselves.’ The man looked +at me with a peculiar look. ‘Do you mean to say that +these notes are not sufficient notes?’ said he, +‘because if you do I shall take the liberty of thinking +that you are not over civil, and when I thinks a person is not +over and above civil I sometimes takes off my coat; and when my +coat is off—.’ ‘You sometimes knock +people down,’ I added; ‘well, whether you knock me +down or not, I beg leave to tell you that I am a stranger in this +fair, and that I shall part with the horse to nobody who has no +better guarantee for his respectability than a roll of +bank-notes, which may be good or not for what I know, who am not +a judge of such things.’ ‘Oh! if you are a +stranger here,’ said the man, ‘as I believe you are, +never having seen you here before except last night, when I think +I saw you above stairs by the glimmer of a candle—I say, if +you are a stranger, you are quite right to be cautious; queer +things being done in this fair, as nobody knows better than +myself,’ he added, with a leer; ‘but I suppose if the +landlord of the house vouches for me and my notes, you will have +no objection to part with the horse to me?’ +‘None whatever,’ said I, ‘and in the meantime +the horse can return to the stable.’</p> +<p>Thereupon I delivered the horse to my friend the ostler. +The landlord of the house, on being questioned by me as to the +character and condition of my new acquaintance, informed me that +he was a respectable horsedealer, and an intimate friend of his, +whereupon the purchase was soon brought to a satisfactory +conclusion.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2> +<p>HIGH DUTCH</p> +<p>It was evening: and myself and the two acquaintances I had +made in the fair—namely, the jockey and the tall +foreigner—sat in a large upstairs room, which looked into a +court; we had dined with several people connected <!-- page +229--><a name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +229</span>with the fair at a long table d’hôte; they +had now departed, and we sat at a small side-table with wine and +a candle before us; both my companions had pipes in their +mouths—the jockey a common pipe, and the foreigner, one, +the syphon of which made of some kind of wood, was at least six +feet long, and the bowl of which, made of a white kind of +substance like porcelain, and capable of holding nearly an ounce +of tobacco, rested on the ground. The jockey frequently +emptied and replenished his glass; the foreigner sometimes raised +his to his lips, for no other purpose seemingly than to moisten +them, as he never drained his glass. As for myself, though +I did not smoke, I had a glass before me, from which I sometimes +took a sip. The room, notwithstanding the window was flung +open, was in general so filled with smoke, chiefly that which was +drawn from the huge bowl of the foreigner, that my companions and +I were frequently concealed from each other’s eyes. +The conversation, which related entirely to the events of the +fair, was carried on by the jockey and myself, the foreigner, who +appeared to understand the greater part of what we said, +occasionally putting in a few observations in broken +English. At length the jockey, after the other had made +some ineffectual attempts to express something intelligibly which +he wished to say, observed: ‘Isn’t it a pity that so +fine a fellow as meinheer, and so clever a fellow too, as I +believe him to be, is not a little better master of our +language?’</p> +<p>‘Is the gentleman a German?’ said I; ‘if so +I can interpret for him anything he wishes to say.’</p> +<p>‘The deuce you can,’ said the jockey, taking his +pipe out of his mouth, and staring at me through the smoke.</p> +<p>‘Ha! you speak German,’ vociferated the foreigner +in that language. ‘By Isten, I am glad of it! I +wanted to say—’ And here he said in German what +he wished to say, and which was of no great importance, and which +I translated into English.</p> +<p>‘Well, if you don’t put me out,’ said the +jockey; ‘what language is that—Dutch?’</p> +<p>‘High Dutch,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘High Dutch, and you speak High Dutch; why I had booked +you for as great an ignoramus as myself, who can’t +write—no, nor distinguish in a book a great A from a +bull’s foot.’</p> +<p><!-- page 230--><a name="page230"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +230</span>‘A person may be a very clever man,’ said +I; ‘no, not a clever man, for clever signifies clerkly, and +a clever man one who is able to read and write, and entitled to +the benefit of his clergy or clerkship; but a person may be a +very acute person without being able to read or write. I +never saw a more acute countenance than your own.’</p> +<p>‘No soft soap,’ said the jockey, ‘for I +never uses any. However, thank you for your information; I +have hitherto thought myself a ’nition clever fellow, but +from henceforth shall consider myself just the contrary, and +only—what’s the word?—confounded +’cute.’</p> +<p>‘Just so,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said the jockey, ‘as you say you can +speak High Dutch, I should like to hear you and master six foot +six fire away at each other.’</p> +<p>‘I cannot speak German,’ said I, ‘but I can +understand tolerably well what others say in it.’</p> +<p>‘Come, no backing out,’ said the jockey, +‘let’s hear you fire away for the glory of Old +England.’</p> +<p>‘Then you are a German?’ said I, in German, to the +foreigner.</p> +<p>‘That will do,’ said the jockey, ‘keep it +up.’</p> +<p>‘A German!’ said the tall foreigner. +‘No, I thank God that I do not belong to the stupid +sluggish Germanic race, but to a braver, taller, and handsomer +people;’ here taking the pipe out of his mouth, he stood up +proudly erect, so that his head nearly touched the ceiling of the +room, then reseating himself, and again putting the syphon to his +lips, he added, ‘I am a Magyar.’</p> +<p>‘What is that?’ said I.</p> +<p>The foreigner looked at me for a moment, somewhat +contemptuously, through the smoke, then said, in a voice of +thunder: ‘A Hungarian!’</p> +<p>‘What a voice the chap has when he pleases!’ +interposed the jockey; ‘what is he saying?’</p> +<p>‘Merely that he is a Hungarian,’ said I, but I +added, ‘the conversation of this gentleman and myself in a +language which you can’t understand must be very tedious to +you, we had better give it up.’</p> +<p>‘Keep on with it,’ said the jockey, ‘I shall +go on listening very contentedly till I fall asleep, no bad thing +to do at most times.’</p> +<h2><!-- page 231--><a name="page231"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 231</span>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2> +<p>THE HUNGARIAN <a name="citation231"></a><a href="#footnote231" +class="citation">[231]</a></p> +<p>‘Then you are a countryman of Tekeli, and of the queen +who made the celebrated water,’ said I, speaking to the +Hungarian in German, which I was able to do tolerably well, owing +to my having translated the Publisher’s philosophy into +that language, always provided I did not attempt to say much at a +time.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Ah! you have heard of Tekeli, and of +L’eau de la Reine d’Hongrie. How is that?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. I have seen a play acted, founded on the +exploits of Tekeli, and have read Pigault Le Brun’s +beautiful romance, entitled the ‘Barons of Felsheim,’ +in which he is mentioned. As for the water, I have heard a +lady, the wife of a master of mine, speak of it.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Was she handsome?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Very.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Did she possess the water?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. I should say not; for I have heard her +express a great curiosity about it.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Was she growing old?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Of course not; but why do you put all +these questions?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Because the water is said to make +people handsome, and, above all, to restore to the aged the +beauty of their youth. Well! Tekeli was my +countryman, and I have the honour of having some of the blood of +the Tekelis in my veins, but with respect to the queen, pardon me +if I tell you that she was not a Hungarian; she was a +Pole—Ersebet by name, daughter of Vladislaus Locticus, King +of Poland; she was the fourth spouse of Caroly the Second, King +of the Magyar country, who married her in the year 1320. +She was a great woman and celebrated politician, though at +present chiefly known by her water.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. How came she to invent it?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. If her own account may be believed, +she did not invent it. After her death, as I have read in +Florentius of Buda, there was found a statement of the manner in +which she came by it, written in her own hand, <!-- page 232--><a +name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 232</span>on a +fly-leaf of her breviary, to the following effect: Being +afflicted with a grievous disorder at the age of seventy-two, she +received the medicine which was called her water, from an old +hermit whom she never saw before or afterwards; it not only cured +her, but restored to her all her former beauty, so that the King +of Poland fell in love with her, and made her an offer of +marriage, which she refused for the glory of God, from whose holy +angel she believed she had received the water. The receipt +for making it and directions for using it, were also found on the +fly-leaf. The principal component parts were burnt wine and +rosemary, passed through an alembic; a drachm of it was to be +taken once a week, ‘etelbenn vagy italbann,’ in the +food or the drink, early in the morning, and the cheeks were to +be moistened with it every day. The effects, according to +the statement, were wonderful—and perhaps they were upon +the queen; but whether the water has been equally efficacious on +other people, is a point which I cannot determine. I should +wish to see some old woman who has been restored to youthful +beauty by the use of L’eau de la Reine d’Hongrie.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Perhaps, if you did, the old gentlewoman +would hardly be so ingenuous as the queen. But who are the +Hungarians—descendants of Attila and his people?</p> +<p>The Hungarian shook his head, and gave me to understand that +he did not believe that his nation were the descendants of Attila +and his people, though he acknowledged that they were probably of +the same race. Attila and his armies, he said, came and +disappeared in a very mysterious manner, and that nothing could +be said with positiveness about them; that the people now known +as Magyars first made their appearance in Muscovy in the year +884, under the leadership of Almus, called so from Alom, which, +in the Hungarian language, signifies a dream; his mother, before +his birth, having dreamt that the child with which she was +enceinte would be the father of a long succession of kings, +which, in fact, was the case; that after beating the Russians he +entered Hungary, and coming to a place called Ungvar, from which +many people believed that modern Hungary derived its name, he +captured it, and held in it a grand festival, which lasted four +days, at the end of which time he resigned the leadership of the +Magyars to his son Arpad. This Arpad and his Magyars +utterly subdued Pannonia—that is, Hungary <!-- page +233--><a name="page233"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +233</span>and Transylvania, wresting the government of it from +the Sclavonian tribes who inhabited it, and settling down amongst +them as conquerors! After giving me this information, the +Hungarian exclaimed with much animation: ‘A goodly country +that which they had entered on, consisting of a plain surrounded +by mountains, some of which intersect it here and there, with +noble rapid rivers, the grandest of which is the mighty Dunau; a +country with tiny volcanoes, casting up puffs of smoke and steam, +and from which hot springs arise, good for the sick; with many +fountains, some of which are so pleasant to the taste as to be +preferred to wine; with a generous soil which, warmed by a +beautiful sun, is able to produce corn, grapes, and even the +Indian weed; in fact, one of the finest countries in the world, +which even a Spaniard would pronounce to be nearly equal to +Spain. Here they rested—meditating, however, fresh +conquests. Oh, the Magyars soon showed themselves a mighty +people. Besides Hungary and Transylvania, they subdued +Bulgaria and Bosnia, and the land of Tot, now called +Sclavonia. The generals of Zoltan, the son of Arpad, led +troops of horsemen to the banks of the Rhine. One of them, +at the head of a host, besieged Constantinople. It was then +that Botond engaged in combat with a Greek of gigantic stature, +who came out of the city and challenged the two best men in the +Magyar army. “I am the feeblest of the +Magyars,” said Botond, “but I will kill thee;” +and he performed his word, having previously given a proof of the +feebleness of his arm by striking his battle-axe through the +brazen gate, making a hole so big that a child of five years old +could walk through it.’</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Of what religion were the old +Hungarians?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. They had some idea of a Supreme Being, +whom they called Isten, which word is still used by the Magyars +for God; but their chief devotion was directed to sorcerers and +soothsayers, something like the Schamans of the Siberian +steppes. They were converted to Christianity chiefly +through the instrumentality of Istvan or Stephen, called after +his death St. Istvan, who ascended the throne in the year one +thousand. He was born in heathenesse, and his original name +was Vojk: he was the first kiraly, or king of the Magyars. +Their former leaders had been called fejedelmek, or dukes. +The Magyar language has properly no term either for king or <!-- +page 234--><a name="page234"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +234</span>house. Kiraly is a word derived from the Sclaves; +haz, or house, from the Germans, who first taught them to build +houses, their original dwellings having been tilted waggons.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Many thanks for your account of the great +men of your country.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. The great men of my country! I +have only told you of the—. Well, I acknowledge that +Almus and Arpad were great men, but Hungary has produced many +greater; I will not trouble you by recapitulating all, but there +is one name I cannot forbear mentioning—but you have heard +it—even at Horncastle, the name of Hunyadi must be +familiar.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. It may be so, though I rather doubt it; +but, however that may be, I confess my ignorance. I have +never, until this moment, heard of the name of Hunyadi.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Not of Hunyadi Janos, not of Hunyadi +John—for the genius of our language compels us to put a +man’s Christian name after his other; perhaps you have +heard of the name of Corvinus?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Yes, I have heard of the name of +Corvinus.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. By my God, I am glad of it; I thought +our hammer of destruction, our thunderbolt, whom the Greeks +called Achilles, must be known to the people of Horncastle. +Well, Hunyadi and Corvinus are the same.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Corvinus means the man of the crow, or +raven. I suppose that your John, when a boy, climbed up to +a crow or raven’s nest, and stole the young; a bold feat, +well befitting a young hero.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. By Isten, you are an acute guesser, a +robbery there was, but it was not Hunyadi who robbed the raven, +but the raven who robbed Hunyadi.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. How was that?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. In this manner: Hunyadi, according to +tradition, was the son of King Sigmond, by a peasant’s +daughter. The king saw and fell in love with her, whilst +marching against the vaivode of Wallachia. He had some +difficulty in persuading her to consent to his wishes, and she +only yielded at last, on the king making her a solemn promise +that, in the event of her becoming with child by him, he would +handsomely provide for her and the infant. The king +proceeded on his expedition; and on his returning in triumph from +Wallachia, again saw the girl, who informed him that she was +enceinte by him; <!-- page 235--><a name="page235"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 235</span>the king was delighted with the +intelligence, gave the girl money, and at the same time a ring, +requesting her, if she brought forth a son, to bring the ring to +Buda with the child, and present it to him. When her time +was up, the peasant’s daughter brought forth a fair son, +who was baptized by the name of John. After some time the +young woman communicated the whole affair to her elder brother, +whose name was Gaspar, and begged him to convey her and the child +to the king at Buda. The brother consented, and both set +out, taking the child with them. On their way, the woman, +wanting to wash her clothes, laid the child down, giving it the +king’s ring to play with. A raven, who saw the +glittering ring, came flying, and plucking it out of the +child’s hand, carried it up into a tree; the child suddenly +began to cry, and the mother, hearing it, left her washing, and +running to the child, forthwith missed the ring, but hearing the +raven croak in the tree, she lifted up her eyes, and saw it with +the ring in its beak. The woman, in great terror, called +her brother, and told him what had happened, adding, that she +durst not approach the king if the raven took away the +ring. Gaspar, seizing his cross-bow and quiver, ran to the +tree, where the raven was yet with the ring, and discharged an +arrow at it, but, being in a great hurry, he missed it; with his +second shot he was more lucky, for he hit the raven in the +breast, which, together with the ring, fell to the ground. +Taking up the ring, they went on their way, and shortly arrived +at Buda. One day, as the king was walking after dinner in +his outer hall, the woman appeared before him with the child, +and, showing him the ring, said, ‘Mighty lord! behold this +token! and take pity upon me and your own son.’ King +Sigmond took the child and kissed it, and, after a pause, said to +the mother, ‘You have done right in bringing me the boy; I +will take care of you, and make him a nobleman.’ The +king was as good as his word, he provided for the mother, caused +the boy to be instructed in knightly exercises, and made him a +present of the town of Hunyad, in Transylvania, on which account +he was afterwards called Hunyadi, and gave him, as an armorial +sign, a raven bearing a ring in his beak.</p> +<p>Such, O young man of Horncastle! is the popular account of the +birth of the great captain of Hungary, as related by Florentius +of Buda. There are other accounts <!-- page 236--><a +name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 236</span>of his +birth, which is, indeed, involved in much mystery, and of the +reason of his being called Corvinus, but as this is the most +pleasing, and is, upon the whole, founded on quite as good +evidence as the others, I have selected it for recitation.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. I heartily thank you, but you must tell +me something more of Hunyadi. You call him your great +captain; what did he do?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Do! what no other man of his day could +have done. He broke the power of the Turk when he was +coming to overwhelm Europe. From the blows inflicted by +Hunyadi, the Turk never thoroughly recovered; he has been +frequently worsted in latter times, but none but Hunyadi could +have routed the armies of Amurath and Mahomed the Second.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. How was it that he had an opportunity of +displaying his military genius?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. I can hardly tell you, but his valour +soon made him famous; King Albert made him Ban of Szorenyi. +He became eventually waivode of Transylvania, and Governor of +Hungary. His first grand action was the defeat of the +Bashaw Isack; and though himself surprised and routed at St. +Imre, he speedily regained his prestige by defeating the Turks, +with enormous slaughter, killing their leader, Mezerbeg: and +subsequently, at the Battle of the Iron Gates, he destroyed +ninety thousand Turks, sent by Amurath to avenge the late +disgrace. It was then that the Greeks called him +Achilles.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. He was not always successful.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Who could be always successful against +the early Turk? He was defeated in the battle in which King +Vladislaus lost his life, but his victories outnumbered his +defeats threefold. His grandest victory—perhaps the +grandest ever achieved by man—was over the terrible Mahomed +the Second, who, after the taking of Constantinople in 1453, +said, ‘One God in Heaven—one king on earth;’ +and marched to besiege Belgrade at the head of one hundred and +fifty thousand men; swearing, by the beard of the prophet, +‘That he would sup within it ere two months were +elapsed.’ He brought with him dogs to eat the bodies +of the Christians whom he should take or slay—so says +Florentius. Hear what he also says: The Turk sat down +before the town towards <!-- page 237--><a +name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 237</span>the end of +June, 1454, covering the Dunau and Szava with ships; and on the +4th of July he began to cannonade Belgrade with canons +twenty-five feet long, whose roar could be heard at Szeged, a +distance of twenty-four leagues, at which place Hunyadi had +assembled his forces. Hunyadi had been able to raise only +fifteen thousand of well-armed and disciplined men, though he had +with him vast bands of people, who called themselves Soldiers of +the Cross, but who consisted of inexperienced lads from school, +peasants, and hermits, armed with swords, slings, and +clubs. Hunyadi, undismayed by the great disparity between +his forces and those of the Turk, advanced to relieve Belgrade, +and encamped at Szalankemen with his army. There he saw at +once, that his first step must be to attack the flotilla; he +therefore privately informed Szilagy, his wife’s brother, +who at that time defended Belgrade, that it was his intention to +attack the ships of the Turks on the 14th day of July in front, +and requested his co-operation in the rear. On the 14th +came on the commencement of the great battle of Belgrade, between +Hunyadi and the Turk. Many days it lasted.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Describe it.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. I cannot. One has described it +well—Florentius, of Buda. I can only repeat a few of +his words: ‘On the appointed day, Hunyadi, with two hundred +vessels, attacked the Turkish flotilla in front, whilst Szilagy, +with forty vessels, filled with the men of Belgrade, assailed it +in the rear; striving for the same object, they sunk many of the +Turkish vessels, captured seventy-four, burnt many, and utterly +annihilated the whole fleet. After this victory, Hunyadi, +with his army, entered Belgrade, to the great joy of the +Magyars. But though the force of Mahomed upon the water was +destroyed, that upon the land remained entire; and with this, +during six days and nights, he attacked the city without +intermission, destroying its walls in many parts. His last +and most desperate assault was made on the 21st day of +July. Twice did the Turks gain possession of the outer +town, and twice was it retaken with indescribable +slaughter. The next day the combat raged without ceasing +till mid-day, when the Turks were again beaten out of the town, +and pursued by the Magyars to their camp. There the combat +was renewed, both sides <!-- page 238--><a +name="page238"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 238</span>displaying +the greatest obstinacy, until Mahomed received a great wound over +his left eye. The Turks then, turning their faces, fled, +leaving behind them three hundred cannon in the hands of the +Christians, and more than twenty-four thousand slain on the field +of battle.’</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. After that battle, I suppose Hunyadi +enjoyed his triumphs in peace?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. In the deepest, for he shortly +died. His great soul quitted his body, which was exhausted +by almost superhuman exertions, on the 11th of August, +1456. Shortly before he died, according to Florentius, a +comet appeared, sent, as it would seem, to announce his coming +end. The whole Christian world mourned his loss. The +Pope ordered the cardinals to perform a funeral ceremony at Rome +in his honour. His great enemy himself grieved for him, and +pronounced his finest eulogium. When Mahomed the Second +heard of his death, he struck his head for some time against the +ground without speaking. Suddenly he broke silence with +these words, ‘Notwithstanding he was my enemy, yet do I +bewail his loss; since the sun has shone in heaven, no Prince had +ever yet such a man.’</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. What was the name of his Prince?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Laszlo the Fifth; who, though under +infinite obligations to Hunyadi, was anything but grateful to +him; for he once consented to a plan which was laid to +assassinate him, contrived by his mortal enemy Ulrik, Count of +Cilejia; and after Hunyadi’s death, caused his eldest son, +Hunyadi Laszlo, to be executed on a false accusation, and +imprisoned his younger son, Matyas, who, on the death of Laszlo, +was elected by the Magyars to be their king, on the 24th of +January, 1458.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Was this Matyas a good king?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Was Matyas Corvinus a good king? +O young man of Horncastle! he was the best and greatest that +Hungary ever possessed, and, after his father, the most renowned +warrior—some of our best laws were framed by him. It +was he who organized the Hussar force, and it was he who took +Vienna. Why does your Government always send fools to +represent it at Vienna?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. I really cannot say; but with respect to +the Hussar force, is it of Hungarian origin?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Its name shows its origin. Huz, +in Hungarian, is twenty, and the Hussar force is so called +because <!-- page 239--><a name="page239"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 239</span>it is formed of twentieths. A +law was issued, by which it was ordered that every Hungarian +nobleman, out of every twenty dependants, should produce a +well-equipped horseman, and with him proceed to the field of +battle.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Why did Matyas capture Vienna?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Because the Emperor Frederick took +part against him with the King of Poland, who claimed the kingdom +of Hungary for his son, and had also assisted the Turk. He +captured it in the year 1487, but did not survive his triumph +long, expiring there in the year 1490. He was so veracious +a man, that it was said of him, after his death, ‘Truth +died with Matyas.’ It might be added, that the glory +of Hungary departed with him. I wish to say nothing more +connected with Hungarian history.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Another word. Did Matyas leave a +son?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. A natural son, Hunyadi John, called so +after the great man. He would have been universally +acknowledged as King of Hungary but for the illegitimacy of his +birth. As it was, Ulaszlo, the son of the King of Poland, +afterwards called Ulaszlo the Second, who claimed Hungary as +being descended from Albert, was nominated king by a great +majority of the Magyar electors. Hunyadi John for some time +disputed the throne with him; there was some bloodshed, but +Hunyadi John eventually submitted, and became the faithful +captain of Ulaszlo, notwithstanding that the Turk offered to +assist him with an army of two hundred thousand men.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Go on.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. To what? Tché Drak, to +the Mohacs Veszedelem. Ulaszlo left a son, Lajos the +Second, born without skin, as it is said, certainly without a +head. He, contrary to the advice of all his wise +counsellors—and amongst them was Batory Stephen, who became +eventually King of Poland—engaged, with twenty-five +thousand men, at Mohacs, Soliman the Turk, who had an army of two +hundred thousand. Drak! the Magyars were annihilated, King +Lajos disappeared with his heavy horse and armour in a bog. +We call that battle, which was fought on the 29th of August, +1526, the destruction of Mohacs, but it was the destruction of +Hungary.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. You have twice used the word drak, what +is the meaning of it? Is it Hungarian?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. No! it belongs to the Mad +Wallacks. They <!-- page 240--><a name="page240"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 240</span>are a nation of madmen on the other +side of Transylvania. Their country was formerly a fief of +Hungary, like Moldavia, which is inhabited by the same race, who +speak the same language, and are equally mad.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. What language do they speak?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. A strange mixture of Latin and +Sclavonian—they themselves being a mixed race of Romans and +Sclavonians. Trajan sent certain legions to form military +colonies in Dacia; and the present Wallacks and Moldavians are, +to a certain extent, the descendants of the Roman soldiers, who +married the women of the country, I say to a certain extent, for +the Sclavonian element both in blood and language, seems to +prevail.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. And what is drak?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Dragon; which the Wallacks use for +devil. The term is curious, as it shows that the old Romans +looked upon the dragon as an infernal being.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. You have been in Wallachia?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. I have, and glad I was to get out of +it. I hate the mad Wallacks.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Why do you call them mad?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. They are always drinking or +talking. I never saw a Wallachian eating or silent. +They talk like madmen, and drink like madmen. In drinking +they use small phials, the contents of which they pour down their +throats. When I first went amongst them I thought the whole +nation was under a course of physic, but the terrible jabber of +their tongues soon undeceived me. Drak was the first word I +heard on entering Dacia, and the last when I left it. The +Moldaves, if possible, drink more, and talk more than the +Wallachians.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. It is singular enough that the only +Moldavian I have known could not speak. I suppose he was +born dumb.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. A Moldavian born dumb! Excuse +me, the thing is impossible; all Moldavians are born +talking! I have known a Moldavian who could not speak, but +he was not born dumb. His master, an Armenian, snipped off +part of his tongue at Adrianople. He drove him mad with his +jabber. He is now in London, where his master has a +house. I have letters of credit on the house: the clerk +paid me money in London, the master was absent; the money which +you received for the horse belonged to that house.</p> +<p><!-- page 241--><a name="page241"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +241</span><i>Myself</i>. Another word with respect to +Hungarian history.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Drak! I wish to say nothing more +about Hungarian history.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. The Turk, I suppose, after Mohacs, got +possession of Hungary?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Not exactly. The Turk, upon the +whole, showed great moderation; not so the Austrian. +Ferdinand the First claimed the crown of Hungary as being the +cousin of Maria, widow of Lajos; he found too many disposed to +support him. His claim, however, was resisted by Zapolya +John, a Hungarian magnate, who caused himself to be elected +King. Hungary was for a long time devastated by the wars +between the partisans of Zapolya and Ferdinand. At last +Zapolya called in the Turk. Soliman behaved generously to +him, and after his death befriended his young son, and Isabella +his Queen. Eventually the Turks became masters of +Transylvania and the greater part of Hungary. They were not +bad masters, and had many friends in Hungary, especially amongst +those of the reformed faith, to which I have myself the honour of +belonging; those of the reformed faith found the Mufti more +tolerant than the Pope. Many Hungarians went with the Turks +to the siege of Vienna, whilst Tekeli and his horsemen guarded +Hungary for them. A gallant enterprise, that siege of +Vienna—the last great effort of the Turk. It failed, +and he speedily lost Hungary, but he did not sneak from Hungary +like a frightened hound. His defence of Buda will not be +soon forgotten, where Apty Basha, the governor, died fighting +like a lion in the breach. There’s many a Hungarian +would prefer Stamboul to Vienna. Why does your Government +always send fools to represent it at Vienna?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. I have already told you that I cannot +say. What became of Tekeli?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. When Hungary was lost he retired with +the Turks into Turkey. Count Renoncourt, in his Memoirs, +mentions having seen him at Adrianople. The Sultan, in +consideration of the services which he had rendered to the Moslem +in Hungary, made over the revenues of certain towns and districts +for his subsistence. The count says that he always went +armed to the teeth, and was always attended by a young female +dressed in male attire, who had followed him in his wars, <!-- +page 242--><a name="page242"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +242</span>and had more than once saved his life. His end is +wrapped in mystery, I—whose greatest boast, next to being a +Hungarian, is to be of his blood—know nothing of his +end.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Allow me to ask who you are.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Egy szegeny Magyar Nemes ember, a poor +Hungarian nobleman, son of one yet poorer. I was born in +Transylvania, not far to the west of good Coloscvar. I +served some time in the Austrian army as a noble Hussar, but am +now equerry to a great nobleman, to whom I am distantly +related. In his service I have travelled far and wide, +buying horses. I have been in Russia and Turkey, and am now +at Horncastle, where I have had the satisfaction to meet with +you, and to buy your horse, which is, in truth, a noble +brute.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. For a soldier and equerry you seem to +know a great deal of the history of your country.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. All I know is derived from Florentius +of Buda, whom we call Budai Ferentz. He was professor of +Greek and Latin at the Reformed College of Debreczen, where I was +educated; he wrote a work entitled ‘Magyar Polgari +Lexicon,’ Lives of Great Hungarian Citizens. He was +dead before I was born, but I found his book, when I was a child, +in the solitary home of my father, which stood on the confines of +a puszta, or wilderness, and that book I used to devour in winter +nights when the winds were whistling around the house. Oh! +how my blood used to glow at the descriptions of Magyar valour, +and likewise of Turkish; for Florentius has always done justice +to the Turk. Many a passage similar to this have I got by +heart; it is connected with the battle on the plain of Rigo, +which Hunyadi lost: ‘The next day, which was Friday, as the +two armies were drawn up in battle array, a Magyar hero, riding +forth, galloped up and down, challenging the Turks to single +combat. Then came out to meet him the son of a renowned +bashaw of Asia. Rushing upon each other, both broke their +lances, but the Magyar hero and his horse rolled over upon the +ground, for the Turks had always the best horses.’ O +young man of Horncastle! if ever you learn Hungarian—and +learn it assuredly you will after what I have told you—read +the book of Florentius of Buda, even if you go to Hungary to get +it, for you will scarcely find it elsewhere, and even there with +difficulty, for the book has <!-- page 243--><a +name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 243</span>been long +out of print. It describes the actions of the great men of +Hungary down to the middle of the sixteenth century, and besides +being written in the purest Hungarian, has the merit of having +for its author a professor of the Reformed College at +Debreczen.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. I will go to Hungary rather than not read +it. I am glad that the Turk beat the Magyar. When I +used to read the ballads of Spain I always sided with the Moor +against the Christian.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. It was a drawn fight after all, for +the terrible horse of the Turk presently flung his own master, +whereupon the two champions returned to their respective armies; +but in the grand conflict which ensued the Turks beat the +Magyars, pursuing them till night, and striking them on the necks +with their scymetars. The Turk is a noble fellow; I should +wish to be a Turk, were I not a Magyar.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. The Turk always keeps his word, I am +told.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Which the Christian very seldom does, +and even the Hungarian does not always. In 1444 Ulaszlo +made, at Szeged, peace with Amurath for ten years, which he swore +with an oath to keep, but at the instigation of the Pope Julian +he broke it, and induced his great captain, Hunyadi John, to +share in the perjury. The consequence was the Battle of +Varna, of the 10th of November, in which Hunyadi was routed, and +Ulaszlo slain. Did you ever hear his epitaph? It is +both solemn and edifying:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Romulidæ Cannas ego Varnam clade +notavi;<br /> +Discite mortales non temerare fidem:<br /> +Me nisi Pontifices jussissent rumpere fœdus<br /> +Non ferret Scythicum Pannonis ora jugum.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Halloo!’ said the jockey, starting up from a doze +in which he had been indulging for the last hour, his head +leaning upon his breast; ‘what is that? That’s +not high Dutch; I bargained for high Dutch, and I left you +speaking what I believed to be high Dutch, as it sounded very +much like the language of horses, as I have been told high Dutch +does; but as for what you are speaking now, whatever you may call +it, it sounds more like the language of another kind of +animal. I suppose you want to insult me because I was once +a dicky-boy.’</p> +<p>‘Nothing of the kind,’ said I. ‘The +gentleman was making a quotation in Latin.’</p> +<p><!-- page 244--><a name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +244</span>‘Latin, was it?’ said the jockey; +‘that alters the case. Latin is genteel, and I have +sent my eldest boy to an academy to learn it. Come, let us +hear you fire away in Latin,’ he continued, proceeding to +re-light his pipe, which before going to sleep he had laid on the +table.</p> +<p>‘If you wish to follow the discourse in Latin,’ +said the Hungarian, in very bad English, ‘I can oblige you; +I learned to speak very good Latin in the College of +Debreczen.’</p> +<p>‘That’s more,’ said I, ‘than I have +done in the colleges where I have been; in any little +conversation which we may yet have I wish you would use +German.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said the jockey, taking a whiff, +‘make your conversation as short as possible, whether in +Latin or Dutch, for, to tell you the truth, I am rather tired of +merely playing listener.’</p> +<p>‘You were saying you had been in Russia,’ said I; +‘I believe the Russians are part of the Sclavonian +race.’</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Yes, part of the great Sclavonian +family; one of the most numerous races in the world. The +Russians themselves are very numerous—would that the +Magyars could boast of the fifth part of their number!</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. What is the number of the Magyars?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Barely four millions. We came a +tribe of Tartars into Europe and settled down amongst +Sclavonians, whom we conquered, but who never coalesced with +us. The Austrian at present plays in Pannonia the +Sclavonian against us and us against the Sclavonian; but the +downfall of the Austrian is at hand; they, like us, are not a +numerous people.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Who will bring about his downfall?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. The Russian. The Rysckie Tsar +will lead his people forth, all the Sclavonians will join him, he +will conquer all before him.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Are the Russians good soldiers?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. They are stubborn and unflinching to +an astonishing degree, and their fidelity to their Tsar is quite +admirable. See how the Russians behaved at Plescova, in +Livonia, in the old time, against our great Batory Stephen; they +defended the place till it was a heap of rubbish, and mark how +they behaved after they had been made prisoners. Stephen +offered them two alternatives: to enter into his service, in +which they would have good <!-- page 245--><a +name="page245"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 245</span>pay, +clothing, and fair treatment; or to be allowed to return to +Russia. Without the slightest hesitation they, to a man, +chose the latter, though well aware that their beloved Tsar, the +cruel Ivan Basilowitt, would put them all to death, amidst +tortures the most horrible, for not doing what was +impossible—preserving the town.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. You speak Russian?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. A little. I was born in the +vicinity of a Sclavonian tribe; the servants of our house were +Sclavonians, and I early acquired something of their language, +which differs not much from that of Russia. When in that +country I quickly understood what was said.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Have the Russians any literature?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Doubtless; but I am not acquainted +with it, as I do not read their language; but I know something of +their popular tales, to which I used to listen in their +izbushkas; a principal personage in these is a creation quite +original—called Baba Yaga.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Who is Baba Yaga? <a +name="citation245"></a><a href="#footnote245" +class="citation">[245]</a></p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. A female phantom, who is described as +hurrying along the puszta, or steppe, in a mortar, pounding with +a pestle at a tremendous rate, and leaving a long trace on the +ground behind her with her tongue, which is three yards long, and +with which she seizes any men and horses coming in her way, +swallowing them down into her capacious belly. She has +several daughters, very handsome, and with plenty of money. +Happy the young Mujik who catches and marries one of them, for +they make excellent wives.</p> +<p>‘Many thanks,’ said I, ‘for the information +you have afforded me. This is rather poor wine,’ I +observed as I poured out a glass. ‘I suppose you have +better wine in Hungary?’</p> +<p>‘Yes we have better wine in Hungary. First of all +there is Tokay, the most celebrated in the world, though I +confess I prefer the wine of Eger—Tokay is too +sweet.’</p> +<p>‘Have you ever been at Tokay?’</p> +<p>‘I have,’ said the Hungarian.</p> +<p>‘What kind of place is Tokay?’</p> +<p>‘A small town situated on the Tyzza, a rapid river +descending from the north; the Tokay Mountain is just behind the +town, which stands on the right bank. The <!-- page +246--><a name="page246"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +246</span>top of the mountain is called Kopacs Teto, or the bald +tip; the hill is so steep that during thunder-storms pieces of it +frequently fall down upon the roofs of the houses. It was +planted with vines by King Lajos, who ascended the throne in the +year 1342. The best wine called Tokay is, however, not made +at Tokay, but at Kassau, two leagues farther into the +Carpathians, of which Tokay is a spur. If you wish to drink +the best Tokay, you must go to Vienna, to which place all the +prime is sent. For the third time I ask you, O young man of +Horncastle! why does your Government always send fools to +represent it at Vienna?’</p> +<p>‘And for the third time I tell you, O son of Almus! that +I cannot say; perhaps, however, to drink the Tokay wine. +Fools, you know, always like sweet things.’</p> +<p>‘Good,’ said the Hungarian; ‘it must be so, +and when I return to Hungary I will state to my countrymen your +explanation of a circumstance which has frequently caused them +great perplexity. Oh! the English are a clever people, and +have a deep meaning in all they do. What a vision of deep +policy opens itself to my view: they do not send their fool to +Vienna in order to gape at processions, and to bow and scrape at +a base Papist court, but to drink at the great dinners the +celebrated Tokay of Hungary, which the Hungarians, though they do +not drink it, are very proud of, and by doing so to intimate the +sympathy which the English entertain for their fellow +religionists of Hungary. Oh! the English are a deep +people.’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XL</h2> +<p>THE HORNCASTLE WELCOME—TZERNEBOCK AND BIELEBOCK</p> +<p>The pipe of the Hungarian had, for some time past, exhibited +considerable symptoms of exhaustion, little or no ruttling having +been heard in the tube, and scarcely a particle of smoke, drawn +through the syphon, having been emitted from the lips of the tall +possessor. He now rose from his seat, and going to a corner +of the room, placed his pipe against the wall, then striding up +and down the room, he cracked his fingers several times, +exclaiming, in a half-musing manner, ‘Oh, <!-- page +247--><a name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +247</span>the deep nation, which, in order to display its +sympathy for Hungary, sends its fool to Vienna, to drink the +sweet wine of Tokay!’</p> +<p>The jockey, having looked for some time at the tall figure +with evident approbation, winked at me with that brilliant eye of +his on which there was no speck, saying, ‘Did you ever see +a taller fellow?’</p> +<p>‘Never,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Or a finer?’</p> +<p>‘That’s another question,’ said I, +‘which I am not so willing to answer; however, as I am fond +of truth, and scorn to flatter, I will take the liberty of saying +that I think I have seen a finer.’</p> +<p>‘A finer! where?’ said the jockey; whilst the +Hungarian, who appeared to understand what we said, stood still, +and looked full at me.</p> +<p>‘Amongst a strange set of people,’ said I, +‘whom, if I were to name, you would, I dare say, only laugh +at me.’</p> +<p>‘Who be they?’ said the jockey. ‘Come, +don’t be ashamed. I have occasionally kept queerish +company myself.’</p> +<p>‘The people whom we call gypsies,’ said I; +‘whom the Germans call Zigeuner, and who call themselves +Romany chals.’</p> +<p>‘Zigeuner!’ said the Hungarian. ‘By +Isten! I do know these people.’</p> +<p>‘Romany chals!’ said the jockey; +‘whew! I begin to smell a rat.’</p> +<p>‘What do you mean by smelling a rat?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘I’ll bet a crown,’ said the jockey, +‘that you be the young chap what certain folks call +“The Romany Rye.”’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ said I, ‘how came you to know that +name?’</p> +<p>‘Be not you he?’ said the jockey.</p> +<p>‘Why, I certainly have been called by that +name.’</p> +<p>‘I could have sworn it,’ said the jockey; then +rising from his chair, he laid his pipe on the table, took a +large hand-bell which stood on a sideboard, and going to the +door, opened it, and commenced ringing in a most tremendous +manner on the staircase. The noise presently brought up a +waiter, to whom the jockey vociferated, ‘Go to your master, +and tell him to send immediately three bottles of champagne, of +the pink kind, mind you, which is twelve guineas a +dozen.’ The waiter hurried away, and the jockey +resumed his seat and his pipe. I <!-- page 248--><a +name="page248"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 248</span>sat in +silent astonishment till the waiter returned with a basket +containing the wine, which, with three long glasses, he placed on +the table. The jockey then got up, and going to a large +bow-window at the end of the room, which looked into a +court-yard, peeped out; then saying, ‘The coast is +clear,’ he shut down the principal sash, which was open for +the sake of the air, and taking up a bottle of the champagne, he +placed another in the hands of the Hungarian, to whom he said +something in private. The latter, who seemed to understand +him, answered by a nod. The two then going to the end of +the table fronting the window, and about eight paces from it, +stood before it, holding the bottles by their necks; suddenly the +jockey lifted up his arm. ‘Surely,’ said I, +‘you are not mad enough to fling that bottle through the +window?’ ‘Here’s to the Romany Rye: +here’s to the sweet master,’ said the jockey, dashing +the bottle through a pane in so neat a manner that scarcely a +particle of glass fell into the room.</p> +<p>‘Eljen edes csigany ur—eljen gul eray!’ said +the Hungarian, swinging round his bottle, and discharging it at +the window; but, either not possessing the jockey’s +accuracy of aim, or reckless of consequences, he flung his bottle +so that it struck against part of the wooden setting of the +panes, breaking along with the wood and itself three or four +panes to pieces. The crash was horrid, and wine and +particles of glass flew back into the room, to the no small +danger of its inmates. ‘What do you think of +that?’ said the jockey. ‘Were you ever so +honoured before?’ ‘Honoured!’ said +I. ‘God preserve me in future from such +honour;’ and I put my finger to my cheek, which was +slightly hurt by a particle of the glass. +‘That’s the way we of the cofrady honour great men at +Horncastle,’ said the jockey. ‘What, you are +hurt! never mind; all the better, your scratch shows that you are +the body the compliment was paid to.’ ‘And what +are you going to do with the other bottle?’ said I. +‘Do with it!’ said the jockey, ‘why, drink it, +cosily and comfortably, whilst holding a little quiet talk. +The Romany Rye at Horncastle, what an idea!’</p> +<p>‘And what will the master of the house say to all this +damage which you have caused him?’</p> +<p>‘What will your master say, William?’ said the +jockey to the waiter, who had witnessed the singular scene just +<!-- page 249--><a name="page249"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +249</span>described without exhibiting the slightest mark of +surprise. William smiled, and slightly shrugging his +shoulders, replied, ‘Very little, I dare say, sir; this +ain’t the first time your honour has done a thing of this +kind.’ ‘Nor will it be the first time that I +shall have paid for it,’ said the jockey. +‘Well, I shall have never paid for a certain item in the +bill with more pleasure than I shall pay for it now. Come, +William, draw the cork, and let us taste the pink +champagne.’</p> +<p>The waiter drew the cork, and filled the glasses with a pinky +liquor, which bubbled, hissed, and foamed. ‘How do +you like it?’ said the jockey, after I had imitated the +example of my companions by despatching my portion at a +draught.</p> +<p>‘It is wonderful wine,’ said I; ‘I have +never tasted champagne before, though I have frequently heard it +praised; it more than answers my expectations; but, I confess, I +should not wish to be obliged to drink it every day.’</p> +<p>‘Nor I,’ said the jockey, ‘for everyday +drinking give me a glass of old port, or—’</p> +<p>‘Of hard old ale,’ I interposed, ‘which, +according to my mind, is better than all the wine in the +world.’</p> +<p>‘Well said, Romany Rye,’ said the jockey. +‘Just my own opinion; now, William, make yourself +scarce.’</p> +<p>The waiter withdrew, and I said to the jockey, ‘How did +you become acquainted with the Romany chals?’</p> +<p>‘I first became acquainted with them,’ said the +jockey, ‘when I lived with old Fulcher the basket-maker, +who took me up when I was adrift upon the world; I do not mean +the present Fulcher, who is likewise called old Fulcher, but his +father, who has been dead this many a year; while living with him +in the caravan, I frequently met them in the green lanes, and of +latter years I have had occasional dealings with them in the +horse line.’</p> +<p>‘And the gypsies have mentioned me to you?’ said +I.</p> +<p>‘Frequently,’ said the jockey, ‘and not only +those of these parts; why, there’s scarcely a part of +England in which I have not heard the name of the Romany Rye +mentioned by these people. The power you have over them is +wonderful; that is, I should have thought it wonderful, had they +not more than once told me the cause.’</p> +<p>‘And what is the cause?’ said I, ‘for I am +sure I do not know.’</p> +<p><!-- page 250--><a name="page250"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +250</span>‘The cause is this,’ said the jockey: +‘they never heard a bad word proceed from your mouth, and +never knew you do a bad thing.’</p> +<p>‘They are a singular people,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘And what a singular language they have got,’ said +the jockey.</p> +<p>‘Do you know it?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Only a few words,’ said the jockey, ‘they +were always chary in teaching me any.’</p> +<p>‘They were vary sherry to me too,’ said the +Hungarian, speaking in broken English; ‘I only could learn +from them half a dozen words, for example, gul eray, <a +name="citation250a"></a><a href="#footnote250a" +class="citation">[250a]</a> which, in the czigany of my country, +means sweet gentleman; or edes ur in my own Magyar.’</p> +<p>‘Gudlo Rye, in the Romany of mine, means a sugar’d +gentleman,’ said I; ‘then there are gypsies in your +country?’</p> +<p>‘Plenty,’ said the Hungarian, speaking German, +‘and in Russia and Turkey too; and wherever they are found, +they are alike in their ways and language. Oh, they are a +strange race, and how little known! I know little of them, +but enough to say, that one horse-load of nonsense has been +written about them; there is one Valter Scott—’</p> +<p>‘Mind what you say about him,’ said I; ‘he +is our grand authority in matters of philology and +history.’</p> +<p>‘A pretty philologist,’ said the Hungarian, +‘who makes the gypsies speak Roth-Welsch, <a +name="citation250b"></a><a href="#footnote250b" +class="citation">[250b]</a> the dialect of thieves; a pretty +historian, who couples together Thor and Tzernebock.’</p> +<p>‘Where does he do that?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘In his conceited romance of Ivanhoe he couples Thor and +Tzernebock together, and calls them gods of the heathen +Saxons.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said I, ‘Thur or Thor was certainly +a god of the heathen Saxons.’</p> +<p>‘True,’ said the Hungarian; ‘but why couple +him with Tzernebock? Tzernebock was a word which your +Valter had picked up somewhere without knowing the meaning. +Tzernebock was no god of the Saxons, but one of the gods of the +Sclaves, on the southern side of the Baltic. The Sclaves +had two grand gods to whom they <!-- page 251--><a +name="page251"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 251</span>sacrificed, +Tzernebock and Bielebock; that is, the black and white gods, who +represented the powers of dark and light. They were +overturned by Waldemar, the Dane, the great enemy of the Sclaves; +the account of whose wars you will find in one fine old book, +written by Saxo Gramaticus, which I read in the library of the +college of Debreczen. The Sclaves, at one time, were +masters of all the southern shore of the Baltic, where their +descendants are still to be found, though they have lost their +language, and call themselves Germans; but the word Zernevitz +near Dantzic, still attests that the Sclavic language was once +common in those parts. Zernevitz means the thing of +blackness, as Tzernebock means the god of blackness. +Prussia itself merely means, in Sclavish, Lower Russia. +There is scarcely a race or language in the world more extended +than the Sclavic. On the other side of the Dunau you will +find the Sclaves and their language. Czernavoda is Sclavic, +and means black water; in Turkish, kara su; even as Tzernebock +means black god; and Belgrade, or Belograd, means the white town; +even as Bielebock, or Bielebog, means the white god. Oh! he +is one great ignorant, that Valter. He is going, they say, +to write one history about Napoleon. I do hope that in his +history he will couple his Thor and Tzernebock together. By +my God! it would be good diversion that.’</p> +<p>‘Walter Scott appears to be no particular favourite of +yours,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘He is not,’ said the Hungarian; ‘I hate him +for his slavish principles. He wishes to see absolute power +restored in this country, and Popery also; and I hate him +because—what do you think? In one of his novels, +published a few months ago, he has the insolence to insult +Hungary in the person of one of her sons. He makes his +great braggart, Cour de Lion, fling a Magyar over his head. +Ha! it was well for Richard that he never felt the grip of a +Hungarian. I wish the braggart could have felt the grip of +me, who am “a’ Magyarok közt legkissebb,” +the least among the Magyars. I do hate that Scott, and all +his vile gang of Lowlanders and Highlanders. The black +corps, the fekete regiment of Matyjas Hunyadi, was worth all the +Scots, high or low, that ever pretended to be soldiers; and would +have sent them all headlong into the Black Sea, had they dared to +confront <!-- page 252--><a name="page252"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 252</span>it on its shores; but why be angry +with an ignorant, who couples together Thor and Tzernebock? +Ha! ha!’</p> +<p>‘You have read his novels?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Yes, I read them now and then. I do not speak +much English, but I can read it well, and I have read some of his +romances, and mean to read his Napoleon, in the hope of finding +Thor and Tzernebock coupled together in it, as in his high-flying +Ivanhoe.’</p> +<p>‘Come,’ said the jockey, ‘no more Dutch, +whether high or low. I am tired of it; unless we can have +some English, I am off to bed.’</p> +<p>‘I should be very glad to hear some English,’ said +I; ‘especially from your mouth. Several things which +you have mentioned have awakened my curiosity. Suppose you +give us your history?’</p> +<p>‘My history?’ said the jockey. ‘A rum +idea! however, lest conversation should lag, I’ll give it +you. First of all, however, a glass of champagne to +each.’</p> +<p>After we had each taken a glass of champagne, the jockey +commenced his history.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLI</h2> +<p>THE JOCKEY’S TALE—THIEVES’ +LATIN—LIBERTIES WITH COIN—THE SMASHER IN +PRISON—OLD FULCHER—EVERY ONE HAS HIS +GIFT—FASHION OF THE ENGLISH</p> +<p>‘My grandfather was a shorter, and my father was a +smasher; the one was scragg’d, and the other +lagg’d.’</p> +<p>I here interrupted the jockey by observing that his discourse +was, for the greater part, unintelligible to me.</p> +<p>‘I do not understand much English,’ said the +Hungarian, who, having replenished and resumed his mighty pipe, +was now smoking away; ‘but, by Isten, I believe it is the +gibberish which that great ignorant Valther Scott puts into the +mouth of the folks he calls gypsies.’</p> +<p>‘Something like it, I confess,’ said I, +‘though this sounds more genuine than his dialect, which he +picked up out of the canting vocabulary at the end of the +“English Rogue,” <a name="citation252"></a><a +href="#footnote252" class="citation">[252]</a> a book which, +however despised, <!-- page 253--><a name="page253"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 253</span>was written by a remarkable +genius. What do you call the speech you were using?’ +said I, addressing myself to the jockey.</p> +<p>‘Latin,’ said the jockey, very coolly, ‘that +is, that dialect of it which is used by the light-fingered +gentry.’</p> +<p>‘He is right,’ said the Hungarian; ‘it is +what the Germans call Roth-Welsch: they call it so because there +are a great many Latin words in it, introduced by the priests, +who, at the time of the Reformation, being too lazy to work, and +too stupid to preach, joined the bands of thieves and robbers who +prowled about the county. Italy, as you are aware, is +called by the Germans Welschland, or the land of the Welschers; +and I may add that Wallachia derives its name from a colony of +Welschers which Trajan sent there. Welsch and Wallack being +one and the same word, and tantamount to Latin.’</p> +<p>‘I dare say you are right,’ said I; ‘but why +was Italy termed Welschland?’</p> +<p>‘I do not know,’ said the Hungarian.</p> +<p>‘Then I think I can tell you,’ said I; ‘it +was called so because the original inhabitants were a Cimbric +tribe, who were called Gwyltiad, that is, a race of wild people, +living in coverts, who were of the same blood, and spoke the same +language as the present inhabitants of Wales. Welsh seems +merely a modification of Gwyltiad. Pray continue your +history,’ said I to the jockey, ‘only please to do so +in a language which we can understand, and first of all interpret +the sentence with which you began it.’</p> +<p>‘I told you that my grandfather was a shorter,’ +said the jockey, ‘by which is meant a gentleman who +shortens or reduces the current coin of these realms, for which +practice he was scragged, that is, hung by the scrag of the +neck. And when I said that my father was a smasher, I meant +one who passes forged notes, thereby doing his best to smash the +Bank of England; by being lagg’d, I meant he was laid fast, +that is, had a chain put round his leg and then +transported.’</p> +<p>‘Your explanations are perfectly satisfactory,’ +said I; ‘the three first words are metaphorical, and the +fourth, lagg’d, is the old genuine Norse term, lagda, which +signifies laid, whether in durance, or in bed has nothing to do +with the matter. What you have told me confirms me in an +opinion which I have long entertained, that thieves’ Latin +is a strange mysterious speech, formed of metaphorical <!-- page +254--><a name="page254"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +254</span>terms, and words derived from various ancient +languages. Pray tell me, now, how the gentleman, your +grandfather, contrived to shorten the coin of these +realms?’</p> +<p>‘You shall hear,’ said the jockey; ‘but I +have one thing to beg of you, which is, that when I have once +begun my history you will not interrupt me with questions; I +don’t like them, they stops one, and puts one out of +one’s tale, and are not wanted. For anything which I +think can’t be understood, I should myself explain, without +being asked. My grandfather reduced or shortened the coin +of this country by three processes. By aquafortis, by +clipping, and by filing. Filing and clipping he employed in +reducing all kinds of coin, whether gold or silver; but +aquafortis he used merely in reducing gold coin, whether guineas, +jacobuses, or Portugal pieces, otherwise called moidores, which +were at one time as current as guineas. By laying a guinea +in aquafortis for twelve hours he could filch from it to the +value of ninepence, and by letting it remain there for +twenty-four, to the value of eighteenpence, the aquafortis eating +the gold away, and leaving it like a sediment in the +vessel. He was generally satisfied with taking the value of +ninepence from a guinea, of eighteenpence from a jacobus or +moidore, or half-a-crown from a broad Spanish piece, whether he +reduced them by aquafortis, filing, or clipping. From a +five-shilling piece, which is called a bull in Latin, because it +is round like a bull’s head, he would file or clip to the +value of five-pence, and from lesser coin in proportion. He +was connected with a numerous gang, or set, of people, who had +given up their minds and talents entirely to +shortening.’</p> +<p>Here I interrupted the jockey. ‘How +singular,’ said I, ‘is the fall and debasement of +words; you talk of a gang, or set of shorters; you are, perhaps, +not aware that gang and set were, a thousand years ago, only +connected with the great and Divine: they are ancient Norse +words, which may be found in the heroic poems of the north, and +in the Edda, a collection of mythologic and heroic songs. +In these poems we read that such and such a king invaded Norway +with a gang of heroes, or so and so—for example, Erik +Bloodaxe—was admitted to the set of gods; but at present +gang and set are merely applied to the vilest of the vile, and +the lowest of the low. We say a gang of thieves and +shorters, or a set of <!-- page 255--><a name="page255"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 255</span>authors. How touching is this +debasement of words in the course of time! It puts me in +mind of the decay of old houses and names. I have known a +Mortimer who was a hedger and ditcher, a Berners who was born in +a workhouse, and a descendant of the De Burghs, who bore the +falcon, mending old kettles, and making horse and pony shoes in a +dingle.’</p> +<p>‘Odd enough,’ said the jockey; ‘but you were +saying you knew one Berners—man or woman? I would +ask.’</p> +<p>‘A woman,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘What might her Christian name be?’ said the +jockey.</p> +<p>‘It is not to be mentioned lightly,’ said I, with +a sigh.</p> +<p>‘I shouldn’t wonder if it were Isopel,’ said +the jockey, with an arch glance of his one brilliant eye.</p> +<p>‘It was Isopel,’ said I. ‘Did you know +Isopel Berners?’</p> +<p>‘Ay, and have reason to know her,’ said the +jockey, putting his hand into his left waistcoat-pocket, as if to +feel for something, ‘for she gave me what I believe few men +could do—a most confounded wapping. But now, Mr. +Romany Rye, I have again to tell you that I don’t like to +be interrupted when I’m speaking, and to add that if you +break in upon me a third time, you and I shall +quarrel.’</p> +<p>‘Pray proceed with your story,’ said I; ‘I +will not interrupt you again.’</p> +<p>‘Good!’ said the jockey. ‘Where was +I? Oh, with a set of people who had given up their minds to +shortening! Reducing the coin, though rather a lucrative, +was a very dangerous, trade. Coin filed felt rough to the +touch; coin clipped could be easily detected by the eye; and as +for coin reduced by aquafortis, it was generally so discoloured +that, unless a great deal of pains was used to polish it, people +were apt to stare at it in a strange manner, and to say, +“What have they been doing to this here gold?” +My grandfather, as I said before, was connected with a gang of +shorters, and sometimes shortened money, and at other times +passed off what had been shortened by other gentry.</p> +<p>‘Passing off what had been shortened by others was his +ruin; for once, in trying to pass off a broad piece which had +been laid in aquafortis for four-and-twenty hours, and was very +black, not having been properly rectified, he was stopped and +searched, and other reduced coins being found about him and in +his lodgings, <!-- page 256--><a name="page256"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 256</span>he was committed to prison, tried, +and executed. He was offered his life, provided he would +betray his comrades, but he told the big-wigs, who wanted him to +do so, that he would see them farther first, and died at Tyburn, +amidst the cheers of the populace, leaving my grandmother and +father, to whom he had always been a kind husband and +parent—for, setting aside the crime for which he suffered, +he was a moral man—leaving them, I say, to bewail his +irreparable loss.</p> +<p>‘’Tis said that misfortune never comes alone; this +is, however, not always the case. Shortly after my +grandfather’s misfortune, as my grandmother and her son +were living in great misery in Spitalfields, her only +relation—a brother from whom she had been estranged some +years, on account of her marriage with my grandfather, who had +been in an inferior station to herself—died, leaving all +his property to her and the child. This property consisted +of a farm of about a hundred acres, with its stock and some money +besides. My grandmother, who knew something of business, +instantly went into the country, where she farmed the property +for her own benefit and that of her son, to whom she gave an +education suitable to a person in his condition, till he was old +enough to manage the farm himself. Shortly after the young +man came of age, my grandmother died, and my father, in about a +year, married the daughter of a farmer, from whom he expected +some little fortune, but who very much deceived him, becoming a +bankrupt almost immediately after the marriage of his daughter, +and himself and family going to the workhouse.</p> +<p>‘My mother, however, made my father an excellent wife; +and if my father in the long run did not do well, it was no fault +of hers. My father was not a bad man by nature, he was of +an easy, generous temper—the most unfortunate temper, +by-the-by, for success in this life that any person can be +possessed of, as those who have it are almost sure to be made +dupes of by the designing. But, though easy and generous, +he was anything but a fool; he had a quick and witty tongue of +his own when he chose to exert it, and woe be to those who +insulted him openly, for there was not a better boxer in the +whole country round. My parents were married several years +before I came into the world, who was their first and only +child. I may be called an unfortunate creature; <!-- page +257--><a name="page257"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 257</span>I +was born with this beam or scale on my left eye, which does not +allow me to see with it; and though I can see tolerably sharply +with the other, indeed more than most people can with both of +theirs, it is a great misfortune not to have two eyes like other +people. Moreover, setting aside the affair of my eye, I had +a very ugly countenance; my mouth being slightly wrung aside, and +my complexion rather swarthy. In fact, I looked so queer +that the gossips and neighbours, when they first saw me, swore I +was a changeling—perhaps it would have been well if I had +never been born; for my poor father, who had been particularly +anxious to have a son, no sooner saw me than he turned away, went +to the neighbouring town, and did not return for two days. +I am by no means certain that I was not the cause of his ruin, +for till I came into the world he was fond of his home, and +attended much to business, but afterwards he went frequently into +company, and did not seem to care much about his affairs: he was, +however, a kind man, and when his wife gave him advice never +struck her, nor do I ever remember that he kicked me when I came +in his way, or so much as cursed my ugly face, though it was easy +to see that he didn’t over like me. When I was six +years old I was sent to the village-school, where I was soon +booked for a dunce, because the master found it impossible to +teach me either to read or write. Before I had been at +school two years, however, I had beaten boys four years older +than myself, and could fling a stone with my left hand (for if I +am right-eyed I am left-handed) higher and farther than any one +in the parish. Moreover, no boy could equal me at riding, +and no people ride so well or desperately as boys. I could +ride a donkey—a thing far more difficult to ride than a +horse—at full gallop over hedges and ditches, seated or +rather floating upon his hinder part,—so though anything +but clever, as this here Romany Rye would say, I was yet able to +do things which few other people could do. By the time I +was ten my father’s affairs had got into a very desperate +condition, for he had taken to gambling and horse-racing, and, +being unsuccessful, had sold his stock, mortgaged his estate, and +incurred very serious debts. The upshot was, that within a +little time all he had was seized, himself imprisoned, and my +mother and myself put into a cottage belonging to the parish, +which, being <!-- page 258--><a name="page258"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 258</span>very cold and damp, was the cause of +her catching a fever, which speedily carried her off. I was +then bound apprentice to a farmer, in whose service I underwent +much coarse treatment, cold and hunger.</p> +<p>‘After lying in prison near two years, my father was +liberated by an Act for the benefit of insolvent debtors; he was +then lost sight of for some time, at last, however, he made his +appearance in the neighbourhood dressed like a gentleman, and +seemingly possessed of plenty of money. He came to see me, +took me into a field, and asked me how I was getting on. I +told him I was dreadfully used, and begged him to take me away +with him; he refused, and told me to be satisfied with my +condition, for that he could do nothing for me. I had a +great love for my father, and likewise a great admiration for him +on account of his character as a boxer, the only character which +boys in general regard, so I wished much to be with him, +independently of the dog’s life I was leading where I was; +I therefore said if he would not take me with him, I would follow +him; he replied that I must do no such thing, for that if I did, +it would be my ruin. I asked him what he meant, but he made +no reply, only saying that he would go and speak to the +farmer. Then taking me with him he went to the farmer and +in a very civil manner said that he understood I had not been +very kindly treated by him, but he hoped that in future I should +be used better. The farmer answered in a surly tone, that I +had been only too well treated, for that I was a worthless young +scoundrel; high words ensued, and the farmer, forgetting the kind +of man he had to deal with, checked him with my grandsire’s +misfortune, and said he deserved to be hanged like his +father. In a moment my father knocked him down, and on his +getting up gave him a terrible beating, then taking me by the +hand he hastened away; as we were going down a lane he said we +were now both done for: “I don’t care a straw for +that, father,” said I, “provided I be with +you.” My father took me to the neighbouring town, and +going into the yard of a small inn, he ordered out a pony and +light cart which belonged to him, then paying his bill, he told +me to mount upon the seat, and getting up drove away like +lightning; we drove for at least six hours without stopping, till +we came to a cottage by the side of a heath; we put the pony and +cart into a shed and went into the <!-- page 259--><a +name="page259"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 259</span>cottage, my +father unlocking the door with a key which he took out of his +pocket; there was nobody in the cottage when we arrived, but +shortly after there came a man and woman, and then some more +people, and by ten o’clock at night there were a dozen of +us in the cottage. The people were companions of my +father. My father began talking to them in Latin, but I did +not understand much of the discourse, though I believe it was +about myself, as their eyes were frequently turned to me. +Some objections appeared to be made to what he said; however, all +at last seemed to be settled, and we all sat down to some +food. After that all the people got up and went away, with +the exception of the woman, who remained with my father and +me. The next day my father also departed, leaving me with +the woman, telling me before he went that she would teach me some +things which it behoved me to know. I remained with her in +the cottage upwards of a week; several of those who had been +there coming and going. The woman, after making me take an +oath to be faithful, told me that the people whom I had seen were +a gang who got their livelihood by passing forged notes, and that +my father was a principal man amongst them, adding, that I must +do my best to assist them. I was a poor ignorant child at +that time, and I made no objection, thinking that whatever my +father did must be right; the woman then gave me some +instructions in the smasher’s dialect of the Latin +language. I made great progress, because for the first time +in my life, I paid great attention to my lessons. At last +my father returned, and, after some conversation with the woman, +took me away in his cart. I shall be very short about what +happened to my father and myself during two years. My +father did his best to smash the Bank of England by passing +forged notes, and I did my best to assist him. We attended +races and fairs in all kinds of disguises; my father was a +first-rate hand at a disguise, and could appear of all ages from +twenty to fourscore; he was, however, grabbed at last. He +had said, as I have told you, that he should be my ruin, but I +was the cause of his, and all owing to the misfortune of this +here eye of mine. We came to this very place of Horncastle, +where my father purchased two horses of a young man, paying for +them with three forged notes, purporting to be Bank of Englanders +of fifty pounds <!-- page 260--><a name="page260"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 260</span>each, and got the young man to +change another of the like amount; he at that time appeared as a +respectable dealer, and I as his son, as I really was.</p> +<p>‘As soon as we had got the horses, we conveyed them to +one of the places of call belonging to our gang, of which there +were several. There they were delivered into the hands of +one of our companions, who speedily sold them in a distant part +of the country. The sum which they fetched—for the +gang kept very regular accounts—formed an important item on +the next day of sharing, of which there were twelve in the +year. The young man, whom my father had paid for the horses +with his smashing notes, was soon in trouble about them, and ran +some risk, as I have heard, of being executed; but he bore a good +character, told a plain story, and, above all, had friends, and +was admitted to bail; to one of his friends he described my +father and myself. This person happened to be at an inn in +Yorkshire, where my father, disguised as a Quaker, attempted to +pass a forged note. The note was shown to this individual, +who pronounced it a forgery, it being exactly similar to those +for which the young man had been in trouble, and which he had +seen. My father, however, being supposed a respectable man, +because he was dressed as a Quaker—the very reason, +by-the-by, why anybody who knew aught of the Quakers would have +suspected him to be a rogue—would have been let go, had I +not made my appearance, dressed as his footboy. The friend +of the young man looked at my eye, and seized hold of my father, +who made a desperate resistance, I assisting him, as in duty +bound. Being, however, overpowered by numbers, he bade me +by a look, and a word or two in Latin, to make myself +scarce. Though my heart was fit to break, I obeyed my +father, who was speedily committed. I followed him to the +county town in which he was lodged, where shortly after I saw him +tried, convicted, and condemned. I then, having made +friends with the jailor’s wife, visited him in his cell, +where I found him very much cast down. He said, that my +mother had appeared to him in a dream, and talked to him about a +resurrection and Christ Jesus; there was a Bible before him, and +he told me the chaplain had just been praying with him. He +reproached himself much, saying, he was afraid he had been my +ruin, by teaching me bad habits. I told him not to say any +such <!-- page 261--><a name="page261"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 261</span>thing, for that I had been the cause +of his, owing to the misfortune of my eye. He begged me to +give over all unlawful pursuits, saying, that if persisted in, +they were sure of bringing a person to destruction. I +advised him to try and make his escape; proposing, that when the +turnkey came to let me out, he should knock him down, and fight +his way out, offering to assist him; showing him a small saw, +with which one of our companions, who was in the neighbourhood, +had provided me, and with which he could have cut through his +fetters in five minutes; but he told me he had no wish to escape, +and was quite willing to die. I was rather hard at that +time; I am not very soft now; and I felt rather ashamed of my +father’s want of what I called spirit. He was not +executed after all; for the chaplain, who was connected with a +great family, stood his friend, and got his sentence commuted, as +they call it, to transportation; and in order to make the matter +easy, he induced my father to make some valuable disclosures with +respect to the smasher’s system. I confess that I +would have been hanged before I would have done so, after having +reaped the profit of it; that is, I think so now, seated +comfortably in my inn, with my bottle of champagne before +me. He, however, did not show himself carrion; he would not +betray his companions, who had behaved very handsomely to him, +having given the son of a lord, a great barrister, not a +hundred-pound forged bill, but a hundred hard guineas, to plead +his cause, and another ten, to induce him, after pleading, to put +his hand to his breast, and say, that, upon his honour, he +believed the prisoner at the bar to be an honest and injured +man. No: I am glad to be able to say, that my father did +not show himself exactly carrion, though I could almost have +wished he had let himself—. However, I am here with +my bottle of champagne and the Romany Rye, and he was in his +cell, with bread and water and the prison chaplain. He took +an affectionate leave of me before he was sent away, giving me +three out of five guineas, all the money he had left. He +was a kind man, but not exactly fitted to fill my +grandfather’s shoes. I afterwards learned that he +died of fever, as he was being carried across the sea.</p> +<p>‘During the ’sizes, I had made acquaintance with +old Fulcher. I was in the town on my father’s +account, and he was there on his son’s, who, having +committed a small <!-- page 262--><a name="page262"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 262</span>larceny, was in trouble. Young +Fulcher, however, unlike my father, got off, though he did not +give the son of a lord a hundred guineas to speak for him, and +ten more to pledge his sacred honour for his honesty, but gave +Counsellor P--- one-and-twenty shillings to defend him, who so +frightened the principal evidence, a plain honest farming man, +that he flatly contradicted what he had first said, and at last +acknowledged himself to be all the rogues in the world, and, +amongst other things, a perjured villain. Old Fulcher, +before he left the town with his son—and here it will be +well to say that he and his son left it in a kind of triumph, the +base drummer of a militia regiment, to whom they had given +half-a-crown, beating his drum before them—old Fulcher, I +say, asked me to go and visit him, telling me where, at such a +time, I might find him and his caravan and family; offering, if I +thought fit, to teach me basket-making: so, after my father had +been sent off, I went and found up old Fulcher, and became his +apprentice in the basket-making line. I stayed with him +till the time of his death, which happened in about three months, +travelling about with him and his family, and living in green +lanes, where we saw gypsies and trampers, and all kinds of +strange characters. Old Fulcher, besides being an +industrious basket-maker, was an out and out thief, as was also +his son, and, indeed, every member of his family. They used +to make baskets during the day, and thieve during a great part of +the night. I had not been with them twelve hours, before +old Fulcher told me that I must thieve as well as the rest. +I demurred at first, for I remembered the fate of my father, and +what he had told me about leaving off bad courses, but soon +allowed myself to be over-persuaded; more especially as the first +robbery I was asked to do was a fruit robbery. I was to go +with young Fulcher, and steal some fine Morell cherries, which +grew against a wall in a gentleman’s garden; so young +Fulcher and I went and stole the cherries, one half of which we +ate, and gave the rest to the old man, who sold them to a +fruiterer ten miles off from the place where we had stolen +them. The next night old Fulcher took me out with +himself. He was a great thief, though in a small way. +He used to say, that they were fools, who did not always manage +to keep the rope below their shoulders, by which he meant, that +it was not advisable to commit a robbery or do anything <!-- page +263--><a name="page263"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +263</span>which could bring you to the gallows. He was all +for petty larceny, and knew where to put his hand upon any little +thing in England, which it was possible to steal. I submit +it to the better judgment of the Romany Rye, who I see is a great +hand for words and names, whether he ought not to have been +called old Filcher, instead of Fulcher. I shan’t give +a regular account of the larcenies which he committed during the +short time I knew him, either alone by himself, or with me and +his son. I shall merely relate the last.</p> +<p>‘A melancholy gentleman, who lived a very solitary life, +had a large carp in a shady pond in a meadow close to his house: +he was exceedingly fond of it, and used to feed it with his own +hand, the creature being so tame that it would put its snout out +of the water to be fed when it was whistled to; feeding and +looking at his carp were the only pleasures the poor melancholy +gentleman possessed. Old Fulcher—being in the +neighbourhood, and having an order from a fishmonger for a large +fish, which was wanted at a great city dinner, at which His +Majesty was to be present—swore he would steal the carp, +and asked me to go with him. I had heard of the +gentleman’s fondness for his creature, and begged him to +let it be, advising him to go and steal some other fish; but old +Fulcher swore, and said he would have the carp, although its +master should hang himself; I told him he might go by himself, +but he took his son and stole the carp, which weighed seventeen +pounds. Old Fulcher got thirty shillings for the carp, +which I afterwards heard was much admired and relished by His +Majesty. The master, however, of the carp, on losing his +favourite, became more melancholy than ever, and in a little time +hanged himself. “What’s sport for one, is death +to another,” I once heard at the village-school read out of +a copy-book.</p> +<p>‘This was the last larceny old Fulcher ever +committed. He could keep his neck always out of the noose, +but he could not always keep his leg out of the trap. A few +nights after, having removed to a distance, he went to an osier +car in order to steal some osiers for his basket-making, for he +never bought any. I followed a little way behind. Old +Fulcher had frequently stolen osiers out of the car, whilst in +the neighbourhood, but during his absence the property, of which +the car was part, had been let to a young gentleman, a great hand +for preserving <!-- page 264--><a name="page264"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 264</span>game. Old Fulcher had not got +far into the car before he put his foot into a man-trap. +Hearing old Fulcher shriek, I ran up, and found him in a dreadful +condition. Putting a large stick which I carried into the +jaws of the trap, I contrived to prize them open, and get old +Fulcher’s leg out, but the leg was broken. So I ran +to the caravan, and told young Fulcher of what had happened, and +he and I went and helped his father home. A doctor was sent +for, who said that it was necessary to take the leg off, but old +Fulcher, being very much afraid of pain, said it should not be +taken off, and the doctor went away, but after some days, old +Fulcher becoming worse, ordered the doctor to be sent for, who +came and took off his leg, but it was then too late, +mortification had come on, and in a little time old Fulcher +died.</p> +<p>‘Thus perished old Fulcher; he was succeeded in his +business by his son, young Fulcher, who, immediately after the +death of his father, was called old Fulcher, it being our English +custom to call everybody old, as soon as their fathers are +buried; young Fulcher—I mean he who had been called young, +but was now old Fulcher—wanted me to go out and commit +larcenies with him; but I told him that I would have nothing more +to do with thieving, having seen the ill effects of it, and that +I should leave them in the morning. Old Fulcher begged me +to think better of it, and his mother joined with him. They +offered, if I would stay, to give me Mary Fulcher as a mort, <a +name="citation264"></a><a href="#footnote264" +class="citation">[264]</a> till she and I were old enough to be +regularly married, she being the daughter of the one, and the +sister of the other. I liked the girl very well, for she +had been always civil to me, and had a fair complexion and nice +red hair, both of which I like, being a bit of a black myself; +but I refused, being determined to see something more of the +world than I could hope to do with the Fulchers, and, moreover, +to live honestly, which I could never do along with them. +So the next morning I left them: I was, as I said before, quite +determined upon an honest livelihood, and I soon found one. +He is a great fool who is ever dishonest in England. Any +person who has any natural gift, and everybody has some natural +gift, is sure of finding encouragement in this noble country of +ours, provided he will but exhibit it. I had <!-- page +265--><a name="page265"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +265</span>not walked more than three miles before I came to a +wonderfully high church steeple, which stood close by the road; I +looked at the steeple, and going to a heap of smooth pebbles +which lay by the roadside, I took up some, and then went into the +churchyard, and placing myself just below the tower, my right +foot resting on a ledge, about two foot from the ground, I, with +my left hand—being a left-handed person do you +see—flung or chucked up a stone, which lighting on the top +of the steeple, which was at least a hundred and fifty feet high, +did there remain. After repeating this feat two or three +times, I “hulled” up a stone, which went clean over +the tower, and then one, my right foot still on the ledge, which +rising at least five yards above the steeple, did fall down just +at my feet. Without knowing it, I was showing off my gift +to others besides myself, doing what, perhaps, not five men in +England could do. Two men, who were passing by, stopped and +looked at my proceedings, and when I had done flinging came into +the churchyard, and, after paying me a compliment on what they +had seen me do, proposed that I should join company with them; I +asked them who they were, and they told me. The one was +Hopping Ned, and the other Biting Giles. Both had their +gifts, by which they got their livelihood; Ned could hop a +hundred yards with any man in England, and Giles could lift up +with his teeth any dresser or kitchen-table in the country, and, +standing erect, hold it dangling in his jaws. There’s +many a big oak table and dresser, in certain districts of +England, which bear the marks of Giles’s teeth; and I make +no doubt that, a hundred or two years hence, there’ll be +strange stories about those marks, and that people will point +them out as a proof that there were giants in bygone time, and +that many a dentist will moralize on the decays which human teeth +have undergone.</p> +<p>‘They wanted me to go about with them, and exhibit my +gift occasionally, as they did theirs, promising that the money +that was got by the exhibitions should be honestly divided. +I consented, and we set off together, and that evening coming to +a village, and putting up at the ale-house, all the grand folks +of the village being there smoking their pipes, we contrived to +introduce the subject of hopping—the upshot being that Ned +hopped against the schoolmaster for a pound, and beat him <!-- +page 266--><a name="page266"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +266</span>hollow; shortly after, Giles, for a wager, took up the +kitchen table in his jaws, though he had to pay a shilling to the +landlady for the marks he left, whose grandchildren will perhaps +get money by exhibiting them. As for myself, I did nothing +that day, but the next, on which my companions did nothing, I +showed off at hulling stones against a cripple, the crack man for +stone throwing, of a small town, a few miles farther on. +Bets were made to the tune of some pounds; I contrived to beat +the cripple, and just contrived; for to do him justice I must +acknowledge he was a first-rate hand at stones, though he had a +game hip, and went sideways; his head, when he walked—if +his movements could be called walking—not being above three +feet above the ground. So we travelled, I and my +companions, showing off our gifts, Giles and I occasionally for a +gathering, but Ned never hopping unless against somebody for a +wager. We lived honestly and comfortably, making no little +money by our natural endowments, and were known over a great part +of England as “Hopping Ned,” “Biting +Giles,” and “Hull over the head Jack,” which +was my name, it being the blackguard fashion of the English, do +you see, to—’</p> +<p>Here I interrupted the jockey, ‘You may call it a +blackguard fashion,’ said I, ‘and I dare say it is, +or it would scarcely be English; but it is an immensely ancient +one, and is handed down to us from our northern ancestry, +especially the Danes, who were in the habit of giving people +surnames, or rather nicknames, from some quality of body or mind, +but generally from some disadvantageous peculiarity of feature; +for there is no denying that the English, Norse, or whatever we +may please to call them, are an envious depreciatory set of +people, who not only give their poor comrades contemptuous +surnames, but their great people also. They didn’t +call you the matchless Hurler, because, by doing so, they would +have paid you a compliment, but Hull over the head Jack, as much +as to say that after all you were a scrub: so, in ancient time, +instead of calling Regner the great conqueror, the Nation Tamer, +they surnamed him Lodbrog, which signifies Rough or Hairy +Breeks—lod or loddin signifying rough or hairy; and instead +of complimenting Halgerdr, the wife of Gunnar of Hlitharend, the +great champion of Iceland, upon her <!-- page 267--><a +name="page267"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 267</span>majestic +presence, by calling her Halgerdr, the stately or tall; what must +they do but term her Ha-brokr, or High Breeks, it being the +fashion in old times for Northern ladies to wear breeks, or +breeches, which English ladies of the present day never think of +doing; and just, as of old, they called Halgerdr Long-breeks, so +this very day a fellow of Horncastle called, in my hearing, our +noble-looking Hungarian friend here, Long-stockings. Oh, I +could give you a hundred instances, both ancient and modern, of +this unseemly propensity of our illustrious race, though I will +only trouble you with a few more ancient ones; they not only +nicknamed Regner, but his sons also, who were all kings, and +distinguished men: one, whose name was Biorn, they nicknamed +Ironsides; another Sigurd, Snake in the Eye; another, White Sark, +or White Shirt—I wonder they did not call him Dirty Shirt, +and Ivarr, another, who was King of Northumberland, they called +Beinlausi, or the Legless, because he was spindle-shanked, had no +sap in his bones, and consequently no children. He was a +great king, it is true, and very wise, nevertheless his +blackguard countrymen, always averse, as their descendants are, +to give credit to anybody, for any valuable quality or +possession, must needs lay hold, do you see—’</p> +<p>But before I could say any more, the jockey, having laid down +his pipe, rose, and having taken off his coat, advanced towards +me.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLII</h2> +<p>A SHORT-TEMPERED PERSON—GRAVITATION—THE BEST +ENDOWMENT—MARY FULCHER—FAIR +DEALING—HORSE-WITCHERY—DARIUS AND HIS GROOM—THE +JOCKEY’S TRICKS—THE TWO CHARACTERS—THE +JOCKEY’S SONG</p> +<p>The jockey, having taken off his coat and advanced towards me, +as I have stated in the preceding chapter, exclaimed, in an angry +tone, ‘This is the third time you have interrupted me in my +tale, Mr. Rye; I passed over the two first times with a simple +warning, but you will now please to get up and give me the +satisfaction of a man.’</p> +<p><!-- page 268--><a name="page268"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +268</span>‘I am really sorry,’ said I, ‘if I +have given you offence, but you were talking of our English habit +of bestowing nicknames, and I could not refrain from giving a few +examples tending to prove what a very ancient habit it +is.’</p> +<p>‘But you interrupted me,’ said the jockey, +‘and put me out of my tale, which you had no right to do; +and as for your examples, how do you know that I wasn’t +going to give some as old or older than yourn. Now stand +up, and I’ll make an example of you.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said I, ‘I confess it was wrong in +me to interrupt you, and I ask your pardon.’</p> +<p>‘That won’t do,’ said the jockey, +‘asking pardon won’t do.’</p> +<p>‘Oh,’ said I, getting up, ‘if asking pardon +does not satisfy you, you are a different man from what I +considered you.’</p> +<p>But here the Hungarian, also getting up, interposed his tall +form and pipe between us, saying in English, scarcely +intelligible, ‘Let there be no dispute! As for +myself, I am very much obliged to the young man of Horncastle for +his interruption, though he has told me that one of his dirty +townsmen called me “Long-stockings.” By Isten! +there is more learning in what he has just said, than in all the +verdammt English histories of Thor and Tzernebock I ever +read.’</p> +<p>‘I care nothing for his learning,’ said the +jockey. ‘I consider myself as good a man as he, for +all his learning; so stand out of the way, Mr. Sixfoot-eleven, +or—’</p> +<p>‘I shall do no such thing,’ said the +Hungarian. ‘I wonder you are not ashamed of +yourself. You ask young man to drink champagne with you, +you make him dronk, he interrupt you with very good sense; he ask +your pardon, yet you not—’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said the jockey, ‘I am +satisfied. I am rather a short-tempered person, but I bear +no malice. He is, as you say, drinking my wine, and has +perhaps taken a drop too much, not being used to such high +liquor; but one doesn’t like to be put out of one’s +tale, more especially when one was about to moralize, do you see, +oneself, and to show off what little learning one has. +However, I bears no malice. Here is a hand to each of you: +we’ll take another glass each, and think no more about +it.’</p> +<p>The jockey having shaken both of our hands, and filled <!-- +page 269--><a name="page269"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +269</span>our glasses and his own with what champagne remained in +the bottle, put on his coat, sat down, and resumed his pipe and +story.</p> +<p>‘Where was I? Oh, roaming about the country with +Hopping Ned and Biting Giles. Those were happy days, and a +merry and prosperous life we led. However, nothing +continues under the sun in the same state in which it begins, and +our firm was soon destined to undergo a change. We came to +a village where there was a very high church steeple, and in a +little time my comrades induced a crowd of people to go and see +me display my gift by flinging stones above the heads of Matthew, +Mark, Luke, and John, who stood at the four corners on the top, +carved in stone. The parson, seeing the crowd, came +waddling out of his rectory to see what was going on. After +I had flung up the stones, letting them fall just were I +liked—and one, I remember, fell on the head of Mark, where +I dare say it remains to the present day—the parson, who +was one of the description of people called philosophers, held up +his hand, and asked me to let the next stone I flung up fall into +it. He wished, do you see, to know with what weight the +stone would fall down, and talked something about +gravitation—a word which I could never understand to the +present day, save that it turned out a grave matter to me. +I, like a silly fellow myself, must needs consent, and, flinging +the stone up to a vast height, contrived so that it fell into the +parson’s hand, which it cut dreadfully. The parson +flew into a great rage, more particularly as everybody laughed at +him, and, being a magistrate, ordered his clerk, who was likewise +constable, to conduct me to prison as a rogue and a vagabond, +telling my comrades that if they did not take themselves off, he +would serve them in the same manner. So Ned hopped off, and +Giles ran after him, without making any gathering, and I was led +to Bridewell, my mittimus following at the end of a week, the +parson’s hand not permitting him to write before that +time. In the Bridewell I remained a month, when, being +dismissed, I went in quest of my companions, whom, after some +time, I found up, but they refused to keep my company any longer; +telling me that I was a dangerous character, likely to bring them +more trouble than profit; they had, moreover, filled up my +place. Going into a cottage to ask for a drink of water, +they saw a country fellow making faces <!-- page 270--><a +name="page270"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 270</span>to amuse +his children; the faces were so wonderful that Hopping Ned and +Biting Giles at once proposed taking him into partnership, and +the man—who was a fellow not very fond of work—after +a little entreaty, went away with them. I saw him exhibit +his gift, and couldn’t blame the others for preferring him +to me; he was a proper ugly fellow at all times, but when he made +faces his countenance was like nothing human. He was called +Ugly Moses. I was so amazed at his faces, that though poor +myself I gave him sixpence, which I have never grudged to this +day, for I never saw anything like them. The firm throve +wonderfully after he had been admitted into it. He died +some little time ago, keeper of a public-house, which he had been +enabled to take from the profits of his faces. A son of +his, one of the children he was making faces to when my comrades +entered his door, is at present a barrister, and a very rising +one. He has his gift—he has not, it is true, the gift +of the gab, but he has something better, he was born with a grin +on his face, a quiet grin; he would not have done to grin through +a collar like his father, and would never have been taken up by +Hopping Ned and Biting Giles, but that grin of his caused him to +be noticed by a much greater person than either; an attorney +observing it took a liking to the lad, and prophesied that he +would some day be heard of in the world; and in order to give him +the first lift, took him into his office, at first to light fires +and do such kind of work, and after a little time taught him to +write, then promoted him to a desk, articled him afterwards, and +being unmarried and without children, left him what he had when +he died. The young fellow, after practising at the law some +time, went to the bar, where, in a few years, helped on by his +grin, for he had nothing else to recommend him, he became, as I +said before, a rising barrister. He comes our circuit, and +I occasionally employ him, when I am obliged to go to law about +such a thing as an unsound horse. He generally brings me +through—or rather that grin of his does—and yet I +don’t like the fellow, confound him, but I’m an +oddity; no, the one I like, and whom I generally employ, is a +fellow quite different, a bluff sturdy dog, with no grin on his +face, but with a look which seems to say I am an honest man, and +what cares I for anyone. And an honest man he is, and +something more. I have known coves with a better gift of +the gab, <!-- page 271--><a name="page271"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 271</span>though not many, but he always +speaks to the purpose, and understands law thoroughly; and +that’s not all. When at college, for he has been at +college, he carried off everything before him as a Latiner, and +was first-rate at a game they called matthew mattocks. I +don’t know exactly what it is, but I have heard that he who +is first-rate at matthew mattocks <a name="citation271"></a><a +href="#footnote271" class="citation">[271]</a> is thought more of +than if he were first-rate Latiner.</p> +<p>‘Well, the chap that I’m talking about, not only +came out first-rate Latiner, but first-rate at matthew mattocks +too; doing, in fact, as I am told by those who knows, for I was +never at college myself, what no one had ever done before. +Well, he makes his appearance at our circuit, does very well, of +course, but he has a somewhat high front, as becomes an honest +man, and one who has beat every one at Latin and matthew +mattocks; and who can speak first-rate law and sense;—but +see now, the cove with the grin, who has like myself never been +at college; knows nothing of Latin, or matthew mattocks, and has +no particular gift of the gab, has two briefs for his one, and I +suppose very properly, for that grin of his curries favour with +the juries; and mark me, that grin of his will enable him to beat +the other in the long run. We all know what all barrister +coves looks forward to—a seat on the hop sack. Well, +I’ll bet a bull to fivepence, that the grinner gets upon +it, and the snarler doesn’t; at any rate, that he gets +there first. I calls my cove—for he is my +cove—a snarler; because your first-rates at matthew +mattocks are called snarlers, and for no other reason; for the +chap, though with a high front, is a good chap, and once drank a +glass of ale with me, after buying an animal out of my +stable. I have often thought it a pity that he wasn’t +born with a grin on his face, like the son of Ugly +<i>Moses</i>. It is true he would scarcely then have been +an out and outer at Latin and matthew mattocks, but what need of +either to a chap born with a grin? Talk of being born with +a silver spoon in one’s mouth; give me a cove born with a +grin on his face—a much better endowment.</p> +<p>‘I will now shorten my history as much as I can, for we +have talked as much as folks do during a whole night in the +Commons’ House, though, of course, not with so much +learning, or so much to the purpose, because—why? +They are in the House of Commons, and we in a public <!-- page +272--><a name="page272"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +272</span>room of an inn at Horncastle. The goodness of the +ale do you see, never depending on what it is made of, oh, no! +but on the fashion and appearance of the jug in which it is +served up. After being turned out of the firm, I got my +living in two or three honest ways, which I shall not trouble you +with describing. I did not like any of them, however, as +they did not exactly suit my humour; at last I found one which +did. One Saturday forenoon I chanced to be in the +cattle-market of a place about eighty miles from here; there I +won the favour of an old gentleman who sold dickeys. He had +a very shabby squad of animals, without soul or spirit; nobody +would buy them, till I leaped upon their hinder ends, and by +merely wriggling in a particular manner, made them caper and +bound so to people’s liking, that in a few hours every one +of them was sold at very sufficient prices. The old +gentleman was so pleased with my skill, that he took me home with +him, and in a very little time into partnership. It’s +a good thing to have a gift, but yet better to have two. I +might have got a very decent livelihood by throwing stones, but I +much question whether I should ever have attained to the position +in society which I now occupy, but for my knowledge of +animals. I lived very comfortably with the old gentleman +till he died, which he did about a fortnight after he had laid +his old lady in the ground. Having no children, he left me +what should remain after he had been buried decently, and the +remainder was six dickeys and thirty shillings in silver. I +remained in the dickey trade ten years, during which time I saved +a hundred pounds. I then embarked in the horse line. +One day, being in the --- market on a Saturday, I saw Mary +Fulcher with a halter round her neck, led about by a man, who +offered to sell her for eighteenpence. I took out the money +forthwith and bought her; the man was her husband, a +basket-maker, with whom she had lived several years without +having any children; he was a drunken, quarrelsome fellow, and +having had a dispute with her the day before, he determined to +get rid of her, by putting a halter round her neck, and leading +her to the cattle-market, as if she were a mare, which he had, it +seems, a right to do; all women being considered mares by old +English law, and, indeed, still called mares in certain counties, +where genuine old English is still preserved. That same +afternoon, the <!-- page 273--><a name="page273"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 273</span>man who had been her husband, having +got drunk in a public-house with the money which he had received +for her, quarrelled with another man, and receiving a blow under +the ear, fell upon the floor, and died of artiflex; and in less +than three weeks I was married to Mary Fulcher, by virtue of +regular bans. I am told she was legally my property by +virtue of my having bought her with a halter round her neck; but, +to tell you the truth, I think everybody should live by his +trade, and I didn’t wish to act shabbily towards our +parson, who is a good fellow, and has certainly a right to his +fees. A better wife than Mary Fulcher—I mean Mary +Dale—no one ever had; she has borne me several children, +and has at all times shown a willingness to oblige me, and to be +my faithful wife. Amongst other things, I begged her to +have done with her family, and I believe she has never spoken to +them since.</p> +<p>‘I have thriven very well in business, and my name is up +as being a person who can be depended on, when folks treats me +handsomely. I always makes a point when a gentleman comes +to me, and says, “Mr. Dale,” or +“John”—for I have no objection to be called +John by a gentleman—“I wants a good horse, and I am +ready to pay a good price”—I always makes a point, I +say, to furnish him with an animal worth the money; but when I +sees a fellow, whether he calls himself gentleman or not, wishing +to circumvent me, what does I do? I doesn’t quarrel +with him, not I; but, letting him imagine he is taking me in, I +contrives to sell him a screw for thirty pounds, not worth forty +shillings. All honest respectable people have at present +great confidence in me, and frequently commissions me to buy them +horses at great fairs like this.</p> +<p>‘This short young gentleman was recommended to me by a +great landed proprietor, to whom he bore letters of +recommendation from some great prince in his own country, who had +a long time ago been entertained at the house of the landed +proprietor, and the consequence is, that I brings young six foot +six to Horncastle, and purchases for him the horse of the Romany +Rye. I don’t do these kind things for nothing, it is +true; that can’t be expected; for every one must live by +his trade; but, as I said before, when I am treated handsomely, I +treat folks so. Honesty, I have discovered, as perhaps some +other <!-- page 274--><a name="page274"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 274</span>people have, is by far the best +policy; though, as I also said before, when I’m along with +thieves, I can beat them at their own game. If I am obliged +to do it, I can pass off the veriest screw as a flying +drummedary, for even when I was a child I had found out by +various means what may be done with animals. I wish now to +ask a civil question, Mr. Romany Rye. Certain folks have +told me that you are a horse witch, are you one, or are you +not?’</p> +<p>‘I, like yourself,’ said I, ‘know, to a +certain extent, what may be done with animals.’</p> +<p>‘Then how would you, Mr. Romany Rye, pass off the +veriest screw in the world for a flying drummedary?’</p> +<p>‘By putting a small live eel down his throat; as long as +the eel remained in his stomach, the horse would appear brisk and +lively in a surprising degree.’</p> +<p>‘And how would you contrive to make a regular kicker and +biter appear so tame and gentle, that any respectable fat old +gentleman of sixty, who wanted an easy goer, would be glad to +purchase him for fifty pounds?’</p> +<p>‘By pouring down his throat four pints of generous old +ale, which would make him so happy and comfortable, that he would +not have the heart to kick or bite anybody, for a season at +least.’</p> +<p>‘And where did you learn all this?’ said the +jockey.</p> +<p>‘I have read about the eel in an old English book, and +about the making drunk in a Spanish novel, and, singularly +enough, I was told the same things by a wild blacksmith in +Ireland. Now tell me, do you bewitch horses in this +way?’</p> +<p>‘I?’ said the jockey; ‘mercy upon us! +I wouldn’t do such things for a hatful of money. No, +no, preserve me from live eels and hocussing! And now let +me ask you, how you would spirit a horse out of a +field?’</p> +<p>‘How would I spirit a horse out of a field?’</p> +<p>‘Yes! supposing you were down in the world, and had +determined on taking up the horse-stealing line of +business.’</p> +<p>‘Why I should—. But I tell you what, friend, +I see you are trying to pump me, and I tell you plainly that I +will hear something from you with respect to your art, before I +tell you anything more. Now, how would you whisper a horse +out of a field, provided you were down in the world, and so +forth?’</p> +<p><!-- page 275--><a name="page275"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +275</span>‘Ah, ah, I see you are up to game, Mr. Romany: +however, I am a gentleman in mind, if not by birth, and I scorn +to do the unhandsome thing to anybody who has dealt fairly +towards me. Now, you told me something I didn’t know, +and I’ll tell you something which perhaps you do +know. I whispers a horse out of a field in this way: I have +a mare in my stable; well, in the early season of the year I goes +into my stable—Well, I puts the sponge into a small bottle +which I keeps corked. I takes my bottle in my hand, and +goes into a field, suppose by night, where there is a very fine +stag horse. I manage with great difficulty to get within +ten yards of the horse, who stands staring at me just ready to +run away. I then uncorks my bottle, presses my fore-finger +to the sponge, and holds it out to the horse; the horse gives a +sniff, then a start, and comes nearer. I corks up my bottle +and puts it into my pocket. My business is done, for the +next two hours the horse would follow me anywhere—the +difficulty, indeed, would be to get rid of him. Now, is +that your way of doing business?’</p> +<p>‘My way of doing business? Mercy upon us! I +wouldn’t steal a horse in that way, or, indeed, in any way, +for all the money in the world: however, let me tell you, for +your comfort, that a trick somewhat similar is described in the +history of Herodotus.’</p> +<p>‘In the history of Herod’s ass!’ said the +jockey; ‘well, if I did write a book, it should be about +something more genteel than a dickey.’</p> +<p>‘I did not say Herod’s ass!’ said I, +‘but Herodotus, a very genteel writer, I assure you, who +wrote a history about very genteel people, in a language no less +genteel than Greek, more than two thousand years ago. There +was a dispute as to who should be king amongst certain imperious +chieftains. At last they agreed to obey him whose horse +should neigh first on a certain day, in front of the royal +palace, before the rising of the sun; for you must know that they +did not worship the person who made the sun as we do, but the sun +itself. So one of these chieftains, talking over the matter +to his groom, and saying he wondered who would be king, the +fellow said, “Why, you, master, or I don’t know much +about horses.” So the day before the day of trial, +what does the groom do but take his master’s horse before +the palace and introduce him to a mare in the stable, and <!-- +page 276--><a name="page276"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +276</span>then lead him forth again. Well, early the next +day all the chieftains on their horses appeared in front of the +palace before the dawn of day. Not a horse neighed but one, +and that was the horse of him who had consulted with his groom, +who, thinking of the animal within the stable, gave such a neigh +that all the buildings rang. His rider was forthwith +elected king, and a brave king he was. So this shows what +seemingly wonderful things may be brought about by a little +preparation.’</p> +<p>‘It doth,’ said the jockey; ‘what was the +chap’s name?’</p> +<p>‘His name—his name—Darius +Hystaspes.’</p> +<p>‘And the groom’s?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t know.’</p> +<p>‘And he made a good king?’</p> +<p>‘First-rate.’</p> +<p>‘Only think! well, if he made a good king, what a +wonderful king the groom would have made, through whose knowledge +of ’orses he was put on the throne. And now another +question, Mr. Romany Rye, have you particular words which have +power to soothe or aggravate horses?’</p> +<p>‘You should ask me,’ said I, ‘whether I have +horses that can be aggravated or soothed by particular +words. No words have any particular power over horses or +other animals who have never heard them before—how should +they? But certain animals connect ideas of misery or +enjoyment with particular words which they are acquainted +with. I’ll give you an example. I knew a cob in +Ireland that could be driven to a state of kicking madness by a +particular word, used by a particular person, in a particular +tone; but that word was connected with a very painful operation +which had been performed upon him by that individual, who had +frequently employed it at a certain period whilst the animal had +been under his treatment. The same cob could be soothed in +a moment by another word, used by the same individual in a very +different kind of tone—the word was deaghblasda, or sweet +tasted. Some time after the operation, whilst the cob was +yet under his hands, the fellow—who was what the Irish call +a fairy smith—had done all he could to soothe the creature, +and had at last succeeded by giving it gingerbread-buttons, of +which the cob became passionately fond. Invariably, +however, before giving it a button, he said, <!-- page 277--><a +name="page277"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +277</span>“Deaghblasda,” with which word the cob by +degrees associated an idea of unmixed enjoyment: so if he could +rouse the cob to madness by the word which recalled the torture +to its remembrance, he could as easily soothe it by the other +word, which the cob knew would be instantly followed by the +button, which the smith never failed to give him after using the +word deaghblasda.’</p> +<p>‘There is nothing wonderful to be done,’ said the +jockey, ‘without a good deal of preparation, as I know +myself. Folks stare and wonder at certain things which they +would only laugh at if they knew how they were done; and to prove +what I say is true, I will give you one or two examples. +Can either of you lend me a handkerchief? That won’t +do,’ said he, as I presented him with a silk one. +‘I wish for a delicate white handkerchief. +That’s just the kind of thing,’ said he, as the +Hungarian offered him a fine white cambric handkerchief, +beautifully worked with gold at the hems; ‘now you shall +see me set this handkerchief on fire.’ +‘Don’t let him do so by any means,’ said the +Hungarian, speaking to me in German, ‘it is the gift of a +lady whom I highly admire, and I would not have it burnt for the +world.’ ‘He has no occasion to be under any +apprehension,’ said the jockey, after I had interpreted to +him what the Hungarian had said, ‘I will restore it to him +uninjured, or my name is not Jack Dale.’ Then +sticking the handkerchief carelessly into the left side of his +bosom, he took the candle, which by this time had burnt very low, +and holding his head back, he applied the flame to the +handkerchief, which instantly seemed to catch fire. +‘What do you think of that?’ said he to the +Hungarian. ‘Why, that you have ruined me,’ said +the latter. ‘No harm done, I assure you,’ said +the jockey, who presently, clapping his hand on his bosom, +extinguished the fire, and returned the handkerchief to the +Hungarian, asking him if it was burnt. ‘I see no burn +upon it,’ said the Hungarian; ‘but in the name of +Gott how could you set it on fire without burning +it?’ ‘I never set it on fire at all,’ +said the jockey; ‘I set this on fire,’ showing us a +piece of half-burnt calico. ‘I placed this calico +above it, and lighted not the handkerchief, but the rag. +Now, I will show you something else. I have a magic +shilling in my pocket, which I can make run up <!-- page 278--><a +name="page278"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 278</span>along my +arm. But, first of all, I would gladly know whether either +of you can do the like.’ Thereupon the Hungarian and +myself, putting our hands into our pockets, took out shillings, +and endeavoured to make them run up our arms, but utterly failed; +both shillings, after we had made two or three attempts, falling +to the ground. ‘What noncomposses you both +are,’ said the jockey; and, placing a shilling on the end +of the fingers of his right hand, he made strange faces to it, +drawing back his head, whereupon the shilling instantly began to +run up his arm, occasionally hopping and jumping as if it were +bewitched, always endeavouring to make towards the head of the +jockey.</p> +<p>‘How do I do that?’ said he, addressing himself to +me. ‘I really do not know,’ said I, +‘unless it is by the motion of your arm.’ +‘The motion of my nonsense,’ said the jockey, and, +making a dreadful grimace, the shilling hopped upon his knee, and +began to run up his thigh and to climb his breast. +‘How is that done?’ said he again. ‘By +witchcraft, I suppose,’ said I. ‘There you are +right,’ said the jockey; ‘by the withcraft of one of +Miss Berners’ hairs; the end of one of her long hairs is +tied to that shilling by means of a hole in it, and the other end +goes round my neck by means of a loop; so that, when I draw back +my head, the shilling follows it. I suppose you wish to +know how I got the hair,’ said he, grinning at me. +‘I will tell you. I once, in the course of my +ridings, saw Miss Berners beneath a hedge, combing out her long +hair, and, being rather a modest kind of person, what must I do +but get off my horse, tie him to a gate, go up to her, and +endeavour to enter into conversation with her. After giving +her the sele of the day, and complimenting her on her hair, I +asked her to give me one of the threads; whereupon she gave me +such a look, and, calling me fellow, told me to take myself +off. “I must have a hair first,” said I, making +a snatch at one. I believe I hurt her; but, whether I did +or not, up she started, and, though her hair was unbound, gave me +the only drubbing I ever had in my life. Lor! how, with her +right hand, she fibbed me whilst she held me round the neck with +her left arm; I was soon glad to beg her pardon on my knees, +which she gave me in a moment when she saw me in that condition, +being the most placable creature in the world, and not only her +pardon, <!-- page 279--><a name="page279"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 279</span>but one of the hairs which I longed +for, which I put through a shilling, with which I have on +evenings after fairs, like this, frequently worked what seemed to +those who looked on downright witchcraft, but which is nothing +more than pleasant deception. And now, Mr. Romany Rye, to +testify my regard for you, I give you the shilling and the +hair. I think you have a kind of respect for Miss Berners; +but whether you have or not, keep them as long as you can, and +whenever you look at them think of the finest woman in England, +and of John Dale, the jockey of Horncastle. I believe I +have told you my history,’ said he—‘no, not +quite; there is one circumstance I had passed over. I told +you that I have thriven very well in business, and so I have upon +the whole: at any rate, I find myself comfortably off now. +I have horses, money, and owe nobody a groat; at any rate, +nothing but what I could pay to-morrow. Yet I have had my +dreary day, ay, after I had obtained what I call a station in the +world. All of a sudden, about five years ago, everything +seemed to go wrong with me—horses became sick or died, +people who owed me money broke or ran away, my house caught fire, +in fact, everything went against me; and not from any +mismanagement of my own. I looked round for help, +but—what do you think?—nobody would help me. +Somehow or other it had got abroad that I was in difficulties, +and everybody seemed disposed to avoid me, as if I had got the +plague. Those who were always offering me help when I +wanted none, now, when they thought me in trouble, talked of +arresting me. Yes, two particular friends of mine, who had +always been offering me their purses when my own was stuffed +full, now talked of arresting me, though I only owed the +scoundrels a hundred pounds each; and they would have done so, +provided I had not paid them what I owed them; and how did I do +that? Why, I was able to do it because I found a +friend—and who was that friend? Why, a man who has +since been hung, of whom everybody has heard, and of whom +everybody for the next hundred years will occasionally talk.</p> +<p>‘One day, whilst in trouble, I was visited by a person +<a name="citation279"></a><a href="#footnote279" +class="citation">[279]</a> I had occasionally met at sporting +dinners. He came to look after a Suffolk Punch, the best +horse, by-the-by, that <!-- page 280--><a +name="page280"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 280</span>anybody can +purchase to drive, it being the only animal of the horse kind in +England that will pull twice at a dead weight. I told him +that I had none at that time that I could recommend; in fact, +that every horse in my stable was sick. He then invited me +to dine with him at an inn close by, and I was glad to go with +him, in the hope of getting rid of unpleasant thoughts. +After dinner, during which he talked nothing but slang, observing +I looked melancholy, he asked me what was the matter with me, and +I, my heart being opened by the wine he had made me drink, told +him my circumstances without reserve. With an oath or two +for not having treated him at first like a friend, he said he +would soon set me all right; and pulling out two hundred pounds, +told me to pay him when I could. I felt as I never felt +before; however, I took his notes, paid my sneaks, and in less +than three months was right again, and had returned him his +money. On paying it to him, I said that I had now a Punch +which would just suit him, saying that I would give it to +him—a free gift—for nothing. He swore at me; +telling me to keep my Punch, for that he was suited +already. I begged him to tell me how I could requite him +for his kindness, whereupon, with the most dreadful oath I ever +heard, he bade me come and see him hanged when his time was +come. I wrung his hand, and told him I would, and I kept my +word. The night before the day he was hanged at H---, <a +name="citation280"></a><a href="#footnote280" +class="citation">[280]</a> I harnessed a Suffolk Punch to my +light gig, the same Punch which I had offered to him, which I +have ever since kept, and which brought me and this short young +man to Horncastle, and in eleven hours I drove that Punch one +hundred and ten miles. I arrived at H--- just in the nick +of time. There was the ugly jail—the +scaffold—and there upon it stood the only friend I ever had +in the world. Driving my Punch, which was all in a foam, +into the midst of the crowd, which made way for me as if it knew +what I came for, I stood up in my gig, took off my hat, and +shouted, “God Almighty bless you, Jack!” The +dying man turned his pale grim face towards me—for his face +was always somewhat grim, do you see—nodded and said, or I +thought I heard him say, “All right, old chap.” +The next moment . . . my eyes water. He had a high heart, +got into a scrape whilst in the marines, lost his half-pay, took +to the turf, ring, <!-- page 281--><a name="page281"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 281</span>gambling, and at last cut the throat +of a villain who had robbed him of nearly all he had. But +he had good qualities, and I know for certain that he never did +half the bad things laid to his charge; for example, he never +bribed Tom Oliver to fight cross, as it was said he did, on the +day of the awful thunderstorm. <a name="citation281a"></a><a +href="#footnote281a" class="citation">[281a]</a> Ned +Flatnose fairly beat Tom Oliver, for though Ned was not +what’s called a good fighter, he had a particular blow, +which if he could put in he was sure to win. His right +shoulder, do you see, was two inches farther back than it ought +to have been, and consequently his right fist generally fell +short; but if he could swing himself round, and put in a blow +with that right arm, he could kill or take away the senses of +anybody in the world. It was by putting in that blow in his +second fight with Spring that he beat noble Tom. Spring +beat him like a sack in the first battle, but in the second Ned +Painter—for that was his real name—contrived to put +in his blow, and took the senses out of Spring; and in like +manner he took the senses out of Tom Oliver.</p> +<p>‘Well, some are born to be hanged, and some are not; and +many of those who are not hanged are much worse than those who +are. Jack, with many a good quality, is hanged, whilst that +fellow of a lord, who wanted to get the horse from you at about +two-thirds of his value, without a single good quality in the +world, is not hanged, and probably will remain so. You ask +the reason why, perhaps. I’ll tell you; the lack of a +certain quality called courage, which Jack possessed in +abundance, will preserve him; from the love which he bears his +own neck he will do nothing which can bring him to the gallows. +<a name="citation281b"></a><a href="#footnote281b" +class="citation">[281b]</a> In my rough way I’ll draw +their characters from their childhood, and then ask whether Jack +was not the best character of the two. Jack was a rough, +audacious boy, fond of fighting, going a birds’-nesting, +but I never heard he did anything particularly cruel save once, I +believe, tying a canister to a butcher’s dog’s tail; +whilst this fellow of a lord was by nature a savage beast, <!-- +page 282--><a name="page282"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +282</span>and when a boy would in winter pluck poor fowls naked, +and set them running on the ice and in the snow, and was +particularly fond of burning cats alive in the fire. Jack, +when a lad, gets a commission on board a ship as an officer of +horse marines, and in two or three engagements behaves quite up +to the mark—at least of a marine; the marines having no +particular character for courage you know—never having run +to the guns and fired them like madmen after the blue jackets had +had more than enough. Oh, dear me, no! My lord gets +into the valorous British army, where cowardice—oh, dear +me!—is a thing almost entirely unknown; and being on the +field of Waterloo the day before the battle, falls off his horse, +and, pretending to be hurt in the back, gets himself put on the +sick list—a pretty excuse—hurting his back—for +not being present at such a fight. Old Benbow, after part +of both his legs had been shot away in a sea-fight, made the +carpenter make him a cradle to hold his bloody stumps, and +continued on deck cheering his men till he died. Jack +returns home, and gets into trouble, and having nothing to +subsist by but his wits, gets his living by the ring, and the +turf, and gambling, doing many an odd kind of thing, I dare say, +but not half those laid to his charge. My lord does much +the same without the excuse for doing so which Jack had, for he +had plenty of means, is a leg, and a black, only in a more +polished way, and with more cunning, and I may say success, +having done many a rascally thing never laid to his charge. +Jack at last cuts the throat of a villain who had cheated him of +all he had in the world, and who, I am told, was in many points +the counterpart of this screw and white feather, is taken up, +tried, and executed; and certainly taking away a man’s life +is a dreadful thing; but is there nothing as bad? +Whitefeather will cut no person’s throat—I will not +say who has cheated him, for, being a cheat himself, he will take +good care that nobody cheats him, but he’ll do something +quite as bad; out of envy to a person who never injured him, and +whom he hates for being more clever and respected than himself, +he will do all he possibly can, by backbiting and every unfair +means, to do that person a mortal injury. But Jack is +hanged, and my lord is not. Is that right? My wife, +Mary Fulcher—I beg her pardon, Mary Dale—who is a +Methodist, and has heard the mighty preacher, Peter Williams, +says <!-- page 283--><a name="page283"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 283</span>some people are preserved from +hanging by the grace of God. With her I differs, and says +it is from want of courage. This Whitefeather, with one +particle of Jack’s courage, and with one tithe of his good +qualities, would have been hanged long ago, for he has ten times +Jack’s malignity. Jack was hanged because, along with +his bad qualities, he had courage and generosity; this fellow is +not, because with all Jack’s bad qualities, and many more, +amongst which is cunning, he has neither courage nor +generosity. Think of a fellow like that putting down two +hundred pounds to relieve a distressed fellow-creature; why he +would rob, but for the law and the fear it fills him with, a +workhouse child of its breakfast, as the saying is—and has +been heard to say that he would not trust his own father for +sixpence, and he can’t imagine why such a thing as credit +should be ever given. I never heard a person give him a +good word—stay, stay, yes! I once heard an old parson, to +whom I sold a Punch, say that he had the art of receiving company +gracefully, and dismissing them without refreshment. I +don’t wish to be too hard with him, and so let him make the +most of that compliment. Well! he manages to get on, whilst +Jack is hanged; not quite enviably, however; he has had his rubs, +and pretty hard ones—everybody knows he slunk from +Waterloo, and occasionally checks him with so doing; whilst he +has been rejected by a woman—what a mortification to the +low pride of which the scoundrel has plenty! There’s +a song about both circumstances, which may, perhaps, ring in his +ears on a dying bed. It’s a funny kind of song, set +to the old tune of the Lord-Lieutenant or Deputy, and with it I +will conclude my discourse, for I really think it’s past +one.’ The jockey then, with a very tolerable voice, +sung the following song:</p> +<blockquote><p>THE JOCKEY’S SONG.</p> +<p>Now list to a ditty both funny and true!—<br /> + Merrily moves the dance along—<br /> +A ditty that tells of a coward and screw,<br /> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +<p>Sir Plume, though not liking a bullet at all—<br /> + Merrily moves the dance along—<br /> +Had yet resolution to go to a <i>ball</i>,<br /> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +<p><!-- page 284--><a name="page284"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +284</span>‘Woulez wous danser, +mademoiselle?’—<br /> + Merrily moves the dance along—<br /> +Said she, ‘Sir, to dance I should like very well,’<br +/> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +<p>They danc’d to the left, and they danc’d to the +right—<br /> + Merrily moves the dance along—<br /> +And her troth the fair damsel bestow’d on the knight,<br /> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +<p>‘Now what shall I fetch you +mademoiselle?’<i>—</i><br /> + Merrily moves the dance along—<br /> +Said she, ‘Sir, an ice I should like very well,<br /> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +<p>But the ice, when he’d got it, he instantly +ate—<br /> + Merrily moves the dance along—<br /> +Although his pool partner was all in a fret,<br /> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +<p>He ate up the ice like a prudent young lord—<br /> + Merrily moves the dance along—<br /> +For he saw ’twas the very last ice on the board,<br /> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +<p>‘Now when shall we marry?’ the gentleman +cried—<br /> + Merrily moves the dance along—<br /> +‘Sir, get you to Jordan,’ the damsel replied,<br /> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +<p>‘I never will wed with the pitiful elf’—<br +/> + Merrily moves the dance along—<br /> +‘Who ate up the ice which I wanted myself,’<br /> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +<p>‘I’d pardon your backing from red +Waterloo,’—<br /> + Merrily moves the dance along—<br /> +‘But I never will wed with a coward and screw,’<br /> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIII</h2> +<p>THE CHURCH</p> +<p>The next morning I began to think of departing: I had sewed up +the money which I had received for the horse in a portion of my +clothing, where I entertained no fears for its safety, with the +exception of a small sum in notes, gold, and silver, which I +carried in my pocket. Ere departing, however, I determined +to stroll about and examine <!-- page 285--><a +name="page285"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 285</span>the town, +and observe more particularly the humours of the fair than I had +hitherto an opportunity of doing. The town, when I examined +it, offered no object worthy of attention but its church—an +edifice of some antiquity; under the guidance of an old man, who +officiated as sexton, I inspected its interior attentively, +occasionally conversing with my guide, who, however, seemed much +more disposed to talk about horses than the church. +‘No good horses in the fair this time, measter,’ said +he; ‘none but one brought hither by a chap whom nobody +knows, and bought by a foreigneering man, who came here with Jack +Dale. The horse fetched a good swinging price, which is +said, however, to be much less than its worth; for the horse is a +regular clipper; not such a one, ’tis said, has been seen +in the fair for several summers. Lord Whitefeather says +that he believes the fellow who brought him to be a highwayman, +and talks of having him taken up, but Lord Whitefeather is only +in a rage because he could not get him for himself. The +chap would not sell it to un; Lord Screw wanted to beat him down, +and the chap took huff, said he wouldn’t sell it to him at +no price, and accepted the offer of the foreigneering man, or of +Jack, who was his ’terpreter, and who scorned to higgle +about such an hanimal, because Jack is a gentleman, though bred a +dickey-boy, whilst ’tother, though bred a lord, is a screw, +and a whitefeather. Every one says the cove was right, and +I says so too; I likes spirit, and if the cove were here, and in +your place, measter, I would invite him to drink a pint of +beer. Good horses are scarce now, measter, ay, and so are +good men, quite a different set from what there were when I was +young; that was the time for men and horses. Lord bless +you, I know all the breeders about here; they are not a bad set, +and they breed a very fairish set of horses, but they are not +like what their fathers were, nor are their horses like their +fathers’ horses. Now, there is Mr. ---, the great +breeder, a very fairish man, with very fairish horses; but, Lord +bless you, he’s nothing to what his father was, nor his +steeds to his father’s; I ought to know, for I was at the +school here with his father, and afterwards for many a year +helped him to get up his horses; that was when I was young, +measter—those were the days. You look at that +monument, measter,’ said he, as I stopped and looked +attentively at a monument on the southern side of the church near +the altar; ‘that was put up for a rector of this church, +who lived a long time ago, in Oliver’s time, and <!-- page +286--><a name="page286"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +286</span>was ill-treated and imprisoned by Oliver and his men; +you will see all about it on the monument. There was a +grand battle fought nigh this place, between Oliver’s men +and the Royal party, and the Royal party had the worst of it, as +I’m told they generally had; and Oliver’s men came +into the town and did a great deal of damage, and ill-treated +people. I can’t remember anything about the matter +myself, for it happened just one hundred years before I was born, +but my father was acquainted with an old countryman, who lived +not many miles from here, who said he remembered perfectly well +the day of the battle; that he was a boy at the time, and was +working in a field near the place where the battle was fought; +and he heard shouting, and noise of firearms, and also the sound +of several balls, which fell in the field near him. Come +this way, measter, and I will show you some remains of that +day’s field.’ Leaving the monument, on which +was inscribed an account of the life and sufferings of the +Royalist Rector of Horncastle, I followed the sexton to the +western end of the church, where, hanging against the wall, were +a number of scythes stuck in the ends of poles. +‘Those are the weapons, measter,’ said the sexton, +‘which the great people put into the hands of a number of +the country folks, in order that they might use them against +Oliver’s men; ugly weapons enough: however, Oliver’s +men won, and Sir Jacob Ashley and his party were beat. And +a rare time Oliver and his men had of it, till Oliver died, when +the other party got the better, not by fighting, ’tis said, +but through a General Monk, who turned sides. Ah, the old +fellow that my father knew, said he well remembered the time when +General Monk went over and proclaimed Charles the Second. +Bonfires were lighted everywhere, oxen roasted, and beer drunk by +pailfuls; the country folks were drunk with joy, and something +else; sung scurvy songs about Oliver to the tune of Barney Banks, +and pelted his men, wherever they found them, with stones and +dirt.’ ‘The more ungrateful scoundrels +they,’ said I. ‘Oliver and his men fought the +battle of English independence against a wretched king and +corrupt lords. Had I been living at the time, I should have +been proud to be a trooper of Oliver.’ ‘You +would, measter, would you? Well, I never quarrels with the +opinions of people who come to look at the church, and certainly +independence is a fine thing. I like to see a chap of an +independent spirit, and if I were now to see the cove who refused +to sell his horse to <!-- page 287--><a name="page287"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 287</span>my Lord Screw and Whitefeather, and +let Jack Dale have him, I would offer to treat him to a pint of +beer—e’es I would, verily. Well, measter, you +have now seen the church, and all there’s in it worth +seeing—so I’ll just lock up, and go and finish +digging the grave I was about when you came, after which I must +go into the fair to see how matters are going on. Thank ye, +measter,’ said he, as I put something into his hand; +‘thank ye kindly; ’tis not every one gives me a +shilling nowadays who comes to see the church, but times are very +different from what they were when I was young; I was not sexton +then, but something better; helped Mr. --- with his horses, and +got many a broad crown. Those were the days, measter, both +for men and horses—and I say, measter, if men and horses +were so much better when I was young than they are now, what, I +wonder, must they have been in the time of Oliver and his +men?’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIV</h2> +<p>AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE</p> +<p>Leaving the church, I strolled through the fair, looking at +the horses, listening to the chaffering of the buyers and +sellers, and occasionally putting in a word of my own, which was +not always received with much deference; suddenly, however, on a +whisper arising that I was the young cove who had brought the +wonderful horse to the fair which Jack Dale had bought for the +foreigneering man, I found myself an object of the greatest +attention; those who had before replied with stuff! and nonsense! +to what I said, now listened with the greatest eagerness to any +nonsense which I chose to utter, and I did not fail to utter a +great deal; presently, however, becoming disgusted with the +beings about me, I forced my way, not very civilly, through my +crowd of admirers; and passing through an alley and a back +street, at last reached an outskirt of the fair where no person +appeared to know me. Here I stood, looking vacantly on what +was going on, musing on the strange infatuation of my species, +who judge of a person’s words, not from their intrinsic +merit, but from the opinion—generally an erroneous +one—which they have formed of the person. From this +reverie I was roused by certain words which sounded near me, +uttered in a strange tone, and in a strange <!-- page 288--><a +name="page288"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +288</span>cadence—the words were, ‘them that finds, +wins; and them that can’t finds, loses.’ +Turning my eyes in the direction from which the words proceeded, +I saw six or seven people, apparently all countrymen, gathered +round a person standing behind a tall white table of very small +compass. ‘What,’ said I, ‘the +thimble-engro of --- Fair here at Horncastle.’ +Advancing nearer, however, I perceived that though the present +person was a thimble-engro, <a name="citation288a"></a><a +href="#footnote288a" class="citation">[288a]</a> he was a very +different one from my old acquaintance of --- Fair. <a +name="citation288b"></a><a href="#footnote288b" +class="citation">[288b]</a> The present one was a fellow +about half-a-foot taller than the other. He had a long, +haggard, wild face, and was dressed in a kind of jacket, +something like that of a soldier, with dirty hempen trousers, and +with a foreign-looking peaked hat on his head. He spoke +with an accent evidently Irish, and occasionally changed the +usual thimble formula into ‘them that finds wins, and them +that can’t—och sure!—they loses;’ saying +also frequently ‘your honour’ instead of ‘my +lord.’ I observed, on drawing nearer, that he handled +the pea and thimble with some awkwardness, like that which might +be expected from a novice in the trade. He contrived, +however, to win several shillings, for he did not seem to play +for gold, from ‘their honours.’ Awkward as he +was, he evidently did his best, and never flung a chance away by +permitting anyone to win. He had just won three shillings +from a farmer, who, incensed at his loss, was calling him a +confounded cheat, and saying that he would play no more, when up +came my friend of the preceding day, Jack the jockey. This +worthy, after looking at the thimble man a moment or two, with a +peculiarly crafty glance, cried out, as he clapped down a +shilling on the table, ‘I will stand you, old +fellow!’ ‘Them that finds wins; and them that +can’t—och, sure!—they loses,’ said the +thimble man. The game commenced, and Jack took up the +thimble without finding the pea; another shilling was produced, +and lost in the same manner. ‘This is slow +work,’ said Jack, banging down a guinea on the table: +‘can you cover that, old fellow?’ The man of +the thimble looked at the gold, and then at him who produced it, +and scratched his head. ‘Come, cover that, or I shall +be off,’ said the jockey. ‘Och, sure, my +lord!—no, I mean your honour—no, shure, your +lordship,’ said the other, ‘if I covers it at all, it +must be with silver, for divil a bit of gold have I by +me.’ ‘Well, then, produce the value <!-- page +289--><a name="page289"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 289</span>in +silver,’ said the jockey, ‘and do it quickly, for I +can’t be staying here all day.’ The thimble man +hesitated, looked at Jack with a dubious look, then at the gold, +and then scratched his head. There was now a laugh amongst +the surrounders, which evidently nettled the fellow, who +forthwith thrust his hand into his pocket, and pulling out all +his silver treasure, just contrived to place the value of the +guinea on the table. ‘Them that finds wins, and them +that can’t finds—<i>loses</i>,’ interrupted +Jack, lifting up a thimble, out of which rolled a pea. +‘There, Paddy, what do you think of that?’ said he, +seizing the heap of silver with one hand, whilst he pocketed the +guinea with the other. The thimble-engro stood for some +time like one transfixed, his eyes glaring wildly, now at the +table, and now at his successful customer; at last he said, +‘Arrah, sure, master!—no, I manes my lord—you +are not going to ruin a poor boy!’ ‘Ruin +you!’ said the other, ‘what! by winning a +guinea’s change! a pretty small dodger you—if you +have not sufficient capital, why do you engage in so deep a trade +as thimbling? come, will you stand another game?’ +‘Och, sure, master, no! the twenty shillings and one which +you have cheated me of were all I had in the world.’ +‘Cheated you,’ said Jack, ‘say that again and I +will knock you down.’ ‘Arrah! sure master, you +knows that the pea under the thimble was not mine; here is mine, +master; now give me back my money!’ ‘A likely +thing, said Jack; ‘no, no, I know a trick worth two or +three of that; whether the pea was yours or mine, you will never +have your twenty shillings and one again; and if I have ruined +you, all the better; I’d gladly ruin all such villains as +you, who ruin poor men with your dirty tricks, whom you would +knock down and rob on the road if you had but courage: not that I +mean to keep your shillings, with the exception of the two you +cheated from me, which I’ll keep. A scramble, boys! a +scramble!’ said he, flinging up all the silver into the +air, with the exception of the two shillings; and a scramble +there instantly was, between the rustics who had lost their money +and the urchins who came running up; the poor thimble-engro tried +likewise to have his share; but though he flung himself down, in +order to join more effectually in the scramble, he was unable to +obtain a single sixpence; and having in his rage given some of +his fellow scramblers a cuff or two, he was set upon by the boys +and country fellows, and compelled to make an inglorious retreat +with his table, which had been <!-- page 290--><a +name="page290"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 290</span>flung down +in the scuffle, and had one of its legs broken. As he +retired, the rabble hooted, and Jack, holding up in derision the +pea with which he had out-manœuvred him, exclaimed, +‘I always carry this in my pocket in order to be a match +for vagabonds like you.’</p> +<p>The tumult over, Jack gone, and the rabble dispersed, I +followed the discomfited adventurer at a distance, who, leaving +the town, went slowly on, carrying his dilapidated piece of +furniture, till coming to an old wall by the roadside, he placed +it on the ground, and sat down, seemingly in deep despondency, +holding his thumb to his mouth. Going nearly up to him, I +stood still, whereupon he looked up, and perceiving I was looking +steadfastly at him, he said, in an angry tone, ‘Arrah! what +for are you staring at me so? By my shoul, I think you are +one of the thaives who are after robbing me. I think I saw +you among them, and if I were only sure of it, I would take the +liberty of trying to give you a big bating.’ +‘You have had enough of trying to give people a +beating,’ said I; ‘you had better be taking your +table to some skilful carpenter to get it repaired. He will +do it for sixpence.’ ‘Divil a sixpence did you +and your thaives leave me,’ said he; ‘and if you do +not take yourself off, joy, I will be breaking your ugly head +with the foot of it.’ ‘Arrah, Murtagh!’ +said I, ‘would ye be breaking the head of your old friend +and scholar, to whom you taught the blessed tongue of Oilien nan +Naomha, in exchange for a pack of cards?’ Murtagh, +for he it was, gazed at me for a moment with a bewildered look; +then, with a gleam of intelligence in his eye, he said, +‘Shorsha! no, it can’t be—yes, by my faith it +is!’ Then, springing up, and seizing me by the hand, +he said, ‘Yes, by the powers, sure enough it is Shorsha +agra! Arrah, Shorsha! where have you been this many a +day? Sure, you are not one of the spalpeens who are after +robbing me?’ ‘Not I,’ I replied, +‘but I saw all that happened. Come, you must not take +matters so to heart; cheer up; such things will happen in +connection with the trade you have taken up.’ +‘Sorrow befall the trade, and the thief who taught it +me,’ said Murtagh; ‘and yet the trade is not a bad +one, if I only knew more of it, and had some one to help and back +me. Och! the idea of being cheated and bamboozled by that +one-eyed thief in the horseman’s dress.’ +‘Let bygones be bygones, Murtagh,’ said I; ‘it +is no use grieving for the past; sit down, and let us have a +little pleasant gossip. Arrah, <!-- page 291--><a +name="page291"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 291</span>Murtagh! +when I saw you sitting under the wall, with your thumb to your +mouth, it brought to my mind tales which you used to tell me all +about Finn-ma-Coul. You have not forgotten Finn-ma-Coul, +Murtagh, and how he sucked wisdom out of his thumb.’ +‘Sorrow a bit have I forgot about him, Shorsha,’ said +Murtagh, as we sat down together, ‘nor what you yourself +told me about the snake. Arrah, Shorsha! what ye told me +about the snake, bates anything I ever told you about Finn. +Ochone, Shorsha! perhaps you will be telling me about the snake +once more? I think the tale would do me good, and I have +need of comfort, God knows, Ochone!’ Seeing Murtagh +in such a distressed plight, I forthwith told him over again the +tale of the snake, in precisely the same words as I have related +it in the first part of this history. After which, I said, +‘Now, Murtagh, tit for tat; ye will be telling me one of +the old stories of Finn-ma-Coul.’ ‘Och, +Shorsha! I haven’t heart enough,’ said +Murtagh. ‘Thank you for your tale, but it makes me +weep; it brings to my mind Dungarvon times of old—I mean +the times we were at school together.’ ‘Cheer +up, man,’ said I, ‘and let’s have the story, +and let it be about Ma-Coul and the salmon, and his thumb.’ +<a name="citation291"></a><a href="#footnote291" +class="citation">[291]</a> ‘Arrah, Shorsha! I +can’t. Well, to oblige you, I’ll give it +you. Well you know Ma-Coul was an exposed child, and came +floating over the salt sea in a chest which was cast ashore at +Veintry Bay. In the corner of that bay was a castle, where +dwelt a giant and his wife, very respectable and decent people, +and this giant, taking his morning walk along the bay, came to +the place where the child had been cast ashore in his box. +Well, the giant looked at the child, and being filled with +compassion for his exposed state, took the child up in his box, +and carried him home to his castle, where he and his wife, being +dacent respectable people, as I telled ye before, fostered the +child and took care of him, till he became old enough to go out +to service and gain his livelihood, when they bound him out +apprentice to another giant, who lived in a castle up the +country, at some distance from the bay.</p> +<p>‘This giant, whose name was Darmod David Odeen, was not +a respectable person at all, but a big old vagabond. He was +twice the size of the other giant, who, though bigger than any +man, was not a big giant; for, as there are great and <!-- page +292--><a name="page292"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +292</span>small men, so there are great and small giants—I +mean some are small when compared with the others. Well, +Finn served this giant a considerable time, doing all kinds of +hard and unreasonable service for him, and receiving all kinds of +hard words, and many a hard knock and kick to boot—sorrow +befall the ould vagabond who could thus ill-treat a helpless +foundling. It chanced that one day the giant caught a +salmon, near a salmon-leap upon his estate—for, though a +big ould blackguard, he was a person of considerable landed +property, and high sheriff for the county Cork. Well, the +giant brings home the salmon by the gills, and delivers it to +Finn, telling him to roast it for the giant’s dinner; +“but take care, ye young blackguard,” he added, +“that in roasting it—and I expect ye to roast it +well—you do not let a blister come upon its nice satin +skin, for if ye do, I will cut the head off your +shoulders.” “Well,” thinks Finn, +“this is a hard task; however, as I have done many hard +tasks for him, I will try and do this too, though I was never set +to do anything yet half so difficult.” So he prepared +his fire, and put his gridiron upon it, and lays the salmon +fairly and softly upon the gridiron, and then he roasts it, +turning it from one side to the other just in the nick of time, +before the soft satin skin could be blistered. However, on +turning it over the eleventh time—and twelve would have +settled the business—he found he had delayed a little bit +of time too long in turning it over, and that there was a small, +tiny blister on the soft outer skin. Well, Finn was in a +mighty panic, remembering the threats of the ould giant; however, +he did not lose heart, but clapped his thumb upon the blister in +order to smooth it down. Now the salmon, Shorsha, was +nearly done, and the flesh thoroughly hot, so Finn’s thumb +was scalt, and he, clapping it to his mouth, sucked it, in order +to draw out the pain, and in a +moment—hubbuboo!—became imbued with all the wisdom of +the world.’</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Stop, Murtagh! stop!</p> +<p><i>Murtagh</i>. All the witchcraft, Shorsha.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. How wonderful!</p> +<p><i>Murtagh</i>. Was it not, Shorsha? The salmon, +do you see, was a fairy salmon.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. What a strange coincidence.</p> +<p><i>Murtagh</i>. A what, Shorsha!</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Why that the very same tale should be +told of Finn-ma-Coul, which is related of Sigurd Fafnisbane.</p> +<p><!-- page 293--><a name="page293"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +293</span>‘What thief was that, Shorsha?’</p> +<p>‘Thief! ’Tis true, he took the treasure of +Fafnir. Sigurd was the hero of the North, Murtagh, even as +Finn is the great Hero of Ireland. He, too, according to +one account, was an exposed child, and came floating in a casket +to a wild shore, where he was suckled by a hind, and afterwards +found and fostered by Mimir, a fairy blacksmith; he, too, sucked +wisdom from a burn. According to the Edda, he burnt his +finger whilst feeling of the heart of Fafnir, which he was +roasting, and putting it into his mouth in order to suck out the +pain, became imbued with all the wisdom of the world, the +knowledge of the language of birds, and what not. I have +heard you tell the tale of Finn a dozen times in the blessed days +of old, but its identity with the tale of Sigurd never occurred +to me till now. It is true, when I knew you of old, I had +never read the tale of Sigurd, and have since almost dismissed +matters of Ireland from my mind; but as soon as you told me again +about Finn’s burning his finger, the coincidence struck +me. I say, Murtagh, the Irish owe much to the +Danes—.’</p> +<p>‘Devil a bit, Shorsha, do they owe to the thaives, +except many a bloody bating and plundering, which they never paid +them back. Och, Shorsha! you, edicated in ould Ireland, to +say that the Irish owes anything good to the plundering +villains—the Siol Loughlin.’</p> +<p>‘They owe them half their traditions, Murtagh, and +amongst others Finn-ma-Coul and the burnt finger; and if ever I +publish the Loughlin songs, I’ll tell the world +so.’</p> +<p>‘But, Shorsha, the world will never believe ye—to +say nothing of the Irish part of it.’</p> +<p>‘Then the world, Murtagh—to say nothing of the +Irish part of it—will be a fool, even as I have often +thought it; the grand thing, Murtagh, is to be able to believe +one’s self, and respect one’s self. How few +whom the world believes believe and respect +themselves.’</p> +<p>‘Och, Shorsha! shall I go on with the tale of +Finn?’</p> +<p>‘I’d rather you should not, Murtagh; I know about +it already.’</p> +<p>‘Then why did you bother me to tell it at first, +Shorsha? Och, it was doing my ownself good, and making me +forget my own sorrowful state, when ye interrupted me with your +thaives of Danes! Och, Shorsha! let me tell you how Finn, +by means of sucking his thumb, and the witchcraft he imbibed from +it, contrived to pull off the arm of the ould <!-- page 294--><a +name="page294"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 294</span>wagabone, +Darmod David Odeen, whilst shaking hands with him—for Finn +could do no feat of strength without sucking his thumb, Shorsha, +as Conan the Bald told the son of Oisin in the song which I used +to sing ye in the Dungarvon times of old;’ and here Murtagh +repeated certain Irish words to the following effect:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘“O little the foolish words I +heed,<br /> +O Oisin’s son, from thy lips which come;<br /> +No strength were in Finn for valorous deed,<br /> +Unless to the gristle he sucked his thumb.”’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Enough is as good as a feast, Murtagh; I am no longer +in the cue for Finn. I would rather hear your own +history. Now, tell us, man, all that has happened to ye +since Dungarvon times of old?’</p> +<p>‘Och, Shorsha, it would be merely bringing all my +sorrows back upon me!’</p> +<p>‘Well, if I know all your sorrows, perhaps I shall be +able to find a help for them. I owe you much, Murtagh; you +taught me Irish, and I will do all I can to help you.’</p> +<p>‘Why, then, Shorsha, I’ll tell ye my +history. Here goes!’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLV</h2> +<p>MURTAGH’S TALE</p> +<p>‘Well, Shorsha, about a year and a half after you left +us—and a sorrowful hour for us it was when ye left us, +losing, as we did, your funny stories of your snake—and the +battles of your military—they sent me to Paris and +Salamanca, in order to make a saggart of me.’</p> +<p>‘Pray excuse me,’ said I, ‘for interrupting +you, but what kind of place is Salamanca?’</p> +<p>‘Divil a bit did I ever see of it, Shorsha!’</p> +<p>‘Then why did you say ye were sent there? Well, +what kind of place is Paris. Not that I care much about +Paris.’</p> +<p>‘Sorrow a bit did I ever see of either of them, Shorsha, +for no one sent me to either. When we says at home a person +is going to Paris and Salamanca, it manes that he is going abroad +to study to be a saggart, whether he goes to them places or +not. No, I never saw either—bad luck to them—I +was shipped away from Cork up the straits to a place called +Leghorn, from which I was sent to --- to a <!-- page 295--><a +name="page295"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 295</span>religious +house, where I was to be instructed in saggarting till they had +made me fit to cut a decent figure in Ireland. We had a +long and tedious voyage, Shorsha; not so tedious, however, as it +would have been had I been fool enough to lave your pack of cards +behind me, as the thaif, my brother Dennis, wanted to persuade me +to do, in older that he might play with them himself. With +the cards I managed to have many a nice game with the sailors, +winning from them ha’pennies and sixpences until the +captain said that I was ruining his men, and keeping them from +their duty; and, being a heretic and a Dutchman, swore that +unless I gave over he would tie me up to the mast and give me a +round dozen. This threat obliged me to be more on my guard, +though I occasionally contrived to get a game at night, and to +win sixpences and ha’pennies.</p> +<p>‘We reached Leghorn at last, and glad I was to leave the +ship and the master, who gave me a kick as I was getting over the +side, bad luck to the dirty heretic for kicking a son of the +church, for I have always been a true son of the church, Shorsha, +and never quarrelled with it unless it interfered with me in my +playing at cards. I left Leghorn with certain muleteers, +with whom I played at cards at the baiting houses, and who +speedily won from me all the ha’pennies and sixpences I had +won from the sailors. I got my money’s worth, +however, for I learnt from the muleteers all kind of quaint +tricks upon the cards, which I knew nothing of before; so I did +not grudge them what they chated me of, and when we parted we did +so in kindness on both sides. On getting to --- I was +received into the religious house for Irishes. It was the +Irish house, Shorsha, into which I was taken, for I do not wish +ye to suppose that I was in the English religious house which +there is in that city, in which a purty set are educated, and in +which purty doings are going on if all tales be true.</p> +<p>‘In this Irish house I commenced my studies, learning to +sing and to read the Latin prayers of the church. +’Faith, Shorsha, many’s the sorrowful day I passed in +that house learning the prayers and litanies, being half-starved, +with no earthly diversion at all, at all; until I took the cards +out of my chest and began instructing in card-playing the chum +which I had with me in the cell; then I had plenty of diversion +along with him during the times when I was not engaged in +singing, and chanting, and saying the prayers of the church; +there was, however, some drawback in playing <!-- page 296--><a +name="page296"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 296</span>with my +chum, for though he was very clever in learning, divil a sixpence +had he to play with, in which respect he was like myself, the +master who taught him, who had lost all my money to the muleteers +who taught me the tricks upon the cards; by degrees, however, it +began to be noised about the religious house that Murtagh, from +Hibrodary, <a name="citation296"></a><a href="#footnote296" +class="citation">[296]</a> had a pack of cards with which he +played with his chum in the cell; whereupon other scholars of the +religious house came to me, some to be taught and others to play, +so with some I played, and others I taught, but neither to those +who could play, or to those who could not, did I teach the +elegant tricks which I learnt from the muleteers. Well, the +scholars came to me for the sake of the cards, and the porter and +the cook of the religious house, who could both play very well, +came also; at last I became tired of playing for nothing, so I +borrowed a few bits of silver from the cook, and played against +the porter, and by means of my tricks I won money from the +porter, and then I paid the cook the bits of silver which I had +borrowed of him; and played with him, and won a little of his +money, which I let him win back again, as I had lived long enough +in a religious house to know that it is dangerous to take money +from the cook. In a little time, Shorsha, there was +scarcely anything going on in the house but card-playing; the +almoner played with me, and so did the sub-rector, and I won +money from both; not too much, however, lest they should tell the +rector, who had the character of a very austere man, and of being +a bit of a saint; however, the thief of a porter, whose money I +had won, informed the rector of what was going on, and one day +the rector sent for me into his private apartment, and gave me so +long and pious a lecture upon the heinous sin of card-playing, +that I thought I should sink into the ground; after about half an +hour’s inveighing against card-playing, he began to soften +his tone, and with a long sigh told me that at one time of his +life he had been a young man himself, and had occasionally used +the cards; he then began to ask me some questions about +card-playing, which questions I afterwards found were to pump +from me what I knew about the science. After a time he +asked me whether I had got my cards with me, and on my telling +him I had, he expressed a wish to see them, whereupon I took the +pack out of my pocket, and showed it to him; he looked at it very +attentively, and at last, giving another deep sigh, he said, that +<!-- page 297--><a name="page297"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +297</span>though he was nearly weaned from the vanities of the +world, he had still an inclination to see whether he had entirely +lost the little skill which at one time he possessed. When +I heard him speak in this manner, I told him that if his +reverence was inclined for a game of cards, I should be very +happy to play one with him; scarcely had I uttered these words +than he gave a third sigh, and looked so very much like a saint +that I was afraid he was going to excommunicate me. Nothing +of the kind, however, for presently he gets up and locks the +door, then sitting down at the table, he motioned me to do the +same, which I did, and in five minutes there we were playing at +cards, his reverence and myself.</p> +<p>‘I soon found that his reverence knew quite as much +about card-playing as I did. Divil a trick was there +connected with cards that his reverence did not seem awake +to. As, however, we were not playing for money, this +circumstance did not give me much uneasiness; so we played game +after game for two hours, when his reverence, having business, +told me I might go, so I took up my cards, made my obedience, and +left him. The next day I had other games with him, and so +on for a very long time, still playing for nothing. At last +his reverence grew tired of playing for nothing, and proposed +that we should play for money. Now I had no desire to play +with his reverence for money, as I knew that doing so would bring +on a quarrel. As long as we were playing for nothing, I +could afford to let his reverence use what tricks he pleased; but +if we played for money, I couldn’t do so. If he +played his tricks, I must play mine, and use every advantage to +save my money; and there was one I possessed which his reverence +did not. The cards being my own, I had put some delicate +little marks on the trump cards, just at the edges, so that when +I dealt, by means of a little sleight of hand, I could deal +myself any trump card I pleased. But I wished, as I said +before, to have no dealings for money with his reverence, knowing +that he was master in the house, and that he could lead me a dog +of a life if I offended him, either by winning his money, or not +letting him win mine. So I told him I had no money to play +with, but the ould thief knew better; he knew that I was every +day winning money from the scholars, and the sub-rector, and the +other people of the house, and the ould thief had determined to +let me go on in that way winning money, and then by means of his +tricks, which he thought <!-- page 298--><a +name="page298"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 298</span>I dare not +resent, to win from me all my earnings,—in a word, Shorsha, +to let me fill myself like a sponge, and then squeeze me for his +own advantage. So he made me play with him, and in less +than three days came on the quarrel; his reverence chated me, and +I chated his reverence; the ould thaif knew every trick that I +knew, and one or two more; but in daling out the cards I nicked +his reverence; scarcely a trump did I ever give him, Shorsha, and +won his money purty freely. Och, it was a purty +quarrel! All the delicate names in the “Newgate +Calendar,” if ye ever heard of such a book; all the +hang-dog names in the Newgate histories, and the lives of Irish +rogues, did we call each other—his reverence and I! +Suddenly, however, putting out his hand, he seized the cards, +saying, “I will examine these cards, ye cheating scoundrel! +for I believe there are dirty marks on them, which ye have made +in order to know the winning cards.” “Give me +back my pack,” said I, “or m’anam on Dioul if I +be not the death of ye!” His reverence, however, +clapped the cards into his pocket, and made the best of his way +to the door, I hanging upon him. He was a gross fat man, +but, like most fat men, deadly strong, so he forced his way to +the door, and opening it, flung himself out, with me still +holding on him like a terrier dog on a big fat pig; then he +shouts for help, and in a little time I was secured and thrust +into a lock-up room, where I was left to myself. Here was a +purty alteration. Yesterday I was the idol of the religious +house, thought more on than his reverence, every one paying me +court and wurtship, and wanting to play cards with me, and to +learn my tricks, and fed, moreover, on the tidbits of the table; +and to-day I was in a cell, nobody coming to look at me but the +blackguard porter who had charge of me, my cards taken from me, +and with nothing but bread and water to live upon. Time +passed dreary enough for a month, at the end of which time his +reverence came to me, leaving the porter just outside the door in +older to come to his help should I be violent, and then he read +me a very purty lecture on my conduct, saying I had turned the +religious house topsy-turvy, and corrupted the scholars, and that +I was the cheat of the world, for that on inspecting the pack he +had discovered the dirty marks which I had made upon the trump +cards for to know them by. He said a great deal more to me, +which is not worth relating, and ended by telling me that he +intended to let me out of confinement next day, but that if ever +I misconducted myself <!-- page 299--><a name="page299"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 299</span>any more, he would clap me in again +for the rest of my life. I had a good mind to call him an +ould thaif, but the hope of getting out made me hold my tongue, +and the next day I was let out; and need enough I had to be let +out, for what with being alone, and living on the bread and +water, I was becoming frighted, or, as the doctors call it, +narvous. But when I was out—oh, what a change I found +in the religious house! no card-playing, for it had been +forbidden to the scholars, and there was now nothing going on but +reading and singing, divil a merry visage to be seen, but plenty +of prim airs and graces; but the case of the scholars, though bad +enough, was not half so bad as mine, for they could spake to each +other, whereas I could not have a word of conversation, for the +ould thaif of a rector had ordered them to send me to +“Coventry,” telling them that I was a gambling cheat, +with morals bad enough to corrupt a horse regiment; and whereas +they were allowed to divert themselves with going out, I was kept +reading and singing from morn till night. The only soul who +was willing to exchange a word with me was the cook, and +sometimes he and I had a little bit of discourse in a corner, and +we condoled with each other, for he liked the change in the +religious house almost as little as myself; but he told me that, +for all the change below stairs, there was still card playing +going on above, for that the ould thaif of a rector, and the sub +rector, and the almoner played at cards together, and that the +rector won money from the others—the almoner had told him +so—and, moreover, that the rector was the thaif of the +world, and had been a gambler in his youth, and had once been +kicked out of a club house at Dublin for cheating at cards, and +after that circumstance had apparently reformed and lived +decently till the time when I came to the religious house with my +pack, but that the sight of that had brought him back to his ould +gambling. He told the cook, moreover, that the rector +frequently went out at night to the houses of the great clergy +and cheated at cards.</p> +<p>‘In this melancholy state, with respect to myself, +things continued a long time, when suddenly there was a report +that his Holiness the Pope intended to pay a visit to the +religious house in order to examine into its state of +discipline. When I heard this I was glad, for I determined, +after the Pope had done what he had come to do, to fall upon my +knees before him, and make a regular complaint of the treatment I +had received, to tell him of the cheatings at cards of the +rector, <!-- page 300--><a name="page300"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 300</span>and to beg him to make the ould +thaif give me back my pack again. So the day of the visit +came, and his Holiness made his appearance with his attendants, +and, having looked over the religious house, he went into the +rector’s room with the rector, the sub-rector, and the +almoner. I intended to have waited until his Holiness came +out, but finding he stayed a long time, I thought I would +e’en go in to him, so I went up to the door without anybody +observing me—his attendants being walking about the +corridor—and opening it I slipped in, and there what do you +think I saw? Why, his Holiness the Pope, and his reverence +the rector, and the sub-rector, and the almoner seated at cards; +and the ould thaif of a rector was dealing out the cards which ye +had given me, Shorsha, to his Holiness the Pope, the sub-rector, +the almoner, and himself.’</p> +<p>In this part of his history I interrupted Murtagh, saying that +I was afraid he was telling untruths, and that it was highly +improbable that the Pope would leave the Vatican to play cards +with Irish at their religious house, and that I was sure if on +his, Murtagh’s authority, I were to tell the world so, the +world would never believe it.</p> +<p>‘Then the world, Shorsha, would be a fool, even as you +were just now saying you had frequently believed it to be; the +grand thing, Shorsha, is to be able to believe one’s self; +if ye can do that, it matters very little whether the world +believes ye or no. But a purty thing for you and the world +to stickle at the Pope’s playing at cards at a religious +house of Irish; och! if I were to tell you and the world what the +Pope has been sometimes at at the religious house of English +thaives, I would excuse you and the world for turning up your +eyes. However, I wish to say nothing against the +Pope. I am a son of the Church, and if the Pope don’t +interfere with my cards, divil a bit will I have to say against +him; but I saw the Pope playing, or about to play, with the pack +which had been taken from me, and when I told the Pope, the Pope +did not—. Ye had better let me go on with my history, +Shorsha; whither you or the world believe it or not, I am sure it +is quite as true as your tale of the snake, or saying that Finn +got his burnt finger from the thaives of Loughlin; and whatever +you may say, I am sure the world will think so too.’</p> +<p>I apologized to Murtagh for interrupting him, and telling him +that his history, whether true or not, was infinitely diverting, +begged him to continue it.</p> +<h2><!-- page 301--><a name="page301"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 301</span>CHAPTER XLVI</h2> +<p>MURTAGH’S STORY CONTINUED—THE PRIEST, EXORCIST, +AND THIMBLE-ENGRO—HOW TO CHECK A REBELLION</p> +<p>‘I was telling ye, Shorsha, when ye interrupted me, that +I found the Pope, the rector, the sub-rector and the almoner +seated at the table, the rector with my pack of cards in his +hand, about to deal out to the Pope and the rest, not forgetting +himself, for whom he intended all the trump-cards, no +doubt. No sooner did they perceive me than they seemed +taken all aback; but the rector, suddenly starting up with the +cards in his hand, asked me what I did there, threatening to have +me well disciplined if I did not go about my business. +“I am come for my pack,” said I, “ye ould +thaif, and to tell his Holiness how I have been treated by +ye.” Then, going down on my knees before his +Holiness, I said, “Arrah, now, your Holiness! will ye not +see justice done to a poor boy who has been sadly misused? +The pack of cards which that old ruffian has in his hand are my +cards, which he has taken from me in order to chate with. +Arrah! don’t play with him, your Holiness, for he’ll +only chate ye—there are dirty marks upon the cards which +bear the trumps, put there in order to know them by; and the ould +thaif in daling out will give himself all the good cards, and +chate ye of the last farthing in your pocket; so let them be +taken from him, your Holiness, and given back to me; and order +him to lave the room, and then if your Holiness be for an honest +game, don’t think I’m the boy to baulk ye. +I’ll take the ould ruffian’s place, and play with ye +till evening, and all night besides, and divil an advantage will +I take of the dirty marks, though I know them all, having placed +them on the cards myself.” I was going on in this way +when the ould thaif of a rector, flinging down the cards, made at +me as if to kick me out of the room, whereupon I started up and +said, “If ye are for kicking, sure two can play at +that,” and then I kicked at his reverence, and his +reverence at me, and there was a regular scrimmage between us, +which frightened the Pope, who, getting up, said some words which +I did not understand, but which the cook afterwards told me were, +“English extravagance, and this is the second +edition”; for it seems that a little time before his +Holiness had been frightened in St. <!-- page 302--><a +name="page302"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +302</span>Peter’s Church by the servant of an English +family, which those thaives of the English religious house had +been endeavouring to bring over to the Catholic faith, and who +didn’t approve of their being converted. Och! his +Holiness did us all sore injustice to call us English, and to +confound our house with the other; for however dirty our house +might be, our house was a clane house compared with the English +house, and we honest people compared with those English +thaives. Well, his Holiness was frighted, and the almoner +ran out, and brought in his Holiness’s attendants, and they +laid hold of me, but I struggled hard, and said, “I will +not go without my pack; arrah, your Holiness! make them give me +back my pack, which Shorsha gave me in Dungarvon times of +old,” but my struggles were of no use. I was pulled +away and put in the ould dungeon, and his Holiness went away sore +frighted, crossing himself much, and never returned again.</p> +<p>‘In the old dungeon I was fastened to the wall by a +chain, and there I was disciplined once every other day for the +first three weeks, and then I was left to myself, and my chain, +and hunger; and there I sat in the dungeon, sometimes screeching, +sometimes holloing, for I soon became frighted, having nothing in +the cell to divert me. At last the cook found his way to me +by stealth, and comforted me a little, bringing me tidbits out of +the kitchen; and he visited me again and again—not often, +however, for he dare only come when he could steal away the key +from the custody of the thief of a porter. I was three +years in the dungeon, and should have gone mad but for the cook, +and his words of comfort, and his tidbits, and nice books which +he brought me out of the library, which were the “Calendars +of Newgate,” and the “Lives of Irish Rogues and +Raparees,” the only English Books in the library. +However, at the end of three years, the ould thaif of a rector, +wishing to look at them books, missed them from the library, and +made a perquisition about them, and the thaif of a porter said +that he shouldn’t wonder if I had them, saying that he had +once seen me reading; and then the rector came with others to my +cell, and took my books from me, from under my straw, and asked +me how I came by them; and on my refusal to tell, they +disciplined me again till the blood ran down my back; and making +some perquisition, they at last accused the cook of having +carried the books to me, and the cook not denying, he was given +warning to leave next day, but he <!-- page 303--><a +name="page303"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 303</span>left that +night, and took me away with him; for he stole the key, and came +to me and cut my chain through, and then he and I escaped from +the religious house through a window—the cook with a +bundle, containing what things he had. No sooner had we got +out than the honest cook gave me a little bit of money and a +loaf, and told me to follow a way which he pointed out, which he +said would lead to the sea; and then, having embraced me after +the Italian way, he left me, and I never saw him again. So +I followed the way which the cook pointed out, and in two days +reached a seaport called Chiviter Vik, <a +name="citation303a"></a><a href="#footnote303a" +class="citation">[303a]</a> terribly foot-foundered, and there I +met a sailor who spoke Irish, and who belonged to a vessel just +ready to sail for France; and the sailor took me on board his +vessel, and said I was his brother, and the captain gave me a +passage to a place in France called Marseilles; and when I got +there, the captain and sailor got a little money for me and a +passport, and I travelled across the country towards a place they +directed me to called Bayonne, from which, they said I might, +perhaps, get to Ireland. Coming, however, to a place called +Pau, all my money being gone, I enlisted into a regiment called +the Army of the Faith, which was going into Spain, for the King +of Spain had been dethroned and imprisoned by his own subjects, +as perhaps you may have heard; and the King of France, who was +his cousin, was sending an army to help him, under the command of +his own son, whom the English called Prince Hilt, <a +name="citation303b"></a><a href="#footnote303b" +class="citation">[303b]</a> because when he was told that he was +appointed to the command, he clapped his hand on the hilt of his +sword. So I enlisted into the regiment of the Faith, which +was made up of Spaniards, many of them priests who had run out of +Spain, and broken Germans, and foot-foundered Irish, like +myself. It was said to be a blackguard regiment, that same +regiment of the Faith; but, ’faith, I saw nothing +blackguardly going on in it, for ye would hardly reckon +card-playing and dominoes, and pitch and toss blackguardly, and I +saw nothing else going on in it. There was one thing in it +which I disliked—the priests drawing their Spanish knives +occasionally, when they lost their money. After we had been +some time at Pau, the Army of the Faith was sent across the +mountains into Spain, as the vanguard of the French; and no +sooner did the Spaniards see the Faith than they made a dash at +it, and the Faith ran away, myself along with it, and got behind +the French army, which told <!-- page 304--><a +name="page304"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 304</span>it to keep +there, and the Faith did so, and followed the French army, which +soon scattered the Spaniards, and in the end placed the king on +his throne again. When the war was over the Faith was +disbanded; some of the foreigners, however, amongst whom I was +one, were put into a Guard regiment, and there I continued for +more than a year.</p> +<p>‘One day, being at a place called the Escurial, I took +stock, as the tradesmen say, and found I possessed the sum of +eighty dollars won by playing at cards; for though I could not +play so well with the foreign cards as with the pack ye gave me, +Shorsha, I had yet contrived to win money from the priests and +soldiers of the Faith. Finding myself possessed of such a +capital, I determined to leave the service and to make the best +of my way to Ireland; so I deserted, but coming in an evil hour +to a place they calls Torre Lodones, I found the priest playing +at cards with his parishioners. The sight of the cards made +me stop, and then, fool like, notwithstanding the treasure I had +about me, I must wish to play, so not being able to speak their +language I made signs to them to let me play, and the priest and +his thaives consented willingly; so I sat down to cards with the +priest and two of his parishioners, and in a little time had won +plenty of their money, but I had better never have done any such +a thing, for suddenly the priest and all his parishioners set +upon me and bate me, and took from me all I had, and cast me out +of the village more dead than alive. Och! it’s a bad +village that, and if I had known what it was I would have avoided +it, or run straight through it, though I saw all the card-playing +in the world going on in it. There is a proverb about it, +as I was afterwards told, old as the time of the Moors, which +holds good to the present day—it is, that in Torre Lodones +there are twenty-four housekeepers, and twenty-five thieves, +maning that all the people are thaives, and the clergyman to +boot, who is not reckoned a housekeeper; and troth I found the +clergyman the greatest thaif of the lot. After being cast +out of that village I travelled for nearly a month, subsisting by +begging tolerably well, for though most of the Spaniards are +thaives, they are rather charitable; but though charitable +thaives they do not like their own being taken from them without +leave being asked, as I found to my cost; for on my entering a +garden near Seville, without leave, to take an orange, the +labourer came running up and struck me to the <!-- page 305--><a +name="page305"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 305</span>ground with +a hatchet, giving me a big wound in the arm. I fainted with +loss of blood, and on my reviving I found myself in a hospital at +Seville, to which the labourer and the people of the village had +taken me. I should have died of starvation in that hospital +had not some English people heard of me and come to see me; they +tended me with food till I was cured, and then paid my passage on +board a ship to London, to which place the ship carried me.</p> +<p>‘And now I was in London with five shillings in my +pocket—all I had in the world—and that did not last +for long; and when it was gone I begged in the streets, but I did +not get much by that, except a month’s hard labour in the +correction-house; and when I came out I knew not what to do, but +thought I would take a walk in the country, for it was +spring-time, and the weather was fine, so I took a walk about +seven miles from London, and came to a place where a great fair +was being held; and there I begged, but got nothing but a +halfpenny, and was thinking of going farther, when I saw a man +with a table, like that of mine, playing with thimbles, as you +saw me. I looked at the play, and saw him win money and run +away, and hunted by constables more than once. I kept +following the man, and at last entered into conversation with +him, and learning from him that he was in want of a companion to +help him, I offered to help him if he would pay me; he looked at +me from top to toe, and did not wish at first to have anything to +do with me, as he said my appearance was against me. +’Faith, Shorsha, he had better have looked at home, for his +appearance was not much in his favour: he looked very much like a +Jew, Shorsha. However, he at last agreed to take me to be +his companion, or bonnet, as he called it; and I was to keep a +look out and let him know when constables were coming, and to +spake a good word for him occasionally, whilst he was chating +folks with his thimbles and his pea. So I became his +bonnet, and assisted him in the fair, and in many other fairs +beside; but I did not like my occupation much, or, rather, my +master, who, though not a big man, was a big thaif, and an unkind +one, for do all I could I could never give him pleasure; and he +was continually calling me fool and bogtrotter, and twitting me +because I could not learn his thaives’ Latin, and discourse +with him in it, and comparing me with another acquaintance, or +bit of a pal of his, whom he said he had parted with in the fair, +and of whom he was fond of saying all <!-- page 306--><a +name="page306"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 306</span>kinds of +wonderful things, amongst others, that he knew the grammar of all +tongues. At last, wearied with being twitted by him with +not being able to learn his thaives’ Greek, I proposed that +I should teach him Irish, that we should spake it together when +we had anything to say in sacret. To that he consented +willingly; but, och! a purty hand he made with Irish, +’faith, not much better than did I with his thaives’ +Hebrew. Then my turn came, and I twitted him nicely with +dulness, and compared him with a pal that I had in ould Ireland, +in Dungarvon times of yore, to whom I teached Irish, telling him +that he was the broth of a boy, and not only knew the grammar of +all human tongues, but the dialects of the snakes besides; in +fact, I tould him all about your own sweet self, Shorsha, and +many a dispute and quarrel had we together about our pals, which +was the cleverest fellow, his or mine.</p> +<p>‘Well, after having been wid him about two months, I +quitted him without noise, taking away one of his tables, and +some peas and thimbles: and that I did with a safe conscience, +for he paid me nothing, and was not over free with the meat and +the drink, though I must say of him that he was a clever fellow, +and perfect master of his trade, by which he made a power of +money, and bating his not being able to learn Irish, and a +certain Jewish lisp which he had, a great master of his tongue, +of which he was very proud, so much so that he once told me that +when he had saved a certain sum of money he meant to leave off +the thimbling business, and enter Parliament, into which he said +he could get at any time, through the interest of a friend of +his, a Tory Peer, my Lord Whitefeather, with whom he said he had +occasionally done business. With the table and other things +which I had taken I commenced trade on my own account, having +contrived to learn a few of his tricks. My only capital was +the change for half-a-guinea, which he had once let fall, and +which I picked up, which was all I could ever get from him, for +it was impossible to stale any money from him, he was so awake, +being up to all the tricks of thaives, having followed the diving +trade, as he called it, for a considerable time. My wish +was to make enough by my table to enable me to return with credit +to ould Ireland, where I had no doubt of being able to get myself +ordained as priest; and, in troth, notwithstanding I was a +beginner, and without any companion to help me, I did tolerably +well, getting my meat and drink, and increasing my small capital, +<!-- page 307--><a name="page307"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +307</span>till I came to this unlucky place of Horncastle, where +I was utterly ruined by the thaif in the rider’s +dress. And now, Shorsha, I am after telling you my history; +perhaps you will now be telling me something about +yourself?’</p> +<p>I told Murtagh all about myself that I deemed necessary to +relate, and then asked him what he intended to do; he repeated +that he was utterly ruined, and that he had no prospect before +him but starving, or making away with himself. I inquired, +‘How much would take him to Ireland, and establish him +there with credit?’ ‘Five pounds,’ he +answered, adding, ‘but who in the world would be fool +enough to lend me five pounds, unless it be yourself, Shorsha, +who, may be, have not got it; for when you told me about +yourself, you made no boast of the state of your +affairs.’ ‘I am not very rich,’ I +replied, ‘but I think I can accommodate you with what you +want. I consider myself under great obligations to you, +Murtagh; it was you who instructed me in the language of Oilein +nan Naomha, which has been the foundation of all my acquisitions +in philology; without you I should not be what I +am—Lavengro! which signifies a philologist. Here is +the money, Murtagh,’ said I, putting my hand into my pocket +and taking out five pounds; ‘much good may it do +you.’ He took the money, stared at it, and then at +me. ‘And you mane to give me this, +Shorsha?’ ‘It is not mine to give,’ said +I; ‘it is yours.’ ‘And you give it me for +the gratitude you bear me?’ ‘Yes,’ said +I; ‘and for Dungarvon times of old.’ +‘Well, Shorsha,’ said he, ‘you are a broth of a +boy, and I’ll take your benefaction—five +pounds! Och, Jasus!’ He then put the money in +his pocket, and springing up, waved his hat three times, uttering +some old Irish cry; then, sitting down, he took my hand and said, +‘Sure, Shorsha, I’ll be going thither; and when I get +there, it is turning over another leaf I will be; I have learnt a +thing or two abroad; I will become a priest; that’s the +trade, Shorsha! and I will cry out for repale; that’s the +cry, Shorsha! and I’ll be a fool no longer.’ +‘And what will you do with your table?’ said I. +‘’Faith, I’ll be taking it with me, Shorsha; +and when I gets to Ireland I’ll get it mended, and I will +keep it in the house which I shall have; and when I looks upon +it, I will be thinking of all I have undergone.’ +‘You had better leave it behind you,’ said I; +‘if you take it with you you will, perhaps, take up the +thimble trade again before you get to Ireland, and lose the money +I am after giving you.’ ‘No <!-- page 308--><a +name="page308"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 308</span>fear of +that, Shorsha; never will I play on that table again, Shorsha, +till I get it mended, which shall not be till I am a priest, and +have a house in which to place it.’</p> +<p>Murtagh and I then went into the town, where we had some +refreshment together, and then parted on our several ways. +I heard nothing of him for nearly a quarter of a century, when a +person who knew him well, coming from Ireland, and staying at my +humble house, told me a great deal about him. He reached +Ireland in safety, soon reconciled himself with his Church and +was ordained a priest; in the priestly office he acquitted +himself in a way very satisfactory, upon the whole, to his +superiors, having, as he frequently said, learned wisdom +abroad. The Popish Church never fails to turn to account +any particular gift which its servants may possess; and +discovering soon that Murtagh was endowed with considerable +manual dexterity—proof of which he frequently gave at +cards, and at a singular game which he occasionally played with +thimbles—it selected him as a very fit person to play the +part of exorcist; and accordingly he travelled through a great +part of Ireland, casting out devils from people possessed, which +he afterwards exhibited, sometimes in the shape of rabbits, and +occasionally birds and fish. There is a holy island in a +lake in Ireland, to which the people resort at a particular +season of the year. Here Murtagh frequently attended, and +it was here that he performed a cure which will cause his name +long to be remembered in Ireland, delivering a possessed woman of +two demons, which he brandished aloft in his hands, in the shape +of two large eels, and subsequently hurled into the lake, amidst +the shouts of an enthusiastic multitude. Besides playing +the part of an exorcist, he acted that of a politician with +considerable success; he attached himself to the party of the +sire of agitation—‘the man of paunch,’ and +preached and halloed for repeal with the loudest and best, as +long as repeal was the cry; as soon, however, as the Whigs +attained the helm of Government, and the greater part of the +loaves and fishes—more politely termed the patronage of +Ireland—was placed in the disposition of the priesthood, +the tone of Murtagh, like that of the rest of his brother +saggarts, was considerably softened; he even went so far as to +declare that politics were not altogether consistent with +sacerdotal duty; and resuming his exorcisms, which he had for +some time abandoned, he went to the Isle of Holiness, and +delivered a possessed woman of <!-- page 309--><a +name="page309"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 309</span>six demons +in the shape of white mice. He, however, again resumed the +political mantle in the year 1848, during the short period of the +rebellion of the so-called Young Irelanders. The priests, +though they apparently sided with this party, did not approve of +it, as it was chiefly formed of ardent young men, fond of what +they termed liberty, and by no means admirers of priestly +domination, being mostly Protestants. Just before the +outbreak of this rebellion, it was determined between the priests +and the ---, that this party should be rendered comparatively +innocuous by being deprived of the sinews of war—in other +words, certain sums of money which they had raised for their +enterprise. Murtagh was deemed the best qualified person in +Ireland to be entrusted with the delicate office of getting their +money from them. Having received his instructions, he +invited the leaders to his parsonage amongst the mountains, under +pretence of deliberating with them about what was to be +done. They arrived there just before nightfall, dressed in +red, yellow, and green, the colours so dear to enthusiastic +Irishmen; Murtagh received them with great apparent cordiality, +and entered into a long discourse with them, promising them the +assistance of himself and order, and received from them a +profusion of thanks. After a time Murtagh, observing, in a +jocular tone, that consulting was dull work, proposed a game of +cards, and the leaders, though somewhat surprised, he went to a +closet, and taking out a pack of cards, laid it upon the table; +it was a strange dirty pack, and exhibited every mark of having +seen some very long service. On one of his guests making +some remarks on the ‘ancientness’ of its appearance, +Murtagh observed that there was a very wonderful history attached +to that pack; it had been presented to him, he said, by a young +gentleman, a disciple of his, to whom, in Dungarvon times of +yore, he had taught the Irish language, and of whom he related +some very extraordinary things; he added that he, Murtagh, had +taken it to ---, where it had once the happiness of being in the +hands of the Holy Father; by a great misfortune, he did not say +what, he had lost possession of it, and had returned without it, +but had some time since recovered it; a nephew of his, who was +being educated at --- for a priest, having found it in a nook of +the college, and sent it to him.</p> +<p>Murtagh and the leaders then played various games with this +pack, more especially one called by the initiated ‘blind +<!-- page 310--><a name="page310"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +310</span>hookey,’ the result being that at the end of +about two hours the leaders found they had lost one-half of their +funds; they now looked serious, and talked of leaving the house, +but Murtagh begging them to stay supper, they consented. +After supper, at which the guests drank rather freely, Murtagh +said that, as he had not the least wish to win their money, he +intended to give them their revenge; he would not play at cards +with them, he added, but at a funny game of thimbles, at which +they would be sure of winning back their own; then, going out, he +brought in a table, tall and narrow, on which placing certain +thimbles and a pea, he proposed that they should stake whatever +they pleased on the almost certainty of finding the pea under the +thimbles. The leaders, after some hesitation, consented, +and were at first eminently successful winning back the greater +part of what they had lost; after some time, however, Fortune, +or, rather, Murtagh, turned against them, and then, instead of +leaving off, they doubled and trebled their stakes, and continued +doing so until they had lost nearly the whole of their +funds. Quite furious, they now swore that Murtagh had +cheated them, and insisted on having their property restored to +them. Murtagh, without a word of reply, went to the door, +and shouting into the passage something in Irish, the room was +instantly filled with bogtrotters, each at least six feet high, +with a stout shillealah in his hand. Murtagh, then turning +to his guests, asked them what they meant by insulting an +anointed priest; telling them that it was not for the likes of +them to avenge the wrongs of Ireland. ‘I have been +clane mistaken in the whole of ye,’ said he; ‘I +supposed ye Irish, but have found to my sorrow that ye are +nothing of the kind; purty fellows to pretend to be Irish, when +there is not a word of Irish on the tongue of any of ye, divil a +ha’porth; the illigant young gentleman to whom I taught +Irish in Dungarvon times of old, though not born in Ireland, has +more Irish in him than any ten of ye. He is the boy to +avenge the wrongs of Ireland, if ever foreigner is to do +it.’ Then, saying something to the bogtrotters, they +instantly cleared the room of the young Irelanders, who retired +sadly disconcerted; nevertheless, being very silly young fellows, +they hoisted the standard of rebellion; few, however, joining +them, partly because they had no money, and partly because the +priests abused them with might and main, their rebellion ended in +a lamentable manner, themselves being seized and tried, and +though convicted, not deemed of sufficient importance to be <!-- +page 311--><a name="page311"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +311</span>sent to the scaffold, where they might have had the +satisfaction of saying—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Dulce et decorum est pro patriâ +mori.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>My visitor, after saying that of the money won Murtagh +retained a considerable portion, that a part went to the +hierarchy for what were called church purposes, and that the --- +took the remainder, which it employed in establishing a +newspaper, in which the private characters of the worthiest and +most loyal Protestants in Ireland were traduced and vilified, +concluded his account by observing that it was the common belief +that Murtagh, having by his services, ecclesiastical and +political, acquired the confidence of the priesthood and favour +of the Government, would, on the first vacancy, be appointed to +the high office of Popish Primate of Ireland.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVII</h2> +<p>DEPARTURE FROM HORNCASTLE—RECRUITING +SERGEANT—KAULOES AND LOLLOES.</p> +<p>Leaving Horncastle I bent my steps in the direction of the +east. <a name="citation311a"></a><a href="#footnote311a" +class="citation">[311a]</a> I walked at a brisk rate, and +late in the evening reached a large town, <a +name="citation311b"></a><a href="#footnote311b" +class="citation">[311b]</a> situate at the entrance of an +extensive firth, or arm of the sea, which prevented my further +progress eastward. Sleeping that night in the suburbs of +the town, I departed early next morning in the direction of the +south. A walk of about twenty miles brought me to another +large town, <a name="citation311c"></a><a href="#footnote311c" +class="citation">[311c]</a> situated on a river, where I again +turned towards the east. At the end of the town I was +accosted by a fiery-faced individual, somewhat under the middle +size, dressed as a recruiting sergeant.</p> +<p>‘Young man,’ said the recruiting sergeant, +‘you are just the kind of person to serve the Honourable +East India Company.’</p> +<p>‘I had rather the Honourable Company should serve +me,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Of course, young man. Well, the Honourable East +India Company shall serve you—that’s +reasonable. Here, take this shilling; ’t is +service-money. The Honourable Company engages to serve you, +and you the Honourable <!-- page 312--><a +name="page312"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 312</span>Company; +both parties shall be thus served; that’s just and +reasonable.’</p> +<p>‘And what must I do for the Company?’</p> +<p>‘Only go to India; that’s all.’</p> +<p>‘And what should I do in India?’</p> +<p>‘Fight, my brave boy! fight, my youthful +hero!’</p> +<p>‘What kind of country is India?’</p> +<p>‘The finest country in the world! Rivers bigger +than the Ouse! Hills higher than anything near +Spalding! Trees—you never saw such trees! +Fruits—you never saw such fruits!’</p> +<p>‘And the people—what kind of folk are +they?’</p> +<p>‘Pah! Kauloes—blacks—a set of rascals +not worth regarding.’</p> +<p>‘Kauloes!’ said I; ‘blacks!’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said the recruiting sergeant; ‘and +they call us lolloes, which in their beastly gibberish means +reds.’</p> +<p>‘Lolloes!’ said I; ‘reds!’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said the recruiting sergeant, +‘kauloes and lolloes; and all the lolloes have to do is to +kick and cut down the kauloes, and take from them their rupees, +which mean silver money. Why do you stare so?’</p> +<p>‘Why,’ said I, ‘this is the very language of +Mr. Petulengro.’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Pet—?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said I, ‘and Tawno Chikno.’</p> +<p>‘Tawno Chik—? I say, young fellow, I +don’t like your way of speaking; no, nor your way of +looking. You are mad, sir; you are mad; and what’s +this? Why your hair is grey! You won’t do for +the Honourable Company—they like red. I’m glad +I didn’t give you the shilling. Good day to +you.’</p> +<p>‘I shouldn’t wonder,’ said I, as I proceeded +rapidly along a broad causeway, in the direction of the east, +‘if Mr. Petulengro and Tawno Chikno came originally from +India. I think I’ll go there.’</p> +<h2><!-- page 313--><a name="page313"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 313</span>APPENDIX <a +name="citation313"></a><a href="#footnote313" +class="citation">[313]</a></h2> +<h3>CHAPTER I—A WORD FOR LAVENGRO</h3> +<p>Lavengro is the history up to a certain period of one of +rather a peculiar mind and system of nerves, with an exterior shy +and cold, under which lurk much curiosity, especially with regard +to what is wild and extraordinary, a considerable quantity of +energy and industry, and an unconquerable love of +independence. It narrates his earliest dreams and feelings, +dwells with minuteness on the ways, words, and characters of his +father, mother, and brother; lingers on the occasional +resting-places of his wandering half military childhood; +describes the gradual hardening of his bodily frame by robust +exercises, his successive struggles, after his family and himself +have settled down in a small local capital, to obtain knowledge +of every kind, but more particularly philological lore; his +visits to the tent of the Romany chal and the parlour of the +Anglo-German philosopher; the effect produced upon his character +by his flinging himself into contact with people all widely +differing from each other, but all extraordinary; his reluctance +to settle down to the ordinary pursuits of life; his struggles +after moral truth; his glimpses of God and the obscuration of the +Divine Being to his mind’s eye; and his being cast upon the +<!-- page 314--><a name="page314"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +314</span>world of London, by the death of his father, at the age +of nineteen. <a name="citation314a"></a><a href="#footnote314a" +class="citation">[314a]</a> In the world within a world, +the world of London, it shows him playing his part for some time +as he best can in the capacity of a writer for reviews and +magazines, and describes what he saw and underwent whilst +labouring in that capacity; it represents him, however, as never +forgetting that he is the son of a brave but poor gentleman, and +that if he is a hack author, he is likewise a scholar. It +shows him doing no dishonourable jobs, and proves that if he +occasionally associates with low characters, he does so chiefly +to gratify the curiosity of a scholar. In his conversations +with the apple-woman of London Bridge the scholar is ever +apparent, so, again, in his acquaintance with the man of the +table, for the book is no raker up of the uncleanness of London; +and if it gives what at first sight appears refuse, it invariably +shows that a pearl of some kind, generally a philological one, is +contained amongst it. It shows its hero always accompanied +by his love of independence, scorning in the greatest poverty to +receive favours from anybody, and describes him finally rescuing +himself from peculiarly miserable circumstances by writing a +book, an original book, within a week, even as Johnson is said to +have written his ‘Rasselas,’ and Beckford his +‘Vathek,’ and tells how, leaving London, he betakes +himself to the roads and fields.</p> +<p>In the country it shows him leading a life of roving +adventure, becoming tinker, gypsy, postillion, ostler; +associating with various kinds of people, chiefly of the lower +classes, whose ways and habits are described; but, though leading +this erratic life, we gather from the book that his habits are +neither vulgar nor vicious, that he still follows to a certain +extent his favourite pursuits—hunting after strange +characters, or analyzing strange words and names. At the +conclusion of the fifth volume, which terminates the first part +of the history, it hints that he is about to quit his native land +on a grand philological expedition.</p> +<p>Those who read this book with attention—and the author +begs to observe that it would be of little utility to read it +hurriedly—may derive much information with respect to +matters of philology and literature; it will be found treating of +most of the principal languages from Ireland to China, and of the +literature which they contain; and it is particularly minute with +regard to the ways, manners, and speech of the English section of +the most extraordinary and mysterious clan or tribe of people to +be found in the whole world—the children of Roma. <a +name="citation314b"></a><a href="#footnote314b" +class="citation">[314b]</a> But it contains matters of much +more importance than anything in connection with philology, and +the literature and manners of nations. Perhaps no work was +ever offered to the public in <!-- page 315--><a +name="page315"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 315</span>which the +kindness and providence of God have been set forth by more +striking examples, or the machinations of priestcraft been more +truly and lucidly exposed, or the dangers which result to a +nation when it abandons itself to effeminacy, and a rage for what +is novel and fashionable, than the present.</p> +<p>With respect to the kindness and providence of God, are they +not exemplified in the case of the old apple-woman and her +son? These are beings in many points bad, but with warm +affections, who, after an agonizing separation, are restored to +each other, but not until the hearts of both are changed and +purified by the influence of affliction. Are they not +exemplified in the case of the rich gentleman, who touches +objects in order to avert the evil chance? This being has +great gifts and many amiable qualities; but does not everybody +see that his besetting sin is selfishness? He fixes his +mind on certain objects, and takes inordinate interest in them +because they are his own, and those very objects, through the +providence of God, which is kindness in disguise, becomes snakes +and scorpions to whip him. Tired of various pursuits, he at +last becomes an author, and publishes a book, which is very much +admired, and which he loves with his usual inordinate +affection. The book, consequently, becomes a viper to him, +and at last he flings it aside and begins another. The +book, however, is not flung aside by the world, who are benefited +by it, deriving pleasure and knowledge from it; so the man who +merely wrote to gratify self has already done good to others, and +got himself an honourable name. But God will not allow that +man to put that book under his head and use it as a pillow; the +book has become a viper to him, he has banished it, and is about +another, which he finishes and gives to the world. It is a +better book than the first, and everyone is delighted with it, +but it proves to the writer a scorpion because he loves it with +inordinate affection; but it was good for the world that he +produced this book, which stung him as a scorpion. Yes, and +good for himself, for the labour of writing it amused him, and +perhaps prevented him from dying of apoplexy. But the book +is banished, and another is begun, and herein, again, is the +providence of God manifested; the man has the power of producing +still, and God determines that he shall give to the world what +remains in his brain, which he would not do had he been satisfied +with the second work; he would have gone to sleep upon that as he +would upon the first, for the man is selfish and lazy. In +his account of what he suffered during the composition of this +work, his besetting sin of selfishness is manifest enough; the +work on which he is engaged occupies his every thought—it +is his idol, his deity, it shall be all his own, he won’t +borrow a thought from anyone else, and he is so afraid lest, when +he publishes it, that it should be thought that he had borrowed +from anyone, that he is continually touching objects, <!-- page +316--><a name="page316"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +316</span>his nervous system, owing to his extreme selfishness, +having become partly deranged. He is left touching, in +order to banish the evil chance from his book, his deity. +No more of his history is given; but does the reader think that +God will permit that man to go to sleep on his third book, +however extraordinary it may be? Assuredly not. God +will not permit that man to rest till He has cured him to a +certain extent of his selfishness, which has, however, hitherto +been very useful to the world.</p> +<p>Then, again in the tale of Peter Williams, is not the hand of +Providence to be seen? This person commits a sin in his +childhood—utters words of blasphemy—the remembrance +of which in after life, preying upon his imagination, unfits him +for quiet pursuits, to which he seems to have been naturally +inclined; but for the remembrance of that sin, he would have been +Peter Williams the quiet, respectable Welsh farmer, somewhat fond +of reading the ancient literature of his country in winter +evenings after his work was done. God, however, was aware +that there was something in Peter Williams to entitle him to +assume a higher calling; He therefore permits this sin, which, +though a childish affair, was yet a sin, and committed +deliberately, to prey upon his mind till he becomes at last an +instrument in the hand of God, a humble Paul, the great preacher, +Peter Williams, who, though he considers himself a reprobate and +a castaway, instead of having recourse to drinking in mad +desperation—at many do who consider themselves +reprobates—goes about Wales and England preaching the Word +of God, dilating on His power and majesty, and visiting the sick +and afflicted, until God sees fit to restore to him his peace of +mind, which He does not do, however, until that mind is in a +proper condition to receive peace—till it has been purified +by the pain of the one idea which has so long been permitted to +riot in his brain, which pain, however, an angel, in the shape of +a gentle faithful wife, had occasionally alleviated; for God is +merciful even in the blows which He bestoweth, and will not +permit anyone to be tempted beyond the measure which he can +support. And here it will be as well for the reader to +ponder upon the means by which the Welsh preacher is relieved +from his mental misery; he is not relieved by a text from the +Bible, by the words of consolation and wisdom addressed to him by +his angel-minded wife, nor by the preaching of one yet more +eloquent than himself, but by a quotation made by Lavengro from +the life of Mary Flanders, cut-purse and prostitute, which life +Lavengro had been in the habit of reading at the stall of his old +friend the apple-woman, on London Bridge, who had herself been +very much addicted to the perusal of it, though without any +profit whatever. Should the reader be dissatisfied with the +manner in which Peter Williams is made to find relief, the author +would wish to answer, that the Almighty frequently accomplishes +His <!-- page 317--><a name="page317"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 317</span>purposes by means which appear very +singular to the eyes of men, and at the same time to observe that +the manner in which that relief is obtained is calculated to read +a lesson to the proud, fanciful, and squeamish, who are ever in a +fidget lest they should be thought to mix in low society, or to +bestow a moment’s attention on publications which are not +what is called of a perfectly unobjectionable character. +Had not Lavengro formed the acquaintance of the old apple-woman +on London Bridge, he would not have had an opportunity of reading +the life of Mary Flanders, and, consequently, of storing in a +memory which never forgets anything, a passage which contained a +balm for the agonized mind of Peter Williams. The best +medicines are not always found in the finest shops. +Suppose, for example, if, instead of going to London Bridge to +read, he had gone to Albemarle Street, and had received from the +proprietors of the literary establishment in that very +fashionable street permission to read the publications on the +tables of the saloons there, does the reader think he would have +met any balm in those publications for the case of Peter +Williams? Does the reader suppose that he would have found +Mary Flanders there? He would certainly have found that +highly objectionable publication, ‘Rasselas,’ and the +‘Spectator,’ or ‘Lives of Royal and Illustrious +Personages,’ but, of a surety, no Mary Flanders. So, +when Lavengro met with Peter Williams, he would have been +unprovided with a balm to cure his ulcerated mind, and have +parted from him in a way not quite so satisfactory as the manner +in which he took his leave of him; for it is certain that he +might have read ‘Rasselas,’ and all the other +unexceptionable works to be found in the library of Albemarle +Street, over and over again, before he would have found any cure +in them for the case of Peter Williams. Therefore the +author requests the reader to drop any squeamish nonsense he may +wish to utter about Mary Flanders and the manner in which Peter +Williams was cured.</p> +<p>And now with respect to the old man who knew Chinese, but +could not tell what was o’clock. This individual was +a man whose natural powers would have been utterly buried and +lost beneath a mountain of sloth and laziness had not God +determined otherwise. He had in his early years chalked out +for himself a plan of life in which he had his own ease and +self-indulgence solely in view; he had no particular bad passions +to gratify, he only wished to lead an easy quiet life, just as if +the business of this mighty world could be carried on by innocent +people fond of ease and quiet, or that Providence would permit +innocent quiet drones to occupy any portion of the earth and to +cumber it. God had, at any rate, decreed that this man +should not cumber it as a drone. He brings a certain +affliction upon him, the agony of which produces that terrible +whirling of the brain which, unless it is stopped in time, +produces madness; he <!-- page 318--><a name="page318"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 318</span>suffers indescribable misery for a +period, until one morning his attention is arrested and his +curiosity is aroused by certain Chinese letters on a teapot; his +curiosity increases more and more, and, of course, in proportion +as his curiosity is increased with respect to the Chinese marks, +the misery in his brain produced by his mental affliction +decreases. He sets about learning Chinese, and after the +lapse of many years, during which his mind subsides into a +certain state of tranquillity, he acquires sufficient knowledge +of Chinese to be able to translate with ease the inscriptions to +be found on its singular crockery. Yes, the laziest of +human beings, through the providence of God—a being, too, +of rather inferior capacity—acquires the written part of a +language so difficult that, as Lavengro said on a former +occasion, none but the cleverest people in Europe, the French, +are able to acquire it. But God did not intend that man +should merely acquire Chinese. He intended that he should +be of use to his species, and, by the instrumentality of the +first Chinese inscription which he translates, the one which +first arrested his curiosity, he is taught the duties of +hospitality; yes, by means of an inscription in the language of a +people who have scarcely an idea of hospitality themselves, God +causes the slothful man to play a useful and beneficent part in +the world, relieving distressed wanderers, and, amongst others, +Lavengro himself. But a striking indication of the +man’s surprising sloth is still apparent in what he omits +to do; he has learnt Chinese, the most difficult of languages, +and he practises acts of hospitality because he believes himself +enjoined to do so by the Chinese inscription, but he cannot tell +the hour of the day by the clock within his house; he can get on, +he thinks, very well without being able to do so; therefore, from +this one omission, it is easy to come to a conclusion as to what +a sluggard’s part the man would have played in life but for +the dispensation of Providence; nothing but extreme agony could +have induced such a man to do anything useful. He still +continues, with all he has acquired, with all his usefulness, and +with all his innocence of character, without any proper sense of +religion, though he has attained a rather advanced age. If +it be observed that this want of religion is a great defect in +the story, the author begs leave to observe that he cannot help +it. Lavengro relates the lives of people so far as they +were placed before him, but no further. It was certainly a +great defect in so good a man to be without religion; it was +likewise a great defect in so learned a man not to be able to +tell what was o’clock. It is probable that God, in +His loving kindness, will not permit that man to go out of the +world without religion—who knows but some powerful minister +of the Church, full of zeal for the glory of God, will illumine +that man’s dark mind—perhaps some clergyman will come +to the parish who will visit him and teach him his duty to his +God. Yes, it is very <!-- page 319--><a +name="page319"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 319</span>probable +that such a man, before he dies, will have been made to love his +God; whether he will ever learn to know what’s +o’clock is another matter. It is probable that he +will go out of the world without knowing what’s +o’clock. It is not so necessary to be able to tell +the time of day by the clock as to know one’s God through +His inspired word; a man cannot get to heaven without religion, +but a man can get there very comfortably without knowing +what’s o’clock.</p> +<p>But, above all, the care and providence of God are manifested +in the case of Lavengro himself by the manner in which he is +enabled to make his way in the world up to a certain period +without falling a prey either to vice or poverty. In his +history there is a wonderful illustration of part of the text, +quoted by his mother: ‘I have been young, and now am old, +yet never saw I the righteous forsaken or his seed begging +bread.’ He is the son of good and honourable parents, +but at the critical period of life, that of entering into the +world, he finds himself without any earthly friend to help him, +yet he manages to make his way. He does not become a +captain in the Life Guards, it is true, nor does be get into +Parliament, nor does the last volume conclude in the most +satisfactory and unobjectionable manner by his marrying a dowager +countess—as that wise man Addison did—or by his +settling down as a great country gentleman, perfectly happy and +contented, like the very moral Roderick Random or the equally +estimable Peregrine Pickle; he is hack author, gypsy, tinker, and +postillion, yet upon the whole he seems to be quite as happy as +the younger sons of most earls, to have as high feelings of +honour; and, when the reader loses sight of him, he has money in +his pocket honestly acquired to enable him to commence a journey +quite as laudable as those which the younger sons of earls +generally undertake. Surely all this is a manifestation of +the kindness and providence of God, and yet he is not a religious +person—up to the time when the reader loses sight of him he +is decidedly not a religious person, he has glimpses, it is true, +of that God who does not forsake him, but he prays very seldom, +is not fond of going to church, and, though he admires Tate and +Brady’s version of the Psalms, his admiration is rather +caused by the beautiful poetry which that version contains than +the religion; yet his tale is not finished—like the tale of +the gentleman who touched objects, and that of the old man who +knew Chinese without knowing what was o’clock; perhaps, +like them, he is destined to become religious, and to have, +instead of occasional glimpses, frequent and distinct views of +his God; yet, though he may become religious, it is hardly to be +expected that he will become a very precise and straight-laced +person; it is probable that he will retain with his scholarship +something of his gypsyism, his predilection for the hammer and +tongs, and perhaps some inclination to put on <!-- page 320--><a +name="page320"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 320</span>certain +gloves, not white kid, with any friend who may be inclined for a +little old English diversion, and a readiness to take a glass of +ale, with plenty of malt in it and as little hop as may well +be—ale at least two years old—with the aforesaid +friend when the diversion is over; for, as it is the belief of +the writer that a person may get to heaven very comfortably +without knowing what’s o’clock, so it is his belief +that he will not be refused admission there because to the last +he has been fond of healthy and invigorating exercises, and felt +a willingness to partake of any of the good things which it +pleases the Almighty to put within the reach of His children +during their sojourn upon earth.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER II—ON PRIESTCRAFT</h3> +<p>The writer will now say a few words about priestcraft and the +machinations of Rome, and will afterwards say something about +himself and his motives for writing against them.</p> +<p>With respect to Rome and her machinations, much valuable +information can be obtained from particular parts of Lavengro and +its sequel. Shortly before the time when the hero of the +book is launched into the world the Popish agitation in England +had commenced. The Popish propaganda had determined to make +a grand attempt on England; Popish priests were scattered over +the land, doing the best they could to make converts to the old +superstition. With the plans of Rome, and her hopes, and +the reasons on which those hopes are grounded, the hero of the +book becomes acquainted during an expedition which he makes into +the country, from certain conversations which he holds with a +priest in a dingle in which the hero had taken up his residence; +he likewise learns from the same person much of the secret +history of the Roman See and many matters connected with the +origin and progress of the Popish superstition. The +individual with whom he holds these conversations is a learned, +intelligent, but highly unprincipled person, of a character, +however, very common amongst the priests of Rome, who in general +are people void of all religion, and who, notwithstanding they +are tied to Rome by a band which they have neither the power nor +wish to break, turn her and her practices, over their cups with +their confidential associates, to a ridicule only exceeded by +that to which they turn those who become the dupes of their +mistress and themselves.</p> +<p>It is now necessary that the writer should say something with +respect to himself and his motives for waging war against +Rome. First of all, with respect to himself, he wishes to +state that, to the <!-- page 321--><a name="page321"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 321</span>very last moment of his life, he +will do and say all that in his power may be to hold up to +contempt and execration the priestcraft and practices of Rome; +there is, perhaps, no person better acquainted than himself, not +even among the choicest spirits of the priesthood, with the +origin and history of Popery. From what he saw and heard of +Popery in England at a very early period of his life, his +curiosity was aroused, and he spared himself no trouble, either +by travel or study, to make himself well acquainted with it in +all its phases, the result being a hatred of it which he hopes +and trusts he shall retain till the moment when his spirit quits +the body. Popery is the great lie of the world—a +source from which more misery and social degradation have flowed +upon the human race than from all the other sources from which +those evils come. It is the oldest of all superstitions, +and, though in Europe it assumes the name of Christianity, it +existed and flourished amidst the Himalayan hills at least two +thousand years before the real Christ was born in Bethlehem of +Judea—in a word, it is Buddhism, and let those who may be +disposed to doubt this assertion compare the Popery of Rome and +the superstitious practices of its followers with the doings of +the priests who surround the grand Lama, and the mouthings, +bellowing, turnings round, and above all, the penances of the +followers of Buddh with those of Roman devotees. But he is +not going to dwell here on this point; it is dwelt upon at +tolerable length in the text, and has likewise been handled with +extraordinary power by the pen of the gifted but irreligious +Volney; moreover, the <i>élite</i> of the Roman priesthood +are perfectly well aware that their system is nothing but +Buddhism under a slight disguise, and the European world in +general has entertained for some time past an inkling of the +fact.</p> +<p>And now a few words with respect to the motives of the writer +for expressing a hatred for Rome.</p> +<p>This expressed abhorrence of the author for Rome might be +entitled to little regard, provided it were possible to attribute +it to any self-interested motive. There have been professed +enemies of Rome, or of this or that system; but their professed +enmity may frequently be traced to some cause which does them +little credit; but the writer of these lines has no motive, and +can have no motive, for his enmity to Rome, save the abhorrence +of an honest heart for what is false, base, and cruel. A +certain clergyman wrote with much heat against the Papists in the +time of ---, <a name="citation321a"></a><a href="#footnote321a" +class="citation">[321a]</a> who was known to favour the Papists, +but was not expected to continue long in office, and whose +supposed successor, the person, indeed, who did succeed him, was +thought to be hostile to the Papists. This divine, who +obtained a rich benefice from the successor of ---, <a +name="citation321b"></a><a href="#footnote321b" +class="citation">[321b]</a> who during ---’s <a +name="citation321c"></a><a href="#footnote321c" +class="citation">[321c]</a> time <!-- page 322--><a +name="page322"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 322</span>had always +opposed him in everything he proposed to do, and who, of course, +during that time affected to be very inimical to +Popery—this divine might well be suspected of having a +motive equally creditable for writing against the Papists, as +that which induced him to write for them, as soon as his patron, +who eventually did something more for him, had espoused their +cause; but what motive, save an honest one, can the present +writer have, for expressing an abhorrence of Popery? He is +no clergyman, and consequently can expect neither benefices nor +bishoprics, supposing it were the fashion of the present, or +likely to be the fashion of any future administration, to reward +clergymen with benefices or bishoprics, who, in the defence of +the religion of their country write, or shall write, against +Popery, and not to reward those who write, or shall write, in +favour of it, and all its nonsense and abominations.</p> +<p>‘But if not a clergyman, he is the servant of a certain +society, which has the overthrow of Popery in view, and +therefore,’ etc. This assertion, which has been +frequently made, is incorrect, even as those who have made it +probably knew it to be. He is the servant of no society +whatever. He eats his own bread, and is one of the very few +men in England who are independent in every sense of the +word.</p> +<p>It is true he went to Spain with the colours of that society +on his hat—oh! the blood glows in his veins! oh! the marrow +awakes in his old bones when he thinks of what he accomplished in +Spain in the cause of religion and civilization with the colours +of that society in his hat, and its weapon in his hand, even the +sword of the word of God; how with that weapon he hewed left and +right, making the priests fly before him, and run away squeaking: +‘Vaya! que demonio es este!’ Ay, and when he +thinks of the plenty of bible swords which he left behind him, +destined to prove, and which have already proved, pretty +calthrops in the heels of popery. ‘Halloo! +Batuschca,’ <a name="citation322"></a><a +href="#footnote322" class="citation">[322]</a> he exclaimed the +other night, on reading an article in a newspaper, ‘what do +you think of the present doings in Spain? Your old friend +the zingaro, the gitano who rode about Spain, to say nothing of +Galicia, with the Greek Buchini behind him as his squire, had a +hand in bringing them about; there are many brave Spaniards +connected with the present movement who took bibles from his +hands, and read them and profited by them, learning from the +inspired page the duties of one man towards another, and the real +value of a priesthood and their head, who set at nought the word +of God, and think only of their own temporal interests; ay, and +who learned Gitano—their own Gitano—from the lips of +the London Caloró, and also songs in the said Gitano, very +fit to dumbfounder your semi-Buddhist priests when they attempt +<!-- page 323--><a name="page323"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +323</span>to bewilder people’s minds with their +school-logic and pseudo-ecclesiastical nonsense, songs such +as—</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘Un Erajai<br /> +Sinaba chibando un sermon . . .’ <a +name="citation323"></a><a href="#footnote323" +class="citation">[323]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>But with that society he has long since ceased to have any +connection; he bade it adieu with feelings of love and admiration +more than fourteen years ago; so, in continuing to assault +Popery, no hopes of interest founded on that society can sway his +mind—interest! who, with worldly interest in view, would +ever have anything to do with that society? It is poor and +supported, like its founder Christ, by poor people; and so far +from having political influence, it is in such disfavour, and has +ever been, with the dastardly great, to whom the government of +England has for many years past been confided, that the having +borne its colours only for a month would be sufficient to exclude +any man, whatever his talents, his learning, or his courage may +be, from the slightest chance of being permitted to serve his +country either for fee, or without. A fellow who unites in +himself the bankrupt trader, the broken author, or rather +book-maker, and the laughed down single speech spouter of the +House of Commons, may look forward always supposing that at one +time he has been a foaming radical, to the government of an +important colony. Ay, an ancient fox who has lost his tail +may, provided he has a score of radical friends, who will swear +that he can bark Chinese, though Chinese is not barked but sung, +be forced upon a Chinese colony, though it is well known that to +have lost one’s tail is considered by the Chinese in +general as an irreparable infamy, whilst to have been once +connected with a certain society to which, to its honour be it +said, all the radical party are vehemently hostile, would be +quite sufficient to keep any one not only from a government, but +something much less, even though he could translate the rhymed +‘Sessions of Hariri,’ and were versed, still +retaining his tail, in the two languages in which Kien-Loung +wrote his Eulogium on Moukden, that piece which, translated by +Amyot, the learned Jesuit, won the applause of the celebrated +Voltaire.</p> +<p>No! were the author influenced by hopes of fee or reward, he +would, instead of writing against Popery, write for it; all the +trumpery titled—he will not call them great +again—would then be for him, and their masters the +radicals, with their hosts of newspapers, would be for him, more +especially if he would commence maligning the society whose +colours he had once on his hat—a society which, as the +priest says in the text, is one of the very few Protestant +institutions for which the Popish Church entertains any fear, and +consequently respect, as it respects <!-- page 324--><a +name="page324"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 324</span>nothing +which it does not fear. The writer said that certain +‘rulers’ would never forgive him for having been +connected with that society; he went perhaps too far in saying +‘never.’ It is probable that they would take +him into favour on one condition, which is, that he should turn +his pen and his voice against that society; such a mark ‘of +a better way of thinking,’ would perhaps induce them to +give him a government, nearly as good as that which they gave to +a certain ancient radical fox at the intercession of his radical +friends (who were bound to keep him from the pauper’s +kennel), after he had promised to foam, bark, and snarl at +corruption no more; he might even entertain hopes of succeeding, +nay of superseding, the ancient creature in his government; but +even were he as badly off as he is well off, he would do no such +thing. He would rather exist on crusts and water; he has +often done so, and been happy; nay, he would rather starve than +be a rogue—for even the feeling of starvation is happiness +compared with what he feels who knows himself to be a rogue, +provided he has any feeling at all. What is the use of a +mitre or a knighthood to a man who has betrayed his +principles? What is the use of a gilt collar, nay, even of +a pair of scarlet breeches, to a fox who has lost his tail? +Oh! the horror which haunts the mind of the fox who has lost his +tail; and with reason, for his very mate loathes him, and more +especially if, like himself, she has lost her brush. Oh! +the horror which haunts the mind of the two-legged rogue who has +parted with his principles, or those which he professed—for +what? We’ll suppose a government. What’s +the use of a government, if, the next day after you have received +it, you are obliged for very shame to scurry off to it with the +hoot of every honest man sounding in your ears?</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Lightly liar leaped away and +ran.’</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Piers +Plowman</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But bigotry, it has been said, makes the author write against +Popery; and thorough-going bigotry, indeed, will make a person +say or do anything. But the writer is a very pretty bigot +truly! Where will the public find traces of bigotry in +anything he has written? He has written against Rome with +all his heart, with all his mind, with all his soul, and with all +his strength; but as a person may be quite honest, and speak and +write against Rome, in like manner he may speak and write against +her, and be quite free from bigotry; though it is impossible for +any one but a bigot or a bad man to write or speak in her praise, +her doctrines, actions, and machinations being what they are.</p> +<p>Bigotry! The author was born, and has always continued +in the wrong Church for bigotry, the quiet, unpretending Church +of England—a Church which had it been a bigoted Church, and +not long suffering almost to a fault, might with its +opportunities, as <!-- page 325--><a name="page325"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 325</span>the priest says in the text, have +stood in a very different position from which it occupies at +present. No! let those who are in search of bigotry, seek +for it in a Church very different from the inoffensive Church of +England, which never encourages cruelty or calumny. Let +them seek for it amongst the members of the Church of Rome, and +more especially amongst those who have renegaded to it. +There is nothing, however false and horrible, which a pervert to +Rome will not say for his Church, and which his priests will not +encourage him in saying; and there is nothing, however +horrible—the more horrible indeed and revolting to human +nature, the more eager he would be to do it—which he will +not do for it, and which his priests will not encourage him in +doing.</p> +<p>Of the readiness which converts to popery exhibit to sacrifice +all the ties of blood and affection on the shrine of their +newly-adopted religion, there is a curious illustration in the +work of Luigi Pulci. This man, who was born at Florence in +the year 1432, and who was deeply versed in the Bible, composed a +poem, called the ‘Morgante Maggiore,’ which he +recited at the table of Lorenzo de Medici, the great patron of +Italian genius. It is a mock-heroic and religious poem, in +which the legends of knight-errantry, and of the Popish Church, +are turned to unbounded ridicule. The pretended hero of it +is a converted giant, called Morgante; though his adventures do +not occupy the twentieth part of the poem, the principal +personages being Charlemagne, Orlando, and his cousin Rinaldo of +Montalban. Morgante has two brothers, both of them giants, +and, in the first canto of the poem, Morgante is represented with +his brothers as carrying on a feud with the abbot and monks of a +certain convent, built upon the confines of heathenesse; the +giants being in the habit of flinging down stones, or rather huge +rocks, on the convent. Orlando, however, who is banished +from the court of Charlemagne, arriving at the convent, +undertakes to destroy them, and, accordingly, kills Passamonte +and Alabastro, and converts Morgante, whose mind had been +previously softened by a vision, in which the ‘Blessed +Virgin’ figures. No sooner is he converted than, as a +sign of his penitence, what does he do but hastens and cuts off +the hands of his two brothers, saying—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Io vo’ tagliar le mani a tutti +quanti<br /> +E porterolle a que’ monaci santi.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And he does cut off the hands of his brethren, and carries +them to the abbot, who blesses him for so doing. Pulci here +is holding up to ridicule and execration the horrid butchery or +betrayal of friends by popish converts, and the encouragement +they receive from the priest. No sooner is a person +converted to popery than his principal thought is how he can +bring the <!-- page 326--><a name="page326"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 326</span>hands and feet of his brethren, +however harmless they may be, and different from the giants, to +the ‘holy priests,’ who, if he manages to do so, +never fail to prate him, saying to the miserable wretch, as the +abbot said to Morgante:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Tu sarai or perfetto e vero amico<br /> +A Cristo, quanto tu gli eri nemico.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Can the English public deny the justice of Pulci’s +illustration, after something which it has lately witnessed? <a +name="citation326"></a><a href="#footnote326" +class="citation">[326]</a> Has it not seen equivalents for +the hands and feet of brothers carried by popish perverts to the +‘holy priests’? and has it not seen the manner in +which the offering his been received? Let those who are in +quest of bigotry seek for it amongst the perverts to Rome, and +not amongst those who, born in the pale of the Church of England, +have always continued in it.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III—ON FOREIGN NONSENSE</h2> +<p>With respect to the third point, various lessons which the +book reads to the nation at large, and which it would be well for +the nation to ponder and profit by.</p> +<p>There are many species of nonsense to which the nation is much +addicted, and of which the perusal of Lavengro ought to give them +a wholesome shame. First of all, with respect to the +foreign nonsense so prevalent now in England. The hero is a +scholar, but, though possessed of a great many tongues, he +affects to be neither Frenchman, nor German, nor this or that +foreigner; he is one who loves his country, and the language and +literature of his country, and speaks up for each and all when +there is occasion to do so. Now, what is the case with nine +out of ten amongst those of the English who study foreign +languages? No sooner have they picked up a smattering of +this or that speech than they begin to abuse their own country +and everything connected with it, more especially its +language. This is particularly the case with those who call +themselves German students. It is said, and the writer +believes with truth, that when a woman falls in love with a +particularly ugly fellow, she squeezes him with ten times more +zest than she would a handsome one if captivated by him. So +it is with these German students; no sooner have they taken +German in hand than there is nothing like German. Oh, the +dear delightful German! How proud I am that it is now my +own, and that its divine literature is within my reach! And +all this whilst mumbling the most uncouth <!-- page 327--><a +name="page327"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 327</span>speech, and +crunching the most crabbed literature in Europe. The writer +is not an exclusive admirer of everything English; he does not +advise his country people never to go abroad, never to study +foreign languages, and he does not wish to persuade them that +there is nothing beautiful or valuable in foreign literature; he +only wishes that they would not make themselves fools with +respect to foreign people, foreign languages or reading; that if +they chance to have been in Spain, and have picked up a little +Spanish, they would not affect the arts of Spaniards; that, if +males they would not make Tom-fools of themselves by sticking +cigars into their mouths, dressing themselves in zamarras, and +saying ‘Carajo!’ <a name="citation327"></a><a +href="#footnote327" class="citation">[327]</a> and, if females, +that they would not make zanies of themselves by sticking cigars +into their mouths, flinging mantillas over their heads, and by +saying, ‘Carai,’ and perhaps ‘Carajo’ +too; or if they have been in France or Italy, and have picked up +a little French or Italian, they would not affect to be French or +Italians; and particularly, after having been a month or two in +Germany, or picked up a little German in England, they would not +make themselves foolish about everything German, as the +Anglo-German in the book does—a real character, the founder +of the Anglo-German school in England, and the cleverest +Englishman who ever talked or wrote encomiastic nonsense about +Germany and the Germans. Of all infatuations connected with +what is foreign, the infatuation about everything that is German, +to a certain extent prevalent in England, is assuredly the most +ridiculous. One can find something like a palliation for +people making themselves somewhat foolish about particular +languages, literatures, and people. The Spanish certainly +is a noble language, and there is something wild and captivating +in the Spanish character, and its literature contains the grand +book of the world. French is a manly language. The +French are the most martial people in the world; and French +literature is admirable in many respects. Italian is a +sweet language, and of beautiful simplicity; its literature, +perhaps, the first in the world. The +Italians!—wonderful men have sprung up in Italy. +Italy is not merely famous for painters, poets, musicians, +singers, and linguists—the greatest linguist the world ever +saw, the late Cardinal Mezzofanti, was an Italian; but it is +celebrated for men—men emphatically speaking: Columbus was +in Italian, Alexander Farnese was an Italian, so was the +mightiest of the mighty, Napoleon Bonaparte. But the German +language, German literature, and the Germans! The writer +has already stated his opinion with respect to German; he does +not speak from ignorance or prejudice; he has heard German +spoken, and many other languages. German literature! he +does not speak from ignorance; he has read that and many a +literature, and he repeats—<!-- page 328--><a +name="page328"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 328</span>however, he +acknowledges that there is one fine poem in the German language; +that poem is the ‘Oberon’—a poem, by-the-by, +ignored by the Germans—a speaking fact—and, of +course, by the Anglo-Germanists. The Germans! he has been +amongst them, and amongst many other nations, and confesses that +his opinion of the Germans, as men, is a very low one. +Germany, it is true, has produced one very great man, the monk +who fought the Pope, and nearly knocked him down; but this man +his countrymen—a telling fact—affect to despise, and, +of course, the Anglo-Germanists. The father of +Anglo-Germanism was very fond of inveighing against Luther.</p> +<p>The madness, or rather foolery, of the English for foreign +customs, dresses, and languages, is not an affair of to-day, or +yesterday—it is of very ancient date, and was very properly +exposed nearly three centuries ago by one Andrew Borde, who, +under the picture of a ‘Naked man, with a pair of shears in +one hand and a roll of cloth in the other,’ <a +name="citation328"></a><a href="#footnote328" +class="citation">[328]</a> inserted the following lines along +with others:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘I am an Englishman, and naked I stand +here,<br /> +Musing in my mind what garment I shall weare;<br /> +For now I will weare this, and now I will weare that,<br /> +Now I will weare, I cannot tell what.<br /> +All new fashions be pleasant to mee,<br /> +I will have them, whether I thrive or thee;<br /> +What do I care if all the world me fail?<br /> +I will have a garment reach to my taille;<br /> +Then am I a minion, for I wear the new guise.<br /> +The next yeare after I hope to be wise,<br /> +Not only in wearing my gorgeous array,<br /> +For I will go to learning a whole summer’s day;<br /> +I will learn Latine, Hebrew, Greek, and French,<br /> +And I will learn Dutch, sitting on my bench.<br /> +I had no peere if to myself I were true,<br /> +Because I am not so, divers times do I rue.<br /> +Yet I lacke nothing, I have all things at will<br /> +If I were wise and would hold myself still,<br /> +And meddle with no matters but to me pertaining,<br /> +But ever to be true to God and my king.<br /> +But I have such matters rowling in my pate,<br /> +That I will and do . . . I cannot tell what,’ etc.</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><!-- page 329--><a name="page329"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 329</span>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<p>ON GENTILITY, NONSENSE—ILLUSTRATIONS OF GENTILITY</p> +<p>What is gentility? People in different stations in +England entertain different ideas of what is genteel, <a +name="citation329"></a><a href="#footnote329" +class="citation">[329]</a> but it must be something gorgeous, +glittering, or tawdry to be considered genteel by any of +them. The beau-ideal of the English aristocracy, of course +with some exceptions, is some young fellow with an imperial +title, a military personage, of course, for what is military is +so particularly genteel, with flaming epaulets, a cocked hat and +a plume, a prancing charger, and a band of fellows called +generals and colonels, with flaming epaulets, cocked hats, and +plumes, and prancing chargers vapouring behind him. It was +but lately that the daughter of an English marquis was heard to +say that the sole remaining wish of her heart—she had known +misfortunes, and was not far from fifty—was to be +introduced to—whom? The Emperor of Austria! The +sole remaining wish of the heart of one who ought to have been +thinking of the grave and judgment was to be introduced to the +miscreant who had caused the blood of noble Hungarian females to +be whipped out of their shoulders, for no other crime than +devotion to their country and its tall and heroic sons. The +middle classes—of course there are some +exceptions—admire the aristocracy, and consider them pinks, +the aristocracy who admire the Emperor of Austria, and adored the +Emperor of Russia till he became old, ugly, and unfortunate, when +their adoration instantly terminated; for what is more ungenteel +than age, ugliness, and misfortune! The beau-ideal with +those of the <!-- page 330--><a name="page330"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 330</span>lower classes, with peasants and +mechanics, is some flourishing railroad contractor—look, +for example, how they worship Mr. Flamson. <a +name="citation330"></a><a href="#footnote330" +class="citation">[330]</a> This person makes his grand +début in the year ’39, at a public meeting in the +principal room of a country inn. He has come into the +neighbourhood with the character of a man worth a million pounds +who is to make everybody’s fortune; at this time, however, +he is not worth a shilling of his own, though he flashes about +dexterously three or four thousand pounds, part of which sum he +has obtained by specious pretences, and part from certain +individuals who are his confederates. But in the year +’49 he is really in possession of the fortune which he and +his agents pretended he was worth ten years before—he is +worth a million pounds. By what means has he come by +them? By railroad contracts, for which he takes care to be +paid in hard cash before he attempts to perform them, and to +carry out which he makes use of the sweat and blood of wretches +who, since their organization, have introduced crimes and +language into England to which it was previously almost a +stranger—by purchasing, with paper, shares by hundreds in +the schemes to execute which he contracts, and which are of his +own devising; which shares he sells as soon as they are at a high +premium, to which they are speedily forced by means of +paragraphs, inserted by himself and agents, in newspapers devoted +to his interest, utterly reckless of the terrible depreciation to +which they are almost instantly subjected. But he is worth +a million pounds, there can be no doubt of the fact—he has +not made people’s fortunes, at least, those whose fortunes +it was said he would make; he has made them away, but his own he +has made, emphatically made it—he is worth a million +pounds. Hurrah for the millionaire! The clown who +views the pandemonium of red brick which he has built on the +estate which he has purchased in the neighbourhood of the place +of his grand début, in which every species of +architecture, Greek, Indian, and Chinese, is employed in +caricature—who hears of the grand entertainment he gives at +Christmas in the principal dining-room, the hundred wax candles, +the waggon-load of plate, and the oceans of wine which form parts +of it, and above all the two ostrich poults, one at the head and +the other at the foot of the table, exclaims: ‘Well, if he +a’n’t bang up, I don’t know who be; why he +beats my lord hollow!’ The mechanic of the borough +town, who sees him dashing through the streets in an open landau, +drawn by four milk-white horses, amidst its attendant out-riders; +his wife, a monster of a woman, by his side, stout as the wife of +Tamerlane, who weighed twenty stone, and bedizened out like her +whose person shone with the jewels of plundered Persia, stares +with silent wonder, and at last exclaims: ‘That’s the +man for my vote!’ You tell the clown that the man of +the mansion <!-- page 331--><a name="page331"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 331</span>has contributed enormously to +corrupt the rural innocence of England; you point to an incipient +branch railroad, from around which the accents of Gomorrah are +sounding, and beg him to listen for a moment and then close his +ears. Hodge scratches his head and says: ‘Well, I +have nothing to say to that; all I know is that he is bang up, +and I wish I were he’; perhaps he will add—a Hodge +has been known to add—‘He has been kind enough to put +my son on that very railroad; ’tis true the company is +somewhat queer, and the work rather killing; but he gets there +half-a-crown a day, whereas from the farmers he would only get +eighteenpence.’ You remind the mechanic that the man +in the landau has been the ruin of thousands, and you mention +people whom he himself knows, people in various grades of life, +widows and orphans amongst them, whose little all he has +dissipated, and whom he has reduced to beggary by inducing them +to become sharers in his delusive schemes. But the mechanic +says: ‘Well the more fools they to let themselves be +robbed. But I don’t call that kind of thing robbery, +I merely call it out-witting; and everybody in this free country +has a right to outwit others if he can. What a turn-out he +has!’ One was once heard to add, ‘I never saw a +more genteel-looking man in all my life except one, and that was +a gentleman’s walley, who was much like him. It is +true he is rather undersized, but then madam, you know, makes up +for all.’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER V—SUBJECT OF GENTILITY CONTINUED</h2> +<p>In the last chapter have been exhibited specimens of +gentility, so considered by different classes; by one class, +power, youth, and epaulets are considered the <i>ne plus +ultra</i> of gentility; by another class, pride, stateliness, and +title; by another, wealth and flaming tawdriness. But what +constitutes a gentleman? It is easy to say at once what +constitutes a gentleman, and there are no distinctions in what is +gentlemanly, <a name="citation331"></a><a href="#footnote331" +class="citation">[331]</a> as there are in what is genteel. +The characteristics of a gentleman are high feeling, a +determination never to take a cowardly advantage of another, a +liberal education, absence of narrow views, generosity and +courage, propriety of behaviour. Now a person may be +genteel according to one or another of the three standards +described above, and not possess one of the characteristics <!-- +page 332--><a name="page332"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +332</span>of a gentleman. Is the Emperor a gentleman, with +spatters of blood on his clothes, scourged from the backs of +noble Hungarian women? Are the aristocracy gentlefolks, who +admire him? Is Mr. Flamson a gentleman, although he has a +million pounds? No! cowardly miscreants, admirers of +cowardly miscreants, and people who make a million pounds by +means compared with which those employed to make fortunes by the +getters-up of the South Sea Bubble might be called honest +dealing, are decidedly not gentle-folks. Now, as it is +clearly demonstrable that a person may be perfectly genteel +according to some standard or other and yet be no gentleman, so +is it demonstrable that a person may have no pretensions to +gentility and yet be a gentleman. For example there is +Lavengro! Would the admirers of the Emperor, or the +admirers of those who admire the Emperor, or the admirers of Mr. +Flamson, call him genteel?—and gentility with them is +everything! Assuredly they would not; and assuredly they +would consider him respectively as a being to be shunned, +despised, or hooted. Genteel! Why, at one time he is +a hack author—writes reviewals for eighteenpence a +page—edits a Newgate chronicle. At another he wanders +the country with a face grimy from occasionally mending kettles; +and there is no evidence that his clothes are not seedy and torn, +and his shoes down at the heel; but by what process of reasoning +will they prove that he is no gentleman! Is he not +learned? Has he not generosity and courage? Whilst a +hack author does he pawn the books entrusted to him to +review? Does he break his word to his publisher? Does +he write begging letters? Does he get clothes or lodgings +without paying for them? Again, whilst a wanderer, does he +insult helpless women on the road with loose proposals or ribald +discourse? Does he take what is not his own from the +hedges? Does he play on the fiddle, or make faces in +public-houses, in order to obtain pence or beer? or does he call +for liquor, swallow it, and then say to a widowed landlady, +‘Mistress, I have no brass’? In a word, what +vice and crime does he perpetrate—what low acts does he +commit? Therefore, with his endowments, who will venture to +say that he is no gentleman?—unless it be an admirer of Mr. +Flamson—a clown—who will, perhaps, shout: ‘I +say he is no gentleman; for who can be a gentleman who keeps no +gig?’ <a name="citation332"></a><a href="#footnote332" +class="citation">[332]</a></p> +<p>The indifference exhibited by Lavengro for what is merely +genteel, compared with his solicitude never to infringe the +strict laws of honour, should read a salutary lesson. The +generality of his countrymen are far more careful not to +transgress the customs of what they call gentility than to +violate the laws of honour or morality. They will shrink +<!-- page 333--><a name="page333"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +333</span>from carrying their own carpet-bag, and from speaking +to a person in seedy raiment, whilst to matters of much higher +importance they are shamelessly indifferent. Not so +Lavengro; he will do anything that he deems convenient, or which +strikes his fancy, provided it does not outrage decency, or is +unallied to profligacy; is not ashamed to speak to a beggar in +rags, and will associate with anybody, provided he can gratify a +laudable curiosity. He has no abstract love for what is +low, or what the world calls low. He sees that many things +which the world looks down upon are valuable, so he prizes much +which the world contemns; he sees that many things which the +world admires are contemptible, so he despises much which the +world does not; but when the world prizes what is really +excellent, he does not contemn it, because the world regards +it. If he learns Irish, which all the world scoffs at, he +likewise learns Italian, which all the world melts at. If +he learns Gypsy, the language of the tattered tent, he likewise +learns Greek, the language of the college hall. If he +learns smithery, he also learns—ah! what does he learn to +set against smithery?—the law? No; he does not learn +the law, which, by the way, is not very genteel. +Swimming! Yes, he learns to swim. Swimming, however, +is not genteel; and the world—at least the genteel part of +it—acts very wisely in setting its face against it; for to +swim you must be naked, and how would many a genteel person look +without his clothes? Come, he learns horsemanship; a very +genteel accomplishment, which every genteel person would gladly +possess, though not all genteel people do.</p> +<p>Again as to associates: if he holds communion when a boy with +Murtagh, the scarecrow of an Irish academy, he associates in +after life with Francis Ardry, a rich and talented young Irish +gentleman about town. If he accepts an invitation from Mr. +Petulengro to his tent, he has no objection to go home with a +rich genius to dinner; who then will say that he prizes a thing +or a person because they are ungenteel? That he is not +ready to take up with everything that is ungenteel he gives a +proof, when he refuses, though on the brink of starvation, to +become bonnet to the thimble-man, an office which, though +profitable, is positively ungenteel. Ah! but some +sticker-up for gentility will exclaim, ‘The hero did not +refuse this office from an insurmountable dislike to its +ungentility, but merely from a feeling of principle.’ +Well! the writer is not fond of argument, and he will admit that +such was the case; he admits that it was a love of principle, +rather than an over-regard for gentility, which prevented the +hero from accepting, when on the brink of starvation, an +ungenteel though lucrative office, an office which, the writer +begs leave to observe, many a person with a great regard for +gentility, and no particular regard for principle, would in a +similar strait have accepted; for when did a mere love for <!-- +page 334--><a name="page334"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +334</span>gentility keep a person from being a dirty scoundrel, +when the alternatives apparently were ‘either be a dirty +scoundrel or starve’? One thing, however, is certain, +which is, that Lavengro did not accept the office, which if a +love for what is low had been his ruling passion he certainly +would have done; consequently, he refuses to do one thing which +no genteel person would willingly do, even as he does many things +which every genteel person would gladly do, for example speaks +Italian, rides on horseback, associates with a fashionable young +man, dines with a rich genius, et cetera. Yet—and it +cannot be minced—he and gentility with regard to many +things are at strange divergency; he shrinks from many things at +which gentility placidly hums a tune, or approvingly simpers, and +does some things at which gentility positively sinks. He +will not run into debt for clothes or lodgings, which he might do +without any scandal to gentility; he will not receive money from +Francis Ardry, and go to Brighton with the sister of Annette Le +Noir, though there is nothing ungenteel in borrowing money from a +friend, even when you never intend to repay him, and something +poignantly genteel in going to a watering-place with a gay young +Frenchwoman; but he has no objection, after raising twenty pounds +by the sale of that extraordinary work ‘Joseph Sell,’ +to set off into the country, mend kettles under hedgerows, and +make pony and donkey shoes in a dingle. Here, perhaps, some +plain, well-meaning person will cry—and with much apparent +justice—how can the writer justify him in this act? +What motive, save a love for what is low, could induce him to do +such things? Would the writer have everybody who is in need +of recreation go into the country, mend kettles under hedges, and +make pony shoes in dingles? To such an observation the +writer would answer that Lavengro had an excellent motive in +doing what he did, but that the writer is not so unreasonable as +to wish everybody to do the same. It is not everybody who +can mend kettles. It is not everybody who is in similar +circumstances to those in which Lavengro was. Lavengro +flies from London and hack authorship, and takes to the roads +from fear of consumption; it is expensive to put up at inns, and +even at public-houses, and Lavengro has not much money; so he +buys a tinker’s cart and apparatus, and sets up as tinker, +and subsequently as blacksmith; a person living in a tent, or in +anything else, must do something or go mad; Lavengro had a mind, +as he himself well knew, with some slight tendency to madness, +and had he not employed himself, he must have gone wild; so to +employ himself he drew upon one of his resources, the only one +available at the time. Authorship had nearly killed him, he +was sick of reading, and had besides no books; but he possessed +the rudiments of an art akin to tinkering; he knew something of +smithery, having served a kind of apprenticeship in Ireland <!-- +page 335--><a name="page335"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +335</span>to a fairy smith; so he draws upon his smithery to +enable him to acquire tinkering, and through the help which it +affords him, owing to its connection with tinkering, he speedily +acquires that craft, even as he had speedily acquired Welsh, +owing to its connection with Irish, which language he possessed; +and with tinkering he amuses himself until he lays it aside to +resume smithery. A man who has any innocent resource, has +quite as much right to draw upon it in need, as he has upon a +banker in whose hands he has placed a sum; Lavengro turns to +advantage, under particular circumstances, a certain resource +which he has, but people who are not so forlorn as Lavengro, and +have not served the same apprenticeship which he had, are not +advised to follow his example. Surely he was better +employed in plying the trades of tinker and smith than in having +recourse to vice, in running after milk-maids for example. +Running after milk-maids is by no means an ungenteel rural +diversion; but let any one ask some respectable casuist (the +Bishop of London for example), whether Lavengro was not far +better employed, when in the country, at tinkering and smithery +than he would have been in running after all the milkmaids in +Cheshire, though tinkering is in general considered a very +ungenteel employment, and smithery little better, notwithstanding +that an Orcadian poet, who wrote in Norse about eight hundred +years ago, reckons the latter amongst nine noble arts which he +possessed, naming it along with playing at chess, on the harp, +and ravelling runes, or as the original has it ‘treading +runes’—that is compressing them into a small compass +by mingling one letter with another, even as the Turkish +caligraphists ravel the Arabic letters, more especially those who +write talismans.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Nine arts have I, all noble;<br /> +I play at chess so free,<br /> +At ravelling runes I’m ready,<br /> +At books and smithery;<br /> +I’m skill’d o’er ice at skimming<br /> +On skates, I shoot and row,<br /> +And few at harping match me,<br /> +Or minstrelsy, I trow.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But though Lavengro takes up smithery, which, though the +Orcadian ranks it with chess-playing and harping, is certainly +somewhat of a grimy art, there can be no doubt that, had he been +wealthy and not so forlorn as he was, he would have turned to +many things, honourable, of course, in preference. He has +no objection to ride a fine horse when he has the opportunity: he +has his day-dream of making a fortune of two hundred thousand +pounds by becoming a merchant and doing business after the +Armenian fashion; and there can be no doubt that he would have +been glad to wear fine clothes, provided he <!-- page 336--><a +name="page336"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 336</span>had had +sufficient funds to authorize him in wearing them. For the +sake of wandering the country and plying the hammer and tongs he +would not have refused a commission in the service of that +illustrious monarch George the Fourth, provided he had thought +that he could live on his pay, and not be forced to run in debt +to tradesmen, without any hope of paying them, for clothes and +luxuries, as many highly genteel officers in that honourable +service were in the habit of doing. For the sake of +tinkering he would certainly not have refused a secretaryship of +an embassy to Persia, in which he might have turned his +acquaintance with Persian, Arabic, and the Lord only knows what +other languages, to account. He took to tinkering and +smithery, because no better employments were at his +command. No war is waged in the book against rank, wealth, +fine clothes, or dignified employments; it is shown, however, +that a person may be a gentleman and a scholar without +them. Rank, wealth, fine clothes, and dignified +employments, are no doubt very fine things, but they are merely +externals, they do not make a gentleman, they add external grace +and dignity to the gentleman and scholar, but they make neither; +and is it not better to be a gentleman without them than not a +gentleman with them? Is not Lavengro, when he leaves London +on foot with twenty pounds in his pocket, entitled to more +respect than Mr. Flamson flaming in his coach with a +million? And is not even the honest jockey at Horncastle, +who offers a fair price to Lavengro for his horse, entitled to +more than the scoundrel lord, who attempts to cheat him of +one-fourth of its value.</p> +<p>Millions, however, seem to think otherwise, by their servile +adoration of people whom, without rank, wealth, and fine clothes, +they would consider infamous; but whom, possessed of rank, +wealth, and glittering habiliments, they seem to admire all the +more for their profligacy and crimes. Does not a blood-spot +or a lust-spot on the clothes of a blooming emperor give a kind +of zest to the genteel young god? Do not the pride, +superciliousness, and selfishness of a certain aristocracy make +it all the more regarded by its worshippers? And do not the +clownish and gutter-blood admirers of Mr. Flamson like him all +the more because they are conscious that he is a knave? If +such is the case—and, alas! is it not the case?—they +cannot be too frequently told that fine clothes, wealth, and +titles adorn a person in proportion as he adorns them; that if +worn by the magnanimous and good they are ornaments indeed, but +if by the vile and profligate they are merely san benitos, and +only serve to make their infamy doubly apparent; and that a +person in seedy raiment and tattered hat, possessed of courage, +kindness, and virtue, is entitled to more respect from those to +whom his virtues are manifested than any cruel profligate +emperor, selfish aristocrat, or knavish millionaire in the +world.</p> +<p><!-- page 337--><a name="page337"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +337</span>The writer has no intention of saying that all in +England are affected with the absurd mania for gentility; nor is +such a statement made in the book; it is shown therein that +individuals of various classes can prize a gentleman, +notwithstanding seedy raiment, dusty shoes, or tattered +hat—for example, the young Irishman, the rich genius, the +postillion, and his employer. Again, when the life of the +hero is given to the world, amidst the howl about its lowness and +vulgarity, raised by the servile crew whom its independence of +sentiment has stung, more than one powerful voice has been heard +testifying approbation of its learning and the purity of its +morality. That there is some salt in England—minds +not swayed by mere externals—he is fully convinced; if he +were not, he would spare himself the trouble of writing; but to +the fact that the generality of his countrymen are basely +grovelling before the shrine of what they are pleased to call +gentility he cannot shut his eyes.</p> +<p>Oh! what a clever person that Cockney was, who, travelling in +the Aberdeen railroad carriage, after edifying the company with +his remarks on various subjects, gave it as his opinion that +Lieutenant P--- <a name="citation337"></a><a href="#footnote337" +class="citation">[337]</a> would, in future, be shunned by all +respectable society! And what a simple person that elderly +gentleman was, who, abruptly starting, asked, in rather an +authoritative voice, ‘And why should Lieutenant P--- be +shunned by respectable society?’ and who, after entering +into what was said to be a masterly analysis of the entire +evidence of the case, concluded by stating, ‘that having +been accustomed to all kinds of evidence all his life, he had +never known a case in which the accused had obtained a more +complete and triumphant justification than Lieutenant P--- had +done in the late trial.’</p> +<p>Now, the Cockney, who is said to have been a very foppish +Cockney, was perfectly right in what he said, and therein +manifested a knowledge of the English mind and character, and +likewise of the modern English language, to which his catechist, +who, it seems, was a distinguished member of the Scottish Bar, +could lay no pretensions. The Cockney knew what the Lord of +Session knew not—that the British public is gentility +crazy—and he knew, moreover, that gentility and +respectability are synonymous. No one in England is genteel +or respectable that is ‘looked at,’ who is the victim +of oppression. He may be pitied for a time, but when did +not pity terminate in contempt? A poor, harmless young +officer!—but why enter into the details of the infamous +case? They are but too well known, and if ever, cruelty, +pride, and cowardice, and things much worse than even cruelty, +cowardice, and pride, were brought to light, and at the same time +countenanced, they were in that case. What availed the +triumphant justification of the poor victim? There was at +first a roar of indignation against his oppressors, but how <!-- +page 338--><a name="page338"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +338</span>long did it last? He had been turned out of the +service, they remained in it with their red coats and epaulets; +he was merely the son of a man who had rendered good service to +his country, they were, for the most part, highly connected; they +were in the extremest degree genteel, he quite the reverse. +So the nation wavered, considered, thought the genteel side was +the safest after all, and then, with the cry of, ‘Oh, there +is nothing like gentility,’ ratted bodily. Newspaper +and public turned against the victim, scouted him, apologized for +the—what should they be called?—who were not only +admitted into the most respectable society, but courted to come, +the spots, not merely of wine, on their military clothes giving +them a kind of poignancy. But there is a God in heaven; the +British glories are tarnished—Providence has never smiled +on British arms since that case—oh, Balaklava! thy name +interpreted is net of fishes, and well dost thou deserve that +name. How many a scarlet golden fish has of late perished +in the mud amidst thee, cursing the genteel service and the +genteel leader which brought him to such a doom!</p> +<p>Whether the rage for gentility is most prevalent amongst the +upper, middle, or lower classes it is difficult to say; the +priest, in the text, seems to think that it is exhibited in the +most decided manner in the middle class; it is the writer’s +opinion, however, that in no class is it more strongly developed +than in the lower; what they call being well born goes a great +way amongst them, but the possession of money much farther, +whence Mr. Flamson’s influence over them. Their rage +against, and scorn for, any person who by his courage and talents +has advanced himself in life, and still remains poor, are +indescribable: ‘He is no better than ourselves,’ they +say; ‘why should he be above us?’ For they have +no conception that anybody has a right to ascendancy over +themselves except by birth or money. This feeling amongst +the vulgar has been, to a certain extent, the bane of the two +services, naval and military. The writer does not make this +assertion rashly; he observed this feeling at work in the army +when a child, and he has good reason for believing that it was as +strongly at work in the navy at the same time, and is still as +prevalent in both. Why are not brave men raised from the +ranks? is frequently the cry; why are not brave sailors +promoted? The Lord help brave soldiers and sailors who are +promoted! They have less to undergo from the high airs of +their brother-officers, and those are hard enough to endure, than +from the insolence of the men. Soldiers and sailors +promoted to command are said to be in general tyrants; in nine +cases out of ten, when they are tyrants, they have been obliged +to have recourse to extreme severity in order to protect +themselves from the insolence and mutinous spirit of the men: +‘He is no better than ourselves; shoot him, bayonet him, or +fling him overboard!’ <!-- page 339--><a +name="page339"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 339</span>they say of +some obnoxious individual raised above them by his merit. +Soldiers and sailors, in general, will bear any amount of tyranny +from a lordly sot, or the son of a man who has ‘plenty of +brass’—their own term—but will mutiny against +the just orders of a skilful and brave officer who ‘is no +better than themselves.’ There was the affair of the +<i>Bounty</i>, for example: Bligh was one of the best seamen that +ever trod deck, and one of the bravest of men; proofs of his +seamanship he gave by steering, amidst dreadful weather, a +deeply-laden boat for nearly four thousand miles over an almost +unknown ocean; of his bravery at the fight of Copenhagen, one of +the most desperate ever fought, of which, after Nelson, he was +the hero; he was, moreover, not an unkind man; but the crew of +the <i>Bounty</i> mutinied against him, and set him, half-naked, +in an open boat, with certain of his men who remained faithful to +him, and ran away with the ship. Their principal motive for +doing so was an idea, whether true or groundless the writer +cannot say, that Bligh was ‘no better than +themselves’; he was certainly neither a lord’s +illegitimate, nor possessed of twenty thousand pounds. The +writer knows what he is writing about, having been acquainted in +his early years with an individual who was turned adrift with +Bligh, and who died about the year ’22, a lieutenant in the +navy, in a provincial town in which the writer was brought +up. The ringleaders in the mutiny were two scoundrels, +Christian and Young, who had great influence with the crew, +because they were genteelly connected. Bligh, after leaving +the <i>Bounty</i>, had considerable difficulty in managing the +men who had shared his fate, because they considered themselves +‘as good men as he,’ notwithstanding that to his +conduct and seamanship they had alone to look, under heaven, for +salvation from the ghastly perils that surrounded them. +Bligh himself, in his journal, alludes to this feeling. +Once, when he and his companions landed on a desert island, one +of them said, with a mutinous look, that he considered himself +‘as good a man as he’; Bligh, seizing a cutlass, +called upon him to take another and defend himself, whereupon the +man said that Bligh was going to kill him, and made all manner of +concessions. Now, why did this fellow consider himself as +good a man as Bligh? Was he as good a seaman? No, nor +a tenth part as good. As brave a man? No, nor a tenth +part as brave; and of these facts he was perfectly well aware, +but bravery and seamanship stood for nothing with him, as they +still stand with thousands of his class. Bligh was not +genteel by birth or money, therefore Bligh was no better than +himself. Had Bligh, before he sailed, got a twenty thousand +pound prize in the lottery, he would have experienced no +insolence from this fellow, for there would have been no mutiny +in the <i>Bounty</i>. ‘He is our betters,’ the +crew would have said, ‘and it is our duty to obey +him.’</p> +<p><!-- page 340--><a name="page340"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +340</span>The wonderful power of gentility in England is +exemplified in nothing more than in what it is producing amongst +Jews, gypsies, and Quakers. It is breaking up their +venerable communities. All the better, someone will +say. Alas! alas! It is making the wealthy Jews +forsake the synagogue for the opera-house, or the gentility +chapel, in which a disciple of Mr. Platitude, in a white +surplice, preaches a sermon at noon-day from a desk, on each side +of which is a flaming taper. It is making them abandon +their ancient literature, their ‘Mischna,’ their +‘Gemara,’ their ‘Zohar,’ for gentility +novels, ‘The Young Duke,’ the most unexceptionably +genteel book ever written, being the principal favourite. +It makes the young Jew ashamed of the young Jewess; it makes her +ashamed of the young Jew. The young Jew marries an opera +dancer, or if the dancer will not have him, as is frequently the +case, the cast-off Miss of the Honourable Spencer +So-and-so. It makes the young Jewess accept the honourable +offer of a cashiered lieutenant of the Bengal Native Infantry; or +if such a person does not come forward, the dishonourable offer +of a cornet of a regiment of crack hussars. It makes poor +Jews, male and female, forsake the synagogue for the sixpenny +theatre or penny hop; the Jew to take up with an Irish female of +loose character, and the Jewess with a musician of the Guards, or +the Tipperary servant of Captain Mulligan. With respect to +the gypsies, it is making the women what they never were +before—harlots; and the men what they never were +before—careless fathers and husbands. It has made the +daughter of Ursula the chaste take up with the base-drummer of a +wild-beast show. It makes Gorgiko Brown, <a +name="citation340"></a><a href="#footnote340" +class="citation">[340]</a> the gypsy man, leave his tent and his +old wife of an evening, and thrust himself into society which +could well dispense with him. ‘Brother,’ said +Mr. Petulengro the other day to the Romany Rye, after telling him +many things connected with the decadence of gypsyism, +‘there is one Gorgiko Brown, who, with a face as black as a +tea-kettle, wishes to be mistaken for a Christian tradesman; he +goes into the parlour of a third-rate inn of an evening, calls +for rum-and-water, and attempts to enter into conversation with +the company about politics and business. The company flout +him or give him the cold shoulder, or perhaps complain to the +landlord, who comes and asks him what business he has in the +parlour, telling him if he wants to drink to go into the +tap-room, and perhaps collars him and kicks him out, provided he +refuses to move.’ With respect to the Quakers, it +makes the young people, like the young Jews, crazy after +gentility diversions, worship, marriages, or connections, and +makes old Pease do what it makes Gorgiko Brown do—thrust +himself into society which could well dispense with him, and out +of which he is not kicked, because, unlike the gypsy, he is <!-- +page 341--><a name="page341"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +341</span>not poor. The writer would say much more on these +points, but want of room prevents him; he must therefore request +the reader to have patience until he can lay before the world a +pamphlet, which he has been long meditating, to be entitled +‘Remarks on the strikingly similar Effects which a Love for +Gentility has produced, and is producing, amongst Jews, Gypsies, +and Quakers.’</p> +<p>The Priest in the book has much to say on the subject of this +gentility nonsense; no person can possibly despise it more +thoroughly than that very remarkable individual seems to do, yet +he hails its prevalence with pleasure, knowing the benefits which +will result from it to the church of which he is the sneering +slave. ‘The English are mad after gentility,’ +says he; ‘well, all the better for us. Their religion +for a long time past has been a plain and simple one, and +consequently by no means genteel; they’ll quit it for ours, +which is the perfection of what they admire; with which Templars, +Hospitalers, mitred abbots, Gothic abbeys, long-drawn aisles, +golden censers, incense, et cetera, are connected; nothing, or +next to nothing, of Christ, it is true, but weighed in the +balance against gentility, where will Christianity be? why, +kicking against the beam—ho! ho!’ And in +connection with the gentility nonsense he expatiates largely, and +with much contempt, on a species of literature by which the +interests of his church in England have been very much +advanced—all genuine priests have a thorough contempt for +everything which tends to advance the interests of their +church—this literature is made up of pseudo-Jacobitism, +Charlie o’er the waterism, or nonsense about Charlie +o’er the water. And the writer will now take the +liberty of saying a few words about it on his own account.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<p>ON SCOTCH GENTILITY-NONSENSE—CHARLIE O’ER THE +WATERISM</p> +<p>Of the literature just alluded to Scott was the +inventor. It is founded on the fortunes and misfortunes of +the Stuart family, of which Scott was the zealous defender and +apologist, doing all that in his power lay to represent the +members of it as noble, chivalrous, high-minded, unfortunate +princes; though, perhaps, of all the royal families that ever +existed upon earth, this family was the worst. It was +unfortunate enough, it is true; but it owed its misfortunes +entirely to its crimes, viciousness, bad faith, and +cowardice. Nothing will be said of it here until it made +its appearance in England to occupy the English throne.</p> +<p><!-- page 342--><a name="page342"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +342</span>The first of the family which we have to do with, +James, was a dirty, cowardly miscreant, of whom the less said the +better. His son, Charles I., was a tyrant, exceedingly +cruel and revengeful, but weak and dastardly; he caused a poor +fellow to be hanged in London, who was not his subject, because +he had heard that the unfortunate creature had once bit his own +glove at Cadiz, in Spain, at the mention of his name; and he +permitted his own bull-dog, Strafford, to be executed by his own +enemies, though the only crime of Strafford was that he had +barked furiously at those enemies, and had worried two or three +of them when Charles shouted, ‘Fetch +’em!’ He was a bitter, but yet a despicable, +enemy, and the coldest and most worthless of friends; for though +he always hoped to be able some time or other to hang his +enemies, he was always ready to curry favour with them, more +especially if he could do so at the expense of his friends. +He was the haughtiest yet meanest of mankind. He once caned +a young nobleman for appearing before him in the drawing-room not +dressed exactly according to the court etiquette; yet he +condescended to flatter and compliment him who, from principle, +was his bitterest enemy—namely, Harrison, when the +Republican colonel was conducting him as a prisoner to +London. His bad faith was notorious; it was from abhorrence +of the first public instance which he gave of his bad +faith—his breaking his word to the Infanta of Spain, that +the poor Hiberno-Spainard bit his glove at Cadiz; and it was his +notorious bad faith which eventually cost him his head; for the +Republicans would gladly have spared him, provided they could +have put the slightest confidence in any promise, however solemn, +which he might have made to them. Of them it would be +difficult to say whether they most hated or despised him. +Religion he had none. One day he favoured Popery; the next, +on hearing certain clamours of the people, he sent his +wife’s domestics back packing to France, because they were +Papists. Papists, however, should make him a saint, for he +was certainly the cause of the taking of Rochelle.</p> +<p>His son, Charles the Second, though he passed his youth in the +school of adversity, learned no other lesson from it than the +following one—take care of yourself, and never do an +action, either good or bad, which is likely to bring you into any +great difficulty; and this maxim he acted up to as soon as he +came to the throne. He was a Papist, but took especial care +not to acknowledge his religion, at which he frequently scoffed, +till just before his last gasp, when he knew that he could lose +nothing, and hoped to gain everything by it. He was always +in want of money, but took care not to tax the country beyond all +endurable bounds, preferring, to such a bold and dangerous +course, to become the secret pensioner of Louis, to whom, in +return for his <!-- page 343--><a name="page343"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 343</span>gold, he sacrificed the honour and +interests of Britain. He was too lazy and sensual to +delight in playing the part of a tyrant himself; but he never +checked tyranny in others, save in one instance. He +permitted beastly butchers to commit unmentionable horrors on the +feeble, unarmed, and disunited Covenanters of Scotland, but +checked them when they would fain have endeavoured to play the +same game on the numerous, united, dogged, and warlike +Independents of England. To show his filial piety, he bade +the hangman dishonour the corpses of some of his father’s +judges, before whom, when alive, he ran like a screaming hare; +but permitted those who had lost their all in supporting his +father’s cause, to pine in misery and want. He would +give to a painted harlot a thousand pounds for a loathsome +embrace, and to a player or buffoon a hundred for a trumpery pun, +but would refuse a penny to the widow or orphan of an old +Royalist soldier. He was the personification of +selfishness; and as he loved and cared for no one, so did no one +love or care for him. So little had he gained the respect +or affection of those who surrounded him, that after his body had +undergone an after-death examination, parts of it were thrown +down the sinks of the palace, to become eventually the prey of +the swine and ducks of Westminster.</p> +<p>His brother, who succeeded him, James the Second, was a +Papist, but sufficiently honest to acknowledge his Popery, but, +upon the whole, he was a poor creature; though a tyrant, he was +cowardly; had he not been a coward he would never have lost his +throne. There were plenty of lovers of tyranny in England +who would have stood by him, provided he would have stood by +them, and would, though not Papists, have encouraged him in his +attempt to bring back England beneath the sway of Rome, and +perhaps would eventually have become Papists themselves; but the +nation raising a cry against him, and his son-in-law, the Prince +of Orange, invading the country, he forsook his friends—of +whom he had a host, but for whom he cared little—left his +throne, for which he cared a great deal, and Popery in England, +for which he cared yet more, to their fate, and escaped to +France, from whence, after taking a little heart, he repaired to +Ireland, where he was speedily joined by a gallant army of +Papists whom he basely abandoned at the Boyne, running away in a +most lamentable condition at the time when, by showing a little +courage, he might have enabled them to conquer. This +worthy, in his last will, bequeathed his heart to England, his +right arm to Scotland, and his bowels to Ireland. What the +English and Scotch said to their respective bequests is not +known, but it is certain that an old Irish priest, supposed to +have been a great-grand-uncle of the present Reverend Father +Murtagh, on hearing of the bequest to Ireland, fell into a great +passion, and, having been brought up at ‘Paris and +Salamanca,’ expressed his indignation in the following +strain: ‘Malditas sean <!-- page 344--><a +name="page344"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 344</span>tus tripas! +teniamos bastante del olor de tus tripas al tiempo de tu nuida +dela batalla del Boyne!’</p> +<p>His son, generally called the Old Pretender, though born in +England, was carried in his infancy to France, where he was +brought up in the strictest principles of Popery, which +principles, however, did not prevent him becoming (when did they +ever prevent anyone?) a worthless and profligate scoundrel. +There are some doubts as to the reality of his being a son of +James, which doubts are probably unfounded, the grand proof of +his legitimacy being the thorough baseness of his +character. It was said of his father that he could speak +well, and it may be said of him that he could write +well—the only thing he could do which was worth doing, +always supposing that there is any merit in being able to +write. He was of a mean appearance, and, like his father, +pusillanimous to a degree. The meanness of his appearance +disgusted, and his pusillanimity discouraged the Scotch when he +made his appearance amongst them in the year 1715, some time +after the standard of rebellion had been hoisted by Mar. He +only stayed a short time in Scotland, and then, seized with +panic, retreated to France, leaving his friends to shift for +themselves as they best could. He died a pensioner of the +Pope.</p> +<p>The son of this man, Charles Edward, of whom so much in latter +years has been said and written, was a worthless, ignorant youth, +and a profligate and illiterate old man. When young, the +best that can be said of him is that he had occasionally springs +of courage, invariably at the wrong time and place, which merely +served to lead his friends into inextricable difficulties. +When old, he was loathsome and contemptible to both friend and +foe. His wife loathed him, and for the most terrible of +reasons; she did not pollute his couch, for to do that was +impossible—he had made it so vile; but she betrayed it, +inviting to it not only Alfieri the Filthy, but the coarsest +grooms. Doctor King, the warmest and almost last adherent +of his family, said that there was not a vice or crime of which +he was not guilty; as for his foes, they scorned to harm him even +when in their power. In the year 1745 he came down from the +Highlands of Scotland, which had long been a focus of +rebellion. He was attended by certain clans of the +Highlands—desperadoes used to freebootery from their +infancy, and consequently to the use of arms, and possessed of a +certain species of discipline. With these he defeated at +Prestonpans a body of men called soldiers, but who were in +reality peasants and artizans, levied about a month before, +without discipline or confidence in each other, and who were +miserably massacred by the Highland army. He subsequently +invaded England, nearly destitute of regular soldiers, and +penetrated as far as Derby, from which place he retreated on +learning that regular forces, which had been <!-- page 345--><a +name="page345"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 345</span>hastily +recalled from Flanders, were coming against him, with the Duke of +Cumberland at their head. He was pursued, and his +rear-guard overtaken and defeated by the dragoons of the Duke at +Clifton, from which place the rebels retreated in great confusion +across the Eden into Scotland, where they commenced dancing +Highland reels and strathspeys on the bank of the river for joy +at their escape, whilst a number of wretched girls, paramours of +some of them, were perishing in the waters of the swollen river +in an attempt to follow them. They themselves passed over +by eighties and by hundreds, arm-in-arm, for mutual safety, +without the loss of a man, but they left the poor paramours to +shift for themselves; nor did any of these canny people, after +passing the stream, dash back to rescue a single female +life—no, they were too well employed upon the bank in +dancing strathspeys to the tune of ‘Charlie o’er the +water.’ It was, indeed, Charlie o’er the water, +and canny Highlanders o’er the water, but where were the +poor prostitutes meantime? <i>In the water</i>.</p> +<p>The Jacobite farce, or tragedy, was speedily brought to a +close by the Battle of Culloden; there did Charlie wish himself +back again o’er the water, exhibiting the most unmistakable +signs of pusillanimity; there were the clans cut to +pieces—at least, those who could be brought to the +charge—and there fell Giles Mac Bean, or, as he was called +in Gaelic, Giliosa Mac Beathan, a kind of giant, six feet four +inches and a quarter high, ‘than whom,’ as his wife +said in a coronach she made upon him, ‘no man who stood at +Cuiloitr was taller’—Giles Mac Bean, the Major of the +clan Cattan, a great drinker, a great fisher, a great shooter, +and the champion of the Highland host.</p> +<p>The last of the Stuarts was a cardinal.</p> +<p>Such were the Stuarts, such their miserable history. +They were dead and buried, in every sense of the word, until +Scott resuscitated them—how?—by the power of fine +writing, and by calling to his aid that strange divinity, +gentility. He wrote splendid novels about the Stuarts, in +which he represents them as unlike what they really were, as the +graceful and beautiful papillon is unlike the hideous and filthy +worm. In a word, he made them genteel, and that was enough +to give them paramount sway over the minds of the British +people. The public became Stuart-mad, and everybody, +especially the women, said: ‘What a pity it was that we +hadn’t a Stuart to govern.’ All parties, Whig, +Tory, or Radical, became Jacobite at heart, and admirers of +absolute power. The Whigs talked about the liberty of the +subject, and the Radicals about the rights of man still; but +neither party cared a straw for what it talked about, and +mentally swore that, as soon as by means of such stuff they could +get places, and fill their pockets, they would be as Jacobite as +the Jacobs themselves. As for the Tories, no great <!-- +page 346--><a name="page346"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +346</span>change in them was necessary; everything favouring +absolutism and slavery being congenial to them. So the +whole nation—that is, the reading part of the nation, with +some exceptions, for, thank God, there has always been some salt +in England—went over the water to Charlie. But going +over to Charlie was not enough; they must, or at least a +considerable part of them, go over to Rome, too, or have a +hankering to do so. As the Priest sarcastically observes in +the text, ‘As all the Jacobs were Papists, so the good +folks who, through Scott’s novels, admire the Jacobs must +be Papists too.’ An idea got about that the religion +of such genteel people as the Stuarts must be the climax of +gentility, and that idea was quite sufficient. Only let a +thing, whether temporal or spiritual, be considered genteel in +England, and if it be not followed it is strange indeed; so +Scott’s writings not only made the greater part of the +nation Jacobite, but Popish.</p> +<p>Here some people will exclaim—whose opinions remain +sound and uncontaminated—what you say is perhaps true with +respect to the Jacobite nonsense at present so prevalent being +derived from Scott’s novels, but the Popish nonsense, which +people of the genteeler class are so fond of, is derived from +Oxford. We sent our sons to Oxford nice honest lads, +educated in the principles of the Church of England, and at the +end of the first term they came home puppies, talking Popish +nonsense, which they had learned from the pedants to whose care +we had entrusted them; ay, not only Popery, but Jacobitism, which +they hardly carried with them from home, for we never heard them +talking Jacobitism before they had been at Oxford; but now their +conversation is a farrago of Popish and Jacobite stuff: +‘Complines and Claverse.’ Now, what these +honest folks say is, to a certain extent, founded on fact; the +Popery which has overflowed the land during the last fourteen or +fifteen years has come immediately from Oxford, and likewise some +of the Jacobitism, Popish and Jacobite nonsense, and little or +nothing else, having been taught at Oxford for about that number +of years. But whence did the pedants get the Popish +nonsense with which they have corrupted youth? Why, from +the same quarter from which they got the Jacobite nonsense with +which they have inoculated those lads who were not inoculated +with it before—Scott’s novels. Jacobitism and +Laudism, a kind of half Popery, had at one time been very +prevalent at Oxford, but both had been long consigned to oblivion +there, and people at Oxford cared as little about Laud as they +did about the Pretender. Both were dead and buried there, +as everywhere else, till Scott called them out of their graves, +when the pedants of Oxford hailed both; ay, and the Pope, too, as +soon as Scott had made the old fellow fascinating, through +particular novels, more especially the ‘Monastery’ +and ‘Abbot.’ Then the quiet, respectable, +honourable Church of England would no longer do <!-- page +347--><a name="page347"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +347</span>for the pedants of Oxford; they must belong to a more +genteel Church—they were ashamed at first to be downright +Romans—so they would be Lauds. The pale-looking, but +exceedingly genteel, non-juring clergyman in Waverley was a Laud; +but they soon became tired of being Lauds, for Laud’s +Church, gewgawish and idolatrous as it was, was not sufficiently +tinselly and idolatrous for them, so they must be Popes, but in a +sneaking way, still calling themselves Church of England men, in +order to batten on the bounty of the Church which they were +betraying, and likewise have opportunities of corrupting such +lads as might still resort to Oxford with principles +uncontaminated.</p> +<p>So the respectable people, whose opinions are still sound, +are, to a certain extent, right when they say that the tide of +Popery, which has flowed over the land, has come from +Oxford. It did come immediately from Oxford, but how did it +get to Oxford? Why, from Scott’s novels. Oh! +that sermon which was the first manifestation of Oxford feeling, +preached at Oxford some time in the year ’38 by a divine of +a weak and confused intellect, in which Popery was mixed up with +Jacobitism! The present writer remembers perfectly well, on +reading some extracts from it at the time in a newspaper, on the +top of a coach, exclaiming: ‘Why, the simpleton has been +pilfering from Walter Scott’s novels!’</p> +<p>Oh, Oxford pedants! Oxford pedants! ye whose politics +and religion are both derived from Scott’s novels! what a +pity it is that some lad of honest parents, whose mind ye are +endeavouring to stultify with your nonsense about +‘Complines and Claverse,’ has not the spirit to start +up and cry, ‘Confound your gibberish! I’ll have +none of it. Hurrah for the Church, and the principles of my +<i>father</i>!’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII—SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED</h2> +<p>Now what could have induced Scott to write novels tending to +make people Papists and Jacobites, and in love with arbitrary +power? Did he think that Christianity was a gaudy +mummery? He did not, he could not, for he had read the +Bible; yet was he fond of gaudy mummeries, fond of talking about +them. Did he believe that the Stuarts were a good family, +and fit to govern a country like Britain? He knew that they +were a vicious, worthless crew, and that Britain was a degraded +country as long as they swayed the sceptre; but for those facts +he cared nothing, they governed in a way which he liked, for he +had an abstract love of despotism, and an abhorrence of +everything savouring of freedom and the rights of <!-- page +348--><a name="page348"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +348</span>man in general. His favourite political picture +was a joking, profligate, careless king, nominally absolute; the +heads of great houses paying court to, but in reality governing, +that king, whilst revelling with him on the plunder of a nation, +and a set of crouching, grovelling vassals (the literal meaning +of vassal is a wretch), who, after allowing themselves to be +horsewhipped, would take a bone if flung to them, and be +grateful; so that in love with mummery, though he knew what +Christianity was, no wonder he admired such a Church as that of +Rome, and that which Laud set up; and by nature formed to be the +holder of the candle to ancient worm-eaten and profligate +families, no wonder that all his sympathies were with the Stuarts +and their dissipated, insolent party, and all his hatred directed +against those who endeavoured to check them in their proceedings, +and to raise the generality of mankind something above a state of +vassalage that is wretchedness. Those who were born great, +were, if he could have had his will, always to remain great, +however worthless their characters. Those who were born +low, were always to remain so, however great their talents; +though if that rule were carried out, where would he have been +himself?</p> +<p>In the book which he called the ‘History of Napoleon +Bonaparte,’ in which he plays the sycophant to all the +legitimate crowned heads in Europe, whatever their crimes, vices, +or miserable imbecilities, he, in his abhorrence of everything +low which by its own vigour makes itself illustrious, calls Murat +of the sabre the son of a pastry-cook, of a Marseilleise +pastry-cook. It is a pity that people who give themselves +hoity-toity airs—and the Scotch in general are wonderfully +addicted to giving themselves hoity-toity airs, and checking +people better than themselves with their birth <a +name="citation348"></a><a href="#footnote348" +class="citation">[348]</a> and their country—it is a great +pity that such people do not look at home—son of a +pastry-cook, of a Marseilleise pastry-cook! Well, and what +was Scott himself? Why, son of a pettifogger, of an +Edinburgh pettifogger. ‘Oh, but Scott was descended +from the old cow-stealers of Buccleuch, and +therefore—’ Descended from old cow-stealers, +was he? Well, had he had nothing to boast of beyond such a +pedigree, he would have lived and died the son of a pettifogger +and been forgotten, and deservedly so; but he possessed talents, +and by his talents rose like Murat, and like him will be +remembered for <!-- page 349--><a name="page349"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 349</span>his talents alone, and deservedly +so. ‘Yes, but Murat was still the son of a +pastry-cook, and though he was certainly good at the sabre, and +cut his way to a throne, still—’ Lord! what +fools there are in the world; but as no one can be thought +anything of in this world without a pedigree, the writer will now +give a pedigree for Murat, of a very different character from the +cow-stealing one of Scott, but such a one as the proudest he +might not disdain to claim. Scott was descended from the +old cow-stealers of Buccleuch—was he? Good! and Murat +was descended from the old Moors of Spain, from the Abencerages +(sons of the saddle) of Granada. The name Murat is Arabic, +and is the same as Murad (Le Desiré, or the wished-for +one). Scott, in his genteel life of Bonaparte, says that +‘when Murat was in Egypt the similarity between the name of +the celebrated Mameluke Mourad and that of Bonaparte’s +Meilleur Sabreur was remarked, and became the subject of jest +amongst the comrades of the gallant Frenchman.’ But +the writer of the novel of Bonaparte did not know that the names +were one and the same. Now, which was the best pedigree, +that of the son of the pastry-cook, or that of the son of the +pettifogger? Which was the best blood? Let us observe +the workings of the two bloods. He who had the blood of the +‘sons of the saddle’ in him became the wonderful +cavalier of the most wonderful host that ever went forth to +conquest, won for himself a crown, and died the death of a +soldier, leaving behind him a son, only inferior to himself in +strength, in prowess, and in horsemanship. The descendant +of the cow-stealer became a poet, a novel writer, the panegyrist +of great folks and genteel people; became insolvent because, +though an author, he deemed it ungenteel to be mixed up with the +business part of authorship; died paralytic and broken-hearted +because he could no longer give entertainments to great folks; +leaving behind him, amongst other children, who were never heard +of, a son, who, through his father’s interest, had become +lieutenant-colonel in a genteel cavalry regiment. A son who +was ashamed of his father because his father was an +author—a son who—paugh!—why ask which was the +best blood?</p> +<p>So, owing to his rage for gentility, Scott must needs become +the apologist of the Stuarts and their party; but God made this +man pay dearly for taking the part of the wicked against the +good; for lauding up to the skies miscreants and robbers, and +calumniating the noble spirits of Britain, the salt of England, +and his own country. As God had driven the Stuarts from +their throne, and their followers from their estates, making them +vagabonds and beggars on the face of the earth, taking from them +all they cared for, so did that same God, who knows perfectly +well how and where to strike, deprive the apologist of that +wretched crew of all that rendered life pleasant in his eyes, +<!-- page 350--><a name="page350"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +350</span>the lack of which paralyzed him in body and mind, +rendered him pitiable to others, loathsome to himself—so +much so that he once said, ‘Where is the beggar who would +change place with me, notwithstanding all my fame?’ +Ah! God knows perfectly well how to strike. He permitted +him to retain all his literary fame to the very last—his +literary fame for which he cared nothing; but what became of the +sweetnesses of life, his fine house, his grand company, and his +entertainments? The grand house ceased to be his; he was +only permitted to live in it on sufferance, and whatever grandeur +it might still retain to soon became as desolate a looking house +as any misanthrope could wish to see. Where were the grand +entertainments and the grand company? There are no grand +entertainments where there is no money; no lords and ladies where +there are no entertainments—and there lay the poor lodger +in the desolate house, groaning on a bed no longer his, smitten +by the hand of God in the part where he was most +vulnerable. Of what use telling such a man to take comfort, +for he had written the ‘Minstrel’ and ‘Rob +Roy’—telling him to think of his literary fame? +Literary fame, indeed! he wanted back his lost gentility:</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘Retain my altar,<br /> +I care nothing for it—but oh! touch not my +<i>beard</i>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Porny’s</span> <i>War of the Gods</i>.</p> +<p>He dies, his children die too, and then comes the crowning +judgment of God on what remained of his race, and the house which +he had built. He was not a Papist himself, nor did he wish +anyone belonging to him to be Popish, for he had read enough of +the Bible to know that no one can be saved through Popery, yet +had he a sneaking affection for it, and would at all times, in an +underhand manner, give it a good word both in writing and +discourse, because it was a gaudy kind of worship, and ignorance +and vassalage prevailed so long as it flourished; but he +certainly did not wish any of his people to become Papists, nor +the house which he had built to become a Popish house, though the +very name he gave it savoured of Popery. But Popery becomes +fashionable through his novels and poems—the only one that +remains of his race, a female grandchild, marries a person who, +following the fashion, becomes a Papist, and makes her a Papist +too. Money abounds with the husband who buys the house, and +then the house becomes the rankest Popish house in Britain. +A superstitious person might almost imagine that one of the old +Scottish Covenanters, whilst the grand house was being built from +the profits resulting from the sale of writings favouring Popery +and persecution, and calumniatory of Scotland’s saints and +martyrs, had risen from the grave, and banned Scott, his race, +and his house, by reading a certain psalm.</p> +<p>In saying what he has said about Scott the author has not <!-- +page 351--><a name="page351"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +351</span>been influenced by any feeling of malice or ill-will, +but simply by a regard for truth, and a desire to point out to +his countrymen the harm which has resulted from the perusal of +his works; he is not one of those who would depreciate the +talents of Scott, he admires his talents, both as a prose writer +and a poet. As a poet especially he admires him, and +believes him to have been by far the greatest, with perhaps the +exception of Mickiewicz, who only wrote for unfortunate Poland, +that Europe has given birth to during the last hundred +years. As a prose writer he admires him less, it is true, +but his admiration for him in that capacity is very high, and he +only laments that he prostituted his talents to the cause of the +Stuarts and gentility. What book of fiction of the present +century can you read twice, with the exception of +‘Waverley’ and ‘Rob Roy?’ There is +‘Pelham,’ it is true, which the writer of these lines +has seen a Jewess reading in the steppe of Debreczin, and which a +young Prussian Baron, a great traveller, whom he met at +Constantinople in ’44, told him he always carried in his +valise. And in conclusion he will say, in order to show the +opinion which he entertains of the power of Scott as a writer, +that he did for the spectre of the wretched Pretender what all +the kings of Europe could not do for his body—placed it on +the throne of these realms, and for Popery what Popes and +Cardinals strove in vain to do for three centuries—brought +back its mummeries and nonsense into the temples of the British +Isles.</p> +<p>Scott during his lifetime had a crowd of imitators, who, +whether they wrote history so called, poetry so called, or +novels—nobody would call a book a novel if he could call it +anything else—wrote Charlie o’er the water nonsense, +and now that he has been dead a quarter of a century, there are +others daily springing up who are striving to imitate Scott in +his Charlie o’er the water nonsense—for nonsense it +is, even when flowing from his pen. They, too, must write +Jacobite histories, Jacobite songs, and Jacobite novels, and much +the same figure as the scoundrel menials in the comedy cut when +personating their masters, and retailing their masters’ +conversation do they cut as Walter Scotts. In their +histories, they too talk about the Prince and Glenfinnan, and the +pibroch; and in their songs about ‘Claverse’ and +‘Bonny Dundee.’ But though they may be Scots, +they are not Walter Scotts. But it is perhaps chiefly in +the novel that you see the veritable hog in armour; the time of +the novel is of course the ’15 or ’45; the hero a +Jacobite, and connected with one or other of the enterprises of +those periods; and the author, to show how unprejudiced he is, +and what <i>original</i> views he takes of subjects, must needs +speak up for Popery, whenever he has occasion to mention it; +though, with all his originality, when he brings his hero and the +vagabonds with which he is concerned before a barricadoed house, +belonging <!-- page 352--><a name="page352"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 352</span>to the Whigs, he can make them get +into it by no other method than that which Scott makes his +rioters employ to get into the Tolbooth, <i>burning down</i> the +door.</p> +<p>To express the more than utter foolishness of this latter +Charlie o’er the water nonsense, whether in rhyme or prose, +there is but one word, and that word a Scotch word. Scotch, +the sorriest of jargons, compared with which even Roth Welsch is +dignified and expressive, has yet one word to express what would +be inexpressible by any word or combination of words in any +language, or in any other jargon in the world; and very properly; +for as the nonsense is properly Scotch, so should the word be +Scotch which expresses it; that word is +‘fushionless,’ pronounced <i>fooshionless</i>; and +when the writer has called the nonsense fooshionless—and he +does call it fooshionless—he has nothing more to say, but +leaves the nonsense to its fate.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII—ON CANTING NONSENSE</h2> +<p>The writer now wishes to say something on the subject of +canting nonsense, of which there is a great deal in +England. There are various cants in England, amongst which +is the religious cant. He is not going to discuss the +subject of religious cant; lest, however, he should be +misunderstood, he begs leave to repeat that he is a sincere +member of the old-fashioned Church of England, in which he +believes there is more religion, and consequently less cant, than +in any other church in the world; nor is he going to discuss many +other cants; he shall content himself with saying something about +two—the temperance cant and the unmanly cant. +Temperance canters say that ‘it is unlawful to drink a +glass of ale.’ Unmanly canters say that ‘it is +unlawful to use one’s fists.’ The writer begs +leave to tell both these species of canters that they do not +speak the words of truth.</p> +<p>It is very lawful to take a cup of ale, or wine, for the +purpose of cheering or invigorating yourself when you are faint +and down-hearted; and likewise to give a cup of ale or wine to +others when they are in a similar condition. The Holy +Scripture sayeth nothing to the contrary, but rather encourageth +people in so doing by the text, ‘Wine maketh glad the heart +of man.’ But it is not lawful to intoxicate yourself +with frequent cups of ale or wine, nor to make others +intoxicated, nor does the Holy Scripture say that it is. +The Holy Scripture no more says that it is lawful to intoxicate +yourself or others, than it says that it is unlawful to take a +cup of ale or wine yourself, or to give one to others. Noah +is not commended in the Scripture for making <!-- page 353--><a +name="page353"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 353</span>himself +drunken on the wine he brewed. Nor is it said that the +Saviour, when He supplied the guests with first-rate wine at the +marriage feast, told them to make themselves drunk upon it. +He is said to have supplied them with first-rate wine, but He +doubtless left the quantity which each should drink to each +party’s reason and discretion. When you set a good +dinner before your guests, you do not expect that they should +gorge themselves with the victuals you set before them. +Wine may be abused, and so may a leg of mutton.</p> +<p>Second. It is lawful for anyone to use his fists in his +own defence, or in the defence of others, provided they +can’t help themselves; but it is not lawful to use them for +purposes of tyranny or brutality. If you are attacked by a +ruffian, as the elderly individual in ‘Lavengro’ is +in the inn-yard, it is quite lawful, if you can, to give him as +good a thrashing as the elderly individual gave the brutal +coachman; and if you see a helpless woman—perhaps your own +sister—set upon by a drunken lord, a drunken coachman, or a +drunken coalheaver, or a brute of any description, either drunk +or sober, it is not only lawful, but laudable, to give them, if +you can, a good drubbing; but it is not lawful, because you have +a strong pair of fists, and know how to use them, to go +swaggering through a fair, jostling against unoffending +individuals; should you do so, you would be served quite right if +you were to get a drubbing, more particularly if you were served +out by some one less strong, but more skilful than +yourself—even as the coachman was served out by a pupil of +the immortal Broughton—sixty years old, it is true, but +possessed of Broughton’s guard and chop. Moses is not +blamed in the Scripture for taking part with the oppressed, and +killing an Egyptian persecutor. We are not told how Moses +killed the Egyptian; but it is quite as creditable to Moses to +suppose that he killed the Egyptian by giving him a buffet under +the left ear, as by stabbing him with a knife. It is true, +that the Saviour in the New Testament tells His disciples to turn +the left cheek to be smitten, after they had received a blow on +the right; but He was speaking to people divinely inspired, or +whom He intended divinely to inspire—people selected by God +for a particular purpose. He likewise tells these people to +part with various articles of raiment when asked for them, and to +go a-travelling without money, and to take no thought of the +morrow. Are those exhortations carried out by very good +people in the present day? Do Quakers, when smitten on the +right cheek, turn the left to the smiter? When asked for +their coat, do they say: ‘Friend, take my shirt +also’? Has the Dean of Salisbury no purse? Does +the Archbishop of Canterbury go to an inn, run up a reckoning, +and then say to his landlady, ‘Mistress, I have no +coin’? Assuredly the Dean has a purse, and a +tolerably well-filled one; and, assuredly, the <!-- page 354--><a +name="page354"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 354</span>Archbishop, +on departing from an inn, not only settles his reckoning, but +leaves something handsome for the servants, and does not say that +he is forbidden by the Gospel to pay for what he has eaten, or +the trouble he has given, as a certain Spanish cavalier said he +was forbidden by the statutes of chivalry. Now, to take the +part of yourself, or the part of the oppressed, with your fists, +is quite as lawful in the present day as it is to refuse your +coat and your shirt also to any vagabond who may ask for them, +and not to refuse to pay for supper, bed, and breakfast, at the +Feathers, or any other inn, after you have had the benefit of all +three.</p> +<p>The conduct of Lavengro with respect to drink may, upon the +whole, serve as a model. He is no drunkard, nor is he fond +of intoxicating other people; yet when the horrors are upon him +he has no objection to go to a public-house and call for a pint +of ale, nor does he shrink from recommending ale to others when +they are faint and downcast. In one instance, it is true, +he does what cannot be exactly justified; he encourages the +Priest in the dingle, in more instances than one, in drinking +more hollands and water than is consistent with decorum. He +has a motive indeed in doing so; a desire to learn from the knave +in his cups the plans and hopes of the Propaganda of Rome. +Such conduct, however, was inconsistent with strict fair dealing +and openness; and the author advises all those whose consciences +never reproach them for a single unfair or covert act committed +by them, to abuse him heartily for administering hollands and +water to the Priest of Rome. In that instance the hero is +certainly wrong; yet in all other cases with regard to drink, he +is manifestly right. To tell people that they are never to +drink a glass of ale or wine themselves, or to give one to +others, is cant; and the writer has no toleration for cant of any +description. Some cants are not dangerous; but the writer +believes that a more dangerous cant than the temperance cant, or, +as it is generally called, teetotalism, is scarcely to be +found. The writer is willing to believe that it originated +with well-meaning, though weak people; but there can be no doubt +that it was quickly turned to account by people who were neither +well-meaning nor weak. Let the reader note particularly the +purpose to which this cry has been turned in America; the land, +indeed, par excellence, of humbug and humbug cries. It is +there continually in the mouth of the most violent political +party, and is made an instrument of almost unexampled +persecution. The writer would say more on the temperance +cant, both in England and America, but want of space prevents +him. There is one point on which he cannot avoid making a +few brief remarks—that is, the inconsistent conduct of its +apostles in general. The teetotal apostle says it is a +dreadful thing to be drunk. So it is, teetotaller; but, if +so, why do you get drunk? I get drunk? <!-- page +355--><a name="page355"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +355</span>Yes, unhappy man, why do you get drunk on smoke and +passion? Why are your garments impregnated with the odour +of the Indian weed? Why is there a pipe or cigar always in +your mouth? Why is your language more dreadful than that of +a Poissarde? Tobacco smoke is more deleterious than ale, +teetotaller; bile more potent than brandy. You are fond of +telling your hearers what an awful thing it is to die +drunken. So it is teetotaller. Then take care that +you do not die with smoke and passion, drunken, and with +temperance language on your lips; that is, abuse and calumny +against all those who differ from you. One word of sense +you have been heard to say, which is, that spirits may be taken +as a medicine. Now you are in a fever of passion, +teetotaller; so, pray take this tumbler of brandy; take it on the +homœopathic principle, that heat is to be expelled by +heat. You are in a temperance fury, so swallow the contents +of this tumbler, and it will, perhaps, cure you. You look +at the glass wistfully—you say you occasionally take a +glass medicinally, and it is probable you do. Take one +now. Consider what a dreadful thing it would be to die +passion drunk, to appear before your Maker with +<i>in</i>temperate language on your lips. That’s +right! You don’t seem to wince at the brandy. +That’s right—well done! All down in two +pulls. Now you look like a reasonable being!</p> +<p>If the conduct of Lavengro with regard to drink is open to +little censure, assuredly the use which he makes of his fists is +entitled to none at all. Because he has a pair of tolerably +strong fists, and knows to a certain extent how to use them, is +he a swaggerer or oppressor? To what ill account does he +turn them? Who more quiet, gentle, and inoffensive than +he? He beats off a ruffian who attacks him in a dingle; has +a kind of friendly tuzzle with Mr. Petulengro, and behold the +extent of his fistic exploits.</p> +<p>Ay, but he associates with prize-fighters; and that very +fellow, Petulengro, is a prize-fighter, and has fought for a +stake in a ring. Well, and if he had not associated with +prize-fighters, how could he have used his fists? Oh, +anybody can use his fists in his own defence, without being +taught by prize-fighters. Can they? Then why does not +the Italian, or Spaniard, or Affghan use his fists when insulted +or outraged, instead of having recourse to the weapons which he +has recourse to? Nobody can use his fists without being +taught the use of them by those who have themselves been taught, +no more than anyone can ‘whiffle’ <a +name="citation355"></a><a href="#footnote355" +class="citation">[355]</a> without being taught by a master of +the art. Now let any man of the present day try to +whiffle. Would not anyone who wished to whiffle have to go +to a master of the art? Assuredly! but where would he find +one at the present day? The last of the whifflers hanged +himself about a fortnight ago on a bell-rope in a church <!-- +page 356--><a name="page356"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +356</span>steeple of ‘the old town,’ from pure grief +that there was no further demand for the exhibition of his art, +there being no demand for whiffling since the discontinuation of +Guildhall banquets. Whiffling is lost. The old chap +left his sword behind him; let anyone take up the old +chap’s sword and try to whiffle. Now much the same +hand as he would make who should take up the whiffler’s +sword and try to whiffle, would he who should try to use his +fists who had never had the advantage of a master. Let no +one think that men use their fists naturally in their own +disputes—men have naturally recourse to any other thing to +defend themselves or to offend others; they fly to the stick, to +the stone, to the murderous and cowardly knife, or to abuse as +cowardly as the knife, and occasionally more murderous. Now +which is best when you hate a person, or have a pique against a +person, to clench your fist and say ‘Come on,’ or to +have recourse to the stone, the knife, or murderous +calumny? The use of the fist is almost lost in +England. Yet are the people better than they were when they +knew how to use their fists? The writer believes not. +A fisty combat is at present a great rarity, but the use of the +knife, the noose, and of poison, to say nothing of calumny, are +of more frequent occurrence in England than perhaps in any +country in Europe. Is polite taste better than when it +could bear the details of a fight! The writer believes +not. Two men cannot meet in a ring to settle a dispute in a +manly manner without some trumpery local newspaper letting loose +a volley of abuse against ‘the disgraceful +exhibition,’ in which abuse it is sure to be sanctioned by +its dainty readers; whereas some murderous horror, the discovery, +for example, of the mangled remains of a woman in some obscure +den, is greedily seized hold on by the moral journal and dressed +up for its readers, who luxuriate and gloat upon the ghastly +dish. Now, the writer of ‘Lavengro’ has no +sympathy with those who would shrink from striking a blow, but +would not shrink from the use of poison or calumny; and his taste +has little in common with that which cannot tolerate the hardy +details of a prize-fight, but which luxuriates on descriptions of +the murder dens of modern England. But prize-fighters and +pugilists are blackguards, a reviewer has said; and blackguards +they would be, provided they employed their skill and their +prowess for purposes of brutality and oppression; but +prize-fighters and pugilists are seldom friends to brutality and +oppression; and which is the blackguard, the writer would ask, he +who uses his fists to take his own part, or instructs others to +use theirs for the same purpose, or the being who from envy and +malice, or at the bidding of a malicious scoundrel, endeavours by +calumny, falsehood, and misrepresentation to impede the efforts +of lonely and unprotected genius?</p> +<p>One word more about the race, all but extinct, of the people +opprobriously called prize-fighters. Some of them have been +<!-- page 357--><a name="page357"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +357</span>as noble, kindly men as the world ever produced. +Can the rolls of the English aristocracy exhibit names belonging +to more noble, heroic men, than those who were called +respectively Pearce, Cribb, <a name="citation357a"></a><a +href="#footnote357a" class="citation">[357a]</a> and Spring? <a +name="citation357b"></a><a href="#footnote357b" +class="citation">[357b]</a> Did ever one of the English +aristocracy contract the seeds of fatal consumption by rushing up +the stairs of a burning edifice, even to the topmost garret, and +rescuing a woman from seemingly inevitable destruction? The +writer says, No. A woman was rescued from the top of a +burning house, but the man who rescued her was no aristocrat; it +was Pearce, not Percy, who ran up the burning stairs. Did +ever one of those glittering ones save a fainting female from the +libidinous rage of six ruffians? The writer believes +not. A woman was rescued from the libidinous fury of six +monsters on --- Down, but the man who rescued her was no +aristocrat; it was Pearce, not Paulet, who rescued the woman, and +thrashed my lord’s six gamekeepers—Pearce, whose +equal never was, and probably never will be, found in sturdy +combat. Are there any of the aristocracy of whom it can be +said that they never did a cowardly, cruel, or mean action, and +that they invariably took the part of the unfortunate and weak +against cruelty and oppression? As much can be said of +Cribb, of Spring, and the other; but where is the aristocrat of +whom as much can be said? Wellington? Wellington, +indeed! A skilful general, and a good man of valour, it is +true, but with that cant word of ‘duty’ continually +on his lips, did he rescue Ney from his butchers? Did he +lend a helping hand to Warner?</p> +<p>In conclusion, the writer would strongly advise those of his +country-folks who may read his book to have nothing to do with +the two kinds of canting nonsense described above, but in their +progress through life to enjoy as well as they can, but always +with moderation, the good things of this world, to put confidence +in God, to be as independent as possible, and to take their own +parts. If they are low-spirited, let them not make +themselves foolish by putting on sackcloth, drinking water, or +chewing ashes, but let them take wholesome exercise, and eat the +most generous food they can get, taking up and reading +occasionally, not the lives of Ignatius Loyola and Francis Spira, +but something more agreeable; for example, the life and +adventures of Mr. Duncan Campbell, the deaf and dumb gentleman; +the travels of Captain Falconer in America, and the journal of +John Randall, who went to Virginia and married an Indian wife; +not forgetting, amidst their eating and drinking, their walks +over heaths, and by the sea-side, and their agreeable literature, +to be charitable to the poor, to read the Psalms, and to go to +church twice on a Sunday. In their dealings with people to +be courteous to everybody, as Lavengro was, but always +independent like <!-- page 358--><a name="page358"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 358</span>him; and if people meddle with them, +to give them as good as they bring, even as he and Isopel Berners +were in the habit of doing; and it will be as well for him to +observe that he by no means advises women to be too womanly, but +bearing the conduct of Isopel Berners in mind, to take their own +parts, and if anybody strikes them, to strike again.</p> +<p>Beating of women by the lords of the creation has become very +prevalent in England since pugilism has been +discountenanced. Now the writer strongly advises any woman +who is struck by a ruffian to strike him again; or if she cannot +clench her fists, and he advises all women in these singular +times to learn to clench their fists, to go at him with tooth and +nail, and not to be afraid of the result, for any fellow who is +dastard enough to strike a woman, would allow himself to be +beaten by a woman, were she to make at him in self-defence, even +if, instead of possessing the stately height and athletic +proportions of the aforesaid Isopel, she were as diminutive in +stature, and had a hand as delicate and a foot as small as a +certain royal lady, who was some time ago assaulted by a fellow +upwards of six feet high, whom the writer has no doubt she could +have beaten had she thought proper to go at him. Such is +the deliberate advice of the author to his countrymen and +women—advice in which he believes there is nothing +unscriptural or repugnant to common-sense.</p> +<p>The writer is perfectly well aware that, by the plain language +which he has used in speaking of the various kinds of nonsense +prevalent in England, he shall make himself a multitude of +enemies; but he is not going to conceal the truth, or to tamper +with nonsense, from the fear of provoking hostility. He has +a duty to perform, and he will perform it resolutely; he is the +person who carried the Bible to Spain; and as resolutely as he +spoke in Spain against the superstitions of Spain, will he speak +in England against the nonsense of his own native land. He +is not one of those who, before they sit down to write a book, +say to themselves, What cry shall we take up? what principles +shall we advocate? What principles shall we abuse? +Before we put pen to paper we must find out what cry is the +loudest, what principle has the most advocates, otherwise, after +having written our book, we may find ourselves on the weaker +side.</p> +<p>A sailor of the <i>Bounty</i>, waked from his sleep by the +noise of the mutiny, lay still in his hammock for some time, +quite undecided whether to take part with the captain or to join +the mutineers. ‘I must mind what I do,’ said he +to himself, ‘lest in the end I find myself on the weaker +side.’ Finally, on hearing that the mutineers were +successful, he went on deck, and seeing Bligh pinioned to the +mast, he put his fist to his nose, and otherwise insulted +him. Now, there are many writers of the present day whose +conduct is very similar to that of the sailor. They lie +listening in their corners till they have ascertained which <!-- +page 359--><a name="page359"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +359</span>principle has most advocates; then presently they make +their appearance on the deck of the world with their book; if +truth has been victorious, then has truth their hurrah! but if +truth is pinioned against the mast, then is their fist thrust +against the nose of truth, and their gibe and their insult +spirted in her face. The strongest party had the sailor, +and the strongest party has almost invariably the writer of the +present day.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX—PSEUDO-CRITICS</h2> +<p>A certain set of individuals calling themselves critics have +attacked ‘Lavengro’ with much virulence and +malice. If what they call criticism had been founded on +truth, the author would have had nothing to say. The book +contains plenty of blemishes, some of them, by-the-by, wilful +ones, as the writer will presently show; not one of these, +however, has been detected and pointed out; but the best passages +in the book, indeed, whatever was calculated to make the book +valuable, have been assailed with abuse and +misrepresentation. The duty of the true critic is to play +the part of a leech, and not of a viper. Upon true and upon +malignant criticism there is an excellent fable by the Spaniard +Iriarte. The viper says to the leech, ‘Why do people +invite your bite, and flee from mine?’ +‘Because,’ says the leech, ‘people receive +health from my bite, and poison from yours.’ +‘There is as much difference,’ says the clever +Spaniard, ‘between true and malignant criticism as between +poison and medicine.’ Certainly a great many +meritorious writers have allowed themselves to be poisoned by +malignant criticism; the writer, however, is not one of those who +allow themselves to be poisoned by pseudo-critics; no! no! he +will rather hold them up by their tails, and show the creatures +wriggling, blood and foam streaming from their broken jaws. +First of all, however, he will notice one of their +objections. ‘The book isn’t true,’ say +they. Now one of the principal reasons with those that have +attacked ‘Lavengro’ for their abuse of it is, that it +is particularly true in one instance, namely, that it exposes +their own nonsense, their love of humbug, their slavishness, +their dressings, their goings out, their scraping and bowing to +great people; it is the showing up of ‘gentility +nonsense’ in ‘Lavengro’ that has been one +principal reason for the raising of the above cry; for in +‘Lavengro’ is denounced the besetting folly of the +English people, a folly which those who call themselves guardians +of the public taste are far from being above. ‘We +can’t abide anything that isn’t true!’ they +exclaim. Can’t they? Then why are they so +enraptured <!-- page 360--><a name="page360"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 360</span>with any fiction that is adapted to +purposes of humbug, which tends to make them satisfied with their +own proceedings, with their own nonsense, which does not tell +them to reform, to become more alive to their own failings, and +less sensitive about the tyrannical goings on of the masters, and +the degraded condition, the sufferings, and the trials of the +serfs, in the star Jupiter? Had ‘Lavengro,’ +instead of being the work of an independent mind, been written in +order to further any of the thousand and one cants, and species +of nonsense prevalent in England, the author would have heard +much less about its not being true, both from public detractors +and private censurers.</p> +<p>‘But “Lavengro” pretends to be an +autobiography,’ <a name="citation360"></a><a +href="#footnote360" class="citation">[360]</a> say the critics; +and here the writer begs leave to observe, that it would be well +for people who profess to have a regard for truth, not to exhibit +in every assertion which they make a most profligate disregard of +it; this assertion of theirs is a falsehood, and they know it to +be a falsehood. In the preface ‘Lavengro’ is +stated to be a dream; and the writer takes this opportunity of +stating that he never said it was an autobiography, never +authorized any person to say that it was one; and that he has in +innumerable instances declared in public and private, both before +and after the work was published, that it was not what is +generally termed an autobiography; but a set of people who +pretend to write criticisms on books, hating the author for +various reasons—amongst others, because, having the proper +pride of a gentleman and a scholar, he did not, in the year 1843, +choose to permit himself to be exhibited and made a zany of in +London, and especially because he will neither associate with, +nor curry favour with, them who are neither gentlemen nor +scholars—attack his book with abuse and calumny. He +is, perhaps, condescending too much when he takes any notice of +such people; as, however, the English public is wonderfully led +by cries and shouts, and generally ready to take part against any +person who is either unwilling or unable to defend himself, he +deems it advisable not to be altogether quiet with those who +assail him. The best way to deal with vipers is to tear out +their teeth; and the best way to deal with pseudo-critics is to +deprive them of their poison-bag, which is easily done by +exposing their ignorance. The writer knew perfectly well +the description of people with whom he would have to do, he +therefore very quietly prepared a stratagem, by means of which he +could at any time exhibit them, powerless and helpless in his +hand. Critics, when they review books, ought to have a +competent knowledge of the subjects which those books +discuss.</p> +<p>‘Lavengro’ is a philological book, a poem if you +chose to call it so. Now, what a fine triumph it would have +been for those who wished to vilify the book and its author, +provided they could <!-- page 361--><a name="page361"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 361</span>have detected the latter tripping in +his philology—they might have instantly said that he was an +ignorant pretender to philology—they laughed at the idea of +his taking up a viper up by its tail, a trick which hundreds of +country urchins do every September, but they were silent about +the really wonderful part of the book, the philological +matter—they thought philology was his stronghold, and that +it would be useless to attack him there; they of course would +give him no credit as a philologist, for anything like fair +treatment towards him was not to be expected at their hands, but +they were afraid to attack his philology—yet that was the +point, and the only point, in which they might have attacked him +successfully; he was vulnerable there. How was this? +Why, in order to have an opportunity of holding up pseudo-critics +by the tails, he wilfully spelt various foreign words +wrong—Welsh words, and even Italian words—did they +detect these mis-spellings? Not one of them, even as he +knew they would not, and he now taunts them with ignorance; and +the power of taunting them with ignorance is the punishment which +he designed for them—a power which they might, but for +their ignorance, have used against him. The writer, besides +knowing something of Italian and Welsh, knows a little of +Armenian language and literature; but who, knowing anything of +the Armenian language, unless he had an end in view, would say +that the word for sea in Armenian is anything like the word tide +in English? The word for sea in Armenian is dzow, a word +connected with the Tebetian word for water, and the Chinese shuy, +and the Turkish su, signifying the same thing; but where is the +resemblance between dzow and tide? Again, the word for +bread in ancient Armenian is hats; yet the Armenian on London +Bridge is made to say zhats, which is not the nominative of the +Armenian noun for bread, but the accusative. Now, critics, +ravening against a man because he is a gentleman and a scholar, +and has not only the power but also the courage to write original +works, why did not you discover that weak point? Why, +because you were ignorant; so here ye are held up! +Moreover, who with a name commencing with Z, ever wrote fables in +Armenian? There are two writers of fables in +Armenian—Varthan and Koscht, and illustrious writers they +are, one in the simple and the other in the ornate style of +Armenian composition, but neither of their names begins with a +Z. Oh, what a precious opportunity ye lost, ye ravening +crew, of convicting the poor, half-starved, friendless boy of the +book, of ignorance or misrepresentation, by asking who with a +name beginning with Z ever wrote fables in Armenian; but ye +couldn’t help yourselves, ye are duncie. We +duncie! Ay, duncie. So here ye are held up by the +tails, blood and foam streaming from your jaws.</p> +<p>The writer wishes to ask here, what do you think of all this, +Messieurs les Critiques? Were ye ever served so +before? But <!-- page 362--><a name="page362"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 362</span>don’t you richly deserve +it? Haven’t you been for years past bullying and +insulting everybody whom you deemed weak, and currying favour +with everybody whom ye thought strong? ‘<i>We</i> +approve of this. We disapprove of that. Oh, this will +never do. These are fine lines!’ The lines +perhaps some horrid sycophantic rubbish addressed to Wellington, +or Lord So-and-so. To have your ignorance thus exposed, to +be shown up in this manner, and by whom? A gypsy! Ay, +a gypsy was the very right person to do it. But is it not +galling after all?</p> +<p>Ah, but <i>we</i> don’t understand Armenian, it cannot +be expected that <i>we</i> should understand Armenian, or Welsh, +or— Hey, what’s this? The mighty +<i>we</i> not understand Armenian, or Welsh, or— Then +why does the mighty <i>we</i> pretend to review a book like +‘Lavengro’? From the arrogance with which it +continually delivers itself, one would think that the mighty +<i>we</i> is omniscient; that it understands every language; is +versed in every literature; yet the mighty <i>we</i> does not +even know the word for bread in Armenian. It knows bread +well enough by name in English, and frequently bread in England +only by its name, but the truth is, that the mighty <i>we</i>, +with all its pretension, is in general a very sorry creature, +who, instead of saying nous disons, should rather say nous dis: +Porny in his ‘Guerre des Dieux,’ very profanely makes +the three in one say, Je faisons; now, Lavengro, who is anything +but profane, would suggest that critics, especially magazine and +Sunday newspaper critics, should commence with nous dis, as the +first word would be significant of the conceit and assumption of +the critic, and the second of the extent of the critic’s +information. The <i>we</i> says its say, but when fawning +sycophancy or vulgar abuse are taken from that say, what +remains? Why a blank, a void like Ginnungagap.</p> +<p>As the writer, of his own accord, has exposed some of the +blemishes of his book—a task, which a competent critic +ought to have done—he will now point out two or three of +its merits, which any critic, not altogether blinded with +ignorance, might have done, or not replete with gall and envy +would have been glad to do. The book has the merit of +communicating a fact connected with physiology, which in all the +pages of the multitude of books was never previously +mentioned—the mysterious practice of touching objects to +baffle the evil chance. The miserable detractor will, of +course, instantly begin to rave about such a habit being +common—well and good; but was it ever before described in +print, or all connected with it dissected? He may then +vociferate something about Johnson having touched—the +writer cares not whether Johnson—who, by the by, during the +last twenty or thirty years, owing to people having become ultra +Tory mad from reading Scott’s novels and the <i>Quarterly +Review</i>, has been a mighty favourite, especially <!-- page +363--><a name="page363"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +363</span>with some who were in the habit of calling him a +half-crazy old fool—touched, or whether he did not; but he +asks where did Johnson ever describe the feelings which induced +him to perform the magic touch, even supposing that he did +perform it? Again, the history gives an account of a +certain book called the ‘Sleeping Bard,’ the most +remarkable prose work of the most difficult language but one, of +modern Europe; a book, for a notice of which, he believes, one +might turn over in vain the pages of any review printed in +England, or, indeed, elsewhere. So here are two facts, one +literary and the other physiological, for which any candid critic +was bound to thank the author, even as in ‘The Romany +Rye’ there is a fact connected with Iro Norman Myth, for +the disclosing of which any person who pretends to have a regard +for literature is bound to thank him, namely, that the mysterious +Finn or Fingal of ‘Ossian’s Poems’ is one and +the same person as the Sigurd Fofnisbane of the Edda and the +Wilkina, and the Siegfried Horn of the Lay of the Niebelungs.</p> +<p>The writer might here conclude, and, he believes, most +triumphantly; as, however, he is in the cue for writing, which he +seldom is, he will for his own gratification, and for the sake of +others, dropping metaphors about vipers and serpents, show up in +particular two or three sets or cliques of people, who, he is +happy to say, have been particularly virulent against him and his +work, for nothing indeed could have given him greater +mortification than their praise.</p> +<p>In the first place, he wishes to dispose of certain +individuals who call themselves men of wit and +fashion—about town—who he is told have abused his +book ‘vaustly’—their own word. These +people paint their cheeks, wear white kid gloves, and dabble in +literature, or what they conceive to be literature. For +abuse from such people, the writer was prepared. Does +anyone imagine that the writer was not well aware, before he +published his book, that, whenever he gave it to the world, he +should be attacked by every literary coxcomb in England who had +influence enough to procure the insertion of a scurrilous article +in a magazine or newspaper! He has been in Spain, and has +seen how invariably the mule attacks the horse; now why does the +mule attack the horse? Why, because the latter carries +about with him that which the envious hermaphrodite does not +possess.</p> +<p>They consider, forsooth, that his book is low—but he is +not going to waste words about them—one or two of whom, he +is told, have written very duncie books about Spain, and are +highly enraged with him, because certain books which he wrote +about Spain were not considered duncie. No, he is not going +to waste words upon them, for verily he dislikes their company, +and so he’ll pass them by, and proceed to others.</p> +<p><!-- page 364--><a name="page364"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +364</span>The Scotch Charlie o’er the water people have +been very loud in the abuse of ‘Lavengro’—this +again might be expected; the sarcasms of the Priest about the +Charlie o’er the water nonsense of course stung them. +Oh! it is one of the claims which ‘Lavengro’ has to +respect, that it is the first, if not the only work, in which +that nonsense is, to a certain extent, exposed. Two or +three of their remarks on passages of ‘Lavengro’ he +will reproduce and laugh at. Of course your Charlie +o’er the water people are genteel exceedingly, and cannot +abide anything low. Gypsyism they think is particularly +low, and the use of gypsy words in literature beneath its +gentility; so they object to gypsy words being used in +‘Lavengro’ where gypsies are introduced +speaking. ‘What is Romany forsooth?’ say +they. Very good! And what is Scotch? Has not +the public been nauseated with Scotch for the last thirty +years? ‘Ay, but Scotch is not—’ The +writer believes he knows much better than the Scotch what Scotch +is, and what it is not; he has told them before what it is, a +very sorry jargon. He will now tell them what it’s +not—a sister or an immediate daughter of the Sanscrit, +which Romany is. ‘Ay, but the Scotch +are’—foxes, foxes, nothing else than foxes, even like +the gypsies—the difference between the gypsy and Scotch fox +being that the first is wild, with a mighty brush, the other a +sneak, with a gilt collar and without a tail.</p> +<p>A Charlie o’er the water person attempts to be witty +because the writer has said that perhaps a certain old Edinburgh +high-school porter, of the name of Boee, was perhaps of the same +blood as a certain Bui, a Northern Kemp, who distinguished +himself at the battle of Horinger Bay. A pretty matter, +forsooth, to excite the ridicule of a Scotchman! Why, is +there a beggar or trumpery fellow in Scotland who does not +pretend to be somebody, or related to somebody? Is not +every Scotchman descended from some king, kemp, or cow-stealer of +old, by his own account at least? Why, the writer would +even go so far as to bet a trifle that the poor creature who +ridicules Boee’s supposed ancestry has one of his own, at +least, as grand and as apocryphal as old Boee’s of the high +school.</p> +<p>The same Charlie o’er the water person is mightily +indignant that Lavengro should have spoken disrespectfully of +William Wallace; Lavengro, when he speaks of that personage, +being a child of about ten years old, and repeating merely what +he had heard. All the Scotch, by-the-by, for a great many +years past, have been great admirers of William Wallace, +particularly the Charlie o’er the water people, who in +their nonsense-verses about Charlie generally contrive to bring +in the name of William, Willie, or Wullie Wallace. The +writer begs leave to say that he by no means wishes to bear hard +against William Wallace, but he cannot help asking why, if +William, Willie, or Wullie <!-- page 365--><a +name="page365"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 365</span>Wallace was +such a particularly nice person, did his brother Scots betray him +to a certain renowned southern warrior, called Edward Longshanks, +who caused him to be hanged and cut into four in London, and his +quarters to be placed over the gates of certain towns? They +got gold, it is true, and titles, very nice things no doubt; but +surely the life of a patriot is better than all the gold and +titles in the world—at least, Lavengro thinks so; but +Lavengro has lived more with gypsies than Scotchmen, and gypsies +do not betray their brothers. It would be some time before +a gypsy would hand over his brother to the harum-beck, <a +name="citation365"></a><a href="#footnote365" +class="citation">[365]</a> even supposing you would not only make +him a king, but a justice of the peace, and not only give him the +world, but the best farm on the Holkham estate; but gypsies are +wild foxes, and there is certainly a wonderful difference between +the way of thinking of the wild fox who retains his brush, and +that of the scurvy kennel creature who has lost his tail.</p> +<p>Ah! but thousands of Scotch, and particularly the Charlie +o’er the water people, will say: ‘We didn’t +sell Willie Wallace; it was our forbears who sold Willie Wallace. +. . . If Edward Longshanks had asked us to sell Wullie +Wallace we would soon have shown him that—’ +Lord better ye, ye poor trumpery set of creatures, ye would not +have acted a bit better than your forefathers; remember how ye +have ever treated the few amongst ye who, though born in the +kennel, have shown something of the spirit of the wood. +Many of ye are still alive who delivered over men, quite as +honest and patriotic as William Wallace, into the hands of an +English minister, to be chained and transported for merely +venturing to speak and write in the cause of humanity, at the +time when Europe was beginning to fling off the chains imposed by +kings and priests. And it is not so very long since Burns, +to whom ye are now building up obelisks rather higher than he +deserves, was permitted by his countrymen to die in poverty and +misery because he would not join with them in songs of adulation +to kings and the trumpery great. So say not that ye would +have acted with respect to William Wallace one whit better than +your fathers; and you in particular, ye children of Charlie, whom +do ye write nonsense-verses about? A family of dastard +despots, who did their best, during a century and more, to tread +out the few sparks of independent feeling still glowing in +Scotland; but enough has been said about ye.</p> +<p>Amongst those who have been prodigal in abuse and defamation +of ‘Lavengro’ have been your modern Radicals, and +particularly a set of people who filled the country with noise +against the King and Queen, Wellington and the Tories, in +’32. About these people the writer will presently +have occasion to say a <!-- page 366--><a +name="page366"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 366</span>good deal, +and also of real Radicals. As, however, it may be supposed +that he is one of those who delight to play the sycophant to +kings and queens, to curry favour with Tories, and to bepraise +Wellington, he begs leave to state that such is not the case.</p> +<p>About kings and queens he has nothing to say; about Tories +simply that he believes them to be a bad set; about Wellington, +however, it will be necessary for him to say a good deal of mixed +import, as he will subsequently frequently have occasion to +mention him in connection with what he has to say about +pseudo-Radicals.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER X—PSEUDO-RADICALS</h2> +<p>About Wellington, then, he says, that he believes him at the +present day to be infinitely overrated. But there certainly +was a time when he was shamefully underrated. Now what time +was that? Why, the time of pseudo-Radicalism, par +excellence, from ’20 to ’32. Oh! the abuse that +was heaped on Wellington by those who traded in Radical +cant—your newspaper editors and review writers! and how he +was sneered at then by your Whigs, and how faintly supported he +was by your Tories, who were half ashamed of him; for your +Tories, though capital fellows as followers, when you want nobody +to back you, are the faintest creatures in the world when you cry +in your agony, ‘Come and help me!’ Oh! +assuredly Wellington was infamously used at that time, especially +by your traders in Radicalism, who howled at and hooted him; said +he had every vice—was no general—was beaten at +Waterloo—was a poltroon—moreover a poor illiterate +creature, who could scarcely read or write; nay, a principal +Radical paper said bodily he could not read, and devised an +ingenious plan for teaching Wellington how to read. Now +this was too bad; and the writer, being a lover of justice, +frequently spoke up for Wellington, saying, that as for vice, he +was not worse than his neighbours; that he was brave; that he won +the fight at Waterloo, from a half-dead man, it is true, but that +he did win it. Also, that he believed he had read +‘Rules for the Manual and Platoon Exercises’ to some +purpose; moreover, that he was sure he could write, for that he +the writer had once written to Wellington, and had received an +answer from him; nay, the writer once went so far as to strike a +blow for Wellington; for the last time he used his fists was upon +a Radical sub-editor, who was mobbing Wellington in the street, +from behind a rank of grimy fellows; but though the writer spoke +up for Wellington to a certain extent when he was <!-- page +367--><a name="page367"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +367</span>shamefully underrated, and once struck a blow for him +when he was about being hustled, he is not going to join in the +loathsome sycophantic nonsense which it has been the fashion to +use with respect to Wellington these last twenty years. Now +what have those years been to England? Why the years of +ultra-gentility, everybody in England having gone gentility mad +during the last twenty years, and no people more so than your +pseudo-Radicals. Wellington was turned out, and your Whigs +and Radicals got in, and then commenced the period of +ultra-gentility in England. The Whigs and Radicals only +hated Wellington as long as the patronage of the country was in +his hands, none of which they were tolerably sure he would bestow +on them; but no sooner did they get it into their own, than they +forthwith became admirers of Wellington. And why? +Because he was a duke, petted at Windsor and by foreign princes, +and a very genteel personage. Formerly many of your Whigs +and Radicals had scarcely a decent coat on their backs; but now +the plunder of the country was at their disposal, and they had as +good a chance of being genteel as any people. So they were +willing to worship Wellington because he was very genteel, and +could not keep the plunder of the country out of their +hands. And Wellington has been worshipped, and prettily so, +during the last fifteen or twenty years. He is now a noble +fine-hearted creature; the greatest general the world ever +produced; the bravest of men; and—and—mercy upon us! +the greatest of military writers! Now the present writer +will not join in such sycophancy. As he was not afraid to +take the part of Wellington when he was scurvily used by all +parties, and when it was dangerous to take his part, so he is not +afraid to speak the naked truth about Wellington in these days, +when it is dangerous to say anything about him but what is +sycophantically laudatory. He said, in ’32, that as +to vice, Wellington was not worse than his neighbours; but he is +not going to say, in ’54, that Wellington was a +noble-hearted fellow; for he believes that a more cold-hearted +individual never existed. His conduct to Warner, the poor +Vaudois, and Marshal Ney, showed that. He said, in +’32, that he was a good general and a brave man; but he is +not going, in ’54, to say that he was the best general, or +the bravest man the world ever saw. England has produced a +better general—France two or three—both countries +many braver men. The son of the Norfolk clergyman was a +braver man; Marshal Ney was a braver man. Oh, that Battle +of Copenhagen! Oh, that covering the retreat of the Grand +Army! And though he said in ’32 that he could write, +he is not going to say in ’54 that he is the best of all +military writers. On the contrary, he does not hesitate to +say that any Commentary of Julius Cæsar, or any chapter in +Justinus, more especially the one about the Parthians, is worth +the ten volumes of Wellington’s Despatches; though he <!-- +page 368--><a name="page368"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +368</span>has no doubt that, by saying so, he shall especially +rouse the indignation of a certain newspaper, at present one of +the most genteel journals imaginable—with a slight tendency +to Liberalism, it is true, but perfectly genteel—which is +nevertheless the very one which, in ’32, swore bodily that +Wellington could neither read nor write, and devised an ingenious +plan for teaching him how to read.</p> +<p>Now, after the above statement no one will venture to say, if +the writer should be disposed to bear hard upon Radicals, that he +would be influenced by a desire to pay court to princes, or to +curry favour with Tories, or from being a blind admirer of the +Duke of Wellington; but the writer is not going to declaim +against Radicals, that is, real Republicans, or their principles; +upon the whole, he is something of an admirer of both. The +writer has always had as much admiration for everything that is +real and honest as he has had contempt for the opposite. +Now, real Republicanism is certainly a very fine thing, a much +finer thing than Toryism, a system of common robbery, which is, +nevertheless, far better than Whiggism <a +name="citation368"></a><a href="#footnote368" +class="citation">[368]</a>—a compound of petty larceny, +popular instruction, and receiving of stolen goods. Yes, +real Republicanism is certainly a very fine thing, and your real +Radicals and Republicans are certainly very fine fellows, or +rather were fine fellows, for the Lord only knows where to find +them at the present day—the writer does not. If he +did he would at any time go five miles to invite one of them to +dinner, even supposing that he had to go to a workhouse in order +to find the person he wished to invite. Amongst the real +Radicals of England, those who flourished from the year ’16 +to ’20, there were certainly extraordinary characters, men +partially insane, perhaps, but honest and brave—they did +not make a market of <!-- page 369--><a name="page369"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 369</span>the principles which they professed, +and never intended to do so; they believed in them, and were +willing to risk their lives in endeavouring to carry them +out. The writer wishes to speak in particular of two of +these men, both of whom perished on the scaffold—their +names were Thistlewood and Ings. <a name="citation369"></a><a +href="#footnote369" class="citation">[369]</a> Thistlewood, +the best known of them, was a brave soldier, and had served with +distinction as an officer in the French service; he was one of +the excellent swordsmen of Europe; had fought several duels in +France, where it is no child’s play to fight a duel; but +had never unsheathed his sword for single combat, but in defence +of the feeble and insulted. He was kind and open-hearted, +but of too great simplicity; he had once ten thousand pounds left +him, all of which he lent to a friend, who disappeared and never +returned him a penny. Ings was an uneducated man, of very +low stature, but amazing strength and resolution; he was a kind +husband and father, and though a humble butcher, the name he bore +was one of the royal names of the heathen Anglo-Saxons. +These two men, along with five others, were executed, and their +heads hacked off, for levying war against George the Fourth; the +whole seven dying in a manner which extorted cheers from the +populace; the most of them uttering philosophical or patriotic +sayings. Thistlewood, who was, perhaps, the most calm and +collected of all, just before he was turned off, said: ‘We +are now going to discover the great secret.’ Ings, +the moment before he was choked, was singing ‘Scots wha +ha’ wi’ Wallace bled.’ Now, there was no +humbug about those men, nor about many more of the same time and +of the same principles. They might be deluded about +Republicanism, as Algernon Sidney was, and as Brutus was, but +they were as honest and brave as either Brutus or Sidney, and as +willing to die for their principles. But the Radicals who +succeeded them were beings of a very different description; they +jobbed and traded in Republicanism, and either parted with it, or +at the present day are eager to part with it for a +consideration. In order to get the Whigs into power, and +themselves places, they brought the country by their inflammatory +language to the verge of a revolution, and were the cause that +many perished on the scaffold; by their incendiary harangues and +newspaper articles they caused the Bristol conflagration, for +which six poor creatures were executed; they encouraged the mob +to pillage, pull down and burn, and then rushing into garrets +looked on. Thistlewood tells the mob the Tower is a second +Bastile; let it be pulled down. A mob tries to pull down +the Tower; but Thistlewood is at the head of that mob; he is not +peeping from a garret on Tower Hill like Gulliver at +Lisbon. Thistlewood and Ings say to twenty ragged +individuals, Liverpool <!-- page 370--><a +name="page370"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 370</span>and +Castlereagh are two satellites of despotism; it would be highly +desirable to put them out of the way. And a certain number +of ragged individuals are surprised in a stable in Cato Street, +making preparations to put Castlereagh and Liverpool out of the +way, and are fired upon with muskets by Grenadiers, and are +hacked at with cutlasses by Bow Street runners; but the twain who +encouraged those ragged individuals to meet in Cato Street are +not far off, they are not on the other side of the river, in the +Borough, for example, in some garret or obscure cellar. The +very first to confront the Guards and runners are Thistlewood and +Ings; Thistlewood whips his long thin rapier through +Smithers’ lungs, and Ings makes a dash at Fitzclarence with +his butcher’s knife. Oh, there was something in those +fellows!—honesty and courage!—but can as much be said +for the inciters of the troubles of ’32. No; they +egged on poor ignorant mechanics and rustics, and got them hanged +for pulling down and burning, whilst the highest pitch to which +their own daring ever mounted was to mob Wellington as he passed +in the streets.</p> +<p>Now, these people were humbugs, which Thistlewood and Ings +were not. They raved and foamed against kings, queens, +Wellington, the aristocracy, and what not, till they had got the +Whigs into power, with whom they were in secret alliance, and +with whom they afterwards openly joined in a system of robbery +and corruption, more flagitious than the old Tory one, because +there was more cant about it; for themselves they got +consulships, commissionerships, and in some instances +governments; for their sons clerkships in public offices; and +there you may see those sons with the never-failing badge of the +low scoundrel-puppy, the gilt chain at the waistcoat pocket; and +there you may hear and see them using the languishing tones, and +employing the airs and graces which wenches use and employ who, +without being in the family way, wish to make their keepers +believe that they are in the family way. Assuredly great is +the cleverness of your Radicals of ’32, in providing for +themselves and their families. Yet, clever as they are, +there is one thing they cannot do—they get governments for +themselves, commissionerships for their brothers, clerkships for +their sons, but there is one thing beyond their craft—they +cannot get husbands for their daughters, who, too ugly for +marriage, and with their heads filled with the nonsense they have +imbibed from gentility novels, go over from Socinus to the Pope, +becoming sisters in fusty convents, or having heard a few sermons +in Mr. Platitude’s ‘chapelle,’ seek for +admission at the establishment of mother S---, who, after +employing them for a time in various menial offices, and making +them pluck off their eyebrows hair by hair, generally dismisses +them on the plea of sluttishness; whereupon they return to their +papas to eat the bread of the country, with <!-- page 371--><a +name="page371"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 371</span>the +comfortable prospect of eating it still in the shape of a pension +after their sires are dead. Papa (ex uno disce omnes) +living as quietly as he can; not exactly enviably it is true, +being now and then seen to cast an uneasy and furtive glance +behind, even as an animal is wont who has lost by some mischance +a very sightly appendage; as quietly however as he can, and as +dignifiedly, a great admirer of every genteel thing and genteel +personage, the Duke in particular, whose +‘Despatches,’ bound in red morocco, you will find on +his table. A disliker of coarse expressions and extremes of +every kind, with a perfect horror for revolutions and attempts to +revolutionize, exclaiming now and then, as a shriek escapes from +whipped and bleeding Hungary, a groan from gasping Poland, and a +half-stifled curse from down-trodden but scowling Italy, +‘Confound the revolutionary canaille, why can’t it be +quiet!’ In a word, putting one in mind of the parvenu +in the ‘Walpurgis Nacht.’ The writer is no +admirer of Göthe, but the idea of that parvenu was certainly +a good one. Yes, putting one in mind of the individual who +says:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Wir waren wahrlich auch nicht dumm,<br /> + Und thaten oft was wir nicht sollten;<br /> +Doch jetzo kehrt sich alles um und um,<br /> + Und eben da wir’s fest erhalten +wollten.’</p> +<p>(‘We were no fools, as every one discern’d,<br /> + And stopp’d at nought our projects in +fulfilling;<br /> +But now the world seems topsy-turvy turn’d,<br /> + To keep it quiet just when we were +willing.’)</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Now, this class of individuals entertain a mortal hatred for +‘Lavengro’ and its writer, and never lose an +opportunity of vituperating both. It is true that such +hatred is by no means surprising. There is certainly a +great deal of difference between Lavengro and their own sons; the +one thinking of independence and philology, whilst he is clinking +away at kettles, and hammering horse-shoes in dingles; the others +stuck up at public offices with gilt chains at their +waistcoat-pockets, and giving themselves the airs and graces of +females of a certain description. And there certainly +<i>is</i> a great deal of difference between the author of +‘Lavengro’ and themselves—he retaining his +principles and his brush; they with scarlet breeches on, it is +true, but without their republicanism and their tails. Oh, +the writer can well afford to be vituperated by your +pseudo-Radicals of ’32!</p> +<p>Some time ago the writer was set upon by an old Radical <a +name="citation371"></a><a href="#footnote371" +class="citation">[371]</a> and his wife; but the matter is too +rich not to require a chapter to itself.</p> +<h2><!-- page 372--><a name="page372"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 372</span>CHAPTER XI—THE OLD +RADICAL</h2> +<blockquote><p>‘This very dirty man, with his very dirty +face,<br /> +Would do any dirty act, which would get him a place.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Some time ago the writer was set upon by an old Radical and +his wife; but before he relates the manner in which they set upon +him, it will be as well to enter upon a few particulars tending +to elucidate their reasons for doing so.</p> +<p>The writer had just entered into his eighteenth year, when he +met at the table of a certain Anglo-Germanist <a +name="citation372a"></a><a href="#footnote372a" +class="citation">[372a]</a> an individual apparently somewhat +under thirty, of middle stature, a thin and weaselly figure, a +sallow complexion, a certain obliquity of vision, and a large +pair of spectacles. This person, who had lately come from +abroad, and had published a volume of translations, <a +name="citation372b"></a><a href="#footnote372b" +class="citation">[372b]</a> had attracted some slight notice in +the literary world, and was looked upon as a kind of lion in a +small provincial capital. After dinner he argued a great +deal, spoke vehemently against the Church, and uttered the most +desperate Radicalism that was perhaps ever heard, saying he hoped +that in a short time there would not be a king or queen in +Europe, and inveighing bitterly against the English aristocracy, +and against the Duke of Wellington in particular, whom he said, +if he himself was ever president of an English republic—an +event which he seemed to think by no means improbable—he +would hang for certain infamous acts of profligacy and bloodshed +which he had perpetrated in Spain. Being informed that the +writer was something of a philologist, to which character the +individual in question laid great pretensions, he came and sat +down by him, and talked about languages and literature. The +writer, who was only a boy, was a little frightened at first, +but, not wishing to appear a child of absolute ignorance, he +summoned what little learning he had, and began to blunder out +something about the Celtic languages and their literature, and +asked the Lion who he conceived Finn Ma Coul to be? and whether +he did not consider the ‘Ode to the Fox,’ by Red Rhys +of Eryry, to be a masterpiece of pleasantry? Receiving no +answer to these questions from the Lion, who, singular enough, +would frequently, when the writer put a question to him, look +across the table and flatly contradict some one who was talking +to some other person, the writer dropped the Celtic languages and +literature, and asked him whether he did not think it a funny +<!-- page 373--><a name="page373"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +373</span>thing that Temugin, generally called Genghis Khan, +should have married the daughter of Prester John? <a +name="citation373"></a><a href="#footnote373" +class="citation">[373]</a> The Lion, after giving a +side-glance at the writer through his left spectacle glass, +seemed about to reply, but was unfortunately prevented, being +seized with an irresistible impulse to contradict a respectable +doctor of medicine, who was engaged in conversation with the +master of the house at the upper and further end of the table, +the writer being a poor ignorant lad, sitting, of course, at the +bottom. The doctor, who had served in the Peninsula, having +observed that Ferdinand the Seventh was not quite so bad as had +been represented, the Lion vociferated that he was ten times +worse, and that he hoped to see him and the Duke of Wellington +hanged together. The doctor who, being a Welshman, was +somewhat of a warm temper, growing rather red, said that at any +rate he had been informed that Ferdinand the Seventh knew +sometimes how to behave himself like a gentleman. This +brought on a long dispute, which terminated rather +abruptly. The Lion having observed that the doctor must not +talk about Spanish matters with one who had visited every part of +Spain, the doctor bowed, and said that he was right, for that he +believed no people in general possessed such accurate information +about countries as those who had travelled them as bagmen. +On the Lion asking the doctor what he meant, the Welshman, whose +under jaw began to move violently, replied that he meant what he +said. Here the matter ended, for the Lion, turning from +him, looked at the writer. The writer, imagining that his +own conversation hitherto had been too trivial and commonplace +for the Lion to consider it worth his while to take much notice +of it, determined to assume a little higher ground, and after +repeating a few verses of the Koran, and gabbling a little +Arabic, asked the Lion what he considered to be the difference +between the Hegira and the Christian era, adding that he thought +the general computation was in error by about one year; and being +a particularly modest person, chiefly he believes owing to his +having been at school in Ireland, absolutely blushed at finding +that the Lion returned not a word in answer. ‘What a +wonderful individual I am seated by,’ thought he, ‘to +whom Arabic seems a vulgar speech, and a question about the +Hegira not worthy of an answer!’ not reflecting that as +lions come from the Saharra, they have quite enough of Arabic at +home, and that the question about the Hegira was rather mal +à propos to one used to prey on the flesh of hadjis. +‘Now I only wish he would vouchsafe me a little of his +learning,’ thought the boy to himself, and in this wish he +was at last gratified, for the Lion, after asking him whether he +was acquainted at all with the Sclavonian languages, and being +informed that he was not, absolutely dumbfoundered him by a +display of Sclavonian erudition.</p> +<p><!-- page 374--><a name="page374"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +374</span>Years rolled by—the writer was a good deal about, +sometimes in London, sometimes in the country, sometimes abroad; +in London he occasionally met the man of the spectacles, who was +always very civil to him, and, indeed, cultivated his +acquaintance. The writer thought it rather odd that, after +he himself had become acquainted with the Sclavonian languages +and literature, the man of the spectacles talked little or +nothing about them. In a little time, however, the matter +ceased to cause him the slightest surprise, for he had discovered +a key to the mystery. In the meantime the man of the +spectacles was busy enough; he speculated in commerce, failed, +and paid his creditors twenty pennies in the pound; published +translations, of which the public at length became heartily +tired; having, indeed, got an inkling of the manner in which +those translations were got up. He managed, however, to +ride out many a storm, having one trusty +sheet-anchor—Radicalism. This he turned to the best +advantage—writing pamphlets and articles in reviews, all in +the Radical interest, and for which he was paid out of the +Radical fund; which articles and pamphlets, when Toryism seemed +to reel on its last legs, exhibited a slight tendency to +Whiggism. Nevertheless, his abhorrence of desertion of +principle was so great in the time of the Duke of +Wellington’s administration, that when S--- <a +name="citation374"></a><a href="#footnote374" +class="citation">[374]</a> left the Whigs and went over, he told +the writer, who was about that time engaged with him in a +literary undertaking, that the said S--- was a fellow with a +character so infamous, that any honest man would rather that you +should spit in his face than insult his ears with the mention of +the name of S---.</p> +<p>The literary project having come to nothing—in which, +by-the-by, the writer was to have all the labour, and his friend +all the credit, provided any credit should accrue from +it—the writer did not see the latter for some years, during +which time considerable political changes took place; the Tories +were driven from, and the Whigs placed in, office, both events +being brought about by the Radicals coalescing with the Whigs, +over whom they possessed great influence for the services which +they had rendered. When the writer next visited his friend +he found him very much altered; his opinions were by no means so +exalted as they had been—he was not disposed even to be +rancorous against the Duke of Wellington, saying that there were +worse men than he, and giving him some credit as a general; a +hankering after gentility seeming to pervade the whole family, +father and sons, wife and daughters, all of whom talked about +genteel diversions—gentility novels, and even seemed to +look with favour on high Churchism, having in former years, to +all appearance, been bigoted Dissenters. In a little time +the writer went abroad, as, indeed, did his friend; not, however, +like the <!-- page 375--><a name="page375"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 375</span>writer, at his own expense, but at +that of the country—the Whigs having given him a travelling +appointment, which he held for some years, during which he is +said to have received upwards of twelve thousand pounds of the +money of the country, for services which will, perhaps, be found +inscribed on certain tablets when another Astolfo shall visit the +moon. This appointment, however, he lost on the Tories +resuming power—when the writer found him almost as radical +and patriotic as ever, just engaged in trying to get into +Parliament, into which he got by the assistance of his Radical +friends, who, in conjunction with the Whigs, were just getting up +a crusade against the Tories, which they intended should be a +conclusive one.</p> +<p>A little time after the publication of ‘The Bible in +Spain,’ the Tories being still in power, this individual, +full of the most disinterested friendship for the author, was +particularly anxious that he should be presented with an official +situation in a certain region a great many miles off. +‘You are the only person for that appointment,’ said +he; ‘you understand a great deal about the country, and are +better acquainted with the two languages spoken there than anyone +in England. Now, I love my country, and have, moreover, a +great regard for you, and as I am in Parliament, and have +frequent opportunities of speaking to the Ministry, I shall take +care to tell them how desirable it would be to secure your +services. It is true they are Tories, but I think that even +Tories would give up their habitual love of jobbery in a case +like yours, and for once show themselves disposed to be honest +men and gentlemen; indeed, I have no doubt they will, for having +so deservedly an infamous character, they would be glad to get +themselves a little credit by a presentation which could not +possibly be traced to jobbery or favouritism.’ The +writer begged his friend to give himself no trouble about the +matter, as he was not desirous of the appointment, being in +tolerably easy circumstances, and willing to take some rest after +a life of labour. All, however, that he could say was of no +use, his friend indignantly observing that the matter ought to be +taken entirely out of his hands, and the appointment thrust upon +him for the credit of the country. ‘But may not many +people be far more worthy of the appointment than myself?’ +said the writer. ‘Where?’ said the friendly +Radical. ‘If you don’t get it it will be made a +job of, given to the son of some steward, or, perhaps, to some +quack who has done dirty work. I tell you what, I shall ask +it for you, in spite of you; I shall, indeed!’ and his eyes +flashed with friendly and patriotic fervour through the large +pair of spectacles which he wore.</p> +<p>And, in fact, it would appear that the honest and friendly +patriot put his threat into execution. ‘I have +spoken,’ said he, ‘more than once to this and that +individual in Parliament, and everybody seems to think that the +appointment should be given <!-- page 376--><a +name="page376"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 376</span>to +you. Nay, that you should be forced to accept it. I +intend next to speak to Lord A---.’ <a +name="citation376a"></a><a href="#footnote376a" +class="citation">[376a]</a> And so he did, at least, it +would appear so. On the writer calling upon him one +evening, about a week afterwards, in order to take leave of him, +as the writer was about to take a long journey for the sake of +his health, his friend no sooner saw him than he started up in a +violent fit of agitation, and glancing about the room, in which +there were several people, amongst others two Whig members of +Parliament, said: ‘I am glad you are come, I was just +speaking about you. This,’ said he, addressing the +two members, ‘is so-and-so, the author of so-and-so, the +well-known philologist; as I was telling you, I spoke to Lord +A--- this day about him, and said that he ought forthwith to have +the head appointment in ---; <a name="citation376b"></a><a +href="#footnote376b" class="citation">[376b]</a> and what did the +fellow say? Why, that there was no necessity for such an +appointment at all, and if there were, why—And then he +hummed and ha’d. Yes,’ said he, looking at the +writer, ‘he did, indeed. What a scandal! what an +infamy! But I see how it will be, it will be a job. +The place will be given to some son of a steward or to some +quack, as I said before. Oh, these Tories! Well, if +this does not make one—’ Here he stopped short, +crunched his teeth, and looked the image of desperation.</p> +<p>Seeing the poor man in this distressed condition, the writer +begged him to be comforted, and not to take the matter so much to +heart; but the indignant Radical took the matter very much to +heart, and refused all comfort whatsoever, bouncing about the +room, and, whilst his spectacles flashed in the light of four +spermaceti candles, exclaiming, ‘It will be a job—a +Tory job! I see it all, I see it all, I see it +all!’</p> +<p>And a job it proved, and a very pretty job, but no Tory +job. Shortly afterwards the Tories were out, and the Whigs +were in. From that time the writer heard not a word about +the injustice done to the country in not presenting him with the +appointment to ---; the Radical, however, was busy enough to +obtain the appointment, not for the writer, but for himself, and +eventually succeeded, partly through Radical influence, and +partly through that of a certain Whig lord, for whom the Radical +had done, on a particular occasion, work of a particular +kind. So, though the place was given to a quack, and the +whole affair a very pretty job, it was one in which the Tories +had certainly no hand.</p> +<p>In the meanwhile, however, the friendly Radical did not drop +the writer. Oh, no! On various occasions he obtained +from the writer all the information he could about the country in +question, and was particularly anxious to obtain from the writer, +and eventually did obtain, a copy of a work <a +name="citation376c"></a><a href="#footnote376c" +class="citation">[376c]</a> written in the court language of that +country, edited by the writer—a language exceedingly +difficult, which the writer, at the expense of a considerable +<!-- page 377--><a name="page377"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +377</span>portion of his eyesight, had acquired, at least as far +as by the eyesight it could be acquired. What use the +writer’s friend made of the knowledge he had gained from +him, and what use he made of the book, the writer can only guess; +but he has little doubt that when the question of sending a +person to --- was mooted in a Parliamentary Committee—which +it was at the instigation of the Radical supporters of the +writer’s friend—the Radical, on being examined about +the country, gave the information which he had obtained from the +writer as his own, and flashed the book and its singular +characters in the eyes of the Committee; and then, of course, his +Radical friends would instantly say, ‘This is the man! +there is no one like him. See what information he +possesses; and see that book written by himself in the court +language of Serendib. This is the only man to send +there. What a glory, what a triumph it would be to Britain, +to send out a man so deeply versed in the mysterious lore of ---, +as our illustrious countryman—a person who with his +knowledge could beat with their own weapons the wise men of +---! Is such an opportunity to be lost? Oh, no! +surely not! If it is it will be an eternal disgrace to +England, and the world will see that Whigs are no better than +Tories.’</p> +<p>Let no one think the writer uncharitable in these +suppositions. The writer is only too well acquainted with +the antecedents of the individual, to entertain much doubt that +he would shrink from any such conduct, provided he thought that +his temporal interest would be forwarded by it. The writer +is aware of more than one instance in which he has passed off the +literature of friendless young men for his own, after making them +a slight pecuniary compensation, and deforming what was +originally excellent by interpolations of his own. This was +his especial practice with regard to translation, of which he +would fain be esteemed the king. This Radical literato is +slightly acquainted with four or five of the easier dialects of +Europe, on the strength of which knowledge he would fain pass for +a universal linguist, publishing translations of pieces +originally written in various difficult languages; which +translations, however, were either made by himself from literal +renderings done for him into French or German, or had been made +from the originals into English, by friendless young men, and +then deformed by his alterations.</p> +<p>Well, the Radical got the appointment, and the writer +certainly did not grudge it him. He, of course, was aware +that his friend had behaved in a very base manner towards him, +but he bore him no ill-will, and invariably when he heard him +spoken against, which was frequently the case, took his part when +no other person would; indeed, he could well afford to bear him +no ill-will. He had never sought for the appointment, nor +wished for it, nor, indeed, ever believed himself qualified for +<!-- page 378--><a name="page378"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +378</span>it. He was conscious, it is true, that he was not +altogether unacquainted with the language and literature of the +country with which the appointment was connected. He was +likewise aware that he was not altogether deficient in courage +and in propriety of behaviour. He knew that his appearance +was not particularly against him; his face not being like that of +a convicted pickpocket, nor his gait resembling that of a fox who +has lost his tail; yet he never believed himself adapted for the +appointment, being aware that he had no aptitude for the doing of +dirty work, if called to do it, nor pliancy which would enable +him to submit to scurvy treatment, whether he did dirty work or +not—requisites, at the time of which he is speaking, +indispensable in every British official; requisites, by-the-by, +which his friend, the Radical, possessed in a high degree; but +though he bore no ill-will towards his friend, his friend bore +anything but good-will towards him; for from the moment that he +had obtained the appointment for himself, his mind was filled +with the most bitter malignity against the writer, and naturally +enough; for no one ever yet behaved in a base manner towards +another, without forthwith conceiving a mortal hatred against +him. You wrong another, know yourself to have acted basely, +and are enraged, not against yourself—for no one hates +himself—but against the innocent cause of your baseness; +reasoning very plausibly, ‘But for that fellow, I should +never have been base; for had he not existed I could not have +been so, at any rate against him;’ and this hatred is all +the more bitter, when you reflect that you have been needlessly +base.</p> +<p>Whilst the Tories are in power the writer’s friend, of +his own accord, raves against the Tories because they do not give +the writer a certain appointment, and makes, or says he makes, +desperate exertions to make them do so; but no sooner are the +Tories out, with whom he has no influence, and the Whigs in, with +whom he, or rather his party, has influence, than he gets the +place for himself, though, according to his own expressed +opinion—an opinion with which the writer does not, and +never did, concur—the writer was the only person competent +to hold it. Now had he, without saying a word to the +writer, or about the writer with respect to the employment, got +the place for himself when he had an opportunity, knowing, as he +very well knew, himself to be utterly unqualified for it, the +transaction, though a piece of jobbery, would not have merited +the title of a base transaction; as the matter stands, however, +who can avoid calling the whole affair not only a piece +of—come, come, out with the word—scoundrelism on the +part of the writer’s friend, but a most curious piece of +uncalled-for scoundrelism? and who, with any knowledge of fallen +human nature, can wonder at the writer’s friend +entertaining towards him a considerable portion of gall and +malignity!</p> +<p><!-- page 379--><a name="page379"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +379</span>This feeling on the part of the writer’s friend +was wonderfully increased by the appearance of Lavengro, many +passages of which the Radical in his foreign appointment applied +to himself and family—one or two of his children having +gone over to Popery, the rest become members of Mr. +Platitude’s chapel, and the minds of all being filled with +ultra notions of gentility.</p> +<p>The writer, hearing that his old friend had returned to +England, to apply, he believes, for an increase of salary, and +for a title, called upon him, unwillingly, it is true, for he had +no wish to see a person for whom, though he bore him no ill-will, +he could not avoid feeling a considerable portion of contempt, +the truth is, that his sole object in calling was to endeavour to +get back a piece of literary property which his friend had +obtained from him many years previously, and which, though he had +frequently applied for it, he never could get back. Well, +the writer called; he did not get his property, which, indeed, he +had scarcely time to press for, being almost instantly attacked +by his good friend and his wife—yes, it was then that the +author was set upon by an old Radical and his wife—the +wife, who looked the very image of shame and malignity, did not +say much, it is true, but encouraged her husband in all he +said. Both of their own accord introduced the subject of +‘Lavengro.’ The Radical called the writer a +grumbler, just as if there had ever been a greater grumbler than +himself until, by the means above described, he had obtained a +place: he said that the book contained a melancholy view of human +nature—just as if anybody could look in his face without +having a melancholy view of human nature. On the writer +quietly observing that the book contained an exposition of his +principles, the pseudo-Radical replied, that he cared nothing for +his principles—which was probably true, it not being likely +that he would care for another person’s principles after +having shown so thorough a disregard for his own. The +writer said that the book, of course, would give offence to +humbugs; the Radical then demanded whether he thought him a +humbug?—the wretched wife was the Radical’s +protection, even as he knew she would be; it was on her account +that the writer did not kick his good friend; as it was, he +looked at him in the face and thought to himself, ‘How is +it possible I should think you a humbug, when only last night I +was taking your part in a company in which everybody called you a +humbug?’</p> +<p>The Radical, probably observing something in the +writer’s eye which he did not like, became all on a sudden +abjectly submissive, and, professing the highest admiration for +the writer, begged him to visit him in his government; this the +writer promised faithfully to do, and he takes the present +opportunity of performing his promise.</p> +<p>This is one of the pseudo-Radical calumniators of +‘Lavengro’ <!-- page 380--><a +name="page380"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 380</span>and its +author; were the writer on his death-bed he would lay his hand on +his heart and say, that he does not believe that there is one +trait of exaggeration in the portrait which he has drawn. +This is one of the pseudo-Radical calumniators of +‘Lavengro’ and its author; and this is one of the +genus, who, after having railed against jobbery for perhaps a +quarter of a century, at present batten on large official +salaries which they do not earn. England is a great +country, and her interests require that she should have many a +well-paid official both at home and abroad; but will England long +continue a great country if the care of her interests both at +home and abroad, is in many instances entrusted to beings like +him described above, whose only recommendation for an official +appointment was that he was deeply versed in the secrets of his +party and of the Whigs?</p> +<p>Before he concludes, the writer will take the liberty of +saying of ‘Lavengro’ that it is a book written for +the express purpose of inculcating virtue, love of country, +learning, manly pursuits, and genuine religion, for example, that +of the Church of England, and for awakening a contempt for +nonsense of every kind, and a hatred for priestcraft, more +especially that of Rome.</p> +<p>And in conclusion, with respect to many passages of his book, +in which he has expressed himself in terms neither measured nor +mealy, he will beg leave to observe, in the words of a great +poet, who lived a profligate life it is true, but who died a +sincere penitent—thanks, after God, to good Bishop +Burnet—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘All this with indignation I have +hurl’d<br /> +At the pretending part of this proud world,<br /> +Who, swollen with selfish vanity, devise<br /> +False freedoms, formal cheats, and holy lies,<br /> +Over their fellow fools to tyrannize.’</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Rochester</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">the +end</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">billing and +sons</span>, <span class="smcap">ltd.</span>, <span +class="smcap">printers</span>, <span +class="smcap">guildford</span></p> +<h2>Footnotes:</h2> +<p><a name="footnote0a"></a><a href="#citation0a" +class="footnote">[0a]</a> ‘Lavengro,’ i. +265.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0b"></a><a href="#citation0b" +class="footnote">[0b]</a> <i>Ibid.</i>, i. 340.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0c"></a><a href="#citation0c" +class="footnote">[0c]</a> His ‘Celebrated +Trials’ was published March 19, 1825.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0d"></a><a href="#citation0d" +class="footnote">[0d]</a> Accounts of this fight, extracted +from the <i>Times </i>and <i>Morning Herald</i>, are given in +Hone’s ‘Every Day Book,’ vol. i., 1826.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0e"></a><a href="#citation0e" +class="footnote">[0e]</a> References to the attempts of the +authorities to suppress this fair will be found in the <i>Times +</i>of Tuesday, May 24, 1825, and a description of the fair of +1825 is given in Hone’s ‘Every Day Book’ of the +following year (1826).</p> +<p><a name="footnote0f"></a><a href="#citation0f" +class="footnote">[0f]</a> Borrow says ‘<i>two </i>or +<i>three </i>days passed by in much the same manner as the +first.’ Since one of these days was Sunday, the +latter seems the more probable; but if only two days passed, then +Borrow must have left London one day later—<i>i.e.</i>, +Wednesday, May 25, 1825.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0g"></a><a href="#citation0g" +class="footnote">[0g]</a> The fair-town lay, therefore, to +the east of Willenhall.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0h"></a><a href="#citation0h" +class="footnote">[0h]</a> For these astronomical +calculations I am indebted to my colleague, Mr. W. E. Plummer, of +the Liverpool Observatory.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0i"></a><a href="#citation0i" +class="footnote">[0i]</a> ‘Life of Borrow,’ i. +104.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0j"></a><a href="#citation0j" +class="footnote">[0j]</a> His calculation, for instance, +gives one day too many at Salisbury, and places the poison +episode and the Sunday with the preacher, which were two +consecutive days, on the 8th and 12th respectively!</p> +<p><a name="footnote0k"></a><a href="#citation0k" +class="footnote">[0k]</a> This is the date given in +Knapp’s ‘Life of Borrow,’ and also as a page +heading in his edition of ‘Lavengro,’ p. 289. +But in a note to his edition of ‘The Romany Rye,’ p. +385, he says that the fair was ‘on Easter-Monday’ +(April 3).</p> +<p><a name="footnote0l"></a><a href="#citation0l" +class="footnote">[0l]</a> Thorpe’s ‘Environs of +London,’ p. 48.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0m"></a><a href="#citation0m" +class="footnote">[0m]</a> See chapter xxiv.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0n"></a><a href="#citation0n" +class="footnote">[0n]</a> ‘Life of Borrow,’ i. +103. ‘There were <i>Sells </i>at Norwich; their great +artist was John Sell Cotman.’ And there have been +<i>Sells </i>elsewhere—<i>nomen omen</i>! to borrow one of +Mr. Groome’s favourite quotations.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0o"></a><a href="#citation0o" +class="footnote">[0o]</a> ‘The Romany Rye,’ +Appendix, chapter ix.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0p"></a><a href="#citation0p" +class="footnote">[0p]</a> <i>Ibid.</i>, Appendix, chapter +ii. ‘He eats his own bread, and is one of the very +few men in England who are independent in every sense of the +word.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote0q"></a><a href="#citation0q" +class="footnote">[0q]</a> It looks as if he met Jasper by +appointment at the Welsh border. But extraordinary +rencontres are commonplace in Borrow’s career. He +meets the Apple-woman’s Armenian customer and restores his +purse, he meets Ardrey as he is leaving London, and later at the +inn on the Great North Road, where he also meets the Man in +Black, Mr. Platitude, and the Postillion. He meets the +Apple-woman’s son after leaving Salisbury, and six days +later meets Slingsby, whom he had met as a boy at Tamworth. +He meets Mrs. Herne—or, rather, she meets him—in the +Shropshire dingle; he meets his Irish friend Murtagh at +Horncastle, at the same fair; and in the person of Jack Dale, he +meets the pseudo-Quaker’s son, who many years ago had +robbed the old Chinese scholar from whom Borrow had just +parted.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0r"></a><a href="#citation0r" +class="footnote">[0r]</a> Christmas Day.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0s"></a><a href="#citation0s" +class="footnote">[0s]</a> Irishman.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0t"></a><a href="#citation0t" +class="footnote">[0t]</a> Guineas.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0u"></a><a href="#citation0u" +class="footnote">[0u]</a> Borrow had accompanied the +preacher and his wife to the Welsh border, where he meets Mr. +Petulengro and <i>turns back.</i></p> +<p><a name="footnote0v"></a><a href="#citation0v" +class="footnote">[0v]</a> ‘Lavengro,’ ii. +262.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0w"></a><a href="#citation0w" +class="footnote">[0w]</a> <i>Ibid.</i>, ii. 263.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0x"></a><a href="#citation0x" +class="footnote">[0x]</a> <i>Ibid.</i>, ii. 264.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0y"></a><a href="#citation0y" +class="footnote">[0y]</a> <i>Ibid.</i>, chapter x.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0z"></a><a href="#citation0z" +class="footnote">[0z]</a> ‘The Romany Rye,’ +chapter xii.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0z1"></a><a href="#citation0z1" +class="footnote">[0z1]</a> Lavengro, ii. 281.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0z2"></a><a href="#citation0z2" +class="footnote">[0z2]</a> ‘Lavengro,’ ed. +Knapp, notes, p. 567. ‘“Mumpers’ +Dingle,” near Willenhall, Staffordshire. The place is +properly Momber or Monmer Lane, and is now occupied by the +“Monmer Lane Ironworks,” hence totally +obliterated.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote0z3"></a><a href="#citation0z3" +class="footnote">[0z3]</a> ‘Lavengro,’ ii. +249.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0z4"></a><a href="#citation0z4" +class="footnote">[0z4]</a> See the ‘Gypsy List’ +appended to Knapp’s ed. of ‘The Romany +Rye.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote0z5"></a><a href="#citation0z5" +class="footnote">[0z5]</a> ‘Wild Wales,’ iii. +352.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0z6"></a><a href="#citation0z6" +class="footnote">[0z6]</a> ‘Lavengro’ was +published February 7, 1851.</p> +<p><a name="footnote5a"></a><a href="#citation5a" +class="footnote">[5a]</a> ‘The earthern jugs out of +which the people of Norfolk drink are called +gotches.’—<span class="smcap">Wright</span>: +‘Provincial Dict.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote5b"></a><a href="#citation5b" +class="footnote">[5b]</a> Barberini.</p> +<p><a name="footnote6a"></a><a href="#citation6a" +class="footnote">[6a]</a> By Gregorio Leti, 2 v., 12°, +1667.</p> +<p><a name="footnote6b"></a><a href="#citation6b" +class="footnote">[6b]</a> Clement XIV., d. 1774.</p> +<p><a name="footnote21"></a><a href="#citation21" +class="footnote">[21]</a> L’Alcoran des Cordeliers: +c’est à dire Recueil des plus notables bourdes et +blasphèmes de ceux qui ont osé comparer Sainct +François à Jesus Christ; tiré du grand livre +des conformitez, iadis composé par frère +Barthélemi de Pise.—12°, Genève, +1578.</p> +<p><a name="footnote23"></a><a href="#citation23" +class="footnote">[23]</a> The British and Foreign Bible +Society. Borrow acted as the Society’s agent in +Russia and Spain, 1833-1839.</p> +<p><a name="footnote26a"></a><a href="#citation26a" +class="footnote">[26a]</a> Rome.</p> +<p><a name="footnote26b"></a><a href="#citation26b" +class="footnote">[26b]</a> Sir Thomas Dereham, d. 1739.</p> +<p><a name="footnote27"></a><a href="#citation27" +class="footnote">[27]</a> ‘Celebrated Trials and +Remarkable Cases of Criminal Jurisprudence, from the Earliest +Records to the Year 1825.’ 6 vols., +8*****************186*********************, published March 19, +1825.</p> +<p><a name="footnote29a"></a><a href="#citation29a" +class="footnote">[29a]</a> <i>I.e.</i> Petulengro, the +gypsy word for ‘smith.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote29b"></a><a href="#citation29b" +class="footnote">[29b]</a> In the autograph MS. +‘Ambrose’ is written throughout (Kn.).</p> +<p><a name="footnote29c"></a><a href="#citation29c" +class="footnote">[29c]</a> Correctly <i>kekaviáko +saster</i>, ‘kettle-prop.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote30a"></a><a href="#citation30a" +class="footnote">[30a]</a> It should be +‘blanket.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote30b"></a><a href="#citation30b" +class="footnote">[30b]</a> Plenty of gypsies.</p> +<p><a name="footnote31a"></a><a href="#citation31a" +class="footnote">[31a]</a> Correct.</p> +<p><a name="footnote31b"></a><a href="#citation31b" +class="footnote">[31b]</a> ‘Gentlemen and +ladies.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote31c"></a><a href="#citation31c" +class="footnote">[31c]</a> Let it be.</p> +<p><a name="footnote32"></a><a href="#citation32" +class="footnote">[32]</a> Jade.</p> +<p><a name="footnote33"></a><a href="#citation33" +class="footnote">[33]</a> Borrow is fond of using +‘Roman’ and ‘Roumanian’ in the sense of +‘Romany’; but no gypsy ever does so.</p> +<p><a name="footnote34a"></a><a href="#citation34a" +class="footnote">[34a]</a> Knapp quotes from Borrow’s +MSS. the rest of this ditty:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Sore the chavies ’dre their ten<br /> +Are chories and lubbenies—tatchipen.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The song may be translated:</p> +<blockquote><p>There’s a wizard and witch of evil fame,<br +/> +And Petulengro it is their name;<br /> +Within their tent each lass and youth<br /> +Is a wanton or thief—I tell you truth.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote34b"></a><a href="#citation34b" +class="footnote">[34b]</a> Tent.</p> +<p><a name="footnote36a"></a><a href="#citation36a" +class="footnote">[36a]</a> See ‘Lavengro,’ i. +158, note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote36b"></a><a href="#citation36b" +class="footnote">[36b]</a> Lady.</p> +<p><a name="footnote36c"></a><a href="#citation36c" +class="footnote">[36c]</a> His real name seems to have been +Anselo Herne. See p. 72.</p> +<p><a name="footnote36d"></a><a href="#citation36d" +class="footnote">[36d]</a> Brother.</p> +<p><a name="footnote38"></a><a href="#citation38" +class="footnote">[38]</a> The girl she is black. See +p. 182, note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote39a"></a><a href="#citation39a" +class="footnote">[39a]</a> See Introduction.</p> +<p><a name="footnote39b"></a><a href="#citation39b" +class="footnote">[39b]</a> <i>Ibid.</i></p> +<p><a name="footnote40"></a><a href="#citation40" +class="footnote">[40]</a> Better <i>gaujo</i>, +‘gentile.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote41"></a><a href="#citation41" +class="footnote">[41]</a> Smiths.</p> +<p><a name="footnote43a"></a><a href="#citation43a" +class="footnote">[43a]</a> Only used by gypsies in the +phrase ‘Romani chal.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote43b"></a><a href="#citation43b" +class="footnote">[43b]</a> According to Knapp, this song +was built up from a slender prose draft, three separate versions +of it occurring in his MSS.</p> +<p><a name="footnote44a"></a><a href="#citation44a" +class="footnote">[44a]</a> ‘People.’ Not +Anglo Romani. The English gypsies use the loan word +<i>fōki</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote44b"></a><a href="#citation44b" +class="footnote">[44b]</a> Better <i>trūpos</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote44c"></a><a href="#citation44c" +class="footnote">[44c]</a> Better <i>raati</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote44d"></a><a href="#citation44d" +class="footnote">[44d]</a> For <i>hotcher</i>, ‘to +burn,’ but the right word for ‘roast’ is +<i>pek</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote44e"></a><a href="#citation44e" +class="footnote">[44e]</a> <i>Boshimengro</i>, fiddler.</p> +<p><a name="footnote44f"></a><a href="#citation44f" +class="footnote">[44f]</a> <i>Tarni juvel</i>, ‘young +woman.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote45a"></a><a href="#citation45a" +class="footnote">[45a]</a> The apothecary.</p> +<p><a name="footnote45b"></a><a href="#citation45b" +class="footnote">[45b]</a> Lit., entrail.</p> +<p><a name="footnote46a"></a><a href="#citation46a" +class="footnote">[46a]</a> The best of Borrow’s +songs, here or elsewhere. Knapp gives no account of it, but +the Romani is evidently Borrow’s own, and does not admit of +our taking it for a modernization of a genuine old gypsy +song. Imitating the uncouth lilt of the original, this +piece may be translated:</p> +<blockquote><p>Said the gipsy girl to her mother dear,<br /> +‘O mother dear, a sad load I bear.’<br /> +‘And who gave thee that load to bear,<br /> +My gypsy girl, my own daughter dear?’<br /> +‘O mother dear, ’twas a lord so proud,<br /> +A lord so rich of gentile blood,<br /> +That on a mettled stallion rode—<br /> +’Twas he gave me this heavy load.’<br /> +‘Thou harlot young, thou harlot vile,<br /> +Begone! my tent no more defile;<br /> +Had gypsy seed within thee sprung,<br /> +No angry word had left my tongue,<br /> +But thou art a harlot base and lewd,<br /> +To stain thyself with gentile blood!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote46b"></a><a href="#citation46b" +class="footnote">[46b]</a> Pronounced <i>chy</i>, +‘girl.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote46c"></a><a href="#citation46c" +class="footnote">[46c]</a> Better <i>kabni</i>, +‘enceinte.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote46d"></a><a href="#citation46d" +class="footnote">[46d]</a> ‘What,’ incorrectly +for <i>kon</i>, ‘who.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote46e"></a><a href="#citation46e" +class="footnote">[46e]</a> Better <i>barvalo</i>, +‘rich.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote46f"></a><a href="#citation46f" +class="footnote">[46f]</a> Lit., +‘what’s,’ incorrectly for <i>te</i>, +‘that.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote46g"></a><a href="#citation46g" +class="footnote">[46g]</a> Read <i>kister’d</i>, +‘rode.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote46h"></a><a href="#citation46h" +class="footnote">[46h]</a> Better <i>jal</i>, +‘go.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote46i"></a><a href="#citation46i" +class="footnote">[46i]</a> Better <i>avri</i>, +‘out.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote46j"></a><a href="#citation46j" +class="footnote">[46j]</a> Pronounced <i>chee</i>, +‘nothing.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote46k"></a><a href="#citation46k" +class="footnote">[46k]</a> Read <i>gorjiko</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote47a"></a><a href="#citation47a" +class="footnote">[47a]</a> Incorrectly for <i>baulay</i>, +‘pigs.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote47b"></a><a href="#citation47b" +class="footnote">[47b]</a> Better <i>balovas</i>, +‘pigmeat.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote48"></a><a href="#citation48" +class="footnote">[48]</a> Lit., ‘sweet +bee.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote49"></a><a href="#citation49" +class="footnote">[49]</a> ‘Tell their +fortunes,’ but no gypsy would say anything except <i>dukker +lende</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote50"></a><a href="#citation50" +class="footnote">[50]</a> Jasper’s real name. +See p. 29 note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote51a"></a><a href="#citation51a" +class="footnote">[51a]</a> King.</p> +<p><a name="footnote51b"></a><a href="#citation51b" +class="footnote">[51b]</a> Book.</p> +<p><a name="footnote52"></a><a href="#citation52" +class="footnote">[52]</a> See Introduction.</p> +<p><a name="footnote54a"></a><a href="#citation54a" +class="footnote">[54a]</a> East Dereham.</p> +<p><a name="footnote54b"></a><a href="#citation54b" +class="footnote">[54b]</a> Better <i>krallis</i>, +‘king.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote57"></a><a href="#citation57" +class="footnote">[57]</a> See Introduction.</p> +<p><a name="footnote59a"></a><a href="#citation59a" +class="footnote">[59a]</a> ‘Cuckooing,’ a +made-up word.</p> +<p><a name="footnote59b"></a><a href="#citation59b" +class="footnote">[59b]</a> Fortune-telling.</p> +<p><a name="footnote59c"></a><a href="#citation59c" +class="footnote">[59c]</a> Authorship.</p> +<p><a name="footnote61a"></a><a href="#citation61a" +class="footnote">[61a]</a> Ghost (Borrovian Gy.).</p> +<p><a name="footnote61b"></a><a href="#citation61b" +class="footnote">[61b]</a> See ‘Lavengro,’ i. +139.</p> +<p><a name="footnote62a"></a><a href="#citation62a" +class="footnote">[62a]</a> Lady.</p> +<p><a name="footnote62b"></a><a href="#citation62b" +class="footnote">[62b]</a> <i>Cf.</i> ‘King +Lear,’ II. iv. 56:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘O, how this mother swells up toward my +heart!<br /> +Hysterica passio, down, thou climbing sorrow,<br /> +Thy elements below!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote63"></a><a href="#citation63" +class="footnote">[63]</a> Gypsy girls.</p> +<p><a name="footnote64"></a><a href="#citation64" +class="footnote">[64]</a> ‘My God’s +book,’ the Bible.</p> +<p><a name="footnote65a"></a><a href="#citation65a" +class="footnote">[65a]</a> Steal.</p> +<p><a name="footnote65b"></a><a href="#citation65b" +class="footnote">[65b]</a> Better <i>hokker</i>, +‘lie.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote66"></a><a href="#citation66" +class="footnote">[66]</a> Harlot.</p> +<p><a name="footnote67"></a><a href="#citation67" +class="footnote">[67]</a> God.</p> +<p><a name="footnote68a"></a><a href="#citation68a" +class="footnote">[68a]</a> Kiss.</p> +<p><a name="footnote68b"></a><a href="#citation68b" +class="footnote">[68b]</a> Uncles.</p> +<p><a name="footnote69"></a><a href="#citation69" +class="footnote">[69]</a> Father (Spanish Gy.); the true +word is <i>dad</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote70"></a><a href="#citation70" +class="footnote">[70]</a> Law (Spanish Gy.).</p> +<p><a name="footnote71a"></a><a href="#citation71a" +class="footnote">[71a]</a> Enceinte.</p> +<p><a name="footnote71b"></a><a href="#citation71b" +class="footnote">[71b]</a> Uncles and brothers.</p> +<p><a name="footnote71c"></a><a href="#citation71c" +class="footnote">[71c]</a> Tent.</p> +<p><a name="footnote72"></a><a href="#citation72" +class="footnote">[72]</a> Generally speaking, there is no +purer gypsy clan than the Hernes.</p> +<p><a name="footnote73a"></a><a href="#citation73a" +class="footnote">[73a]</a> Read ‘Boswell.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote73b"></a><a href="#citation73b" +class="footnote">[73b]</a> See pp. 261-264.</p> +<p><a name="footnote73c"></a><a href="#citation73c" +class="footnote">[73c]</a> Fighting-man.</p> +<p><a name="footnote74a"></a><a href="#citation74a" +class="footnote">[74a]</a> Hill-town, <i>i.e.</i>, +Norfolk.</p> +<p><a name="footnote74b"></a><a href="#citation74b" +class="footnote">[74b]</a> July 17, 1820. See +‘Lavengro,’ chap. xxvi.</p> +<p><a name="footnote75"></a><a href="#citation75" +class="footnote">[75]</a> Lovell.</p> +<p><a name="footnote77a"></a><a href="#citation77a" +class="footnote">[77a]</a> Better <i>pokonyes</i>, +‘justice of the peace.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote77b"></a><a href="#citation77b" +class="footnote">[77b]</a> Bow Street runners—Gy. +<i>prastermengre</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote77c"></a><a href="#citation77c" +class="footnote">[77c]</a> Better <i>patrin</i>; the use of +this word in the proper sense of ‘leaf’ is not so +rare among English gypsies.</p> +<p><a name="footnote81"></a><a href="#citation81" +class="footnote">[81]</a> Gypsies nowadays are generally +married in church. They like the pomp.</p> +<p><a name="footnote84"></a><a href="#citation84" +class="footnote">[84]</a> Simpson, member of the firm of +Simpson and Rackham, Norwich, where Borrow served his +articles.</p> +<p><a name="footnote87"></a><a href="#citation87" +class="footnote">[87]</a> See pp. 88, 147, 164, and +Introduction; ‘Lavengro,’ ii. 44, <i>et seq.</i></p> +<p><a name="footnote89"></a><a href="#citation89" +class="footnote">[89]</a> Good.</p> +<p><a name="footnote97"></a><a href="#citation97" +class="footnote">[97]</a> ‘Dictionarium novum +Latino-Armenium.’ Fo., Romæ, 1714.</p> +<p><a name="footnote101"></a><a href="#citation101" +class="footnote">[101]</a> Borrow quotes this sentence, +with an added expletive, in his ‘Romano Lavo-Lil,’ p. +110.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108"></a><a href="#citation108" +class="footnote">[108]</a> Borrow places these words on the +title-page of the present book.</p> +<p><a name="footnote109"></a><a href="#citation109" +class="footnote">[109]</a> A right-handed blow. See +‘Lavengro,’ ii. 289.</p> +<p><a name="footnote116"></a><a href="#citation116" +class="footnote">[116]</a> Rather late for an Easter vestry +meeting!</p> +<p><a name="footnote119"></a><a href="#citation119" +class="footnote">[119]</a> Properly <i>sar</i> +’<i>shan</i>, ‘how art thou?’</p> +<p><a name="footnote120"></a><a href="#citation120" +class="footnote">[120]</a> By God (Borrovian Romani).</p> +<p><a name="footnote138a"></a><a href="#citation138a" +class="footnote">[138a]</a> Wordsworth’s.</p> +<p><a name="footnote138b"></a><a href="#citation138b" +class="footnote">[138b]</a> ‘The +Excursion.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote141"></a><a href="#citation141" +class="footnote">[141]</a> The Swan Hotel at +Stafford. In ‘Lavengro,’ ii. 386, the inn is +described as upwards of thirty miles distant from the dingle, on +the great North road.</p> +<p><a name="footnote146"></a><a href="#citation146" +class="footnote">[146]</a> Louis Jeremiah Abershaw, hanged +on Kennington Common, August 3, 1795. The Bald-faced Stag +near Kingston was his headquarters.</p> +<p><a name="footnote147a"></a><a href="#citation147a" +class="footnote">[147a]</a> See Introduction.</p> +<p><a name="footnote147b"></a><a href="#citation147b" +class="footnote">[147b]</a> See Camden Pelham’s +‘Life and Adventures of Galloping Dick.’ +Philadelphia, 1863.</p> +<p><a name="footnote148"></a><a href="#citation148" +class="footnote">[148]</a> See p. 27, note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote149"></a><a href="#citation149" +class="footnote">[149]</a> Gaol (cant).</p> +<p><a name="footnote152"></a><a href="#citation152" +class="footnote">[152]</a> <i>I.e.</i>, highwayman.</p> +<p><a name="footnote161"></a><a href="#citation161" +class="footnote">[161]</a> John Broughton, pugilist +(1705-1789).</p> +<p><a name="footnote162a"></a><a href="#citation162a" +class="footnote">[162a]</a> April 11, 1750.</p> +<p><a name="footnote162b"></a><a href="#citation162b" +class="footnote">[162b]</a> At Broughton’s funeral +Johnson and Big Ben acted as his pall-bearers, with Humphries, +Mendoza, Ward, and Ryan.</p> +<p><a name="footnote163a"></a><a href="#citation163a" +class="footnote">[163a]</a> His real name was Francis Arden +(Kn.).</p> +<p><a name="footnote163b"></a><a href="#citation163b" +class="footnote">[163b]</a> Liverpool.</p> +<p><a name="footnote164"></a><a href="#citation164" +class="footnote">[164]</a> Chester.</p> +<p><a name="footnote165"></a><a href="#citation165" +class="footnote">[165]</a> See ‘Lavengro,’ i. +399; ii. 57.</p> +<p><a name="footnote166"></a><a href="#citation166" +class="footnote">[166]</a> See Introduction.</p> +<p><a name="footnote168"></a><a href="#citation168" +class="footnote">[168]</a> Sir James Brooke, Rajah of +Sarawah, Borrow’s old school-fellow at Norwich +(1816-1818).</p> +<p><a name="footnote182a"></a><a href="#citation182a" +class="footnote">[182a]</a> Probably meant for +‘gypsydom,’ but properly old cant for +‘London.’ Rome is here Shelta, or Gaelic +back-slang for <i>mor</i>, ‘great.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote182b"></a><a href="#citation182b" +class="footnote">[182b]</a> ‘The girl she is +black,<br /> +She lies on her back.’</p> +<p>which looks like a translation of some English ditty.</p> +<p><a name="footnote183"></a><a href="#citation183" +class="footnote">[183]</a> Sham sailors (old cant).</p> +<p><a name="footnote189"></a><a href="#citation189" +class="footnote">[189]</a> Fair, straightforward +(dialect).</p> +<p><a name="footnote199"></a><a href="#citation199" +class="footnote">[199]</a> See after, in the jockey’s +tale, p. 252.</p> +<p><a name="footnote224"></a><a href="#citation224" +class="footnote">[224]</a> See Introduction.</p> +<p><a name="footnote226a"></a><a href="#citation226a" +class="footnote">[226a]</a> Donkey-boy.</p> +<p><a name="footnote226b"></a><a href="#citation226b" +class="footnote">[226b]</a> Transported.</p> +<p><a name="footnote231"></a><a href="#citation231" +class="footnote">[231]</a> See Introduction.</p> +<p><a name="footnote245"></a><a href="#citation245" +class="footnote">[245]</a> A witch hag. See +Ralston’s ‘Russian Folk tales,’ pp. 137, +399.</p> +<p><a name="footnote250a"></a><a href="#citation250a" +class="footnote">[250a]</a> In Hungarian gypsy, properly +<i>gulo rai</i>, ‘sweet sir.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote250b"></a><a href="#citation250b" +class="footnote">[250b]</a> German cant.</p> +<p><a name="footnote252"></a><a href="#citation252" +class="footnote">[252]</a> The English rogue described in +‘The Life of Meriton Latroon,’ a witty extravagant +[by Richard Head], 4 vols. London, 1665-80.</p> +<p><a name="footnote264"></a><a href="#citation264" +class="footnote">[264]</a> Mistress (cant).</p> +<p><a name="footnote271"></a><a href="#citation271" +class="footnote">[271]</a> <i>I.e.</i>, mathematics.</p> +<p><a name="footnote279"></a><a href="#citation279" +class="footnote">[279]</a> John Thurtell, Borrow’s +old Norwich crony, 1817-20, hanged at Hertford, January 9, 1824, +for the murder of William Weare.</p> +<p><a name="footnote280"></a><a href="#citation280" +class="footnote">[280]</a> Hertford.</p> +<p><a name="footnote281a"></a><a href="#citation281a" +class="footnote">[281a]</a> July 17, 1820, at North +Walsham, Norfolk. See ‘Lavengro.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote281b"></a><a href="#citation281b" +class="footnote">[281b]</a> <i>Cf.</i> the lines from a +song which Borrow may have heard in Ireland:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘And by this time to-morrow you’ll +see<br /> +Your Larry will be dead as mutton.<br /> + All for what? ’Caze his courage was +good!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote288a"></a><a href="#citation288a" +class="footnote">[288a]</a> Thimble-rigger.</p> +<p><a name="footnote288b"></a><a href="#citation288b" +class="footnote">[288b]</a> Greenwich fair. See +Introduction and ‘Lavengro,’ vol. ii., p. 22.</p> +<p><a name="footnote291"></a><a href="#citation291" +class="footnote">[291]</a> Borrow really heard this tale in +Cornwall, from the guide Cronan, in January, 1854.</p> +<p><a name="footnote296"></a><a href="#citation296" +class="footnote">[296]</a> Tipperary.</p> +<p><a name="footnote303a"></a><a href="#citation303a" +class="footnote">[303a]</a> Civita Vecchia.</p> +<p><a name="footnote303b"></a><a href="#citation303b" +class="footnote">[303b]</a> The Duke +d’Angoulême.</p> +<p><a name="footnote311a"></a><a href="#citation311a" +class="footnote">[311a]</a> South.</p> +<p><a name="footnote311b"></a><a href="#citation311b" +class="footnote">[311b]</a> Boston.</p> +<p><a name="footnote311c"></a><a href="#citation311c" +class="footnote">[311c]</a> Spalding.</p> +<p><a name="footnote313"></a><a href="#citation313" +class="footnote">[313]</a> We first hear of this Appendix +in a letter to Murray, dated Nov. 11, 1852, in which Borrow +expresses his intention of ‘adding some notes’ to the +present work. The result is this extraordinary +‘Malebolgia,’ as Professor Knapp terms it, into which +Borrow has thrust all those who had incurred his ill-will, even +for the most trivial of reasons. His enmity with Rome dates +from his Spanish experiences as colporteur of the Bible Society +in 1838 and 1839. ‘Mr. Flamson’ is placed in +the pillory, because he had offended Borrow by carrying a railway +line through his Oulton grounds; and Scott, apparently for no +better reason than his neglect to acknowledge a presentation copy +of the ‘Romantic Ballads.’ The +‘Lord-Lieutenant’ experiences Borrow’s +resentment because he did not see his way to making +‘Lavengro’ a magistrate; and the ‘Old +Radical’ is gibbeted because he obtained an official +position which Borrow desired for himself.</p> +<p><a name="footnote314a"></a><a href="#citation314a" +class="footnote">[314a]</a> Twenty. George Borrow was +born July, 1803, and his father died February, 1824.</p> +<p><a name="footnote314b"></a><a href="#citation314b" +class="footnote">[314b]</a> Borrovian for +‘gypsydom.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote321a"></a><a href="#citation321a" +class="footnote">[321a]</a> ‘Canning (1827),’ +(Kn.).</p> +<p><a name="footnote321b"></a><a href="#citation321b" +class="footnote">[321b]</a> <i>Ibid.</i></p> +<p><a name="footnote321c"></a><a href="#citation321c" +class="footnote">[321c]</a> ‘Viscount Goderich’ +(Kn.).</p> +<p><a name="footnote322"></a><a href="#citation322" +class="footnote">[322]</a> Little Father (Russian).</p> +<p><a name="footnote323"></a><a href="#citation323" +class="footnote">[323]</a> The full text and translation of +this pointless little song are given in the ‘Romano +Lavo-lil,’ pp. 200, 201.</p> +<p><a name="footnote326"></a><a href="#citation326" +class="footnote">[326]</a> This was written in 1854. +(G.B.)</p> +<p><a name="footnote327"></a><a href="#citation327" +class="footnote">[327]</a> An obscene oath. +(G.B.)</p> +<p><a name="footnote328"></a><a href="#citation328" +class="footnote">[328]</a> See ‘Muses’ +Library,’ pp. 86, 87. London, 1738 (G. B.). +Reprinted from the original edition in the Early English Text +Society (1870).</p> +<p><a name="footnote329"></a><a href="#citation329" +class="footnote">[329]</a> Genteel with them seems to be +synonymous with Gentile and Gentoo; if so, the manner in which it +has been applied for ages ceases to surprise, for genteel is +heathenish. Ideas of barbaric pearl and gold, glittering +armour, plumes, tortures, blood-shedding, and lust, should always +be connected with it. Wace, in his grand Norman poem, calls +the Baron genteel:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘La furent li gentil Baron,’ etc.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And he certainly could not have applied the word better than +to the strong Norman thief, aimed cap-à-pie, without one +particle of ruth or generosity; for a person to be a pink of +gentility, that is heathenism, should have no such feelings; and, +indeed, the admirers of gentility seldom or never associate any +such feelings with it. It was from the Norman, the worst of +all robbers and miscreants, who built strong castles, garrisoned +them with devils, and tore out poor wretches’ eyes, as the +Saxon Chronicle says, that the English got their detestable word +genteel. What could ever have made the English such +admirers of gentility, it would be difficult to say; for, during +three hundred years, they suffered enough by it. Their +genteel Norman landlords were their scourgers, their torturers, +the plunderers of their homes, the dishonourers of their wives, +and the deflowerers of their daughters. Perhaps, after all, +fear is at the root of the English veneration for gentility. +(G.B.)</p> +<p><a name="footnote330"></a><a href="#citation330" +class="footnote">[330]</a> Sir Samuel Morton Peto +(1809-89), M.P. for Norwich, 1847-54.</p> +<p><a name="footnote331"></a><a href="#citation331" +class="footnote">[331]</a> Gentle and gentlemanly may be +derived from the same root as genteel; but nothing can be more +distinct from the mere genteel, than the ideas which enlightened +minds associate with these words. Gentle and gentlemanly +mean something kind and genial; genteel, that which is glittering +or gaudy. A person can be a gentleman in rags, but nobody +can be genteel. (G.B.)</p> +<p><a name="footnote332"></a><a href="#citation332" +class="footnote">[332]</a> A favourite figure of +Carlyle’s, but both he and Borrow took the <i>mot</i> from +a report of Thurtell’s trial: Q. ‘What do you +mean by respectable?’ A. ‘He kept a +gig.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote337"></a><a href="#citation337" +class="footnote">[337]</a> Perry. (Kn.)</p> +<p><a name="footnote340"></a><a href="#citation340" +class="footnote">[340]</a> <i>Gorgiko</i>, +‘gentile,’ used here as a nickname.</p> +<p><a name="footnote348"></a><a href="#citation348" +class="footnote">[348]</a> The writer has been checked in +print by the Scotch with being a Norfolk man. Surely, +surely, these latter times have not been exactly the ones in +which it was expedient for Scotchmen to check the children of any +county in England with the place of their birth, more especially +those who have had the honour of being born in +Norfolk—times in which British fleets, commanded by +Scotchmen, have returned laden with anything but laurels from +foreign shores. It would have been well for Britain had she +had the old Norfolk man to dispatch to the Baltic or the Black +Sea, lately, instead of Scotch admirals. (G. B.)</p> +<p><a name="footnote355"></a><a href="#citation355" +class="footnote">[355]</a> The ‘whiffler’ was +the official sword-flourisher of the Corporation.</p> +<p><a name="footnote357a"></a><a href="#citation357a" +class="footnote">[357a]</a> Tom Cribb (1781-1848), champion +pugilist.</p> +<p><a name="footnote357b"></a><a href="#citation357b" +class="footnote">[357b]</a> Thomas Winter (1795-1851), +pugilist.</p> +<p><a name="footnote360"></a><a href="#citation360" +class="footnote">[360]</a> See Introduction.</p> +<p><a name="footnote365"></a><a href="#citation365" +class="footnote">[365]</a> <i>Harman-beck</i>, +‘constable’ (old cant); modern slang, +<i>beak</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote368"></a><a href="#citation368" +class="footnote">[368]</a> As the present work will come +out in the midst of a vehement political contest, people may be +led to suppose that the above was written expressly for the +time. The writer, therefore, begs to state that it was +written in the year 1854. He cannot help adding that he is +neither Whig, Tory, nor Radical, and cares not a straw what party +governs England, provided it is governed well. But he has +no hopes of good government from the Whigs. It is true that +amongst them there is one very great man, Lord Palmerston, who is +indeed the sword and buckler, the chariots and the horses of the +party; but it is impossible for his lordship to govern well with +such colleagues as he has—colleagues which have been forced +upon him by family influence, and who are continually pestering +him into measures anything but conducive to the country’s +honour and interest. If Palmerston would govern well, he +must get rid of them; but from that step, with all his courage +and all his greatness, he will shrink. Yet how proper and +easy a step it would be! He could easily get better, but +scarcely worse, associates. They appear to have one object +in view, and only one—jobbery. It was chiefly owing +to a most flagitious piece of jobbery, which one of his +lordship’s principal colleagues sanctioned and promoted, +that his lordship experienced his late parliamentary disasters +(G. B.).</p> +<p><a name="footnote369"></a><a href="#citation369" +class="footnote">[369]</a> The Cato Street conspirators, a +reminiscence of Borrow’s ‘Celebrated +Trials.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote371"></a><a href="#citation371" +class="footnote">[371]</a> Sir John Bowring.</p> +<p><a name="footnote372a"></a><a href="#citation372a" +class="footnote">[372a]</a> William Taylor of Norwich.</p> +<p><a name="footnote372b"></a><a href="#citation372b" +class="footnote">[372b]</a> ‘Specimens of the Russian +Poets,’ translated by John Bowring. 12mo., London, +1821.</p> +<p><a name="footnote373"></a><a href="#citation373" +class="footnote">[373]</a> A fact (G. B.).</p> +<p><a name="footnote374"></a><a href="#citation374" +class="footnote">[374]</a> Southey.</p> +<p><a name="footnote376a"></a><a href="#citation376a" +class="footnote">[376a]</a> Aberdeen.</p> +<p><a name="footnote376b"></a><a href="#citation376b" +class="footnote">[376b]</a> China.</p> +<p><a name="footnote376c"></a><a href="#citation376c" +class="footnote">[376c]</a> Manchu New Testament.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROMANY RYE***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 25071-h.htm or 25071-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/5/0/7/25071 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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