Lavengro

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"Our forefathers slaughtered them, spilled their blood all about,
especially in this neighbourhood, destroyed their pleasant places, and
left not, to use their own words, one stone upon another."

"Yes, they did," said the shepherd, looking aloft at the transverse
stone.

"And it is well for them they did; whenever that stone, which English
hands never raised, is by English hands thrown down, woe, woe, woe to the
English race; spare it, English! Hengist spared it!--Here is sixpence."

"I won't have it," said the man.

"Why not?"

"You talk so prettily about these stones; you seem to know all about
them."

"I never receive presents; with respect to the stones, I say with
yourself, How did they ever come here?"

"How did they ever come here?" said the shepherd.

CHAPTER LXI.

The River--Arid Downs--A Prospect.

Leaving the shepherd, I bent my way in the direction pointed out by him
as that in which the most remarkable of the strange remains of which he
had spoken lay. I proceeded rapidly, making my way over the downs
covered with coarse grass and fern; with respect to the river of which he
had spoken, I reflected that, either by wading or swimming, I could
easily transfer myself and what I bore to the opposite side. On arriving
at its banks, I found it a beautiful stream, but shallow, with here and
there a deep place, where the water ran dark and still.

Always fond of the pure lymph, I undressed, and plunged into one of these
gulfs, from which I emerged, my whole frame in a glow, and tingling with
delicious sensations. After conveying my clothes and scanty baggage to
the farther side, I dressed, and then with hurried steps bent my course
in the direction of some lofty ground; I at length found myself on a high
road, leading over wide and arid downs; following the road for some miles
without seeing anything remarkable, I supposed at length that I had taken
the wrong path, and wended on slowly and disconsolately for some time,
till, having nearly surmounted a steep hill, I knew at once, from certain
appearances, that I was near the object of my search. Turning to the
right near the brow of the hill, I proceeded along a path which brought
me to a causeway leading over a deep ravine, and connecting the hill with
another which had once formed part of it, for the ravine was evidently
the work of art. I passed over the causeway, and found myself in a kind
of gateway which admitted me into a square space of many acres,
surrounded on all sides by mounds or ramparts of earth. Though I had
never been in such a place before, I knew that I stood within the
precincts of what had been a Roman encampment, and one probably of the
largest size, for many thousand warriors might have found room to perform
their evolutions in that space, in which corn was now growing, the green
ears waving in the morning wind.

After I had gazed about the space for a time, standing in the gateway
formed by the mounds, I clambered up the mound to the left hand, and on
the top of that mound I found myself at a great altitude; beneath, at the
distance of a mile, was a fair old city, situated amongst verdant
meadows, watered with streams, and from the heart of that old city, from
amidst mighty trees, I beheld towering to the sky the finest spire in the
world.

After I had looked from the Roman rampart for a long time, I hurried
away, and, retracing my steps along the causeway, regained the road, and,
passing over the brow of the hill, descended to the city of the spire.

CHAPTER LXII.

The Hostelry--Life Uncertain--Open Countenance--The Grand Point--Thank
You, Master--A Hard Mother--Poor Dear!--Considerable Odds--The Better
Country--English Fashion--Landlord-looking Person.

And in the old city I remained two days, passing my time as I best
could--inspecting the curiosities of the place, eating and drinking when
I felt so disposed, which I frequently did, the digestive organs having
assumed a tone to which for many months they had been strangers--enjoying
at night balmy sleep in a large bed in a dusky room, at the end of a
corridor, in a certain hostelry in which I had taken up my
quarters--receiving from the people of the hostelry such civility and
condescension as people who travel on foot with bundle and stick, but who
nevertheless are perceived to be not altogether destitute of coin, are in
the habit of receiving. On the third day, on a fine sunny afternoon, I
departed from the city of the spire.

As I was passing through one of the suburbs, I saw, all on a sudden, a
respectable-looking female fall down in a fit; several persons hastened
to her assistance. "She is dead," said one. "No, she is not," said
another. "I am afraid she is," said a third. "Life is very uncertain,"
said a fourth. "It is Mrs. ---," said a fifth; "let us carry her to her
own house." Not being able to render any assistance, I left the poor
female in the hands of her townsfolk, and proceeded on my way. I had
chosen a road in the direction of the north-west, it led over downs where
corn was growing, but where neither tree nor hedge was to be seen; two or
three hours' walking brought me to a beautiful valley, abounding with
trees of various kinds, with a delightful village at its farthest
extremity; passing through it I ascended a lofty acclivity, on the top of
which I sat down on a bank, and taking off my hat, permitted a breeze,
which swept coolly and refreshingly over the downs, to dry my hair,
dripping from the effects of exercise and the heat of the day.

And as I sat there, gazing now at the blue heavens, now at the downs
before me, a man came along the road in the direction in which I had
hitherto been proceeding: just opposite to me he stopped, and, looking at
me, cried--"Am I right for London, master?"

He was dressed like a sailor, and appeared to be between twenty-five and
thirty years of age--he had an open manly countenance, and there was a
bold and fearless expression in his eye.

"Yes," said I, in reply to his question; "this is one of the ways to
London. Do you come from far?"

"From ---," said the man, naming a well-known sea-port.

"Is this the direct road to London from that place?" I demanded.

"No," said the man; "but I had to visit two or three other places on
certain commissions I was entrusted with; amongst others to ---, where I
had to take a small sum of money. I am rather tired, master; and, if you
please, I will sit down beside you."

"You have as much right to sit down here as I have," said I, "the road is
free for every one; as for sitting down beside me, you have the look of
an honest man, and I have no objection to your company."

"Why, as for being honest, master," said the man, laughing and sitting
down beside me, "I hav'n't much to say--many is the wild thing I have
done when I was younger; however, what is done, is done. To learn, one
must live, master; and I have lived long enough to learn the grand point
of wisdom."

"What is that?" said I.

"That honesty is the best policy, master."

"You appear to be a sailor," said I, looking at his dress.

"I was not bred a sailor," said the man, "though, when my foot is on the
salt water, I can play the part--and play it well too. I am now from a
long voyage."

"From America?" said I.

"Farther than that," said the man.

"Have you any objection to tell me?" said I.

"From New South Wales," said the man, looking me full in the face.

"Dear me," said I.

"Why do you say 'Dear me'?" said the man.

"It is a very long way off," said I.

"Was that your reason for saying so?" said the man.

"Not exactly," said I.

"No," said the man, with something of a bitter smile; "it was something
else that made you say so; you were thinking of the convicts."

"Well," said I, "what then--you are no convict."

"How do you know?"

"You do not look like one."

"Thank you, master," said the man cheerfully; "and, to a certain extent,
you are right,--bygones are bygones--I am no longer what I was, nor ever
will be again; the truth, however, is the truth--a convict I have been--a
convict at Sydney Cove."

"And you have served out the period for which you were sentenced, and are
now returned?"

"As to serving out my sentence," replied the man, "I can't say that I
did; I was sentenced for fourteen years, and I was in Sydney Cove little
more than half that time. The truth is that I did the Government a
service. There was a conspiracy amongst some of the convicts to murder
and destroy--I overheard and informed the Government; mind one thing,
however, I was not concerned in it; those who got it up were no comrades
of mine, but a bloody gang of villains. Well, the Government, in
consideration of the service I had done them, remitted the remainder of
my sentence; and some kind gentlemen interested themselves about me, gave
me good books and good advice, and, being satisfied with my conduct,
procured me employ in an exploring expedition, by which I earned money.
In fact, the being sent to Sydney was the best thing that ever happened
to me in all my life."

"And you have now returned to your native country. Longing to see home
brought you from New South Wales."

"There you are mistaken," said the man. "Wish to see England again would
never have brought me so far; for, to tell you the truth, master, England
was a hard mother to me, as she has proved to many. No, a wish to see
another kind of mother--a poor old woman whose son I am--has brought me
back."

"You have a mother, then?" said I. "Does she reside in London?"

"She used to live in London," said the man; "but I am afraid she is long
since dead."

"How did she support herself?" said I.

"Support herself! with difficulty enough; she used to keep a small stall
on London Bridge, where she sold fruit; I am afraid she is dead, and that
she died perhaps in misery. She was a poor sinful creature; but I loved
her, and she loved me. I came all the way back merely for the chance of
seeing her."

"Did you ever write to her," said I, "or cause others to write to her?"

"I wrote to her myself," said the man, "about two years ago; but I never
received an answer. I learned to write very tolerably over there, by the
assistance of the good people I spoke of. As for reading, I could do
that very well before I went--my poor mother taught me to read, out of a
book that she was very fond of; a strange book it was, I remember. Poor
dear!--what would I give only to know that she is alive."

"Life is very uncertain," said I.

"That is true," said the man, with a sigh.

"We are here one moment, and gone the next," I continued. "As I passed
through the streets of a neighbouring town, I saw a respectable woman
drop down, and people said she was dead. Who knows but that she too had
a son coming to see her from a distance, at that very time."

"Who knows, indeed," said the man. "Ah, I am afraid my mother is dead.
Well, God's will be done."

"However," said I, "I should not wonder at your finding your mother
alive."

"You wouldn't?" said the man, looking at me wistfully.

"I should not wonder at all," said I; "indeed something within me seems
to tell me you will; I should not much mind betting five shillings to
five pence that you will see your mother within a week. Now, friend,
five shillings to five pence--"

"Is very considerable odds," said the man, rubbing his hands; "sure you
must have good reason to hope, when you are willing to give such odds."

"After all," said I, "it not unfrequently happens that those who lay the
long odds lose. Let us hope, however. What do you mean to do in the
event of finding your mother alive?"

"I scarcely know," said the man; "I have frequently thought that if I
found my mother alive I would attempt to persuade her to accompany me to
the country which I have left--it is a better country for a man--that is
a free man--to live in than this; however, let me first find my mother--if
I could only find my mother--"

"Farewell," said I, rising. "Go your way, and God go with you--I will go
mine." "I have but one thing to ask you," said the man. "What is that?"
I inquired. "That you would drink with me before we part--you have done
me so much good." "How should we drink?" said I; "we are on the top of a
hill where there is nothing to drink." "But there is a village below,"
said the man; "do let us drink before we part." "I have been through
that village already," said I, "and I do not like turning back." "Ah,"
said the man sorrowfully, "you will not drink with me because I told you
I was--"

"You are quite mistaken," said I, "I would as soon drink with a convict
as with a judge. I am by no means certain that, under the same
circumstances, the judge would be one whit better than the convict. Come
along! I will go back to oblige you. I have an odd sixpence in my
pocket, which I will change, that I may drink with you." So we went down
the hill together to the village through which I had already passed,
where, finding a public-house, we drank together in true English fashion,
after which we parted, the sailor-looking man going his way and I mine.

After walking about a dozen miles, I came to a town, where I rested for
the night. The next morning I set out again in the direction of the
north-west. I continued journeying for four days, my daily journeys
varying from twenty to twenty-five miles. During this time nothing
occurred to me worthy of any especial notice. The weather was brilliant,
and I rapidly improved both in strength and spirits. On the fifth day,
about two o'clock, I arrived at a small town. Feeling hungry, I entered
a decent-looking inn--within a kind of bar I saw a huge, fat, landlord-
looking person, with a very pretty, smartly-dressed maiden. Addressing
myself to the fat man, "House!" said I, "house! Can I have dinner,
house?"

CHAPTER LXIII.

Primitive Habits--Rosy-faced Damsel--A Pleasant Moment--Suit of Black--The
Furtive Glance--The Mighty Round--Degenerate Times--The Newspaper--The
Evil Chance--I Congratulate You.

"Young gentleman," said the huge fat landlord, "you are come at the right
time; dinner will be taken up in a few minutes, and such a dinner," he
continued, rubbing his hands, "as you will not see every day in these
times."

"I am hot and dusty," said I, "and should wish to cool my hands and
face."

"Jenny!" said the huge landlord, with the utmost gravity, "show the
gentleman into number seven, that he may wash his hands and face."

"By no means," said I, "I am a person of primitive habits, and there is
nothing like the pump in weather like this."

"Jenny!" said the landlord, with the same gravity as before, "go with the
young gentleman to the pump in the back kitchen, and take a clean towel
along with you."

Thereupon the rosy-faced clean-looking damsel went to a drawer, and
producing a large, thick, but snowy-white towel, she nodded to me to
follow her; whereupon I followed Jenny through a long passage into the
back kitchen.

And at the end of the back kitchen there stood a pump; and going to it I
placed my hands beneath the spout, and said, "Pump, Jenny;" and Jenny
incontinently, without laying down the towel, pumped with one hand, and I
washed and cooled my heated hands.

And, when my hands were washed and cooled, I took off my neckcloth, and
unbuttoning my shirt collar, I placed my head beneath the spout of the
pump, and I said unto Jenny, "Now, Jenny, lay down the towel, and pump
for your life."

Thereupon Jenny, placing the towel on a linen-horse, took the handle of
the pump with both hands and pumped over my head as handmaid had never
pumped before; so that the water poured in torrents from my head, my
face, and my hair down upon the brick floor.

And after the lapse of somewhat more than a minute, I called out with a
half-strangled voice, "Hold, Jenny!" and Jenny desisted. I stood for a
few moments to recover my breath, then taking the towel which Jenny
proffered, I dried composedly my hands and head, my face and hair; then,
returning the towel to Jenny, I gave a deep sigh and said, "Surely this
is one of the pleasant moments of life."

Then, having set my dress to rights, and combed my hair with a pocket
comb, I followed Jenny, who conducted me back through the long passage,
and showed me into a neat sanded parlour on the ground floor.

I sat down by a window which looked out upon the dusty street; presently
in came the handmaid, and commenced laying the table-cloth. "Shall I
spread the table for one, sir," said she, "or do you expect anybody to
dine with you?"

"I can't say that I expect anybody," said I, laughing inwardly to myself;
"however, if you please you can lay for two, so that if any acquaintance
of mine should chance to step in, he may find a knife and fork ready for
him."

So I sat by the window, sometimes looking out upon the dusty street, and
now glancing at certain old-fashioned prints which adorned the wall over
against me. I fell into a kind of doze, from which I was almost
instantly awakened by the opening of the door. Dinner, thought I; and I
sat upright in my chair. No, a man of the middle age, and rather above
the middle height dressed in a plain suit of black, made his appearance,
and sat down in a chair at some distance from me, but near to the table,
and appeared to be lost in thought.

"The weather is very warm, sir," said I.

"Very," said the stranger, laconically, looking at me for the first time.

"Would you like to see the newspaper?" said I, taking up one which lay
upon the window seat.

"I never read newspapers," said the stranger, "nor, indeed--." Whatever
it might be that he had intended to say he left unfinished. Suddenly he
walked to the mantel-piece at the farther end of the room, before which
he placed himself with his back towards me. There he remained motionless
for some time; at length, raising his hand, he touched the corner of the
mantel-piece with his finger, advanced towards the chair which he had
left, and again seated himself.

"Have you come far?" said he, suddenly looking towards me, and speaking
in a frank and open manner, which denoted a wish to enter into
conversation. "You do not seem to be of this place."

"I come from some distance," said I; "indeed I am walking for exercise,
which I find as necessary to the mind as the body. I believe that by
exercise people would escape much mental misery."

Scarcely had I uttered these words when the stranger laid his hand, with
seeming carelessness, upon the table, near one of the glasses; after a
moment or two he touched the glass as if inadvertently, then, glancing
furtively at me, he withdrew his hand and looked towards the window.

"Are you from these parts?" said I at last, with apparent carelessness.

"From this vicinity," replied the stranger. "You think, then, that it is
as easy to walk off the bad humours of the mind as of the body?"

"I, at least, am walking in that hope," said I.

"I wish you may be successful," said the stranger; and here he touched
one of the forks which lay on the table near him.

Here the door, which was slightly ajar, was suddenly pushed open with
some fracas, and in came the stout landlord, supporting with some
difficulty an immense dish, in which was a mighty round mass of smoking
meat garnished all round with vegetables; so high was the mass that it
probably obstructed his view, for it was not until he had placed it upon
the table that he appeared to observe the stranger; he almost started,
and quite out of breath exclaimed, "God bless me, your honour; is your
honour the acquaintance that the young gentleman was expecting?"

"Is the young gentleman expecting an acquaintance?" said the stranger.

There is nothing like putting a good face upon these matters, thought I
to myself; and, getting up, I bowed to the unknown. "Sir," said I, "when
I told Jenny that she might lay the table-cloth for two, so that in the
event of any acquaintance dropping in he might find a knife and fork
ready for him, I was merely jocular, being an entire stranger in these
parts, and expecting no one. Fortune, however, it would seem, has been
unexpectedly kind to me; I flatter myself, sir, that since you have been
in this room I have had the honour of making your acquaintance; and in
the strength of that hope I humbly entreat you to honour me with your
company to dinner, provided you have not already dined."

The stranger laughed outright.

"Sir," I continued, "the round of beef is a noble one, and seems
exceedingly well boiled, and the landlord was just right when he said I
should have such a dinner as is not seen every day. A round of beef, at
any rate such a round of beef as this, is seldom seen smoking upon the
table in these degenerate times. Allow me, sir," said I, observing that
the stranger was about to speak, "allow me another remark. I think I saw
you just now touch the fork, I venture to hail it as an omen that you
will presently seize it, and apply it to its proper purpose, and its
companion the knife also."

The stranger changed colour, and gazed upon me in silence.

"Do, sir," here put in the landlord; "do, sir, accept the young
gentleman's invitation. Your honour has of late been looking poorly, and
the young gentleman is a funny young gentleman, and a clever young
gentleman; and I think it will do your honour good to have a dinner's
chat with the young gentleman."

"It is not my dinner hour," said the stranger; "I dine considerably
later; taking anything now would only discompose me; I shall, however, be
most happy to sit down with the young gentleman; reach me that paper,
and, when the young gentleman has satisfied his appetite, we may perhaps
have a little chat together."

The landlord handed the stranger the newspaper, and, bowing, retired with
his maid Jenny. I helped myself to a portion of the smoking round, and
commenced eating with no little appetite. The stranger appeared to be
soon engrossed with the newspaper. We continued thus a considerable
time--the one reading and the other dining. Chancing suddenly to cast my
eyes upon the stranger, I saw his brow contract; he gave a slight stamp
with his foot, and flung the newspaper to the ground, then stooping down
he picked it up, first moving his fore finger along the floor, seemingly
slightly scratching it with his nail.

"Do you hope, sir," said I, "by that ceremony with the finger to preserve
yourself from the evil chance?"

The stranger started; then, after looking at me for some time in silence,
he said, "Is it possible that you--?"

"Ay, ay," said I, helping myself to some more of the round, "I have
touched myself in my younger days, both for the evil chance and the good.
Can't say, though, that I ever trusted much in the ceremony."

The stranger made no reply, but appeared to be in deep thought; nothing
further passed between us until I had concluded the dinner, when I said
to him, "I shall now be most happy, sir, to have the pleasure of your
conversation over a pint of wine."

The stranger rose; "No, my young friend," said he, smiling, "that would
scarce be fair. It is my turn now--pray do me the favour to go home with
me, and accept what hospitality my poor roof can offer; to tell you the
truth, I wish to have some particular discourse with you which would
hardly be possible in this place. As for wine, I can give you some much
better than you can get here: the landlord is an excellent fellow, but he
is an inn-keeper, after all. I am going out for a moment, and will send
him in, so that you may settle your account; I trust you will not refuse
me, I only live about two miles from here."

I looked in the face of the stranger--it was a fine intelligent face,
with a cast of melancholy in it. "Sir," said I, "I would go with you
though you lived four miles instead of two."

"Who is that gentleman?" said I to the landlord, after I had settled his
bill; "I am going home with him."

"I wish I were going too," said the fat landlord, laying his hand upon
his stomach. "Young gentleman, I shall be a loser by his honour's taking
you away; but, after all, the truth is the truth--there are few gentlemen
in these parts like his honour, either for learning or welcoming his
friends. Young gentleman, I congratulate you."

CHAPTER LXIV.

New Acquaintance--Old French Style--The Portrait--Taciturnity--The
Evergreen Tree--The Dark Hour--The Flash--Ancestors--A Fortunate Man--A
Posthumous Child--Antagonistic Ideas--The Hawks--Flaws--The
Pony--Irresistible Impulse--Favourable Crisis--The Topmost Branch--Twenty
Feet--Heartily Ashamed.

I found the stranger awaiting me at the door of the inn. "Like yourself,
I am fond of walking," said he, "and when any little business calls me to
this place I generally come on foot."

We were soon out of the town, and in a very beautiful country. After
proceeding some distance on the high road, we turned off, and were
presently in one of those mazes of lanes for which England is famous; the
stranger at first seemed inclined to be taciturn; a few observations,
however, which I made, appeared to rouse him, and he soon exhibited not
only considerable powers of observation, but stores of information which
surprised me. So pleased did I become with my new acquaintance, that I
soon ceased to pay the slightest attention either to place or distance.
At length the stranger was silent, and I perceived that we had arrived at
a handsome iron gate and lodge; the stranger having rung a bell, the gate
was opened by an old man, and we proceeded along a gravel path, which in
about five minutes brought us to a large brick house, built something in
the old French style, having a spacious lawn before it, and immediately
in front a pond in which were golden fish, and in the middle a stone swan
discharging quantities of water from its bill. We ascended a spacious
flight of steps to the door, which was at once flung open, and two
servants with powdered hair, and in livery of blue plush, came out and
stood one on either side as we passed the threshold. We entered a large
hall, and the stranger, taking me by the hand, welcomed me to his poor
home, as he called it, and then gave orders to another servant, but out
of livery, to show me to an apartment, and give me whatever assistance I
might require in my toilette. Notwithstanding the plea as to primitive
habits which I had lately made to my other host in the town, I offered no
objection to this arrangement, but followed the bowing domestic to a
spacious and airy chamber, where he rendered me all those little nameless
offices which the somewhat neglected state of my dress required. When
everything had been completed to my perfect satisfaction, he told me that
if I pleased he would conduct me to the library, where dinner would be
speedily served.