Lavengro

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Another circumstance connected with my infancy, and I have done. I need
offer no apology for relating it, as it subsequently exercised
considerable influence over my pursuits. We were, if I remember right,
in the vicinity of a place called Hythe, in Kent. One sweet evening, in
the latter part of summer, our mother took her two little boys by the
hand, for a wander about the fields. In the course of our stroll we came
to the village church; an old gray-headed sexton stood in the porch, who,
perceiving that we were strangers, invited us to enter. We were
presently in the interior, wandering about the aisles, looking on the
walls, and inspecting the monuments of the notable dead. I can scarcely
state what we saw; how should I? I was a child not yet four years old,
and yet I think I remember the evening sun streaming in through a stained
window upon the dingy mahogany pulpit, and flinging a rich lustre upon
the faded tints of an ancient banner. And now once more we were outside
the building, where, against the wall, stood a low-eaved pent-house, into
which we looked. It was half filled with substances of some kind, which
at first looked like large gray stones. The greater part were lying in
layers; some, however, were seen in confused and mouldering heaps, and
two or three, which had perhaps rolled down from the rest, lay separately
on the floor. "Skulls, madam," said the sexton; "skulls of the old
Danes! Long ago they came pirating into these parts: and then there
chanced a mighty shipwreck, for God was angry with them, and He sunk
them; and their skulls, as they came ashore, were placed here as a
memorial. There were many more when I was young, but now they are fast
disappearing. Some of them must have belonged to strange fellows, madam.
Only see that one; why, the two young gentry can scarcely lift it!" And,
indeed, my brother and myself had entered the Golgotha, and commenced
handling these grim relics of mortality. One enormous skull, lying in a
corner, had fixed our attention, and we had drawn it forth. Spirit of
eld, what a skull was yon!

I still seem to see it, the huge grim thing; many of the others were
large, strikingly so, and appeared fully to justify the old man's
conclusion that their owners must have been strange fellows; but compared
with this mighty mass of bone they looked small and diminutive, like
those of pigmies; it must have belonged to a giant, one of those
red-haired warriors of whose strength and stature such wondrous tales are
told in the ancient chronicles of the north, and whose grave-hills, when
ransacked, occasionally reveal secrets which fill the minds of puny
moderns with astonishment and awe. Reader, have you ever pored days and
nights over the pages of Snorro? probably not, for he wrote in a language
which few of the present day understand, and few would be tempted to read
him tamed down by Latin dragomans. A brave old book is that of Snorro,
containing the histories and adventures of old northern kings and
champions, who seemed to have been quite different men, if we may judge
from the feats which they performed, from those of these days. One of
the best of his histories is that which describes the life of Harald
Haardraade, who, after manifold adventures by land and sea, now a pirate,
now a mercenary of the Greek emperor, became King of Norway, and
eventually perished at the battle of Stanford Bridge, whilst engaged in a
gallant onslaught upon England. Now, I have often thought that the old
Kemp, whose mouldering skull in the Golgotha at Hythe my brother and
myself could scarcely lift, must have resembled in one respect at least
this Harald, whom Snorro describes as a great and wise ruler and a
determined leader, dangerous in battle, of fair presence, and measuring
in height just _five ells_, {10} neither more nor less.

I never forgot the Daneman's skull; like the apparition of the viper in
the sandy lane, it dwelt in the mind of the boy, affording copious food
for the exercise of imagination. From that moment with the name of Dane
were associated strange ideas of strength, daring, and superhuman
stature; and an undefinable curiosity for all that is connected with the
Danish race began to pervade me; and if, long after, when I became a
student, I devoted myself with peculiar zest to Danish lore and the
acquirement of the old Norse tongue and its dialects, I can only explain
the matter by the early impression received at Hythe from the tale of the
old sexton, beneath the pent-house, and the sight of the Danish skull.

And thus we went on straying from place to place, at Hythe to-day, and
perhaps within a week looking out from our hostel-window upon the streets
of old Winchester, our motions ever in accordance with the "route" of the
regiment, so habituated to change of scene that it had become almost
necessary to our existence. Pleasant were these days of my early
boyhood; and a melancholy pleasure steals over me as I recall them. Those
were stirring times of which I am speaking, and there was much passing
around me calculated to captivate the imagination. The dreadful struggle
which so long convulsed Europe, and in which England bore so prominent a
part, was then at its hottest; we were at war, and determination and
enthusiasm shone in every face; man, woman, and child were eager to fight
the Frank, the hereditary, but, thank God, never dreaded enemy of the
Anglo-Saxon race. "Love your country and beat the French, and then never
mind what happens," was the cry of entire England. Oh, those were days
of power, gallant days, bustling days, worth the bravest days of
chivalry, at least; tall battalions of native warriors were marching
through the land; there was the glitter of the bayonet and the gleam of
the sabre; the shrill squeak of the fife and loud rattling of the drum
were heard in the streets of country towns, and the loyal shouts of the
inhabitants greeted the soldiery on their arrival or cheered them at
their departure. And now let us leave the upland, and descend to the sea-
board; there is a sight for you upon the billows! A dozen men-of-war are
gliding majestically out of port, their long buntings streaming from the
top-gallant masts, calling on the skulking Frenchman to come forth from
his bights and bays; and what looms upon us yonder from the fog-bank in
the east? a gallant frigate towing behind her the long low hull of a
crippled privateer, which but three short days ago had left Dieppe to
skim the sea, and whose crew of ferocious hearts are now cursing their
imprudence in an English hold. Stirring times those, which I love to
recall, for they were days of gallantry and enthusiasm, and were moreover
the days of my boyhood.

CHAPTER III.

Pretty D-----The Venerable Church--The Stricken Heart--Dormant
Energies--The Small Packet--Nerves--The Books--A Picture--Mountain-like
Billows--The Foot-print--Spirit of De Foe--Reasoning Powers--Terrors of
God--Heads of the Dragons--High Church Clerk--A Journey--The Drowned
Country.

And when I was between six and seven years of age we were once more at
D---, the place of my birth, whither my father had been despatched on the
recruiting service. I have already said that it was a beautiful little
town--at least it was at the time of which I am speaking; what it is at
present I know not, for thirty years and more have elapsed since I last
trod its streets. It will scarcely have improved, for how could it be
better than it then was? I love to think on thee, pretty, quiet D---,
thou pattern of an English country town, with thy clean but narrow
streets branching out from thy modest market-place, with thine
old-fashioned houses, with here and there a roof of venerable thatch,
with thy one half-aristocratic mansion, where resided thy Lady
Bountiful--she, the generous and kind, who loved to visit the sick,
leaning on her gold-headed cane, whilst the sleek old footman walked at a
respectful distance behind. Pretty quiet D---, with thy venerable
church, in which moulder the mortal remains of England's sweetest and
most pious bard.

Yes, pretty D---, I could always love thee, were it but for the sake of
him who sleeps beneath the marble slab in yonder quiet chancel. It was
within thee that the long-oppressed bosom heaved its last sigh, and the
crushed and gentle spirit escaped from a world in which it had known
nought but sorrow. Sorrow! do I say? How faint a word to express the
misery of that bruised reed; misery so dark that a blind worm like myself
is occasionally tempted to exclaim, Better had the world never been
created than that one so kind, so harmless, and so mild, should have
undergone such intolerable woe! But it is over now, for, as there is an
end of joy, so has affliction its termination. Doubtless the All-wise
did not afflict him without a cause: who knows but within that unhappy
frame lurked vicious seeds which the sunbeams of joy and prosperity might
have called into life and vigour? Perhaps the withering blasts of misery
nipped that which otherwise might have terminated in fruit noxious and
lamentable. But peace to the unhappy one, he is gone to his rest; the
deathlike face is no longer occasionally seen timidly and mournfully
looking for a moment through the window-pane upon thy market-place, quiet
and pretty D---; the hind in thy neighbourhood no longer at evening-fall
views, and starts as he views, the dark lathy figure moving beneath the
hazels and alders of shadowy lanes, or by the side of murmuring trout
streams; and no longer at early dawn does the sexton of the old church
reverently doff his hat as, supported by some kind friend, the
death-stricken creature totters along the church path to that mouldering
edifice with the low roof, inclosing a spring of sanatory waters, built
and devoted to some saint--if the legend over the door be true, by the
daughter of an East Anglian king.

But to return to my own history. I had now attained the age of six:
shall I state what intellectual progress I had been making up to this
period? Alas! upon this point I have little to say calculated to afford
either pleasure or edification. I had increased rapidly in size and in
strength: the growth of the mind, however, had by no means corresponded
with that of the body. It is true, I had acquired my letters, and was by
this time able to read imperfectly; but this was all: and even this poor
triumph over absolute ignorance would never have been effected but for
the unremitting attention of my parents, who, sometimes by threats,
sometimes by entreaties, endeavoured to rouse the dormant energies of my
nature, and to bend my wishes to the acquisition of the rudiments of
knowledge; but in influencing the wish lay the difficulty. Let but the
will of a human being be turned to any particular object, and it is ten
to one that sooner or later he achieves it. At this time I may safely
say that I harboured neither wishes nor hopes; I had as yet seen no
object calculated to call them forth, and yet I took pleasure in many
things which perhaps unfortunately were all within my sphere of
enjoyment. I loved to look upon the heavens, and to bask in the rays of
the sun, or to sit beneath hedgerows and listen to the chirping of the
birds, indulging the while in musing and meditation as far as my very
limited circle of ideas would permit; but, unlike my brother, who was at
this time at school, and whose rapid progress in every branch of
instruction astonished and delighted his preceptors, I took no pleasure
in books, whose use, indeed, I could scarcely comprehend, and bade fair
to be as arrant a dunce as ever brought the blush of shame into the
cheeks of anxious and affectionate parents.

But the time was now at hand when the ice which had hitherto bound the
mind of the child with its benumbing power was to be thawed, and a world
of sensations and ideas awakened to which it had hitherto been an entire
stranger. One day a young lady, an intimate acquaintance of our family,
and godmother to my brother, drove up to the house in which we dwelt; she
staid some time conversing with my mother, and on rising to depart she
put down on the table a small packet, exclaiming, "I have brought a
little present for each of the boys: the one is a History of England,
which I intend for my godson when he returns from school, the other is--"
and here she said something which escaped my ear, as I sat at some
distance, moping in a corner:--"I intend it for the youngest yonder,"
pointing to myself; she then departed, and, my mother going out shortly
after, I was left alone.

I remember for some time sitting motionless in my corner, with my eyes
bent upon the ground; at last I lifted my head and looked upon the packet
as it lay on the table. All at once a strange sensation came over me,
such as I had never experienced before--a singular blending of curiosity,
awe, and pleasure, the remembrance of which, even at this distance of
time, produces a remarkable effect upon my nervous system. What strange
things are the nerves--I mean those more secret and mysterious ones in
which I have some notion that the mind or soul, call it which you will,
has its habitation; how they occasionally tingle and vibrate before any
coming event closely connected with the future weal or woe of the human
being. Such a feeling was now within me, certainly independent of what
the eye had seen or the ear had heard. A book of some description had
been brought for me, a present by no means calculated to interest me;
what cared I for books? I had already many into which I never looked but
from compulsion; friends, moreover, had presented me with similar things
before, which I had entirely disregarded, and what was there in this
particular book, whose very title I did not know, calculated to attract
me more than the rest? yet something within told me that my fate was
connected with the book which had been last brought; so, after looking on
the packet from my corner for a considerable time, I got up and went to
the table.

The packet was lying where it had been left--I took it up; had the
envelope, which consisted of whitish brown paper, been secured by a
string or a seal I should not have opened it, as I should have considered
such an act almost in the light of a crime; the books, however, had been
merely folded up, and I therefore considered that there could be no
possible harm in inspecting them, more especially as I had received no
injunction to the contrary. Perhaps there was something unsound in this
reasoning, something sophistical; but a child is sometimes as ready as a
grown-up person in finding excuses for doing that which he is inclined to
do. But whether the action was right or wrong, and I am afraid it was
not altogether right, I undid the packet: it contained three books; two
from their similarity seemed to be separate parts of one and the same
work; they were handsomely bound, and to them I first turned my
attention. I opened them successively, and endeavoured to make out their
meaning; their contents, however, as far as I was able to understand
them, were by no means interesting; whoever pleases may read these books
for me, and keep them too, into the bargain, said I to myself.

I now took up the third book: it did not resemble the others, being
longer and considerably thicker; the binding was of dingy calf-skin. I
opened it, and as I did so another strange thrill of pleasure shot
through my frame. The first object on which my eyes rested was a
picture; it was exceedingly well executed, at least the scene which it
represented made a vivid impression upon me, which would hardly have been
the case had the artist not been faithful to nature. A wild scene it
was--a heavy sea and rocky shore, with mountains in the background, above
which the moon was peering. Not far from the shore, upon the water, was
a boat with two figures in it, one of which stood at the bow, pointing
with what I knew to be a gun at a dreadful shape in the water; fire was
flashing from the muzzle of the gun, and the monster appeared to be
transfixed. I almost thought I heard its cry. I remained motionless,
gazing upon the picture, scarcely daring to draw my breath, lest the new
and wondrous world should vanish of which I had now obtained a glimpse.
"Who are those people, and what could have brought them into that strange
situation?" I asked of myself; and now the seed of curiosity, which had
so long lain dormant, began to expand, and I vowed to myself to become
speedily acquainted with the whole history of the people in the boat.
After looking on the picture till every mark and line in it were familiar
to me, I turned over various leaves till I came to another engraving; a
new source of wonder--a low sandy beach on which the furious sea was
breaking in mountain-like billows; cloud and rack deformed the firmament,
which wore a dull and leaden-like hue; gulls and other aquatic fowls were
toppling upon the blast, or skimming over the tops of the maddening
waves--"Mercy upon him! he must be drowned!" I exclaimed, as my eyes fell
upon a poor wretch who appeared to be striving to reach the shore; he was
upon his legs, but was evidently half smothered with the brine; high
above his head curled a horrible billow, as if to engulf him for ever.
"He must be drowned! he must be drowned!" I almost shrieked, and dropped
the book. I soon snatched it up again, and now my eye lighted on a third
picture; again a shore, but what a sweet and lovely one, and how I wished
to be treading it; there were beautiful shells lying on the smooth white
sand, some were empty like those I had occasionally seen on marble
mantelpieces, but out of others peered the heads and bodies of wondrous
crayfish; a wood of thick green trees skirted the beach and partly shaded
it from the rays of the sun, which shone hot above, while blue waves
slightly crested with foam were gently curling against it; there was a
human figure upon the beach, wild and uncouth, clad in the skins of
animals, with a huge cap on his head, a hatchet at his girdle, and in his
hand a gun; his feet and legs were bare; he stood in an attitude of
horror and surprise; his body was bent far back, and his eyes, which
seemed starting out of his head, were fixed upon a mark on the sand--a
large distinct mark--a human footprint!

Reader, is it necessary to name the book which now stood open in my hand,
and whose very prints, feeble expounders of its wondrous lines, had
produced within me emotions strange and novel? Scarcely, for it was a
book which has exerted over the minds of Englishmen an influence
certainly greater than any other of modern times, which has been in most
people's hands, and with the contents of which even those who cannot read
are to a certain extent acquainted; a book from which the most luxuriant
and fertile of our modern prose writers have drunk inspiration; a book,
moreover, to which, from the hardy deeds which it narrates and the spirit
of strange and romantic enterprise which it tends to awaken, England owes
many of her astonishing discoveries both by sea and land, and no
inconsiderable part of her naval glory.

Hail to thee, spirit of De Foe! What does not my own poor self owe to
thee? England has better bards than either Greece or Rome, yet I could
spare them easier far than De Foe, "unabashed De Foe," as the hunchbacked
rhymer styled him.

The true chord had now been touched; a raging curiosity with respect to
the contents of the volume, whose engravings had fascinated my eye,
burned within me, and I never rested until I had fully satisfied it;
weeks succeeded weeks, months followed months, and the wondrous volume
was my only study and principal source of amusement. For hours together
I would sit poring over a page till I had become acquainted with the
import of every line. My progress, slow enough at first, became by
degrees more rapid, till at last, under "a shoulder of mutton sail," I
found myself cantering before a steady breeze over an ocean of
enchantment, so well pleased with my voyage that I cared not how long it
might be ere it reached its termination.

And it was in this manner that I first took to the paths of knowledge.

About this time I began to be somewhat impressed with religious feelings.
My parents were, to a certain extent, religious people; but, though they
had done their best to afford me instruction on religious points, I had
either paid no attention to what they endeavoured to communicate, or had
listened with an ear far too obtuse to derive any benefit. But my mind
had now become awakened from the drowsy torpor in which it had lain so
long, and the reasoning powers which I possessed were no longer inactive.
Hitherto I had entertained no conception whatever of the nature and
properties of God, and with the most perfect indifference had heard the
divine name proceeding from the mouths of people--frequently, alas! on
occasions when it ought not to be employed; but I now never heard it
without a tremor, for I now knew that God was an awful and inscrutable
being, the maker of all things; that we were His children, and that we,
by our sins, had justly offended Him; that we were in very great peril
from His anger, not so much in this life as in another and far stranger
state of being yet to come; that we had a Saviour withal to whom it was
necessary to look for help: upon this point, however, I was yet very much
in the dark, as, indeed, were most of those with whom I was connected.
The power and terrors of God were uppermost in my thoughts; they
fascinated though they astounded me. Twice every Sunday I was regularly
taken to the church, where, from a corner of the large spacious pew,
lined with black leather, I would fix my eyes on the dignified
high-church rector, and the dignified high-church clerk, and watch the
movement of their lips, from which, as they read their respective
portions of the venerable liturgy, would roll many a portentous word
descriptive of the wondrous works of the Most High.

_Rector_. "Thou didst divide the sea, through Thy power: Thou brakest
the heads of the dragons in the waters."

_Philoh_. "Thou smotest the heads of Leviathan in pieces: and gavest him
to be meat for the people in the wilderness."

_Rector_. "Thou broughtest out fountains and waters out of the hard
rocks: Thou driedst up mighty waters."

_Philoh_. "The day is Thine, and the night is Thine: Thou hast prepared
the light and the sun."

Peace to your memories, dignified rector, and yet more dignified clerk!
By this time ye are probably gone to your long homes, and your voices are
no longer heard sounding down the aisles of the venerable church; nay,
doubtless, this has already long since been the fate of him of the
sonorous "Amen!"--the one of the two who, with all due respect to the
rector, principally engrossed my boyish admiration--he, at least, is
scarcely now among the living! Living! why, I have heard say that he
blew a fife--for he was a musical as well as a Christian professor--a
bold fife, to cheer the Guards and the brave Marines as they marched with
measured step, obeying an insane command, up Bunker's height, whilst the
rifles of the sturdy Yankees were sending the leaden hail sharp and thick
amidst the red-coated ranks; for Philoh had not always been a man of
peace, nor an exhorter to turn the other cheek to the smiter, but had
even arrived at the dignity of a halberd in his country's service before
his six-foot form required rest, and the gray-haired veteran retired,
after a long peregrination, to his native town, to enjoy ease and
respectability on a pension of "eighteenpence a day;" and well did his
fellow-townsmen act when, to increase that ease and respectability, and
with a thoughtful regard for the dignity of the good church service, they
made him clerk and precentor--the man of the tall form and of the audible
voice, which sounded loud and clear as his own Bunker fife. Well, peace
to thee, thou fine old chap, despiser of dissenters, and hater of
papists, as became a dignified and high-church clerk; if thou art in thy
grave the better for thee; thou wert fitted to adorn a bygone time, when
loyalty was in vogue, and smiling content lay like a sunbeam upon the
land, but thou wouldst be sadly out of place in these days of cold
philosophical latitudinarian doctrine, universal tolerism, and
half-concealed rebellion--rare times, no doubt, for papists and
dissenters, but which would assuredly have broken the heart of the loyal
soldier of George the Third, and the dignified high-church clerk of
pretty D---.

We passed many months at this place: nothing, however, occurred requiring
any particular notice, relating to myself, beyond what I have already
stated, and I am not writing the history of others. At length my father
was recalled to his regiment, which at that time was stationed at a place
called Norman Cross, in Lincolnshire, or rather Huntingdonshire, at some
distance from the old town of Peterborough. For this place he departed,
leaving my mother and myself to follow in a few days. Our journey was a
singular one. On the second day we reached a marshy and fenny country,
which, owing to immense quantities of rain which had lately fallen, was
completely submerged. At a large town we got on board a kind of passage-
boat, crowded with people; it had neither sails nor oars, and those were
not the days of steam-vessels; it was in a treck-schuyt, and was drawn by
horses.