CHAPTER II.
Here we securely live and eat
The cream of meat;
And keep eternal fires
By which we sit and do divine.
HERRICK: Ode to Sir Clipseby Crew.
Around a fire which blazed and crackled beneath the large seething-
pot, that seemed an emblem of the mystery and a promise of the good
cheer which are the supposed characteristics of the gypsy race, were
grouped seven or eight persons, upon whose swarthy and strong
countenances the irregular and fitful flame cast a picturesque and not
unbecoming glow. All of these, with the exception of an old crone who
was tending the pot, and a little boy who was feeding the fire with
sundry fragments of stolen wood, started to their feet upon the
entrance of the stranger.
"What ho! my bob cuffins," cried the gypsy guide, "I have brought you
a gentry cove, to whom you will show all proper respect: and hark ye,
my maunders, if ye dare beg, borrow, or steal a single croker,--ay,
but a bawbee of him, I'll--but ye know me." The gypsy stopped
abruptly, and turned an eye, in which menace vainly struggled with
good-humour, upon each of his brethren, as they submissively bowed to
him and his protege, and poured forth a profusion of promises, to
which their admonitor did not even condescend to listen. He threw off
his great-coat, doubled it down by the best place near the fire, and
made the youth forthwith possess himself of the seat it afforded. He
then lifted the cover of the mysterious caldron. "Well, Mort," cried
he to the old woman, as he bent wistfully down, "what have we here?"
"Two ducks, three chickens, and a rabbit, with some potatoes," growled
the old hag, who claimed the usual privilege of her culinary office,
to be as ill-tempered as she pleased.
"Good!" said the gypsy; "and now, Mim, my cull, go to the other tent,
and ask its inhabitants, in my name, to come here and sup; bid them
bring their caldron to eke out ours: I'll find the lush."
With these words (which Mim, a short, swarthy member of the gang, with
a countenance too astute to be pleasing, instantly started forth to
obey) the gypsy stretched himself at full length by the youth's side,
and began reminding him, with some jocularity and at some length, of
his promise to drink to their better acquaintance.
Something there was in the scene, the fire, the caldron, the intent
figure and withered countenance of the old woman, the grouping of the
other forms, the rude but not unpicturesque tent, the dark still woods
on either side, with the deep and cloudless skies above, as the stars
broke forth one by one upon the silent air, which (to use the orthodox
phrase of the novelist) would not have been wholly unworthy the bold
pencil of Salvator himself.
The youth eyed, with that involuntary respect which personal
advantages always command, the large yet symmetrical proportions of
his wild companion; nor was the face which belonged to that frame much
less deserving of attention. Though not handsome, it was both shrewd
and prepossessing in its expression; the forehead was prominent, the
brows overhung the eyes, which were large, dark, and, unlike those of
the tribe in general, rather calm than brilliant; the complexion,
though sun-burnt, was not swarthy, and the face was carefully and
cleanly shaved, so as to give all due advantage of contrast to the
brown luxuriant locks which fell rather in flakes than curls, on
either side of the healthful and manly cheeks. In age, he was about
thirty-five, and, though his air and mien were assuredly not lofty nor
aristocratic, yet they were strikingly above the bearing of his
vagabond companions: those companions were in all respects of the
ordinary race of gypsies; the cunning and flashing eye, the raven
locks, the dazzling teeth, the bronzed colour, and the low, slight,
active form, were as strongly their distinguishing characteristics as
the tokens of all their tribe.
But to these, the appearance of the youth presented a striking and
beautiful contrast.
He had only just passed the stage of boyhood, perhaps he might have
seen eighteen summers, probably not so many. He had, in imitation of
his companion, and perhaps from mistaken courtesy to his new society,
doffed his hat; and the attitude which he had chosen fully developed
the noble and intellectual turn of his head and throat. His hair, as
yet preserved from the disfiguring fashions of the day, was of a deep
auburn, which was rapidly becoming of a more chestnut hue, and curled
in short close curls from the nape of the neck to the commencement of
a forehead singularly white and high. His brows finely and lightly
pencilled, and his long lashes of the darkest dye, gave a deeper and
perhaps softer shade than they otherwise would have worn to eyes quick
and observant in their expression and of a light hazel in their
colour. His cheek was very fair, and the red light of the fire cast
an artificial tint of increased glow upon a complexion that had
naturally rather bloom than colour; while a dark riding frock set off
in their full beauty the fine outline of his chest and the slender
symmetry of his frame.
But it was neither his features nor his form, eminently handsome as
they were, which gave the principal charm to the young stranger's
appearance: it was the strikingly bold, buoyant, frank, and almost
joyous expression which presided over all. There seemed to dwell the
first glow and life of youth, undimmed by a single fear and unbaffled
in a single hope. There were the elastic spring, the inexhaustible
wealth of energies which defied in their exulting pride the heaviness
of sorrow and the harassments of time. It was a face that, while it
filled you with some melancholy foreboding of the changes and chances
which must, in the inevitable course of fate, cloud the openness of
the unwrinkled brow, and soberize the fire of the daring and restless
eye, instilled also within you some assurance of triumph, and some
omen of success,--a vague but powerful sympathy with the adventurous
and cheerful spirit which appeared literally to speak in its
expression. It was a face you might imagine in one born under a
prosperous star; and you felt, as you gazed, a confidence in that
bright countenance, which, like the shield of the British Prince,
[Prince Arthur.--See "The Faerie Queene."] seemed possessed with a
spell to charm into impotence the evil spirits who menaced its
possessor.
"Well, sir," said his friend, the gypsy, who had in his turn been
surveying with admiration the sinewy and agile frame of his young
guest, "well, sir, how fares your appetite? Old Dame Bingo will be
mortally offended if you do not do ample justice to her good cheer."
"If so," answered our traveller, who, young as he was, had learnt
already the grand secret of making in every situation a female friend,
"if so, I shall be likely to offend her still more."
"And how, my pretty master?" said the old crone with an iron smile.
"Why, I shall be bold enough to reconcile matters with a kiss, Mrs.
Bingo," answered the youth.
"Ha! Ha!" shouted the tall gypsy; "it is many a long day since my old
Mort slapped a gallant's face for such an affront. But here come our
messmates. Good evening, my mumpers; make your bows to this gentleman
who has come to bowse with us to-night. 'Gad, we'll show him that old
ale's none the worse for keeping company with the moon's darlings.
Come, sit down, sit down. Where's the cloth, ye ill-mannered loons,
and the knives and platters? Have we no holiday customs for
strangers, think ye? Mim, my cove, off to my caravan; bring out the
knives, and all other rattletraps; and harkye, my cuffin, this small
key opens the inner hole, where you will find two barrels; bring one
of them. I'll warrant it of the best, for the brewer himself drank
some of the same sort but two hours before I nimm'd them. Come,
stump, my cull, make yourself wings. Ho, Dame Bingo, is not that pot
of thine seething yet? Ah, my young gentleman, you commence betimes;
so much the better; if love's a summer's day, we all know how early a
summer morning begins," added the jovial Egyptian in a lower voice
(feeling perhaps that he was only understood by himself), as he gazed
complacently on the youth, who, with that happy facility of making
himself everywhere at home so uncommon to his countrymen, was already
paying compliments suited to their understanding to two fair daughters
of the tribe who had entered with the new-comers. Yet had he too much
craft or delicacy, call it which you will, to continue his addresses
to that limit where ridicule or jealousy from the male part of the
assemblage might commence; on the contrary, he soon turned to the men,
and addressed them with a familiarity so frank and so suited to their
taste that he grew no less rapidly in their favour than he had already
done in that of the women, and when the contents of the two caldrons
were at length set upon the coarse but clean cloth which in honour of
his arrival covered the sod, it was in the midst of a loud and
universal peal of laughter which some broad witticism of the young
stranger had produced that the party sat down to their repast.
Bright were the eyes and sleek the tresses of the damsel who placed
herself by the side of the stranger, and many were the alluring
glances and insinuated compliments which replied to his open
admiration and profuse flattery; but still there was nothing exclusive
in his attentions; perhaps an ignorance of the customs of his
entertainers, and a consequent discreet fear of offending them,
restrained him; or perhaps he found ample food for occupation in the
plentiful dainties which his host heaped before him.
"Now tell me," said the gypsy chief (for chief he appeared to be), "if
we lead not a merrier life than you dreamt of? or would you have us
change our coarse fare and our simple tents, our vigorous limbs and
free hearts, for the meagre board, the monotonous chamber, the
diseased frame, and the toiling, careful, and withered spirit of some
miserable mechanic?"
"Change!" cried the youth, with an earnestness which, if affected, was
an exquisite counterfeit, "by Heaven, I would change with you myself."
"Bravo, my fine cove!" cried the host, and all the gang echoed their
sympathy with his applause.
The youth continued: "Meat, and that plentiful; ale, and that strong;
women, and those pretty ones: what can man desire more?"
"Ay," cried the host, "and all for nothing,--no, not even a tax; who
else in this kingdom can say that? Come, Mim, push round the ale."
And the ale was pushed round, and if coarse the merriment, loud at
least was the laugh that rang ever and anon from the old tent; and
though, at moments, something in the guest's eye and lip might have
seemed, to a very shrewd observer, a little wandering and absent, yet,
upon the whole, he was almost as much at ease as the rest, and if he
was not quite as talkative he was to the full as noisy.
By degrees, as the hour grew later and the barrel less heavy, the
conversation changed into one universal clatter. Some told their
feats in beggary; others, their achievements in theft; not a viand
they had fed on but had its appropriate legend; even the old rabbit,
which had been as tough as old rabbit can well be, had not been
honestly taken from his burrow; no less a person than Mim himself had
purloined it from a widow's footman who was carrying it to an old maid
from her nephew the Squire.
"Silence," cried the host, who loved talking as well as the rest, and
who for the last ten minutes had been vainly endeavouring to obtain
attention. "Silence! my maunders, it's late, and we shall have the
queer cuffins [magistrates] upon us if we keep it up much longer.
What, ho, Mim, are you still gabbling at the foot of the table when
your betters are talking? As sure as my name's King Cole, I'll choke
you with your own rabbit skin, if you don't hush your prating cheat,--
nay, never look so abashed: if you will make a noise, come forward,
and sing us a gypsy song. You see, my young sir," turning to his
guest, "that we are not without our pretensions to the fine arts."
At this order, Mim started forth, and taking his station at the right
hand of the soi-disant King Cole, began the following song, the chorus
of which was chanted in full diapason by the whole group, with the
additional force of emphasis that knives, feet, and fists could
bestow:--
THE GYPSY'S SONG.
The king to his hall, and the steed to his stall,
And the cit to his bilking board;
But we are not bound to an acre of ground,
For our home is the houseless sward.
We sow not, nor toil; yet we glean from the soil
As much as its reapers do;
And wherever we rove, we feed on the cove
Who gibes at the mumping crew.
CHORUS.--So the king to his hall, etc.
We care not a straw for the limbs of the law,
Nor a fig for the cuffin queer;
While Hodge and his neighbour shall lavish and labour,
Our tent is as sure of its cheer.
CHORUS.--So the king to his hall, etc.
The worst have an awe of the harman's [constable] claw,
And the best will avoid the trap; [bailiff]
But our wealth is as free of the bailiff's see
As our necks of the twisting crap. [gallows]
CHORUS.--So the king to his hall, etc.
They say it is sweet to win the meat
For the which one has sorely wrought;
But I never could find that we lacked the mind
For the food that has cost us nought!
CHRUS.--So the king to his hall, etc.
And when we have ceased from our fearless feast
Why, our jigger [door] will need no bars;
Our sentry shall be on the owlet's tree,
And our lamps the glorious stars.
CHORUS.
So the king to his hall, and the steed to his stall,
And the cit to his bilking board;
But we are not bound to an acre of ground,
For our home is the houseless sward.
Rude as was this lawless stave, the spirit with which it was sung
atoned to the young stranger for its obscurity and quaintness; as for
his host, that curious personage took a lusty and prominent part in
the chorus; nor did the old woods refuse their share of the burden,
but sent back a merry echo to the chief's deep voice and the harsher
notes of his jovial brethren.
When the glee had ceased, King Cole rose, the whole band followed his
example, the cloth was cleared in a trice, the barrel--oh! what a
falling off was there!--was rolled into a corner of the tent, and the
crew to whom the awning belonged began to settle themselves to rest;
while those who owned the other encampment marched forth, with King
Cole at their head. Leaning with no light weight upon his guest's
arm, the lover of ancient minstrelsy poured into the youth's ear a
strain of eulogy, rather eloquent than coherent, upon the scene they
had just witnessed.
"What," cried his majesty in an enthusiastic tone, "what can be so
truly regal as our state? Can any man control us? Are we not above
all laws? Are we not the most despotic of kings? Nay, more than the
kings of earth, are we not the kings of Fairyland itself? Do we not
realize the golden dreams of the old rhymers, luxurious dogs that they
were? Who would not cry out,--
'Blest silent groves! Oh, may ye be
Forever Mirth's best nursery!
May pure Contents
Forever pitch their tents
Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these mountains.'"
Uttering this notable extract from the thrice-honoured Sir Henry
Wotton, King Cole turned abruptly from the common, entered the wood
which skirted it, and, only attended by his guest and his minister
Mim, came suddenly, by an unexpected and picturesque opening in the
trees, upon one of those itinerant vehicles termed caravans, he
ascended the few steps which led to the entrance, opened the door, and
was instantly in the arms of a pretty and young woman. On seeing our
hero (for such we fear the youth is likely to become), she drew back
with a blush not often found upon regal cheeks.
"Pooh," said King Cole, half tauntingly, half fondly, "pooh, Lucy,
blushes are garden flowers, and ought never to be found wild in the
woods:" then changing his tone, he said, "come, put some fresh straw
in the corner, this stranger honours our palace to-night; Mim, unload
thyself of our royal treasures; watch without and vanish from within!"
Depositing on his majesty's floor the appurtenances of the regal
supper-table, Mim made his respectful adieus and disappeared;
meanwhile the queen scattered some fresh straw over a mattress in the
narrow chamber, and, laying over all a sheet of singularly snowy hue,
made her guest some apology for the badness of his lodging; this King
Cole interrupted by a most elaborately noisy yawn and a declaration of
extreme sleepiness. "Now, Lucy, let us leave the gentleman to what he
will like better than soft words even from a queen. Good night, sir,
we shall be stirring at daybreak;" and with this farewell King Cole
took the lady's arm, and retired with her into an inner compartment of
the caravan.
Left to himself, our hero looked round with surprise at the exceeding
neatness which reigned over the whole apartment. But what chiefly
engrossed the attention of one to whose early habits books had always
been treasures were several volumes, ranged in comely shelves, fenced
with wirework, on either side of the fireplace. "Courage," thought
he, as he stretched himself on his humble couch, "my adventures have
commenced well: a gypsy tent, to be sure, is nothing very new; but a
gypsy who quotes poetry, and enjoys a modest wife, speaks better than
books do for the improvement of the world!"
