Lavengro

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"Some popish saint, I suppose," said Peter.

"As much of a saint, I dare say," said I, "as most popish ones; but you
interrupted me. One part of your narrative brought the passage which I
have quoted into my mind. You said that after you had committed this
same sin of yours you were in the habit, at school, of looking upon your
schoolfellows with a kind of gloomy superiority, considering yourself a
lone monstrous being who had committed a sin far above the daring of any
of them. Are you sure that many others of your schoolfellows were not
looking upon you and the others with much the same eyes with which you
were looking upon them!"

"How!" said Peter, "dost thou think that they had divined my secret?"

"Not they," said I; "they were, I dare say, thinking too much of
themselves and of their own concerns to have divined any secrets of
yours. All I mean to say is, they had probably secrets of their own, and
who knows that the secret sin of more than one of them was not the very
sin which caused you so much misery?"

"Dost thou then imagine," said Peter, "the sin against the Holy Ghost to
be so common an occurrence?"

"As you have described it," said I, "of very common occurrence,
especially amongst children, who are, indeed, the only beings likely to
commit it."

"Truly," said Winifred, "the young man talks wisely."

Peter was silent for some moments, and appeared to be reflecting; at
last, suddenly raising his head, he looked me full in the face, and,
grasping my hand with vehemence, he said, "Tell me, young man, only one
thing, hast thou, too, committed the sin against the Holy Ghost?"

"I am neither Papist nor Methodist," said I, "but of the Church, and,
being so, confess myself to no one, but keep my own counsel; I will tell
thee, however, had I committed, at the same age, twenty such sins as that
which you committed, I should feel no uneasiness at these years--but I am
sleepy, and must go to rest."

"God bless thee, young man," said Winifred.

CHAPTER LXXVIII.

Low and Calm--Much Better--Blessed Effect--No Answer--Such a Sermon.

Before I sank to rest I heard Winifred and her husband conversing in the
place where I had left them; both their voices were low and calm. I soon
fell asleep, and slumbered for some time. On my awakening I again heard
them conversing, but they were now in their cart; still the voices of
both were calm. I heard no passionate bursts of wild despair on the part
of the man. Methought I occasionally heard the word Pechod proceeding
from the lips of each, but with no particular emphasis. I supposed they
were talking of the innate sin of both their hearts.

"I wish that man were happy," said I to myself, "were it only for his
wife's sake, and yet he deserves to be happy for his own."

The next day Peter was very cheerful, more cheerful than I had ever seen
him. At breakfast his conversation was animated, and he smiled
repeatedly. I looked at him with the greatest interest, and the eyes of
his wife were almost constantly fixed upon him. A shade of gloom would
occasionally come over his countenance, but it almost instantly
disappeared; perhaps it proceeded more from habit than anything else.
After breakfast he took his Welsh Bible and sat down beneath a tree. His
eyes were soon fixed intently on the volume; now and then he would call
his wife, show her some passage, and appeared to consult with her. The
day passed quickly and comfortably.

"Your husband seems much better," said I, at evening fall, to Winifred,
as we chanced to be alone.

"He does," said Winifred, "and that on the day of the week when he was
wont to appear most melancholy, for to-morrow is the Sabbath. He now no
longer looks forward to the Sabbath with dread, but appears to reckon on
it. What a happy change! and to think that this change should have been
produced by a few words, seemingly careless ones, proceeding from the
mouth of one who is almost a stranger to him. Truly, it is wonderful."

"To whom do you allude," said I; "and to what words?"

"To yourself, and to the words which came from your lips last night,
after you had heard my poor husband's history. Those strange words,
drawn out with so much seeming indifference, have produced in my husband
the blessed effect which you have observed. They have altered the
current of his ideas. He no longer thinks himself the only being in the
world doomed to destruction,--the only being capable of committing the
never-to-be-forgiven sin. Your supposition that that which harrowed his
soul is of frequent occurrence amongst children, has tranquillized him;
the mist which hung over his mind has cleared away, and he begins to see
the groundlessness of his apprehensions. The Lord has permitted him to
be chastened for a season, but his lamp will only burn the brighter for
what he has undergone."

Sunday came, fine and glorious as the last. Again my friends and myself
breakfasted together--again the good family of the house on the hill
above, headed by the respectable master, descended to the meadow. Peter
and his wife were ready to receive them. Again Peter placed himself at
the side of the honest farmer, and Winifred by the side of her friend.
"Wilt thou not come?" said Peter, looking towards me with a face in which
there was much emotion. "Wilt thou not come?" said Winifred, with a face
beaming with kindness. But I made no answer, and presently the party
moved away, in the same manner in which it had moved on the preceding
sabbath, and I was again left alone.

The hours of the sabbath passed slowly away. I sat gazing at the sky,
the trees, and the water. At last I strolled up to the house and sat
down in the porch. It was empty; there was no modest maiden there, as on
the preceding sabbath. The damsel of the book had accompanied the rest.
I had seen her in the procession, and the house appeared quite deserted.
The owners had probably left it to my custody, so I sat down in the
porch, quite alone. The hours of the sabbath passed heavily away.

At last evening came, and with it the party of the morning, I was now at
my place beneath the oak. I went forward to meet them. Peter and his
wife received me with a calm and quiet greeting, and passed forward. The
rest of the party had broke into groups. There was a kind of excitement
amongst them, and much eager whispering. I went to one of the groups;
the young girl of whom I have spoken more than once, was speaking: "Such
a sermon," said she, "it has never been our lot to hear; Peter never
before spoke as he has done this day--he was always a powerful preacher;
but oh, the unction of the discourse of this morning, and yet more of
that of the afternoon, which was the continuation of it." "What was the
subject?" said I, interrupting her. "Ah! you should have been there,
young man, to have heard it; it would have made a lasting impression upon
you. I was bathed in tears all the time; those who heard it will never
forget the preaching of the good Peter Williams on the Power, Providence,
and Goodness of God."

CHAPTER LXXIX.

Deep Interest--Goodly Country--Two Mansions--Welshman's Candle--Beautiful
Universe--Godly Discourse--Fine Church--Points of Doctrine--Strange
Adventures--Paltry Cause--Roman Pontiff--Evil Spirit.

On the morrow I said to my friends, "I am about to depart; farewell!"
"Depart!" said Peter and his wife, simultaneously, "whither wouldst thou
go?" "I can't stay here all my days," I replied. "Of course not," said
Peter; "but we had no idea of losing thee so soon: we had almost hoped
that thou wouldst join us, become one of us. We are under infinite
obligations to thee." "You mean I am under infinite obligations to you,"
said I. "Did you not save my life?" "Perhaps so, under God," said
Peter; "and what hast thou not done for me? Art thou aware that, under
God, thou hast preserved my soul from despair? But, independent of that,
we like thy company, and feel a deep interest in thee, and would fain
teach thee the way that is right. Hearken, to-morrow we go into Wales;
go with us." "I have no wish to go into Wales," said I. "Why not?" said
Peter, with animation, "Wales is a goodly country; as the Scripture
says--a land of brooks of water, of fountains and depths, that spring out
of valleys and hills, a land whose stones are iron, and out of whose
hills thou mayest dig lead."

"I dare say it is a very fine country," said I, "but I have no wish to go
there just now; my destiny seems to point in another direction, to say
nothing of my trade." "Thou dost right to say nothing of thy trade,"
said Peter, smiling, "for thou seemest to care nothing about it; which
has led Winifred and myself to suspect that thou art not altogether what
thou seemest; but, setting that aside, we should be most happy if thou
wouldst go with us into Wales." "I cannot promise to go with you into
Wales," said I; "but, as you depart to-morrow, I will stay with you
through the day, and on the morrow accompany you part of the way." "Do,"
said Peter. "I have many people to see to-day, and so has Winifred; but
we will both endeavour to have some serious discourse with thee, which,
perhaps, will turn to thy profit in the end."

In the course of the day the good Peter came to me, as I was seated
beneath the oak, and, placing himself by me, commenced addressing me in
the following manner:--

"I have no doubt, my young friend, that you are willing to admit, that
the most important thing which a human being possesses is his soul; it is
of infinite more importance than the body, which is a frail substance,
and cannot last for many years; but not so the soul, which, by its
nature, is imperishable. To one of two mansions the soul is destined to
depart, after its separation from the body, to heaven or hell: to the
halls of eternal bliss, where God and His holy angels dwell, or to the
place of endless misery, inhabited by Satan and his grisly companions. My
friend, if the joys of heaven are great, unutterably great, so are the
torments of hell unutterably so. I wish not to speak of them, I wish not
to terrify your imagination with the torments of hell; indeed, I like not
to think of them; but it is necessary to speak of them sometimes, and to
think of them sometimes, lest you should sink into a state of carnal
security. Authors, friend, and learned men, are not altogether agreed as
to the particulars of hell. They all agree, however, in considering it a
place of exceeding horror. Master Ellis Wyn, who by-the-bye was a
churchman, calls it, amongst other things, a place of strong sighs, and
of flaming sparks. Master Rees Pritchard, who was not only a churchman,
but Vicar of Llandovery, and flourished about two hundred years ago--I
wish many like him flourished now--speaking of hell, in his collection of
sweet hymns, called the 'Welshman's Candle,' observes,

"'The pool is continually blazing; it is very deep, without any known
bottom, and the walls are so high, that there is neither hope nor
possibility of escaping over them.'

"But, I told you just now, I have no great pleasure in talking of hell.
No, friend, no; I would sooner talk of the other place, and of the
goodness and hospitality of God amongst His saints above."

And then the excellent man began to dilate upon the joys of heaven, and
the goodness and hospitality of God in the mansions above; explaining to
me, in the clearest way, how I might get there.

And when he had finished what he had to say, he left me, whereupon
Winifred drew nigh, and sitting down by me, began to address me. "I do
not think," said she, "from what I have observed of thee, that thou
wouldst wish to be ungrateful, and yet, is not thy whole life a series of
ingratitude, and to whom?--to thy Maker. Has He not endowed thee with a
goodly and healthy form; and senses which enable thee to enjoy the
delights of His beautiful universe--the work of His hands? Canst thou
not enjoy, even to rapture, the brightness of the sun, the perfume of the
meads, and the song of the dear birds, which inhabit among the trees?
Yes, thou canst; for I have seen thee, and observed thee doing so. Yet,
during the whole time that I have known thee, I have not heard proceed
from thy lips one single word of praise or thanksgiving to--"

And in this manner the admirable woman proceeded for a considerable time,
and to all her discourse I listened with attention; and when she had
concluded I took her hand and said, "I thank you," and that was all.

On the next day everything was ready for our departure. The good family
of the house came to bid us farewell. There were shaking of hands, and
kisses, as on the night of our arrival.

And as I stood somewhat apart, the young girl of whom I have spoken so
often, came up to me, and holding out her hand said, "Farewell, young
man, wherever thou goest." Then, after looking around her, she said, "It
was all true you told me. Yesterday I received a letter from him thou
wottest of, he is coming soon. God bless you, young man; who would have
thought thou knewest so much!"

So after we had taken our farewell of the good family, we departed,
proceeding in the direction of Wales Peter was very cheerful, and
enlivened the way with godly discourse and spiritual hymns, some of which
were in the Welsh language. At length I said, "It is a pity that you did
not continue in the church; you have a turn for Psalmody, and I have
heard of a man becoming a bishop, by means of a less qualification."

"Very probably," said Peter; "more the pity. But I have told you the
reason of my forsaking it. Frequently, when I went to the church door, I
found it barred, and the priest absent; what was I to do? My heart was
bursting for want of some religious help and comfort; what could I do? as
good Master Rees Pritchard observes in his 'Candle for Welshmen.'

"'It is a doleful thing to see little children burning on the hot coals
for want of help; but yet more doleful to see a flock of souls falling
into the burning lake for want of a priest.'"

"The Church of England is a fine church," said I; "I would not advise any
one to speak ill of the Church of England before me."

"I have nothing to say against the church," said Peter; "all I wish is
that it would fling itself a little more open, and that its priests would
a little more bestir themselves; in a word, that it would shoulder the
cross and become a missionary church."

"It is too proud for that," said Winifred.

"You are much more of a Methodist," said I, "than your husband. But tell
me," said I, addressing myself to Peter, "do you not differ from the
church in some points of doctrine? I, of course, as a true member of the
church, am quite ignorant of the peculiar opinions of wandering
sectaries!"

"Oh, the pride of that church!" said Winifred, half to herself;
"wandering sectaries!"

"We differ in no points of doctrine," said Peter: "we believe all the
church believes, though we are not so fond of vain and superfluous
ceremonies, snow-white neckcloths and surplices, as the church is. We
likewise think that there is no harm in a sermon by the road-side, or in
holding free discourse with a beggar beneath a hedge, or a tinker," he
added, smiling; "it was those superfluous ceremonies, those surplices and
white neckcloths, and, above all, the necessity of strictly regulating
his words and conversation, which drove John Wesley out of the church,
and sent him wandering up and down as you see me, poor Welsh Peter, do."

Nothing further passed for some time; we were now drawing near the hills:
at last I said, "You must have met with a great many strange adventures
since you took up this course of life?"

"Many," said Peter, "it has been my lot to meet with; but none more
strange than one which occurred to me only a few weeks ago. You were
asking me, not long since, whether I believed in devils? Ay, truly,
young man; and I believe that the abyss and the yet deeper unknown do not
contain them all; some walk about upon the green earth. So it happened,
some weeks ago, that I was exercising my ministry, about forty miles from
here. I was alone, Winifred being slightly indisposed, staying for a few
days at the house of an acquaintance; I had finished afternoon's
worship--the people had dispersed, and I was sitting solitary by my cart
under some green trees in a quiet retired place; suddenly a voice said to
me, 'Good evening, Pastor;' I looked up, and before me stood a man, at
least the appearance of a man, dressed in a black suit of rather a
singular fashion. He was about my own age, or somewhat older. As I
looked upon him, it appeared to me that I had seen him twice before
whilst preaching. I replied to his salutation, and perceiving that he
looked somewhat fatigued, I took out a stool from the cart, and asked him
to sit down. We began to discourse; I at first supposed that he might be
one of ourselves, some wandering minister; but I was soon undeceived.
Neither his language nor his ideas were those of any one of our body. He
spoke on all kinds of matters with much fluency; till at last he
mentioned my preaching, complimenting me on my powers. I replied, as
well I might, that I could claim no merit of my own, and that if I spoke
with any effect, it was only by the grace of God. As I uttered these
last words, a horrible kind of sneer came over his countenance, which
made me shudder, for there was something diabolical in it. I said little
more, but listened attentively to his discourse. At last he said that 'I
was engaged in a paltry cause, quite unworthy of one of my powers.' 'How
can that be,' said I, 'even if I possessed all the powers in the world,
seeing that I am engaged in the cause of our Lord Jesus?'

"The same kind of sneer again came on his countenance, but he almost
instantly observed that if I chose to forsake this same miserable cause,
from which nothing but contempt and privation were to be expected, he
would enlist me into another, from which I might expect both profit and
renown. An idea now came into my head, and I told him firmly, that if he
wished me to forsake my present profession and become a member of the
Church of England, I must absolutely decline; that I had no ill-will
against that church, but I thought I could do most good in my present
position, which I would not forsake to be Archbishop of Canterbury.
Thereupon he burst into a strange laughter, and went away, repeating to
himself, 'Church of England! Archbishop of Canterbury!' A few days
after, when I was once more in a solitary place, he again appeared before
me, and asked me whether I had thought over his words, and whether I was
willing to enlist under the banners of his master, adding, that he was
eager to secure me, as he conceived that I might be highly useful to the
cause. I then asked him who his master was; he hesitated for a moment,
and then answered, 'The Roman Pontiff.' 'If it be he,' said I, 'I can
have nothing to do with him, I will serve no one who is an enemy of
Christ.' Thereupon he drew near to me and told me not to talk so much
like a simpleton; that as for Christ, it was probable that no such person
ever existed, but that if he ever did, he was the greatest impostor the
world ever saw. How long he continued in this way I know not, for I now
considered that an evil spirit was before me, and shrank within myself,
shivering in every limb; when I recovered myself and looked about me, he
was gone. Two days after, he again stood before me, in the same place,
and about the same hour, renewing his propositions, and speaking more
horribly than before. I made him no answer; whereupon he continued; but
suddenly hearing a noise behind him, he looked round and beheld Winifred,
who had returned to me on the morning of that day. 'Who are you?' said
he, fiercely. 'This man's wife,' said she, calmly fixing her eyes upon
him. 'Begone from him, unhappy one, thou temptest him in vain.' He made
no answer, but stood as if transfixed: at length recovering himself, he
departed, muttering 'Wife! wife! If the fool has a wife, he will never
do for us.'"

CHAPTER LXXX.

The Border--Thank you Both--Pipe and Fiddle--Taliesin.

We were now drawing very near the hills, and Peter said, "If you are to
go into Wales, you must presently decide, for we are close upon the
border."

"Which is the border?" said I.

"Yon small brook," said Peter, "into which the man on horseback who is
coming towards us, is now entering."

"I see it," said I, "and the man; he stops in the middle of it, as if to
water his steed."

We proceeded till we had nearly reached the brook. "Well," said Peter,
"will you go into Wales?"

"What should I do in Wales?" I demanded.

"Do!" said Peter, smiling, "learn Welsh."

I stopped my little pony. "Then I need not go into Wales; I already know
Welsh."

"Know Welsh!" said Peter, staring at me.

"Know Welsh!" said Winifred, stopping her cart.

"How and when did you learn it?" said Peter.

"From books, in my boyhood."

"Read Welsh!" said Peter, "is it possible?"

"Read Welsh!" said Winifred, "is it possible?"

"Well, I hope you will come with us," said Peter.

"Come with us, young man," said Winifred; "let me, on the other side of
the brook, welcome you into Wales."

"Thank you both," said I, "but I will not come."

"Wherefore?" exclaimed both, simultaneously.

"Because it is neither fit nor proper that I cross into Wales at this
time, and in this manner. When I go into Wales, I should wish to go in a
new suit of superfine black, with hat and beaver, mounted on a powerful
steed, black and glossy, like that which bore Greduv to the fight of
Catraeth. I should wish, moreover, to see the Welshmen assembled on the
border ready to welcome me with pipe and fiddle, and much whooping and
shouting, and to attend me to Wrexham, or even as far as Machynllaith,
where I should wish to be invited to a dinner at which all the bards
should be present, and to be seated at the right hand of the president,
who, when the cloth was removed, should arise, and, amidst cries of
silence, exclaim--'Brethren and Welshmen, allow me to propose the health
of my most respectable friend the translator of the odes of the great Ab
Gwilym, the pride and glory of Wales.'"

"How!" said Peter, "hast thou translated the works of the mighty Dafydd?"

"With notes critical, historical, and explanatory."

"Come with us, friend," said Peter. "I cannot promise such a dinner as
thou wishest, but neither pipe nor fiddle shall be wanting."

"Come with us, young man," said Winifred, "even as thou art, and the
daughters of Wales shall bid thee welcome."

"I will not go with you," said I. "Dost thou see that man in the ford?"

"Who is staring at us so, and whose horse has not yet done drinking? Of
course I see him."

"I shall turn back with him. God bless you!"

"Go back with him not," said Peter, "he is one of those whom I like not,
one of the clibberty-clabber, as Master Ellis Wyn observes--turn not with
that man."

"Go not back with him," said Winifred. "If thou goest with that man,
thou wilt soon forget all our profitable counsels; come with us."

"I cannot; I have much to say to him. Kosko Divous, Mr. Petulengro."

"Kosko Divous, Pal," said Mr. Petulengro, riding through the water; "are
you turning back?"

I turned back with Mr. Petulengro.

Peter came running after me: "One moment, young man, who and what are
you?"

"I must answer in the words of Taliesin," said I; "none can say with
positiveness whether I be fish or flesh, least of all myself. God bless
you both!"

"Take this," said Peter; and he thrust his Welsh Bible into my hand.

CHAPTER LXXXI.

At a Funeral--Two Days Ago--Very Coolly--Roman Woman--Well and
Hearty--Somewhat Dreary--Plum Pudding--Roman Fashion--Quite Different--The
Dark Lane--Beyond the Time--Fine Fellow--Such a Struggle--Like a Wild
Cat--Fair Play--Pleasant Enough Spot--No Gloves.

So I turned back with Mr. Petulengro. We travelled for some time in
silence; at last we fell into discourse. "You have been in Wales, Mr.
Petulengro?"

"Ay, truly, brother."

"What have you been doing there?"

"Assisting at a funeral."

"At whose funeral?"

"Mrs. Herne's, brother."

"Is she dead, then?"

"As a nail, brother."

"How did she die?"

"By hanging, brother."

"I am lost in astonishment," said I; whereupon Mr. Petulengro, lifting
his sinister leg over the neck of his steed, and adjusting himself
sideways in the saddle, replied, with great deliberation, "Two days ago,
I happened to be at a fair not very far from here; I was all alone by
myself, for our party were upwards of forty miles off, when who should
come up but a chap that I knew, a relation, or rather, a connection of
mine; one of those Hernes. 'Ar'n't you going to the funeral?' said he;
and then, brother, there passed between him and me, in the way of
questioning and answering, much the same as has just now passed between I
and you; but when he mentioned hanging, I thought I could do no less than
ask who hanged her, which you forgot to do. 'Who hanged her?' said I;
and then the man told me that she had done it herself; been her own
hinjiri; and then I thought to myself what a sin and shame it would be if
I did not go to the funeral, seeing that she was my own mother-in-law. I
would have brought my wife, and, indeed, the whole of our party, but
there was no time for that; they were too far off, and the dead was to be
buried early the next morning, so I went with the man, and he led me into
Wales, where his party had lately retired, and when there, through many
wild and desolate places to their encampment, and there I found the
Hernes, and the dead body--the last laid out on a mattress, in a tent,
dressed Romaneskoenaes in a red cloak, and big bonnet of black beaver. I
must say for the Hernes that they took the matter very coolly, some were
eating, others drinking, and some were talking about their small affairs;
there was one, however, who did not take the matter so coolly, but took
on enough for the whole family, sitting beside the dead woman, tearing
her hair, and refusing to take either meat or drink; it was the child
Leonora. I arrived at night-fall, and the burying was not to take place
till the morning, which I was rather sorry for, as I am not very fond of
them Hernes, who are not very fond of anybody. They never asked me to
eat or drink, notwithstanding I had married into the family; one of them,
however, came up and offered to fight me for five shillings; had it not
been for them I should have come back as empty as I went--he didn't stand
up five minutes. Brother, I passed the night as well as I could, beneath
a tree, for the tents were full, and not over clean; I slept little, and
had my eyes about me, for I knew the kind of people I was among.