Lavengro

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_Myself_.--Don't swear, it's a bad habit, neither pleasant nor
profitable. Your name is Slingsby--Jack Slingsby. There, don't stare,
there's nothing in my telling you your name: I've been in these parts
before, at least not very far from here. Ten years ago, when I was
little more than a child, I was about twenty miles from here in a post
chaise, at the door of an inn, and as I looked from the window of the
chaise, I saw you standing by a gutter, with a big tin ladle in your
hand, and somebody called you Jack Slingsby. I never forget anything I
hear or see; I can't, I wish I could. So there's nothing strange in my
knowing your name; indeed, there's nothing strange in anything, provided
you examine it to the bottom. Now what am I to give you for the things?

I paid Slingsby five pounds ten shillings for his stock in trade, cart,
and pony--purchased sundry provisions of the landlady, also a wagoner's
frock, which had belonged to a certain son of hers, deceased, gave my
little animal a feed of corn, and prepared to depart.

"God bless you, young man," said Slingsby, shaking me by the hand, "you
are the best friend I've had for many a day: I have but one thing to tell
you, Don't cross that fellow's path if you can help it; and stay--should
the pony refuse to go, just touch him so, and he'll fly like the wind."

CHAPTER LXIX.

Effects of Corn--One Night Longer--The Hoofs--A Stumble--Are you
Hurt?--What a Difference!--Drowsy--Maze of Bushes--Housekeeping--Sticks
and Furze--The Driftway--Account of Stock--Anvil and Bellows--Twenty
Years.

It was two or three hours past noon when I took my departure from the
place of the last adventure, walking by the side of my little cart; the
pony, invigorated by the corn, to which he was probably not much
accustomed, proceeded right gallantly; so far from having to hasten him
forward by the particular application which the tinker had pointed out to
me, I had rather to repress his eagerness, being, though an excellent
pedestrian, not unfrequently left behind. The country through which I
passed was beautiful and interesting, but solitary: few habitations
appeared. As it was quite a matter of indifference to me in what
direction I went, the whole world being before me, I allowed the pony to
decide upon the matter; it was not long before he left the high road,
being probably no friend to public places. I followed him I knew not
whither, but, from subsequent observation, have reason to suppose that
our course was in a north-west direction. At length night came upon us,
and a cold wind sprang up, which was succeeded by a drizzling rain.

I had originally intended to pass the night in the cart, or to pitch my
little tent on some convenient spot by the road's side; but, owing to the
alteration in the weather, I thought that it would be advisable to take
up my quarters in any hedge alehouse at which I might arrive. To tell
the truth, I was not very sorry to have an excuse to pass the night once
more beneath a roof. I had determined to live quite independent, but I
had never before passed a night by myself abroad, and felt a little
apprehensive at the idea; I hoped, however, on the morrow, to be a little
more prepared for the step, so I determined for one night--only for one
night longer--to sleep like a Christian; but human determinations are not
always put into effect, such a thing as opportunity is frequently
wanting, such was the case here. I went on for a considerable time, in
expectation of coming to some rustic hostelry, but nothing of the kind
presented itself to my eyes; the country in which I now was seemed almost
uninhabited, not a house of any kind was to be seen--at least I saw
none--though it is true houses might be near without my seeing them,
owing to the darkness of the night, for neither moon nor star was abroad.
I heard, occasionally, the bark of dogs; but the sound appeared to come
from an immense distance. The rain still fell, and the ground beneath my
feet was wet and miry; in short, it was a night in which even a tramper
by profession would feel more comfortable in being housed than abroad. I
followed in the rear of the cart, the pony still proceeding at a sturdy
pace, till methought I heard other hoofs than those of my own nag; I
listened for a moment, and distinctly heard the sound of hoofs
approaching at a great rate, and evidently from the quarter towards which
I and my little caravan were moving. We were in a dark lane--so dark
that it was impossible for me to see my own hand. Apprehensive that some
accident might occur, I ran forward, and, seizing the pony by the bridle,
drew him as near as I could to the hedge. On came the hoofs--trot, trot,
trot; and evidently more than those of one horse; their speed as they
advanced appeared to slacken--it was only, however, for a moment. I
heard a voice cry, "Push on,--this is a desperate robbing place,--never
mind the dark;" and the hoofs came on quicker than before. "Stop!" said
I, at the top of my voice; "stop! or--" Before I could finish what I was
about to say there was a stumble, a heavy fall, a cry, and a groan, and
putting out my foot I felt what I conjectured to be the head of a horse
stretched upon the road. "Lord have mercy upon us! what's the matter?"
exclaimed a voice. "Spare my life," cried another voice, apparently from
the ground; "only spare my life, and take all I have." "Where are you,
Master Wise?" cried the other voice. "Help! here, Master Bat," cried the
voice from the ground, "help me up or I shall be murdered." "Why, what's
the matter?" said Bat. "Some one has knocked me down, and is robbing
me," said the voice from the ground. "Help! murder!" cried Bat; and,
regardless of the entreaties of the man on the ground that he would stay
and help him up, he urged his horse forward and galloped away as fast as
he could. I remained for some time quiet, listening to various groans
and exclamations uttered by the person on the ground; at length I said,
"Holloa! are you hurt?" "Spare my life, and take all I have!" said the
voice from the ground. "Have they not done robbing you yet?" said I;
"when they have finished let me know, and I will come and help you." "Who
is that?" said the voice; "pray come and help me, and do me no mischief."
"You were saying that some one was robbing you," said I; "don't think I
shall come till he is gone away." "Then you ben't he?" said the voice.
"Ar'n't you robbed?" said I. "Can't say I be," said the voice; "not yet
at any rate; but who are you? I don't know you." "A traveller whom you
and your partner were going to run over in this dark lane; you almost
frightened me out of my senses." "Frightened!" said the voice, in a
louder tone; "frightened! oh!" and thereupon I heard somebody getting
upon his legs. This accomplished, the individual proceeded to attend to
his horse, and with a little difficulty raised him upon his legs also.
"Ar'n't you hurt?" said I. "Hurt!" said the voice; "not I; don't think
it, whatever the horse may be. I tell you what, my fellow, I thought you
were a robber, and now I find you are not; I have a good mind--" "To do
what?" "To serve you out; ar'n't you ashamed--?" "At what?" said I;
"not to have robbed you? Shall I set about it now?" "Ha, ha!" said the
man, dropping the bullying tone which he had assumed; "you are
joking--robbing! who talks of robbing? I wonder how my horse's knees
are; not much hurt, I think--only mired." The man, whoever he was, then
got upon his horse; and, after moving him about a little, said, "Good
night, friend; where are you?" "Here I am," said I, "just behind you."
"You are, are you? Take that." I know not what he did, but probably
pricking his horse with the spur the animal kicked out violently; one of
his heels struck me on the shoulder, but luckily missed my face; I fell
back with the violence of the blow, whilst the fellow scampered off at a
great rate. Stopping at some distance, he loaded me with abuse, and
then, continuing his way at a rapid trot, I heard no more of him.

"What a difference!" said I, getting up; "last night I was feted in the
hall of a rich genius, and to-night I am knocked down and mired in a dark
lane by the heel of Master Wise's horse--I wonder who gave him that name?
And yet he was wise enough to wreak his revenge upon me, and I was not
wise enough to keep out of his way. Well, I am not much hurt, so it is
of little consequence."

I now bethought me that, as I had a carriage of my own, I might as well
make use of it; I therefore got into the cart, and, taking the reins in
my hand, gave an encouraging cry to the pony, whereupon the sturdy little
animal started again at as brisk a pace as if he had not already come
many a long mile. I lay half reclining in the cart, holding the reins
lazily, and allowing the animal to go just where he pleased, often
wondering where he would conduct me. At length I felt drowsy, and my
head sank upon my breast; I soon aroused myself, but it was only to doze
again; this occurred several times. Opening my eyes after a doze
somewhat longer than the others, I found that the drizzling rain had
ceased, a corner of the moon was apparent in the heavens, casting a faint
light; I looked around for a moment or two, but my eyes and brain were
heavy with slumber, and I could scarcely distinguish where we were. I
had a kind of dim consciousness that we were traversing an uninclosed
country--perhaps a heath; I thought, however, that I saw certain large
black objects looming in the distance, which I had a confused idea might
be woods or plantations; the pony still moved at his usual pace. I did
not find the jolting of the cart at all disagreeable; on the contrary, it
had quite a somniferous effect upon me. Again my eyes closed; I opened
them once more, but with less perception in them than before, looked
forward, and, muttering something about woodlands, I placed myself in an
easier posture than I had hitherto done, and fairly fell asleep.

How long I continued in that state I am unable to say, but I believe for
a considerable time; I was suddenly awakened by the ceasing of the
jolting to which I had become accustomed, and of which I was perfectly
sensible in my sleep. I started up and looked around me, the moon was
still shining, and the face of the heaven was studded with stars; I found
myself amidst a haze of bushes of various kinds, but principally hazel
and holly, through which was a path or driftway with grass growing on
either side, upon which the pony was already diligently browsing. I
conjectured that this place had been one of the haunts of his former
master, and, on dismounting and looking about, was strengthened in that
opinion by finding a spot under an ash tree which, from its burnt and
blackened appearance, seemed to have been frequently used as a
fire-place. I will take up my quarters here, thought I; it is an
excellent spot for me to commence my new profession in; I was quite right
to trust myself to the guidance of the pony. Unharnessing the animal
without delay, I permitted him to browse at free will on the grass,
convinced that he would not wander far from a place to which he was so
much attached; I then pitched the little tent close beside the ash tree
to which I have alluded, and conveyed two or three articles into it, and
instantly felt that I had commenced housekeeping for the first time in my
life. Housekeeping, however, without a fire is a very sorry affair,
something like the housekeeping of children in their toy houses; of this
I was the more sensible from feeling very cold and shivering, owing to my
late exposure to the rain, and sleeping in the night air. Collecting,
therefore, all the dry sticks and furze I could find, I placed them upon
the fire-place, adding certain chips and a billet which I found in the
cart, it having apparently been the habit of Slingsby to carry with him a
small store of fuel. Having then struck a spark in a tinder-box and
lighted a match, I set fire to the combustible heap, and was not slow in
raising a cheerful blaze; I then drew my cart near the fire, and, seating
myself on one of the shafts, hung over the warmth with feelings of
intense pleasure and satisfaction. Having continued in the posture for a
considerable time, I turned my eyes to the heaven in the direction of a
particular star; I, however, could not find the star, nor indeed many of
the starry train, the greater number having fled, from which
circumstance, and from the appearance of the sky, I concluded that
morning was nigh. About this time I again began to feel drowsy; I
therefore arose, and having prepared for myself a kind of couch in the
tent, I flung myself upon it and went to sleep.

I will not say that I was awakened in the morning by the carolling of
birds, as I perhaps might if I were writing a novel; I awoke because, to
use vulgar language, I had slept my sleep out, not because the birds were
carolling around me in numbers, as they had probably been for hours
without my hearing them. I got up and left my tent; the morning was yet
more bright than that of the preceding day. Impelled by curiosity, I
walked about, endeavouring to ascertain to what place chance, or rather
the pony, had brought me; following the driftway for some time, amidst
bushes and stunted trees, I came to a grove of dark pines, through which
it appeared to lead; I tracked it a few hundred yards, but seeing nothing
but trees, and the way being wet and sloughy, owing to the recent rain, I
returned on my steps, and, pursuing the path in another direction, came
to a sandy road leading over a common, doubtless the one I had traversed
the preceding night. My curiosity satisfied, I returned to my little
encampment, and on the way beheld a small footpath on the left winding
through the bushes, which had before escaped my observation. Having
reached my tent and cart, I breakfasted on some of the provisions which I
had procured the day before, and then proceeded to take a regular account
of the stock formerly possessed by Slingsby the tinker, but now become my
own by right of lawful purchase.

Besides the pony, the cart, and the tent, I found I was possessed of a
mattress stuffed with straw on which to lie, and a blanket to cover me,
the last quite clean and nearly new; then there was a frying pan and a
kettle, the first for cooking any food which required cooking, and the
second for heating any water which I might wish to heat. I likewise
found an earthen teapot and two or three cups; of the first I should
rather say I found the remains, it being broken in three parts, no doubt
since it came into my possession, which would have precluded the
possibility of my asking anybody to tea for the present, should anybody
visit me, even supposing I had tea and sugar, which was not the case. I
then overhauled what might more strictly be called the stock in trade;
this consisted of various tools, an iron ladle, a chafing pan and small
bellows, sundry pans and kettles, the latter being of tin, with the
exception of one which was of copper, all in a state of considerable
dilapidation--if I may use the term; of these first Slingsby had spoken
in particular, advising me to mend them as soon as possible, and to
endeavour to sell them, in order that I might have the satisfaction of
receiving some return upon the outlay which I had made. There was
likewise a small quantity of block tin, sheet tin, and solder. "This
Slingsby," said I, "is certainly a very honest man, he has sold me more
than my money's worth; I believe, however, there is something more in the
cart." Thereupon I rummaged the farther end of the cart, and, amidst a
quantity of straw, I found a small anvil and bellows of that kind which
are used in forges, and two hammers such as smiths use, one great, and
the other small.

The sight of these last articles caused me no little surprise, as no word
which had escaped from the mouth of Slingsby have given me reason to
suppose that he had ever followed the occupation of a smith; yet, if he
had not, how did he come by them? I sat down upon the shaft, and
pondered the question deliberately in my mind; at length I concluded that
he had come by them by one of those numerous casualties which occur upon
the roads, of which I, being a young hand upon the roads, must have a
very imperfect conception; honestly, of course--for I scouted the idea
that Slingsby would have stolen this blacksmith's gear--for I had the
highest opinion of his honesty, which opinion I still retain at the
present day, which is upwards of twenty years from the time of which I am
speaking, during the whole of which period I have neither seen the poor
fellow, nor received any intelligence of him.

CHAPTER LXX.

New Profession--Beautiful Night--Jupiter--Sharp and Shrill--The Rommany
Chi--All Alone--Three and Sixpence--What is Rommany?--Be Civil--Parraco
Tute--Slight Start--She Will Be Grateful--The Rustling.

I passed the greater part of the day in endeavouring to teach myself the
mysteries of my new profession. I cannot say that I was very successful,
but the time passed agreeably, and was therefore not ill spent. Towards
evening I flung my work aside, took some refreshment, and afterwards a
walk.

This time I turned up the small footpath, of which I have already spoken.
It led in a zigzag manner through thickets of hazel, elder, and sweet
briar; after following its windings for somewhat better than a furlong, I
heard a gentle sound of water, and presently came to a small rill, which
ran directly across the path. I was rejoiced at the sight, for I had
already experienced the want of water, which I yet knew must be nigh at
hand, as I was in a place to all appearance occasionally frequented by
wandering people, who I was aware never take up their quarters in places
where water is difficult to be obtained. Forthwith I stretched myself on
the ground, and took a long and delicious draught of the crystal stream,
and then, seating myself in a bush, I continued for some time gazing on
the water as it purled tinkling away in its channel through an opening in
the hazels, and should have probably continued much longer had not the
thought that I had left my property unprotected compelled me to rise and
return to my encampment.

Night came on, and a beautiful night it was; up rose the moon, and
innumerable stars decked the firmament of heaven. I sat on the shaft, my
eyes turned upwards. I had found it: there it was twinkling millions of
miles above me, mightiest star of the system to which we belong: of all
stars, the one which has the most interest for me--the star Jupiter.

Why have I always taken an interest in thee, O Jupiter? I know nothing
about thee, save what every child knows, that thou art a big star, whose
only light is derived from moons. And is not that knowledge enough to
make me feel an interest in thee? Ay, truly, I never look at thee
without wondering what is going on in thee; what is life in Jupiter? That
there is life in Jupiter who can doubt? There is life in our own little
star, therefore there must be life in Jupiter, which is not a little
star. But how different must life be in Jupiter from what it is in our
own little star! Life here is life beneath the dear sun--life in Jupiter
is life beneath moons--four moons--no single moon is able to illumine
that vast bulk. All know what life is in our own little star; it is
anything but a routine of happiness here, where the dear sun rises to us
every day: then how sad and moping must life be in mighty Jupiter, on
which no sun ever shines, and which is never lighted save by pale
moonbeams! The thought that there is more sadness and melancholy in
Jupiter than in this world of ours, where, alas! there is but too much,
has always made me take a melancholy interest in that huge distant star.

Two or three days passed by in much the same manner as the first. During
the morning I worked upon my kettles, and employed the remaining part of
the day as I best could. The whole of this time I only saw two
individuals, rustics, who passed by my encampment without vouchsafing me
a glance; they probably considered themselves my superiors, as perhaps
they were.

One very brilliant morning, as I sat at work in very good spirits, for by
this time I had actually mended in a very creditable way, as I imagined,
two kettles and a frying pan, I heard a voice which seemed to proceed
from the path leading to the rivulet; at first it sounded from a
considerable distance, but drew nearer by degrees. I soon remarked that
the tones were exceedingly sharp and shrill, with yet something of
childhood in them. Once or twice I distinguished certain words in the
song which the voice was singing; the words were--but no, I thought again
I was probably mistaken--and then the voice ceased for a time; presently
I heard it again, close to the entrance of the footpath; in another
moment I heard it in the lane or glade in which stood my tent, where it
abruptly stopped, but not before I had heard the very words which I at
first thought I had distinguished.

I turned my head: at the entrance of the footpath, which might be about
thirty yards from the place where I was sitting, I perceived the figure
of a young girl; her face was turned towards me, and she appeared to be
scanning me and my encampment; after a little time she looked in the
other direction, only for a moment, however; probably observing nothing
in that quarter, she again looked towards me and almost immediately
stepped forward; and, as she advanced, sang the song which I had heard in
the wood, the first words of which were those which I have already
alluded to.

"The Rommany chi
And the Rommany chal,
Shall jaw tasaulor
To drab the bawlor,
And dook the gry
Of the farming rye."

A very pretty song, thought I, falling again hard to work upon my kettle;
a very pretty song, which bodes the farmers much good. Let them look to
their cattle.

"All alone here, brother?" said a voice close by me, in sharp but not
disagreeable tones.

I made no answer, but continued my work, click, click, with the gravity
which became one of my profession. I allowed at least half a minute to
elapse before I even lifted up my eyes.

A girl of about thirteen was standing before me; her features were very
pretty, but with a peculiar expression; her complexion was a clear olive,
and her jet black hair hung back upon her shoulders. She was rather
scantily dressed, and her arms and feet were bare; round her neck,
however, was a handsome string of corals, with ornaments of gold; in her
hand she held a bulrush.

"All alone here, brother?" said the girl, as I looked up; "all alone
here, in the lane; where are your wife and children?"

"Why do you call me brother?" said I; "I am no brother of yours. Do you
take me for one of your people? I am no gypsy; not I, indeed!"

"Don't be afraid, brother, you are no Roman--Roman indeed, you are not
handsome enough to be a Roman; not black enough, tinker though you be. If
I called you brother, it was because I didn't know what else to call you.
Marry, come up, brother, I should be very sorry to have you for a
brother."

"Then you don't like me?"

"Neither like you, nor dislike you, brother; what will you have for that
kekaubi?"

"What's the use of talking to me in that un-Christian way; what do you
mean, young gentlewoman?"

"Lord, brother, what a fool you are; every tinker knows what a kekaubi
is. I was asking you what you would have for that kettle."

"Three-and-sixpence, young gentlewoman; isn't it well mended?"

"Well mended! I could have done it better myself; three-and-sixpence!
it's only fit to be played at football with."

"I will take no less for it, young gentlewoman; it has caused me a world
of trouble."

"I never saw a worse mended kettle. I say, brother, your hair is white."

"'Tis nature; your hair is black; nature, nothing but nature."

"I am young, brother; my hair is black--that's nature: you are young,
brother; your hair is white--that's not nature."

"I can't help it if it be not, but it is nature after all; did you never
see grey hair on the young?"

"Never! I have heard it is true of a grey lad, and a bad one he was. Oh,
so bad."

"Sit down on the grass, and tell me all about it, sister; do to oblige
me, pretty sister."

"Hey, brother, you don't speak as you did--you don't speak like a gorgio,
you speak like one of us, you call me sister."

"As you call me brother; I am not an uncivil person after all, sister."

"I say, brother, tell me one thing, and look me in the face--there--do
you speak Rommany?"

"Rommany! Rommany! what is Rommany?"

"What is Rommany? our language, to be sure; tell me, brother, only one
thing, you don't speak Rommany?"

"You say it."

"I don't say it, I wish to know. Do you speak Rommany?"

"Do you mean thieves' slang--cant? no, I don't speak cant, I don't like
it, I only know a few words; they call a sixpence a tanner, don't they?"