Lavengro: The Scholar, The Gypsy, The Priest

‘Why don’t you move forward, Jack?’ said another voice, also of a female, yet higher up the path.

The man stirred not, but remained staring at me in the posture which he had assumed on first perceiving me, his body very much drawn back, his left foot far in advance of his right, and with his right hand still grasping the halter of the horse, which gave way more and more, till it was clean down on its haunches.

‘What’s the matter?’ said the voice which I had last heard.

‘Get back with you, Belle, Moll,’ said the man, still staring at me; ‘here’s something not over canny or comfortable.’

‘What is it?’ said the same voice; ‘let me pass, Moll, and I’ll soon clear the way’; and I heard a kind of rushing down the path.

‘You need not be afraid,’ said I, addressing myself to the man, ‘I mean you no harm; I am a wanderer like yourself – come here to seek for shelter – you need not be afraid; I am a Roman chabo by matriculation – one of the right sort, and no mistake – Good-day to ye, brother; I bid ye welcome.’

The man eyed me suspiciously for a moment – then, turning to his horse with a loud curse, he pulled him up from his haunches, and led him and the cart farther down to one side of the dingle, muttering, as he passed me, ‘Afraid! Hm!’

I do not remember ever to have seen a more ruffianly-looking fellow; he was about six feet high, with an immensely athletic frame; his face was black and bluff, and sported an immense pair of whiskers, but with here and there a grey hair, for his age could not be much under fifty. He wore a faded blue frock-coat, corduroys, and highlows; on his black head was a kind of red nightcap, round his bull neck a Barcelona handkerchief – I did not like the look of the man at all.

‘Afraid!’ growled the fellow, proceeding to unharness his horse; ‘that was the word, I think.’

But other figures were now already upon the scene. Dashing past the other horse and cart, which by this time had reached the bottom of the pass, appeared an exceedingly tall woman, or rather girl, for she could scarcely have been above eighteen; she was dressed in a tight bodice and a blue stuff gown; hat, bonnet, or cap she had none, and her hair, which was flaxen, hung down on her shoulders unconfined; her complexion was fair, and her features handsome, with a determined but open expression – she was followed by another female, about forty, stout and vulgar-looking, at whom I scarcely glanced, my whole attention being absorbed by the tall girl.

‘What’s the matter, Jack?’ said the latter, looking at the man.

‘Only afraid, that’s all,’ said the man, still proceeding with his work.

‘Afraid at what – at that lad? why, he looks like a ghost – I would engage to thrash him with one hand.’

‘You might beat me with no hands at all,’ said I, ‘fair damsel, only by looking at me – I never saw such a face and figure, both regal – why, you look like Ingeborg, Queen of Norway; she had twelve brothers, you know, and could lick them all, though they were heroes: —

On Dovrefeld in NorwayWere once together seenThe twelve heroic brothersOf Ingeborg the queen.’

‘None of your chaffing, young fellow,’ said the tall girl, ‘or I will give you what shall make you wipe your face; be civil, or you will rue it.’

‘Well, perhaps I was a peg too high,’ said I; ‘I ask your pardon – here’s something a bit lower: —

As I was jawing to the gav yeck divvusI met on the drom miro Rommany chi – ’

‘None of your Rommany chies, young fellow,’ said the tall girl, looking more menacingly than before, and clenching her fist; ‘you had better be civil, I am none of your chies; and though I keep company with gypsies, or, to speak more proper, half-and-halfs, I would have you to know that I come of Christian blood and parents, and was born in the great house of Long Melford.’

‘I have no doubt,’ said I, ‘that it was a great house; judging from your size I shouldn’t wonder if you were born in a church.’

‘Stay, Belle,’ said the man, putting himself before the young virago, who was about to rush upon me, ‘my turn is first’ – then, advancing to me in a menacing attitude, he said, with a look of deep malignity, ‘“Afraid,” was the word, wasn’t it?’

‘It was,’ said I, ‘but I think I wronged you; I should have said, aghast; you exhibited every symptom of one labouring under uncontrollable fear.’

The fellow stared at me with a look of stupid ferocity, and appeared to be hesitating whether to strike or not: ere he could make up his mind, the tall girl started forward, crying, ‘He’s chaffing; let me at him’; and before I could put myself on my guard, she struck me a blow on the face which had nearly brought me to the ground.

‘Enough,’ said I, putting my hand to my cheek; ‘you have now performed your promise, and made me wipe my face: now be pacified, and tell me fairly the grounds of this quarrel.’

‘Grounds!’ said the fellow; ‘didn’t you say I was afraid; and if you hadn’t, who gave you leave to camp on my ground?’

‘Is it your ground?’ said I.

‘A pretty question,’ said the fellow; ‘as if all the world didn’t know that. Do you know who I am?’

‘I guess I do,’ said I; ‘unless I am much mistaken, you are he whom folks call the “Flaming Tinman.” To tell you the truth, I’m glad we have met, for I wished to see you. These are your two wives, I suppose; I greet them. There’s no harm done – there’s room enough here for all of us – we shall soon be good friends, I daresay; and when we are a little better acquainted, I’ll tell you my history.’

‘Well, if that doesn’t beat all!’ said the fellow.

‘I don’t think he’s chaffing now,’ said the girl, whose anger seemed to have subsided on a sudden; ‘the young man speaks civil enough.’

‘Civil!’ said the fellow, with an oath; ‘but that’s just like you; with you it is a blow, and all over. Civil! I suppose you would have him stay here, and get into all my secrets, and hear all I may have to say to my two morts.’

‘Two morts!’ said the girl, kindling up, ‘where are they? Speak for one, and no more. I am no mort of yours, whatever some one else may be. I tell you one thing, Black John or Anselo, – for t’other ain’t your name, – the same thing I told the young man here, be civil, or you will rue it.’

The fellow looked at the girl furiously, but his glance soon quailed before hers; he withdrew his eyes, and cast them on my little horse, which was feeding amongst the trees. ‘What’s this?’ said he, rushing forward and seizing the animal. ‘Why, as I am alive, this is the horse of that mumping villain Slingsby.’

‘It’s his no longer; I bought it and paid for it.’

‘It’s mine now,’ said the fellow; ‘I swore I would seize it the next time I found it on my beat; ay, and beat the master too.’

‘I am not Slingsby.’

‘All’s one for that.’

‘You don’t say you will beat me?’

‘Afraid was the word.’

‘I’m sick and feeble.’

‘Hold up your fists.’

‘Won’t the horse satisfy you?’

‘Horse nor bellows either.’

‘No mercy, then?’

‘Here’s at you.’

‘Mind your eyes, Jack. There, you’ve got it. I thought so,’ shouted the girl, as the fellow staggered back from a sharp blow in the eye; ‘I thought he was chaffing at you all along.’

‘Never mind, Anselo. You know what to do – go in,’ said the vulgar woman, who had hitherto not spoken a word, but who now came forward with all the look of a fury; ‘go inapopli; you’ll smash ten like he.’

The Flaming Tinman took her advice, and came in bent on smashing, but stopped short on receiving a left-handed blow on the nose.

‘You’ll never beat the Flaming Tinman in that way,’ said the girl, looking at me doubtfully.

And so I began to think myself, when, in the twinkling of an eye, the Flaming Tinman, disengaging himself of his frock-coat, and dashing off his red night-cap, came rushing in more desperately than ever. To a flush hit which he received in the mouth he paid as little attention as a wild bull would have done; in a moment his arms were around me, and in another he had hurled me down, falling heavily upon me. The fellow’s strength appeared to be tremendous.

‘Pay him off now,’ said the vulgar woman. The Flaming Tinman made no reply, but, planting his knee on my breast, seized my throat with two huge horny hands. I gave myself up for dead, and probably should have been so in another minute but for the tall girl, who caught hold of the handkerchief which the fellow wore round his neck, with a grasp nearly as powerful as that with which he pressed my throat.

‘Do you call that fair play?’ said she.

‘Hands off, Belle,’ said the other woman; ‘do you call it fair play to interfere? hands off, or I’ll be down upon you myself.’

But Belle paid no heed to the injunction, and tugged so hard at the handkerchief that the Flaming Tinman was nearly throttled; suddenly relinquishing his hold of me, he started on his feet, and aimed a blow at my fair preserver, who avoided it, but said coolly: —

‘Finish t’other business first, and then I’m your woman whenever you like; but finish it fairly – no foul play when I’m by – I’ll be the boy’s second, and Moll can pick up you when he happens to knock you down.’

The battle during the next ten minutes raged with considerable fury, but it so happened that during this time I was never able to knock the Flaming Tinman down, but on the contrary received six knock-down blows myself. ‘I can never stand this,’ said I, as I sat on the knee of Belle, ‘I am afraid I must give in; the Flaming Tinman hits very hard,’ and I spat out a mouthful of blood.

‘Sure enough you’ll never beat the Flaming Tinman in the way you fight – it’s of no use flipping at the Flaming Tinman with your left hand; why don’t you use your right?’

‘Because I’m not handy with it,’ said I; and then getting up, I once more confronted the Flaming Tinman, and struck him six blows for his one, but they were all left-handed blows, and the blow which the Flaming Tinman gave me knocked me off my legs.

‘Now, will you use Long Melford?’ said Belle, picking me up.

‘I don’t know what you mean by Long Melford,’ said I, gasping for breath.

‘Why, this long right of yours,’ said Belle, feeling my right arm; ‘if you do, I shouldn’t wonder if you yet stand a chance.’

And now the Flaming Tinman was once more ready, much more ready than myself. I, however, rose from my second’s knee as well as my weakness would permit me. On he came, striking left and right, appearing almost as fresh as to wind and spirit as when he first commenced the combat, though his eyes were considerably swelled, and his nether lip was cut in two; on he came, striking left and right, and I did not like his blows at all, or even the wind of them, which was anything but agreeable, and I gave way before him. At last he aimed a blow which, had it taken full effect, would doubtless have ended the battle, but owing to his slipping, the fist only grazed my left shoulder, and came with terrific force against a tree, close to which I had been driven; before the Tinman could recover himself, I collected all my strength, and struck him beneath the ear, and then fell to the ground completely exhausted; and it so happened that the blow which I struck the Tinker beneath the ear was a right-handed blow.

‘Hurrah for Long Melford!’ I heard Belle exclaim; ‘there is nothing like Long Melford for shortness, all the world over.’

At these words I turned round my head as I lay, and perceived the Flaming Tinman stretched upon the ground apparently senseless. ‘He is dead,’ said the vulgar woman, as she vainly endeavoured to raise him up; ‘he is dead; the best man in all the north country, killed in this fashion, by a boy!’ Alarmed at these words, I made shift to get on my feet; and, with the assistance of the woman, placed my fallen adversary in a sitting posture. I put my hand to his heart, and felt a slight pulsation – ‘He’s not dead,’ said I, ‘only stunned; if he were let blood, he would recover presently.’ I produced a penknife which I had in my pocket, and, baring the arm of the Tinman, was about to make the necessary incision, when the woman gave me a violent blow, and, pushing me aside, exclaimed, ‘I’ll tear the eyes out of your head if you offer to touch him. Do you want to complete your work, and murder him outright, now he’s asleep? you have had enough of his blood already.’ ‘You are mad,’ said I, ‘I only seek to do him service. Well, if you won’t let him be blooded, fetch some water and fling it in his face, you know where the pit is.’

‘A pretty manœuvre!’ said the woman; ‘leave my husband in the hands of you and that limmer, who has never been true to us – I should find him strangled or his throat cut when I came back.’ ‘Do you go,’ said I to the tall girl; ‘take the can and fetch some water from the pit.’ ‘You had better go yourself,’ said the girl, wiping a tear as she looked on the yet senseless form of the Tinker; ‘you had better go yourself, if you think water will do him good.’ I had by this time somewhat recovered my exhausted powers, and, taking the can, I bent my steps as fast as I could to the pit; arriving there, I lay down on the brink, took a long draught, and then plunged my head into the water; after which I filled the can, and bent my way back to the dingle. Before I could reach the path which led down into its depths, I had to pass some way along its side; I had arrived at a part immediately over the scene of the last encounter, where the bank, overgrown with trees, sloped precipitously down. Here I heard a loud sound of voices in the dingle; I stopped, and laying hold of a tree, leaned over the bank and listened. The two women appeared to be in hot dispute in the dingle. ‘It was all owing to you, you limmer,’ said the vulgar woman to the other; ‘had you not interfered, the old man would soon have settled the boy.’

‘I’m for fair play and Long Melford,’ said the other. ‘If your old man, as you call him, could have settled the boy fairly, he might for all I should have cared, but no foul work for me, and as for sticking the boy with our gulleys when he comes back, as you proposed, I am not so fond of your old man or you that I should oblige you in it, to my soul’s destruction.’ ‘Hold your tongue, or I’ll – ’ I listened no farther, but hastened as fast as I could to the dingle. My adversary had just begun to show signs of animation; the vulgar woman was still supporting him, and occasionally cast glances of anger at the tall girl, who was walking slowly up and down. I lost no time in dashing the greater part of the water into the Tinman’s face, whereupon he sneezed, moved his hands, and presently looked round him. At first his looks were dull and heavy, and without any intelligence at all; he soon, however, began to recollect himself, and to be conscious of his situation; he cast a scowling glance at me, then one of the deepest malignity at the tall girl, who was still walking about without taking much notice of what was going forward. At last he looked at his right hand, which had evidently suffered from the blow against the tree, and a half-stifled curse escaped his lips. The vulgar woman now said something to him in a low tone, whereupon he looked at her for a moment, and then got upon his legs. Again the vulgar woman said something to him; her looks were furious, and she appeared to be urging him on to attempt something. I observed that she had a clasped knife in her hand. The fellow remained standing for some time as if hesitating what to do; at last he looked at his hand, and, shaking his head, said something to the woman which I did not understand. The tall girl, however, appeared to overhear him, and, probably repeating his words, said, ‘No, it won’t do; you are right there; and now hear what I have to say, – let bygones be bygones, and let us all shake hands, and camp here, as the young man was saying just now.’ The man looked at her, and then, without any reply, went to his horse, which was lying down among the trees, and kicking it up, led it to the cart, to which he forthwith began to harness it. The other cart and horse had remained standing motionless during the whole affair which I have been recounting, at the bottom of the pass. The woman now took the horse by the head, and leading it with the cart into the open part of the dingle, turned both round, and then led them back, till the horse and cart had mounted a little way up the ascent; she then stood still and appeared to be expecting the man. During this proceeding Belle had stood looking on without saying anything; at last, perceiving that the man had harnessed his horse to the other cart, and that both he and the woman were about to take their departure, she said, ‘You are not going, are you?’ Receiving no answer, she continued: ‘I tell you what, both of you, Black John, and you Moll, his mort, this is not treating me over civilly, – however, I am ready to put up with it, and to go with you if you like, for I bear no malice. I’m sorry for what has happened, but you have only yourselves to thank for it. Now, shall I go with you, only tell me?’ The man made no manner of reply, but flogged his horse. The woman, however, whose passions were probably under less control, replied, with a screeching tone, ‘Stay where you are, you jade, and may the curse of Judas cling to you, – stay with the bit of a mullo whom you helped, and my only hope is that he may gulley you before he comes to be… Have you with us, indeed! after what’s past! no, nor nothing belonging to you. Fetch down your mailla go-cart and live here with your chabo.’ She then whipped on the horse, and ascended the pass, followed by the man. The carts were light, and they were not long in ascending the winding path. I followed to see that they took their departure. Arriving at the top, I found near the entrance a small donkey-cart, which I concluded belonged to the girl. The tinker and his mort were already at some distance; I stood looking after them for a little time, then taking the donkey by the reins I led it with the cart to the bottom of the dingle. Arrived there, I found Belle seated on the stone by the fireplace. Her hair was all dishevelled, and she was in tears.

‘They were bad people,’ said she, ‘and I did not like them, but they were my only acquaintance in the wide world.’

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

AT TEA – VAPOURS – ISOPEL BERNERS – SOFTLY AND KINDLY – SWEET PRETTY CREATURE – BREAD AND WATER – TRUTH AND CONSTANCY – VERY STRANGELY

In the evening of that same day the tall girl and I sat at tea by the fire, at the bottom of the dingle; the girl on a small stool, and myself, as usual, upon my stone.

The water which served for the tea had been taken from a spring of pellucid water in the neighbourhood, which I had not had the good fortune to discover, though it was well known to my companion, and to the wandering people who frequented the dingle.

‘This tea is very good,’ said I, ‘but I cannot enjoy it as much as if I were well: I feel very sadly.’

‘How else should you feel,’ said the girl, ‘after fighting with the flaming Tinman? All I wonder at is that you can feel at all! As for the tea, it ought to be good, seeing that it cost me ten shillings a pound.’

‘That’s a great deal for a person in your station to pay.’

‘In my station! I’d have you to know, young man – however, I haven’t the heart to quarrel with you, you look so ill; and after all, it is a good sum for one to pay who travels the roads; but if I must have tea, I like to have the best; and tea I must have, for I am used to it, though I can’t help thinking that it sometimes fills my head with strange fancies – what some folks call vapours, making me weep and cry.’

‘Dear me,’ said I, ‘I should never have thought that one of your size and fierceness would weep and cry!’

‘My size and fierceness! I tell you what, young man, you are not over civil this evening; but you are ill, as I said before, and I shan’t take much notice of your language, at least for the present; as for my size, I am not so much bigger than yourself; and as for being fierce, you should be the last one to fling that at me. It is well for you that I can be fierce sometimes. If I hadn’t taken your part against Blazing Bosville, you wouldn’t be now taking tea with me.’

‘It is true that you struck me in the face first; but we’ll let that pass. So that man’s name is Bosville; what’s your own?’

‘Isopel Berners.’

‘How did you get that name?’

‘I say, young man, you seem fond of asking questions: will you have another cup of tea?’

‘I was just going to ask for another.’

‘Well, then, here it is, and much good may it do you; as for my name, I got it from my mother.’

‘Your mother’s name, then, was Isopel!’

‘Isopel Berners.’

‘But had you never a father?’

‘Yes, I had a father,’ said the girl, sighing, ‘but I don’t bear his name.’

‘Is it the fashion, then, in your country for children to bear their mother’s name?’

‘If you ask such questions, young man, I shall be angry with you. I have told you my name, and, whether my father’s or mother’s, I am not ashamed of it.’

‘It is a noble name.’

‘There you are right, young man. The chaplain in the great house where I was born told me it was a noble name; it was odd enough, he said, that the only three noble names in the county were to be found in the great house; mine was one; the other two were Devereux and Bohun.’

‘What do you mean by the great house?’

‘The workhouse.’

‘Is it possible that you were born there?’

‘Yes, young man; and as you now speak softly and kindly, I will tell you my whole tale. My father was an officer of the sea, and was killed at sea as he was coming home to marry my mother, Isopel Berners. He had been acquainted with her, and had left her; but after a few months he wrote her a letter, to say that he had no rest, and that he repented, and that as soon as his ship came to port he would do her all the reparation in his power. Well, young man, the very day before they reached port they met the enemy, and there was a fight, and my father was killed, after he had struck down six of the enemy’s crew on their own deck; for my father was a big man, as I have heard, and knew tolerably well how to use his hands. And when my mother heard the news, she became half distracted, and ran away into the fields and forests, totally neglecting her business, for she was a small milliner; and so she ran demented about the meads and forests for a long time, now sitting under a tree, and now by the side of a river – at last she flung herself into some water, and would have been drowned, had not some one been at hand and rescued her, whereupon she was conveyed to the great house, lest she should attempt to do herself further mischief, for she had neither friends nor parents – and there she died three months after, having first brought me into the world. She was a sweet pretty creature, I’m told, but hardly fit for this world, being neither large, nor fierce, nor able to take her own part. So I was born and bred in the great house, where I learnt to read and sew, to fear God, and to take my own part. When I was fourteen I was put out to service to a small farmer and his wife, with whom, however, I did not stay long, for I was half-starved, and otherwise ill treated, especially by my mistress, who one day attempting to knock me down with a besom, I knocked her down with my fist, and went back to the great house.’

‘And how did they receive you in the great house?’

‘Not very kindly, young man – on the contrary, I was put into a dark room, where I was kept a fortnight on bread and water; I did not much care, however, being glad to have got back to the great house at any rate – the place where I was born, and where my poor mother died; and in the great house I continued two years longer, reading and sewing, fearing God, and taking my own part when necessary. At the end of the two years I was again put out to service, but this time to a rich farmer and his wife, with whom, however, I did not live long, less time, I believe, than with the poor ones, being obliged to leave for – ’

‘Knocking your mistress down?’

‘No, young man, knocking my master down, who conducted himself improperly towards me. This time I did not go back to the great house, having a misgiving that they would not receive me; so I turned my back to the great house where I was born, and where my poor mother died, and wandered for several days I know not whither, supporting myself on a few halfpence which I chanced to have in my pocket. It happened one day, as I sat under a hedge crying, having spent my last farthing, that a comfortable-looking elderly woman came up in a cart, and seeing the state in which I was, she stopped and asked what was the matter with me; I told her some part of my story, whereupon she said, ‘Cheer up, my dear; if you like, you shall go with me, and wait upon me.’ Of course I wanted little persuasion, so I got into the cart and went with her. She took me to London and various other places, and I soon found that she was a travelling woman, who went about the country with silks and linen. I was of great use to her, more especially in those places where we met evil company. Once, as we were coming from Dover, we were met by two sailors, who stopped our cart, and would have robbed and stripped us. ‘Let me get down,’ said I; so I got down, and fought with them both, till they turned round and ran away. Two years I lived with the old gentlewoman, who was very kind to me, almost as kind as a mother; at last she fell sick at a place in Lincolnshire, and after a few days died, leaving me her cart and stock in trade, praying me only to see her decently buried – which I did, giving her a funeral fit for a gentlewoman. After which I travelled the country – melancholy enough for want of company, but so far fortunate that I could take my own part when anybody was uncivil to me. At last, passing through the valley of Todmorden, I formed the acquaintance of Blazing Bosville and his wife, with whom I occasionally took journeys for company’s sake, for it is melancholy to travel about alone, even when one can take one’s own part. I soon found they were evil people; but, upon the whole, they treated me civilly, and I sometimes lent them a little money, so that we got on tolerably well together. He and I, it is true, had once a dispute, and nearly came to blows; for once, when we were alone, he wanted me to marry him, promising, if I would, to turn off Grey Moll, or, if I liked it better, to make her wait upon me as a maid-servant; I never liked him much, but from that hour less than ever. Of the two, I believe Grey Moll to be the best, for she is at any rate true and faithful to him, and I like truth and constancy – don’t you, young man?’