Lavengro

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"Early in the morning the funeral took place. The body was placed not in
a coffin but on a bier, and carried not to a churchyard but to a deep
dell close by; and there it was buried beneath a rock, dressed just as I
have told you; and this was done by the bidding of Leonora, who had heard
her bebee say that she wished to be buried, not in gorgeous fashion, but
like a Roman woman of the old blood, the kosko puro rati, brother. When
it was over, and we had got back to the encampment, I prepared to be
going. Before mounting my gry, however, I bethought me to ask what could
have induced the dead woman to make away with herself, a thing so
uncommon amongst Romanies; whereupon one squinted with his eyes, a second
spirted saliver into the air, and a third said that he neither knew nor
cared; she was a good riddance, having more than once been nearly the
ruin of them all, from the quantity of brimstone she carried about her.
One, however, I suppose, rather ashamed of the way in which they had
treated me, said at last, that if I wanted to know all about the matter,
none could tell me better than the child, who was in all her secrets, and
was not a little like her; so I looked about for the child, but could
find her nowhere. At last the same man told me that he shouldn't wonder
if I found her at the grave; so I went back to the grave, and sure enough
there I found the child, Leonora, seated on the ground above the body,
crying and taking on; so I spoke kindly to her, and said, 'How came all
this, Leonora? tell me all about it.' It was a long time before I could
get any answer; at last she opened her mouth, and spoke, and these were
the words she said, 'It was all along of your Pal;' and then she told me
all about the matter. How Mrs. Herne could not abide you, which I knew
before, and that she had sworn your destruction, which I did not know
before. And then she told me how she found you living in the wood by
yourself, and how you were enticed to eat a poisoned cake; and she told
me many other things that you wot of, and she told me what perhaps you
don't wot, namely, that finding that you had been removed, she, the
child, had tracked you a long way, and found you at last well and hearty,
and no ways affected by the poison, and heard you, as she stood
concealed, disputing about religion with a Welsh Methody. Well, brother,
she told me all this; and moreover, that when Mrs. Herne heard of it, she
said that a dream of hers had come to pass. I don't know what it was,
but something about herself, a tinker, and a dean; and then she added,
that it was all up with her, and that she must take a long journey. Well,
brother, that same night Leonora, waking from her sleep in the tent,
where Mrs. Herne and she were wont to sleep, missed her bebee, and,
becoming alarmed, went in search of her, and at last found her hanging
from a branch; and when the child had got so far, she took on violently,
and I could not get another word from her; so I left her, and here I am."

"And I am glad to see you, Mr. Petulengro; but this is sad news which you
tell me about Mrs. Herne."

"Somewhat dreary, brother; yet perhaps, after all, it is a good thing
that she is removed; she carried so much Devil's tinder about with her,
as the man said."

"I am sorry for her," said I; "more especially as I am the cause of her
death--though the innocent one."

"She could not bide you, brother, that's certain; but that is no
reason"--said Mr. Petulengro, balancing himself upon the saddle--"that is
no reason why she should prepare drow to take away your essence of life;
and, when disappointed, to hang herself upon a tree: if she was
dissatisfied with you, she might have flown at you, and scratched your
face; or, if she did not judge herself your match, she might have put
down five shillings for a turn-up between you and some one she thought
could beat you--myself, for example, and so the matter might have ended
comfortably; but she was always too fond of covert wars, drows, and
brimstones. This is not the first poisoning affair she has been engaged
in."

"You allude to drabbing bawlor."

"Bah!" said Mr. Petulengro; "there's no harm in that. No, no! she has
cast drows in her time for other guess things than bawlor; both Gorgios
and Romans have tasted of them, and died. Did you never hear of the
poisoned plum pudding?"

"Never."

"Then I will tell you about it. It happened about six years ago, a few
months after she had quitted us--she had gone first amongst her own
people, as she called them; but there was another small party of Romans,
with whom she soon became very intimate. It so happened that this small
party got into trouble; whether it was about a horse or an ass, or
passing bad money, no matter to you and me, who had no hand in the
business; three or four of them were taken and lodged in --- Castle, and
amongst them was a woman; but the sherengro, or principal man of the
party, and who it seems had most hand in the affair, was still at large.
All of a sudden a rumour was spread abroad that the woman was about to
play false, and to peach the rest. Said the principal man, when he heard
it, 'If she does, I am nashkado.' Mrs. Herne was then on a visit to the
party, and when she heard the principal man take on so, she said, 'But I
suppose you know what to do?' 'I do not,' said he. 'Then hir mi
devlis,' said she, 'you are a fool. But leave the matter to me, I know
how to dispose of her in Roman fashion.' Why she wanted to interfere in
the matter, brother, I don't know, unless it was from pure brimstoneness
of disposition--she had no hand in the matter which had brought the party
into trouble--she was only on a visit, and it had happened before she
came; but she was always ready to give dangerous advice. Well, brother,
the principal man listened to what she had to say, and let her do what
she would; and she made a pudding, a very nice one, no doubt--for,
besides plums, she put in drows and all the Roman condiments that she
knew of; and she gave it to the principal man, and the principal man put
it into a basket and directed it to the woman in --- Castle, and the
woman in the castle took it and--"

"Ate of it," said I, "just like my case?"

"Quite different, brother, she took it, it is true; but instead of giving
way to her appetite as you might have done, she put it before the rest
whom she was going to impeach--perhaps she wished to see how they liked
it before she tasted it herself--and all the rest were poisoned, and one
died, and there was a precious outcry, and the woman cried the loudest of
all; and she said, 'it was my death was sought for; I know the man, and
I'll be revenged,' and then the Poknees spoke to her and said, 'Where can
we find him?' and she said, 'I am awake to his motions; three weeks from
hence, the night before the full moon, at such and such an hour, he will
pass down such a lane with such a man.'"

"Well," said I, "and what did the Poknees do?"

"Do, brother, sent for a plastramengro from Bow Street, quite secretly,
and told him what the woman had said; and the night before the full moon,
the plastramengro went to the place which the juwa had pointed out, all
alone, brother; and, in order that he might not be too late, he went two
hours before his time. I know the place well, brother, where the
plastramengro placed himself behind a thick holly-tree, at the end of a
lane, where a gate leads into various fields, through which there is a
path for carts and horses. The lane is called the dark lane by the
Gorgios, being much shaded by trees; so the plastramengro placed himself
in the dark lane behind the holly tree; it was a cold February night,
dreary, though; the wind blew in gusts, and the moon had not yet risen,
and the plastramengro waited behind the tree till he was tired, and
thought he might as well sit down; so he sat down, and was not long in
falling to sleep, and there he slept for some hours; and when he awoke,
the moon had risen, and was shining bright, so that there was a kind of
moonlight even in the dark lane; and the plastramengro pulled out his
watch, and contrived to make out that it was just two hours beyond the
time when the men should have passed by. Brother, I do not know what the
plastramengro thought of himself, but I know, brother, what I should have
thought of myself in his situation. I should have thought, brother, that
I was a drowsy scoppelo, and that I had let the fellow pass by whilst I
was sleeping behind a bush. As it turned out, however, his going to
sleep did no harm, but quite the contrary: just as he was going away, he
heard a gate slam in the direction of the fields, and then he heard the
low stumping of horses, as if on soft ground, for the path in those
fields is generally soft, and at that time it had been lately ploughed
up. Well, brother, presently he saw two men on horseback coming towards
the lane through the field behind the gate; the man who rode foremost was
a tall big fellow, the very man he was in quest of; the other was a
smaller chap, not so small either, but a light, wiry fellow, and a proper
master of his hands when he sees occasion for using them. Well, brother,
the foremost man came to the gate, reached at the hank, undid it, and
rode through, holding it open for the other. Before, however, the other
could follow into the lane, out bolted the plastramengro from behind the
tree, kicked the gate too with his foot, and, seizing the big man on
horseback, 'You are my prisoner,' said he. I am of opinion, brother,
that plastramengro, notwithstanding he went to sleep, must have been a
regular fine fellow."

"I am entirely of your opinion," said I; "but what happened then?"

"Why, brother, the Rommany chal, after he had somewhat recovered from his
surprise, for it is rather uncomfortable to be laid hold of at
night-time, and told you are a prisoner; more especially when you happen
to have two or three things on your mind, which, if proved against you,
would carry you to the nashky. The Rommany chal, I say, clubbed his
whip, and aimed a blow at the plastramengro, which, if it had hit him on
the skull, as was intended, would very likely have cracked it. The
plastramengro, however, received it partly on his staff, so that it did
him no particular damage. Whereupon seeing what kind of customer he had
to deal with, he dropped his staff, and seized the chal with both his
hands, who forthwith spurred his horse, hoping by doing so, either to
break away from him, or fling him down; but it would not do--the
plastramengro held on like a bulldog, so that the Rommany chal, to escape
being hauled to the ground, suddenly flung himself off the saddle, and
then happened in that lane, close by the gate, such a struggle between
those two--the chal and the runner--as I suppose will never happen again.
But you must have heard of it; every one has heard of the fight between
the Bow Street engro and the Rommany chal."

"I never heard of it till now."

"All England rung of it, brother. There never was a better match than
between those two. The runner was somewhat the stronger of the two--all
these engroes are strong fellows--and a great deal cooler, for all of
that sort are wondrous cool people--he had, however, to do with one who
knew full well how to take his own part. The chal fought the engro,
brother, in the old Roman fashion. He bit, he kicked, and screamed like
a wild cat of Benygant; casting foam from his mouth, and fire from his
eyes. Sometimes he was beneath the engro's legs, and sometimes he was
upon his shoulders. What the engro found the most difficult, was to get
a firm hold of the chal, for no sooner did he seize the chal by any part
of his wearing apparel, than the chal either tore himself away, or
contrived to slip out of it; so that in a little time the chal was three
parts naked; and as for holding him by the body, it was out of the
question, for he was as slippery as an eel. At last the engro seized the
chal by the Belcher's handkerchief, which he wore in a knot round his
neck, and do whatever the chal could, he could not free himself; and when
the engro saw that, it gave him fresh heart, no doubt; 'It's of no use,'
said he; 'you had better give in; hold out your hands for the darbies, or
I will throttle you.'"

"And what did the other fellow do, who came with the chal?" said I.

"I sat still on my horse, brother."

"You," said I. "Were you the man?"

"I was he, brother."

"And why did you not help your comrade?"

"I have fought in the ring, brother."

"And what had fighting in the ring to do with fighting in the lane?"

"You mean not fighting. A great deal, brother; it taught me to prize
fair play. When I fought Staffordshire Dick, t'other side of London, I
was alone, brother. Not a Rommany chal to back me, and he had all his
brother pals about him; but they gave me fair play, brother; and I beat
Staffordshire Dick, which I couldn't have done had they put one finger on
his side the scale; for he was as good a man as myself, or nearly so.
Now, brother, had I but bent a finger in favour of the Rommany chal, the
plastramengro would never have come alive out of the lane; but I did not,
for I thought to myself fair play is a precious stone; so you see,
brother--"

"That you are quite right, Mr. Petulengro; I see that clearly; and now,
pray proceed with your narration; it is both moral and entertaining."

But Mr. Petulengro did not proceed with his narration, neither did he
proceed upon his way; he had stopped his horse, and his eyes were
intently fixed on a broad strip of grass beneath some lofty trees, on the
left side of the road. It was a pleasant enough spot, and seemed to
invite wayfaring people, such as we were, to rest from the fatigues of
the road, and the heat and vehemence of the sun. After examining it for
a considerable time, Mr. Petulengro said, "I say, brother, that would be
a nice place for a tuzzle!"

"I dare say it would," said I, "if two people were inclined to fight."

"The ground is smooth," said Mr. Petulengro; "without holes or ruts, and
the trees cast much shade. I don't think, brother, that we could find a
better place," said Mr. Petulengro, springing from his horse.

"But you and I don't want to fight!"

"Speak for yourself, brother," said Mr. Petulengro. "However, I will
tell you how the matter stands. There is a point at present between us.
There can be no doubt that you are the cause of Mrs. Herne's death,
innocently, you will say, but still the cause. Now, I shouldn't like it
to be known that I went up and down the country with a pal who was the
cause of my mother-in-law's death, that's to say, unless he gave me
satisfaction. Now, if I and my pal have a tuzzle, he gives me
satisfaction; and, if he knocks my eyes out, which I know you can't do,
it makes no difference at all, he gives me satisfaction; and he who says
to the contrary, knows nothing of gypsy law, and is a dinelo into the
bargain."

"But we have no gloves!"

"Gloves!" said Mr. Petulengro, contemptuously, "gloves! I tell you what,
brother, I always thought you were a better hand at the gloves than the
naked fist; and, to tell you the truth, besides taking satisfaction for
Mrs. Herne's death, I wish to see what you can do with your morleys; so
now is your time, brother, and this is your place, grass and shade, no
ruts or holes; come on, brother, or I shall think you what I should not
like to call you."

CHAPTER LXXXII.

Offence and Defence--I'm Satisfied--Fond of Solitude--Possession of
Property--Chal Devlehi--Winding Path.

And when I heard Mr. Petulengro talk in this manner, which I had never
heard him do before, and which I can only account for by his being
fasting and ill-tempered, I had of course no other alternative than to
accept his challenge; so I put myself into a posture which I deemed the
best both for offence and defence, and the tuzzle commenced; and when it
had endured for about half an hour, Mr. Petulengro said, "Brother, there
is much blood on your face; you had better wipe it off;" and when I had
wiped it off, and again resumed my former attitude, Mr. Petulengro said,
"I think enough has been done, brother, in the affair of the old woman; I
have, moreover, tried what you are able to do, and find you as I thought,
less apt with the naked morleys than the stuffed gloves; nay, brother,
put your hands down; I'm satisfied; blood has been shed, which is all
that can be reasonably expected for an old woman, who carried so much
brimstone about with her as Mrs. Herne."

So the struggle ended, and we resumed our route, Mr. Petulengro sitting
sideways upon his horse as before, and I driving my little pony-cart; and
when he had proceeded about three miles, we came to a small public-house,
which bore the sign of the Silent Woman, where we stopped to refresh our
cattle and ourselves; and as we sat over our bread and ale, it came to
pass that Mr. Petulengro asked me various questions, and amongst others,
how I intended to dispose of myself; I told him that I did not know;
whereupon with considerable frankness, he invited me to his camp, and
told me that if I chose to settle down amongst them, and become a Rommany
chal, I should have his wife's sister, Ursula, who was still unmarried,
and occasionally talked of me.

I declined his offer, assigning as a reason the recent death of Mrs.
Herne, of which I was the cause, although innocent. "A pretty life I
should lead with those two," said I, "when they came to know it." "Pooh,"
said Mr. Petulengro, "they will never know it. I shan't blab, and as for
Leonora, that girl has a head on her shoulders." "Unlike the woman in
the sign," said I, "whose head is cut off. You speak nonsense, Mr.
Petulengro; as long as a woman has a head on her shoulders she'll
talk,--but, leaving women out of the case, it is impossible to keep
anything a secret; an old master of mine told me so long ago. I have
moreover another reason for declining your offer. I am at present not
disposed for society. I am become fond of solitude. I wish I could find
some quiet place to which I could retire to hold communion with my own
thoughts, and practise, if I thought fit, either of my trades." "What
trades?" said Mr. Petulengro. "Why, the one which I have lately been
engaged in, or my original one, which I confess I should like better,
that of a kaulomescro." "Ah, I have frequently heard you talk of making
horse-shoes," said Mr. Petulengro. "I, however, never saw you make one,
and no one else that I am aware, I don't believe--come, brother, don't be
angry, it's quite possible that you may have done things which neither I
nor any one else has seen you do, and that such things may some day or
other come to light, as you say nothing can be kept secret. Be that,
however, as it may, pay the reckoning and let us be going, I think I can
advise you to just such a kind of place as you seem to want."

"And how do you know that I have got wherewithal to pay the reckoning?" I
demanded. "Brother," said Mr. Petulengro, "I was just now looking in
your face, which exhibited the very look of a person conscious of the
possession of property; there was nothing hungry or sneaking in it. Pay
the reckoning, brother."

And when we were once more upon the road Mr. Petulengro began to talk of
the place which he conceived would serve me as a retreat under present
circumstances. "I tell you frankly, brother, that it is a queer kind of
place, and I am not very fond of pitching my tent in it, it is so
surprisingly dreary. It is a deep dingle in the midst of a large field,
on an estate about which there has been a lawsuit for some years past. I
dare say you will be quiet enough, for the nearest town is five miles
distant, and there are only a few huts and hedge public-houses in the
neighbourhood. Brother, I am fond of solitude myself, but not that kind
of solitude; I like a quiet heath, where I can pitch my house, but I
always like to have a gay stirring place not far off, where the women can
pen dukkerin, and I myself can sell or buy a horse, if needful--such a
place as the Chong Gav. I never feel so merry as when there, brother, or
on the heath above it, where I taught you Rommany."

Shortly after this discourse we reached a milestone, and a few yards from
the milestone, on the left hand, was a cross-road. Thereupon Mr.
Petulengro said, "Brother, my path lies to the left; if you choose to go
with me to my camp, good, if not Chal Devlehi." But I again refused Mr.
Petulengro's invitation, and, shaking him by the hand, proceeded forward
alone, and about ten miles farther on I reached the town of which he had
spoken, and following certain directions which he had given, discovered,
though not without some difficulty, the dingle which he had mentioned. It
was a deep hollow in the midst of a wide field, the shelving sides were
overgrown with trees and bushes, a belt of sallows surrounded it on the
top, a steep winding path led down into the depths, practicable, however,
for a light cart, like mine; at the bottom was an open space, and there I
pitched my tent, and there I contrived to put up my forge. "I will here
ply the trade of kaulomescro," said I.

CHAPTER LXXXIII.

Highly Poetical--Volundr--Grecian Mythology--Making a Petul--Tongues of
Flame--Hammering--Spite of Dukkerin--Heaviness.

It has always struck me that there is something highly poetical about a
forge. I am not singular in this opinion: various individuals have
assured me that they can never pass by one, even in the midst of a
crowded town, without experiencing sensations which they can scarcely
define, but which are highly pleasurable. I have a decided _penchant_
for forges, especially rural ones, placed in some quaint quiet spot--a
dingle, for example, which is a poetical place, or at a meeting of four
roads, which is still more so; for how many a superstition--and
superstition is the soul of poetry--is connected with these cross roads!
I love to light upon such a one, especially after nightfall, as
everything about a forge tells to most advantage at night; the hammer
sounds more solemnly in the stillness; the glowing particles scattered by
the strokes sparkle with more effect in the darkness, whilst the sooty
visage of the sastramescro, half in shadow, and half illumined by the red
and partial blaze of the forge, looks more mysterious and strange. On
such occasions I draw in my horse's rein, and, seated in the saddle,
endeavour to associate with the picture before me--in itself a picture of
romance--whatever of the wild and wonderful I have read of in books, or
have seen with my own eyes in connection with forges.

I believe the life of any blacksmith, especially a rural one, would
afford materials for a highly poetical history. I do not speak
unadvisedly, having the honour to be free of the forge, and therefore
fully competent to give an opinion as to what might be made out of the
forge by some dextrous hand. Certainly, the strangest and most
entertaining life ever written is that of a blacksmith of the olden
north, a certain Volundr, or Velint, who lived in woods and thickets,
made keen swords, so keen, indeed, that if placed in a running stream,
they would fairly divide an object, however slight, which was borne
against them by the water, and who eventually married a king's daughter,
by whom he had a son, who was as bold a knight as his father was a
cunning blacksmith. I never see a forge at night, when seated on the
back of my horse at the bottom of a dark lane, but I somehow or other
associate it with the exploits of this extraordinary fellow, with many
other extraordinary things, amongst which, as I have hinted before, are
particular passages of my own life, one or two of which I shall perhaps
relate to the reader.

I never associate Vulcan and his Cyclops with the idea of a forge. These
gentry would be the very last people in the world to flit across my mind
whilst gazing at the forge from the bottom of the dark lane. The truth
is, they are highly unpoetical fellows, as well they may be, connected as
they are with the Grecian mythology. At the very mention of their names
the forge burns dull and dim, as if snow-balls had been suddenly flung
into it; the only remedy is to ply the bellows, an operation which I now
hasten to perform.

I am in the dingle making a horse-shoe. Having no other horses on whose
hoofs I could exercise my art, I made my first essay on those of my own
horse, if that could be called horse which horse was none, being only a
pony. Perhaps if I had sought all England, I should scarcely have found
an animal more in need of the kind offices of the smith. On three of his
feet there were no shoes at all, and on the fourth only a remnant of one,
on which account his hoofs were sadly broken and lacerated by his late
journeys over the hard and flinty roads. "You belonged to a tinker
before," said I, addressing the animal, "but now you belong to a smith.
It is said that the household of the shoemaker invariably go worse shod
than that of any other craft. That may be the case of those who make
shoes of leather, but it shan't be said of the household of him who makes
shoes of iron; at any rate, it shan't be said of mine. I tell you what,
my gry, whilst you continue with me, you shall both be better shod, and
better fed, than you were with your last master."