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The Romany Rye
by George Borrow
January, 1996 [Etext #422]
The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Romany Rye, by George Borrow
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The Romany Rye by George Borrow
Scanned and proofed by David Price
ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
THE ROMANY RYE
CHAPTER I
The Making of the Linch-pin - The Sound Sleeper - Breakfast -
The Postillion's Departure.
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 axletree - 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 as a model.
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 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 gentle-woman," said he,
addressing Belle, who, having finished her preparations, 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 wheel-wright'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 gentle-woman 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 example, declared he never felt more refreshed in
his life, and, giving a bound, said, "he would go and look
after his horses."
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.
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.
CHAPTER II
The Man in Black - The Emperor of Germany - Nepotism - Donna
Olympia - Omnipotence - Camillo Astalli - The Five
Propositions.
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 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.
"Urban the Eighth then occupied the papal chair, of the
family of the Barbarini, 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 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.
"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,' 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.
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
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 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.
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.
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 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 any one 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 any one were to ask him
how he could believe in the miraculous conception, calling
people simpletons who swallow the five propositions of
Jansenius, and are disposed, if called upon, to swallow the
reality of the nephewship of Camillo Astalli."
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.
CHAPTER III
Necessity of Religion - The Great Indian One - Image-worship
- Shakespeare - The Pat Answer - Krishna - Amen.
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.
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 would
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 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.
"You told me that you intended to be frank," said I; "but,
however frank you may be, I think you are rather wild."
"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."
"Did they find Christ?" said I.
"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 background, even as he is here."
"All this is very mysterious to me," said I.
"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."
"But how?" I demanded.
"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 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 - "
"All of one religion," I put in.
"All of one religion," said the man in black; "and now follow
different modifications of the same religion."
"We Christians are not image-worshippers," said I.
"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."
"I have indeed no conception of it," said I; "I have an
abhorrence of idolatry - the idea of bowing before a graven
figure!"
"The idea, indeed!" said Belle, who had now joined us.
"Did you never bow before that of Shakespeare?" said the man
in black, addressing himself to me, after a low bow to Belle.
"I don't remember that I ever did," said I, "but even suppose
I did?"
"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 Saint Anthony or Saint
Ignacio for us, that is for those of us who believe in them;
I tell you, Zingara, that no religion can exist long which
rejects a good bodily image."
"Do you think," said I, "that Shakespeare's works would not
exist without his image?"
"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."
"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?"
"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?"
"I never heard their names before," said I.
"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."
"I wonder you should ever have troubled yourself with Christ
at all," said I.
"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 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 gentle."
"I thought," said I, "you stated a little time ago that the
Popish religion and the ancient Roman are the same?"
"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?"
"Why, we Protestants regard his words, and endeavour to
practise what they enjoin as much as possible."
"But you reject his image," sad 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 - "
"Mumbo Jumbo," said I; "I know all about him already."
"How came you to know anything about him?" said the man in
black, with a look of some surprise.
"Some of us poor Protestants tinkers," said I, "though we
live in dingles, are also acquainted with a thing or two."
"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."
"It would be quite unnecessary," said I; "I would much sooner
hear you talk about Krishna, his words and image."
"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!"
"I believe you occasionally quote his words?" said I.
"He! he!" said the man in black; "occasionally."
"For example," said I, "upon this rock I will found my
church."
"He! he!" said the man in black; "you must really become one
of us."
"Yet you must have had some difficulty in getting the rock to
Rome?"
"None whatever," said the man in black; "faith can remove
mountains, to say nothing of rocks - ho! ho!"
"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."
"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."
"You do not mean to say that he intended they should actually
eat his body?"
"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."
"But what has the New Testament to do with heathen customs,"
said I, "except to destroy them?"
"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 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."
I made no answer.
"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."
"And what is the meaning of the word?" I demanded.
"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."
"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.'"
"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, Bellissima Biondina," said he, addressing
Belle, "you will deign to replenish it?"
"I shall do no such thing," said Belle, "you have drunk quite
enough, and talked more than enough, and to tell you the
truth I wish you would leave us alone."
"Shame on you, Belle," said I; "consider the obligations of
hospitality."
"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."
"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."
"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."
CHAPTER IV
The Proposal - The Scotch Novel - Latitude - Miracles -
Pestilent Heretics - Old Fraser - Wonderful Texts - No
Armenian.
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?"
"Decidedly so," said the man in black; "I come here
principally in the hope of enlisting you in our regiment, in
which I have no doubt you could do us excellent service."
"Would you enlist my companion as well?" I demanded.
"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.
"Before we give you an answer," I replied, "I would fain know
more about you; perhaps you will declare your name?"
"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, SONO UN PRETE CATTOLICO
APPOSTOLICO - that is all that many a one of us can say for
himself, and it assuredly means a great deal."
"We will now proceed to business," said I. "You must be
aware that we English are generally considered a self-
interested people."
"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 to 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 would 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. 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."
"And in what manner would you provide for my companion?" said
I.
"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.
"Well, Belle," said I, "what have you to say to the
gentleman's proposal?"
"That if he goes on in this way I will break his glass
against his mouth."
"You have heard the lady's answer," said I.
"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 an instant,
CONNUBIO STABILI, as I suppose the knot has not been tied
already."
"Hold your mumping gibberish," said Belle, "and leave the
dingle this moment, for though 'tis free to every one, you
have no right to insult me in it."
"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."
"I should wish to have your answer to my proposal first,"
said he.
"Well, then, here you shall have it: I will not entertain
your proposal; I detest your schemes: they are both wicked
and foolish."
"Wicked," said the man in black, "have they not - he! he! -
the furtherance of religion in view?"
"A religion," said I, "in which you yourself do not believe,
and which you contemn."
"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; others must needs be Spaniards,
dress themselves up in a zamarra, stick a cigar in their
mouth, 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 -
"'Come, fill up my cup, and fill up my can,
And saddle my horse, and call up my man.'
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?"
"Of course you have not a drop of Scotch blood in your
veins," said I, "otherwise you would never have uttered that
last sentence."
"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."
"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."
"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."
"But," said I, "suppose some one were to tell the world some
of the disorderly things which her priests say in the
dingle?"
"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 - that is, those who have read it; but they
make no sign."
"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."
"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."
"Can your church work miracles?" I demanded.
"That was the very question," said the man in black, "which
the ancient British clergy asked of Austin Monk, 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?"
"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."
"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.
"But they did not believe in the miracle?" said I.
"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!"
"I suppose your church still performs miracles occasionally!"
said I.
"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."
"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 establishment, 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."
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."
"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?"
"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 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."
And the man in black drained the last drop in his glass.
"Never," said I, "will I become the slave of Rome."
"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 - "
"Alexander the Sixth, I dare say," said I; "the greatest
monster that ever existed, though the worthiest head which
the pope system ever had - so his conscience was not always
still. I thought it had been seared with a brand of iron."
"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."
"I shall call her so," said I, "without belonging to her, or
asking her permission."
"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."
"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."
"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.
"Are you not afraid," said I, "to flash that watch before the
eyes of a poor tinker in a dingle?"
"Not before the eyes of one like you," said the man in black.
"It is getting late," said I; "I care not for perquisites."
"So you will not join us?" said the man in black.
"You have had my answer," said I.
"If I belong to Rome," said the man in black, "why should not
you?"
"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?"
The man in black winced, but almost immediately recovering
himself, he said, "Well, we can do without you, we are sure
of winning."
"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."
"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."
"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 - "
"Who?" said the man in black, giving a start, and letting his
glass fall.
"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 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 in 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?
"'L'opere sue non furon leonine, ma di volpe.'"
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, OIME, Fraser blood. My
parents, at an early age, took me to -, where they shortly
died, not, however, before they had placed me in the service
of a cardinal, with whom I continued for 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 -; 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 bogtrotters; 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 education
may have been, I was not bred at the Irish seminary - on
those accounts I am thankful - yes, PER DIO! 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; NO HAY REMEDIO, 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."
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.
"I, Belle? I knew nothing of the fellow's name, I assure
you."
"But you mentioned his name."
"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,' 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 the truth of
Scripture, owing to certain conceited individuals, but now I
begin to believe firmly; what wonderful texts are in
Scripture, Belle; 'The wicked trembleth where - where - '"
"'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?"
"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 - "
"No Armenian," said Belle; "but I want to ask a question:
pray are all people of that man's name either rogues or
fools?"
"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 idiotcy, 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."
CHAPTER V
Fresh Arrivals - Pitching the Tent - Certificated Wife -
High-flying Notions.
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," said she, "Jasper, of whom I have heard you talk, is
above there on the field with all his people; I went out
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." With the sharp end
of this Mr. Petulengro was making holes in the earth, at
about twenty inches distant from each other, into which he
inserted certain long rods with a considerable bend towards
the top, which constituted no less than the timber of the
tent, and the supporters of the canvas. 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.
"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."
"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.
"Good-day to you, sir," said Mrs. Petulengro; "you look, as
usual, charmingly, and speak so, too; you have not forgot
your manners."
"It is not all gold that glitters," said Mrs. Chikno.
"However, good-morrow to you, young rye."
"I do not see Tawno," said I, looking around; "where is he?"
"Where, indeed!" said Mrs. Chikno; "I don't know; he who
countenances him in the roving line can best answer."
"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."
"I can't indeed," said Mrs. Chikno.
"And why not, sister?"
"Because I place no confidence in your words, brother; as I
said before, you countenances him."
"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.
"Is that young female your wife, young man?" said Mrs.
Chikno.
"My wife?" said I.
"Yes, young man; your wife, your lawful certificated wife?"
"No," said I; "she is not my wife."
"Then I will not visit with her," said Mrs. Chikno; "I
countenance nothing in the roving line."
"What do you mean by the roving line?" I demanded.
"What do I mean by the roving line? Why, by it I mean such
conduct as is not tatcheno. When ryes and rawnies live
together in dingles, without being certificated, I call 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."
"It is hard that people may not live in dingles together
without being suspected of doing wrong," said I.
"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 it 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 seek 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 any one to whose manner of speaking he may take
a fancy. But I have had the advantage of keeping good
company, and therefore - "
"Meklis," 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."
"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 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 - "
"Yes, yes," said Mrs. Chikno, "I see, what I before thought,
that it was altogether in the uncertificated line."
"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 - "
"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 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 - "
"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."
"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."
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.
CHAPTER VI
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.
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 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 CALANE, 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 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:-
"'There's a chovahanee, and a chovahano,
The nav se len is Petulengro.'"
"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."
"True," said Mr. Petulengro; "why bring what's low to the
dingle, which is low enough already?"
"What, are you a catcher at words?" said I. "I thought that
catching at words had been confined to the pothouse farmers
and village witty bodies."
"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 pothouse farmers, and village witty bodies! No,
not 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, 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."
"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."
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." 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 as 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!"
"Tawno Chikno," 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! why,
the look she has given me would knock the fellow down."
"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, and have taken up with my pal; he is not
very handsome, but a better - "
"I take up with your pal, as you call him! you had better
mind what you say," said Isopel Berners, "I take up with
nobody."
"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."
"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."
"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."
"I like to see you much better as you are," said Belle;
"people should keep to their own fashions, and yours is very
pretty."
"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.
"I really can do no such thing," said Belle, withdrawing her
hand; "I thank you for coming to see me, but - "
"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."
"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."
"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?"
"I have really a good mind to be angry with you," said Belle,
giving Mrs. Petulengro a peculiar glance.
"Do allow her to arrange your hair," said I; "she means 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."
"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 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 - "
"Why, here you are, after railing at me for catching at
words, catching at a word yourself," said Mr. Petulengro.
"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 pothouse 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."
"I shall not do it to oblige him," said Belle; "the young
rye, as you call him, is nothing to me."
"Well, then, to oblige me," said Mrs. Petulengro; "do allow
me to become your poor tire-woman."
"It is great nonsense," said Belle, reddening; "however, as
you came to see me, and ask the matter as a particular favour
to yourself - "
"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, which last word signifies black, which I
am not, though rather dark. There is no colour like white,
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."
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?"
"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, 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. 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."
"Anything else?" said I.
"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 of grass upon it;
and I thought likewise of the danger to which one's family
would be exposed in 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 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."
"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 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.
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; "hither-to 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 will soon be gone, and will you
abandon me in this place?" "You were alone here," said
Belle, "before I came, and I suppose, 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
stedfastly 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.
CHAPTER VII
The Festival - The Gypsy Song - Piramus of Rome - The
Scotchman - Gypsy Names.
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 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
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.
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 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:-
POISONING THE PORKER
BY MRS. CHIKNO
To mande shoon ye Romany chals
Who besh in the pus about the yag,
I'll pen how we drab the baulo,
I'll pen how we drab the baulo.
We jaws to the drab-engro ker,
Trin horsworth there of drab we lels,
And when to the swety back we wels
We pens we'll drab the baulo,
We'll have a drab at a baulo.
And then we kairs the drab opre,
And then we jaws to the farming ker,
To mang a beti habben,
A beti poggado habben.
A rinkeno baulo there we dick,
And then we pens in Romano jib;
Wust lis odoi opre ye chick,
And the baulo he will lel lis,
The baulo he will lel lis.
Coliko, coliko saulo we
Apopli to the farming ker
Will wel and mang him mullo,
Will wel and mang his truppo.
And so we kairs, and so we kairs;
The baulo in the rarde mers;
We mang him on the saulo,
And rig to the tan the baulo.
And then we toves the wendror well
Till sore the wendror iuziou se,
Till kekkeno drab's adrey lis,
Till drab there's kek adrey lis.
And then his truppo well we hatch,
Kin levinor at the kitchema,
And have a kosko habben,
A kosko Romano habben.
The boshom engro kils, he kils,
The tawnie juva gils, she gils
A puro Romano gillie,
Now shoon the Romano gillie.
Which song I had translated in the following manner, in my
younger days, for a lady's album:
Listen to me ye Romanlads, 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.
We go to the house of the poison-monger, 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.
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.
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."
Early on the morrow, we will return to the farm-house, and
beg the dead porker, the body of the dead porker.
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.
And then we wash the inside well, till all the inside is
perfectly clean, till there's no bane within it, not a poison
grain within it.
And then we roast the body well, send for ale to the
alehouse, and have a merry banquet, a merry Roman banquet.
The fellow with the fiddle plays, he plays; the little lassie
sings, she sings an ancient Roman ditty; now hear the Roman
ditty.
SONG OF THE BROKEN CHASTITY
BY URSULA
Penn'd the Romany chi ke laki dye
"Miry dearie dye mi shom cambri!"
"And coin kerdo tute cambri,
Miry dearie chi, miry Romany chi?"
"O miry dye a boro rye,
A bovalo rye, a gorgiko rye,
Sos kistur pre a pellengo grye,
'Twas yov sos kerdo man cambri."
"Tu tawnie vassavie lubbeny,
Tu chal from miry tan abri;
Had a Romany cwal kair'd tute cambri,
Then I had penn'd ke tute chie,
But tu shan a vassavie lubbeny
With gorgikie rat to be cambri."
"There's some kernel in those songs, brother," said Mr.
Petulengro, when the songs and music were over.
"Yes," said I; "they are certainly very remarkable songs. I
say, Jasper, I hope you have not been drabbing baulor
lately."
"And suppose we have, brother, what then?"
"Why, it is a very dangerous practice, to say nothing of the
wickedness of it."
"Necessity has no law, brother."
"That is true," said I; "I have always said so, but you are
not necessitous, and should not drab baulor."
"And who told you we had been drabbing baulor?"
"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."
"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?"
"That I am very glad of it."
"Had you tasted that pork, brother, you would have found that
it was sweet and tasty, which balluva 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."
"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?"
"I think, brother, as I before said, that occasionally 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!"
"A Scotchman finding fault with Romany, Jasper! Oh dear, but
you joke, the thing could never be."
"Yes, and at Piramus's fiddle; what do you think of a
Scotchman turning up his nose at Piramus's fiddle?"
"A Scotchman turning up his nose at Piramus's fiddle!
nonsense, Jasper."
"Do you know what I most dislike, brother?"
"I do not, unless it be the constable, Jasper."
"It is not the constable; it's a beggar on horseback,
brother."
"What do you mean by a beggar on horseback?"
"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 any one 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, 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
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 barn-door 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. 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."
"You were rather severe on the Scotchman, Jasper."
"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 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."
"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!"
"And what pretty names, brother; there's my own, for example,
Jasper; then there's Ambrose and Sylvester; then there's
Culvato, which signifies Claude; then there's Piramus -
that's a nice name, brother."
"Then there's your wife's name, Pakomovna; then there's
Ursula and Morella."
"Then, brother, there's Ercilla."
"Ercilla! the name of the great poet of Spain, how wonderful;
then Leviathan."
"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."
"Ay, and Clementina and Lavinia, Camillia and Lydia, Curlanda
and Orlanda; wherever did they get those names?"
"Where did my wife get her necklace, brother?"
"She knows best, Jasper. I hope - "
"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."
"Whence could they have got it?"
"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."
"Some of your names, Jasper, appear to be church names; your
own, for example, and Ambrose, and 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
- "
"What is Slavonian, brother?"
"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?"
"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."
"By the bye, Jasper, I'm half inclined to think that crallis
is a Slavish word. I saw something like it in a lil called
'Voltaire's Life of Charles.' How you should have come by
such names and words is to me incomprehensible."
"You seem posed, brother."
"I really know very little about you, Jasper."
"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."
CHAPTER VIII
The Church - The Aristocratical Pew - Days of Yore - The
Clergyman - "In What Would a Man be Profited?"
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 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; 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.
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 defts 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 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:
"Every eye shall now behold Him,
Robed in dreadful majesty;
Those who set at nought and sold Him,
Pierced and nailed Him to the tree,
Deeply wailing,
Shall the true Messiah see."
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, 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.
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-. I had occasionally done so when a
child, and had suddenly woke up. Yes, surely I had been
asleep and had woke 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 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 bye, was it not the magic of the
words which brought the dear enchanting past so powerfully
before the 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-