The Romany Rye

G >> George Borrow >> The Romany Rye

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34

"I require no such thing of you, or anybody," said Belle; "you are
beginning to look rather wild."

"I every now and then do," said I; "come, Belle, what do you say?"

"I will say nothing at present on the subject," said Belle, "I must
have time to consider."

"Just as you please," said I, "to-morrow I go to a fair with Mr.
Petulengro, perhaps you will consider whilst I am away. Come,
Belle, let us have some more tea. I wonder whether we shall be
able to procure tea as good as this in the American forest."

CHAPTER XV

The Dawn of Day--The Last Farewell--Departure for the Fair--The
Fine Horse--Return to the Dingle--No Isopel.

It was about the dawn of day when I was awakened by the voice of
Mr. Petulengro shouting from the top of the dingle, and bidding me
get up. I arose instantly, and dressed myself for the expedition
to the fair. On leaving my tent, I was surprised to observe Belle,
entirely dressed, standing close to her own little encampment.
"Dear me," said I, "I little expected to find you up so early. I
suppose Jasper's call awakened you, as it did me." "I merely lay
down in my things," said Belle, "and have not slept during the
night." "And why did you not take off your things and go to
sleep?" said I. "I did not undress," said Belle, "because I wished
to be in readiness to bid you farewell when you departed; and as
for sleeping, I could not." "Well, God bless you!" said I, taking
Belle by the hand. Belle made no answer, and I observed that her
hand was very cold. "What is the matter with you?" said I, looking
her in the face. Belle looked at me for a moment in the eyes--and
then cast down her own--her features were very pale. "You are
really unwell," said I, "I had better not go to the fair, but stay
here, and take care of you." "No," said Belle, "pray go, I am not
unwell." "Then go to your tent," said I, "and do not endanger your
health by standing abroad in the raw morning air. God bless you,
Belle. I shall be home to-night, by which time I expect you will
have made up your mind; if not, another lesson in Armenian, however
late the hour be." I then wrung Belle's hand, and ascended to the
plain above.

I found the Romany party waiting for me, and everything in
readiness for departing. Mr. Petulengro and Tawno Chikno were
mounted on two old horses. The rest, who intended to go to the
fair, amongst whom were two or three women, were on foot. On
arriving at the extremity of the plain, I looked towards the
dingle. Isopel Berners stood at the mouth, the beams of the early
morning sun shone full on her noble face and figure. I waved my
hand towards her. She slowly lifted up her right arm. I turned
away, and never saw Isopel Berners again.

My companions and myself proceeded on our way. In about two hours
we reached the place where the fair was to be held. After
breakfasting on bread and cheese and ale behind a broken stone
wall, we drove our animals to the fair. The fair was a common
cattle and horse fair: there was little merriment going on, but
there was no lack of business. By about two o'clock in the
afternoon, Mr. Petulengro and his people had disposed of their
animals at what they conceived very fair prices--they were all in
high spirits, and Jasper proposed to adjourn to a public-house. As
we were proceeding to one, a very fine horse, led by a jockey, made
its appearance on the ground. Mr. Petulengro stopped short, and
looked at it stedfastly: "Fino covar dove odoy sas miro--a fine
thing were that if it were but mine!" he exclaimed. "If you covet
it," said I, "why do you not purchase it?" "We low 'Gyptians never
buy animals of that description; if we did we could never sell
them, and most likely should be had up as horse-stealers." "Then
why did you say just now, 'It were a fine thing if it were but
yours?'" said I. "We 'Gyptians always say so when we see anything
that we admire. An animal like that is not intended for a little
hare like me, but for some grand gentleman like yourself. I say,
brother, do you buy that horse!" "How should I buy the horse, you
foolish person?" said I. "Buy the horse, brother," said Mr.
Petulengro, "if you have not the money I can lend it you, though I
be of lower Egypt." "You talk nonsense," said I; "however, I wish
you would ask the man the price of it." Mr. Petulengro, going up
to the jockey, inquired the price of the horse--the man, looking at
him scornfully, made no reply. "Young man," said I, going up to
the jockey, "do me the favour to tell me the price of that horse,
as I suppose it is to sell." The jockey, who was a surly-looking
man, of about fifty, looked at me for a moment, then, after some
hesitation, said, laconically, "Seventy." "Thank you," said I, and
turned away. "Buy that horse," said Mr. Petulengro, coming after
me; "the dook tells me that in less than three months he will be
sold for twice seventy." "I will have nothing to do with him,"
said I; "besides, Jasper, I don't like his tail. Did you observe
what a mean scrubby tail he has?" "What a fool you are, brother,"
said Mr. Petulengro; "that very tail of his shows his breeding. No
good bred horse ever yet carried a fine tail--'tis your scrubby-
tailed horses that are your out-and-outers. Did you ever hear of
Syntax, brother? That tail of his puts me in mind of Syntax.
Well, I say nothing more, have your own way--all I wonder at is,
that a horse like him was ever brought to such a fair of dog cattle
as this."

We then made the best of our way to a public-house, where we had
some refreshment. I then proposed returning to the encampment, but
Mr. Petulengro declined, and remained drinking with his companions
till about six o'clock in the evening, when various jockeys from
the fair came in. After some conversation a jockey proposed a game
of cards; and in a little time, Mr. Petulengro and another gypsy
sat down to play a game of cards with two of the jockeys.

Though not much acquainted with cards, I soon conceived a suspicion
that the jockeys were cheating Mr. Petulengro and his companion, I
therefore called Mr. Petulengro aside, and gave him a hint to that
effect. Mr. Petulengro, however, instead of thanking me, told me
to mind my own bread and butter, and forthwith returned to his
game. I continued watching the players for some hours. The
gypsies lost considerably, and I saw clearly that the jockeys were
cheating them most confoundedly. I therefore once more called Mr.
Petulengro aside, and told him that the jockeys were cheating him,
conjuring him to return to the encampment. Mr. Petulengro, who was
by this time somewhat the worse for liquor, now fell into a
passion, swore several oaths, and asking me who had made me a Moses
over him and his brethren, told me to return to the encampment by
myself. Incensed at the unworthy return which my well-meant words
had received, I forthwith left the house, and having purchased a
few articles of provision, I set out for the dingle alone. It was
a dark night when I reached it, and descending I saw the glimmer of
a fire from the depths of the dingle; my heart beat with fond
anticipation of a welcome. "Isopel Berners is waiting for me,"
said I, "and the first words that I shall hear from her lips is
that she has made up her mind. We shall go to America, and be so
happy together." On reaching the bottom of the dingle, however, I
saw seated near the fire, beside which stood the kettle simmering,
not Isopel Berners, but a gypsy girl, who told me that Miss Berners
when she went away had charged her to keep up the fire, and have
the kettle boiling against my arrival. Startled at these words, I
inquired at what hour Isopel had left, and whither she was gone,
and was told that she had left the dingle, with her cart, about two
hours after I departed; but where she was gone she, the girl, did
not know. I then asked whether she had left no message, and the
girl replied that she had left none, but had merely given
directions about the kettle and fire, putting, at the same time,
six-pence into her hand. "Very strange," thought I; then
dismissing the gypsy girl I sat down by the fire. I had no wish
for tea, but sat looking on the embers, wondering what could be the
motive of the sudden departure of Isopel. "Does she mean to
return?" thought I to myself. "Surely she means to return," Hope
replied, "or she would not have gone away without leaving any
message"--"and yet she could scarcely mean to return," muttered
Foreboding, "or she assuredly would have left some message with the
girl." I then thought to myself what a hard thing it would be, if,
after having made up my mind to assume the yoke of matrimony, I
should be disappointed of the woman of my choice. "Well, after
all," thought I, "I can scarcely be disappointed; if such an ugly
scoundrel as Sylvester had no difficulty in getting such a nice
wife as Ursula, surely I, who am not a tenth part so ugly, cannot
fail to obtain the hand of Isopel Berners, uncommonly fine damsel
though she be. Husbands do not grow upon hedgerows; she is merely
gone after a little business and will return to-morrow."

Comforted in some degree by these hopeful imaginings, I retired to
my tent, and went to sleep.

CHAPTER XVI

Gloomy Forebodings--The Postman's Mother--The Letter--Bears and
Barons--The Best of Advice.

Nothing occurred to me of any particular moment during the
following day. Isopel Berners did not return; but Mr. Petulengro
and his companions came home from the fair early in the morning.
When I saw him, which was about midday, I found him with his face
bruised and swelled. It appeared that, some time after I had left
him, he himself perceived that the jockeys with whom he was playing
cards were cheating him and his companion; a quarrel ensued, which
terminated in a fight between Mr. Petulengro and one of the
jockeys, which lasted some time, and in which Mr. Petulengro,
though he eventually came off victor, was considerably beaten. His
bruises, in conjunction with his pecuniary loss, which amounted to
about seven pounds, were the cause of his being much out of humour;
before night, however, he had returned to his usual philosophic
frame of mind, and, coming up to me as I was walking about,
apologized for his behaviour on the preceding day, and assured me
that he was determined, from that time forward, never to quarrel
with a friend for giving him good advice.

Two more days passed, and still Isopel Berners did not return.
Gloomy thoughts and forebodings filled my mind. During the day I
wandered about the neighbouring roads in the hopes of catching an
early glimpse of her and her returning vehicle; and at night lay
awake, tossing about on my hard couch, listening to the rustle of
every leaf, and occasionally thinking that I heard the sound of her
wheels upon the distant road. Once at midnight, just as I was
about to fall into unconsciousness, I suddenly started up, for I
was convinced that I heard the sound of wheels. I listened most
anxiously, and the sound of wheels striking against stones was
certainly plain enough. "She comes at last," thought I, and for a
few moments I felt as if a mountain had been removed from my
breast;--"here she comes at last, now, how shall I receive her?
Oh," thought I, "I will receive her rather coolly, just as if I was
not particularly anxious about her--that's the way to manage these
women." The next moment the sound became very loud, rather too
loud, I thought, to proceed from her wheels, and then by degrees
became fainter. Rushing out of my tent, I hurried up the path to
the top of the dingle, where I heard the sound distinctly enough,
but it was going from me, and evidently proceeded from something
much larger than the cart of Isopel. I could, moreover, hear the
stamping of a horse's hoof at a lumbering trot. Those only whose
hopes have been wrought up to a high pitch, and then suddenly cast
down, can imagine what I felt at that moment; and yet when I
returned to my lonely tent, and lay down on my hard pallet, the
voice of conscience told me that the misery I was then undergoing I
had fully merited, for the unkind manner in which I had intended to
receive her, when for a brief moment I supposed that she had
returned.

It was on the morning after this affair, and the fourth, if I
forget not, from the time of Isopel's departure, that, as I was
seated on my stone at the bottom of the dingle, getting my
breakfast, I heard an unknown voice from the path above--apparently
that of a person descending--exclaim, "Here's a strange place to
bring a letter to;" and presently an old woman, with a belt round
her middle, to which was attached a leathern bag, made her
appearance, and stood before me.

"Well, if I ever!" said she, as she looked about her. "My good
gentlewoman," said I, "pray what may you please to want?"
"Gentlewoman!" said the old dame, "please to want--well, I call
that speaking civilly, at any rate. It is true, civil words cost
nothing; nevertheless, we do not always get them. What I please to
want is to deliver a letter to a young man in this place; perhaps
you be he?" "What's the name on the letter?" said I, getting up,
and going to her. "There's no name upon it," said she, taking a
letter out of her scrip, and looking at it. "It is directed to the
young man in Mumper's Dingle." "Then it is for me, I make no
doubt," said I, stretching out my hand to take it. "Please to pay
me ninepence first," said the old woman. "However," said she,
after a moment's thought, "civility is civility, and, being rather
a scarce article, should meet with some return. Here's the letter,
young man, and I hope you will pay for it; for if you do not I must
pay the postage myself." "You are the postwoman, I suppose," said
I, as I took the letter. "I am the postman's mother," said the old
woman; "but as he has a wide beat, I help him as much as I can, and
I generally carry letters to places like this, to which he is
afraid to come himself." "You say the postage is ninepence," said
I, "here's a shilling." "Well, I call that honourable," said the
old woman, taking the shilling, and putting it into her pocket--
"here's your change, young man," said she, offering me threepence.
"Pray keep that for yourself," said I; "you deserve it for your
trouble." "Well, I call that genteel," said the old woman; "and as
one good turn deserves another, since you look as if you couldn't
read, I will read your letter for you. Let's see it; it's from
some young woman or other, I dare say." "Thank you," said I, "but
I can read." "All the better for you," said the old woman; "your
being able to read will frequently save you a penny, for that's the
charge I generally make for reading letters; though, as you behaved
so genteelly to me, I should have charged you nothing. Well, if
you can read, why don't you open the letter, instead of keeping it
hanging between your finger and thumb?" "I am in no hurry to open
it," said I, with a sigh. The old woman looked at me for a moment-
-"Well, young man," said she, "there are some--especially those who
can read--who don't like to open their letters when anybody is by,
more especially when they come from young women. Well, I won't
intrude upon you, but leave you alone with your letter. I wish it
may contain something pleasant. God bless you," and with these
words she departed.

I sat down on my stone, with my letter in my hand. I knew
perfectly well that it could have come from no other person than
Isopel Berners; but what did the letter contain? I guessed
tolerably well what its purport was--an eternal farewell! yet I was
afraid to open the letter, lest my expectation should be confirmed.
There I sat with the letter, putting off the evil moment as long as
possible. At length I glanced at the direction, which was written
in a fine bold hand, and was directed, as the old woman had said,
to the young man in "Mumpers' Dingle," with the addition, near -,
in the county of-- Suddenly the idea occurred to me, that, after
all, the letter might not contain an eternal farewell; and that
Isopel might have written, requesting me to join her. Could it be
so? "Alas! no," presently said Foreboding. At last I became
ashamed of my weakness. The letter must be opened sooner or later.
Why not at once? So as the bather who, for a considerable time,
has stood shivering on the bank, afraid to take the decisive
plunge, suddenly takes it, I tore open the letter almost before I
was aware. I had no sooner done so than a paper fell out. I
examined it; it contained a lock of bright flaxen hair. "This is
no good sign," said I, as I thrust the lock and paper into my
bosom, and proceeded to read the letter, which ran as follows: -

"TO THE YOUNG MAN IN MUMPERS' DINGLE.

"SIR,--I send these lines, with the hope and trust that they will
find you well, even as I am myself at this moment, and in much
better spirits, for my own are not such as I could wish they were,
being sometimes rather hysterical and vapourish, and at other
times, and most often, very low. I am at a sea-port, and am just
going on shipboard; and when you get these I shall be on the salt
waters, on my way to a distant country, and leaving my own behind
me, which I do not expect ever to see again.

"And now, young man, I will, in the first place, say something
about the manner in which I quitted you. It must have seemed
somewhat singular to you that I went away without taking any leave,
or giving you the slightest hint that I was going; but I did not do
so without considerable reflection. I was afraid that I should not
be able to support a leave-taking; and as you had said that you
were determined to go wherever I did, I thought it best not to tell
you at all; for I did not think it advisable that you should go
with me, and I wished to have no dispute.

"In the second place, I wish to say something about an offer of
wedlock which you made me; perhaps, young man, had you made it at
the first period of our acquaintance, I should have accepted it,
but you did not, and kept putting off and putting off, and behaving
in a very strange manner, till I could stand your conduct no
longer, but determined upon leaving you and Old England, which last
step I had been long thinking about; so when you made your offer at
last, everything was arranged--my cart and donkey engaged to be
sold--and the greater part of my things disposed of. However,
young man, when you did make it, I frankly tell you that I had half
a mind to accept it; at last, however, after very much
consideration, I thought it best to leave you for ever, because,
for some time past, I had become almost convinced, that though with
a wonderful deal of learning, and exceedingly shrewd in some
things, you were--pray don't be offended--at the root mad! and
though mad people, I have been told, sometimes make very good
husbands, I was unwilling that your friends, if you had any, should
say that Belle Berners, the workhouse girl, took advantage of your
infirmity; for there is no concealing that I was born and bred up
in a workhouse; notwithstanding that, my blood is better than your
own, and as good as the best; you having yourself told me that my
name is a noble name, and once, if I mistake not, that it was the
same word as baron, which is the same thing as bear; and that to be
called in old times a bear was considered a great compliment--the
bear being a mighty strong animal, on which account our forefathers
called all their great fighting-men barons, which is the same as
bears.

"However, setting matters of blood and family entirely aside, many
thanks to you, young man, from poor Belle, for the honour you did
her in making that same offer; for, after all, it is an honour to
receive an honourable offer, which she could see clearly yours was,
with no floriness nor chaff in it; but, on the contrary, entire
sincerity. She assures you that she shall always bear it and
yourself in mind, whether on land or water; and as a proof of the
good-will she bears to you, she sends you a lock of the hair which
she wears on her head, which you were often looking at, and were
pleased to call flax, which word she supposes you meant as a
compliment, even as the old people meant to pass a compliment to
their great folks, when they called them bears; though she cannot
help thinking that they might have found an animal as strong as a
bear, and somewhat less uncouth, to call their great folks after:
even as she thinks yourself, amongst your great store of words,
might have found something a little more genteel to call her hair
after than flax, which, though strong and useful, is rather a
coarse and common kind of article.

"And as another proof of the good-will she bears to you, she sends
you, along with the lock, a piece of advice, which is worth all the
hair in the world, to say nothing of the flax.

"FEAR GOD, and take your own part. There's Bible in that, young
man: see how Moses feared God, and how he took his own part
against everybody who meddled with him. And see how David feared
God, and took his own part against all the bloody enemies which
surrounded him--so fear God, young man, and never give in! The
world can bully, and is fond, provided it sees a man in a kind of
difficulty, of getting about him, calling him coarse names, and
even going so far as to hustle him: but the world, like all
bullies, carries a white feather in its tail, and no sooner sees
the man taking off his coat, and offering to fight its best, than
it scatters here and there, and is always civil to him afterwards.
So when folks are disposed to ill-treat you, young man, say, 'Lord
have mercy upon me!' and then tip them to Long Melford, which, as
the saying goes, there is nothing comparable for shortness all the
world over; and these last words, young man, are the last you will
ever have from her who is nevertheless,

Your affectionate female servant,

ISOPEL BERNERS.

After reading the letter I sat for some time motionless, holding it
in my hand. The daydream in which I had been a little time before
indulging, of marrying Isopel Berners, of going with her to
America, and having by her a large progeny, who were to assist me
in felling trees, cultivating the soil, and who would take care of
me when I was old, was now thoroughly dispelled. Isopel had
deserted me, and was gone to America by herself, where, perhaps,
she would marry some other person, and would bear him a progeny,
who would do for him what in my dream I had hoped my progeny by her
would do for me. Then the thought came into my head that though
she was gone, I might follow her to America, but then I thought
that if I did I might not find her; America was a very large place,
and I did not know the port to which she was bound; but I could
follow her to the port from which she had sailed, and there
possibly discover the port to which she was bound; but I did not
even know the port from which she had set out, for Isopel had not
dated her letter from any place. Suddenly it occurred to me that
the post-mark on the letter would tell me from whence it came, so I
forthwith looked at the back of the letter, and in the post-mark
read the name of a well-known and not very distant sea-port. I
then knew with tolerable certainty the port where she had embarked,
and I almost determined to follow her, but I almost instantly
determined to do no such thing. Isopel Berners had abandoned me,
and I would not follow her; "Perhaps," whispered Pride, "if I
overtook her, she would only despise me for running after her;" and
it also told me pretty roundly, provided I ran after her, whether I
overtook her or not, I should heartily despise myself. So I
determined not to follow Isopel Berners; I took her lock of hair,
and looked at it, then put it in her letter, which I folded up and
carefully stowed away, resolved to keep both for ever, but I
determined not to follow her. Two or three times, however, during
the day, I wavered in my determination, and was again and again
almost tempted to follow her, but every succeeding time the
temptation was fainter. In the evening I left the dingle, and sat
down with Mr. Petulengro and his family by the door of his tent;
Mr. Petulengro soon began talking of the letter which I had
received in the morning. "Is it not from Miss Berners, brother?"
said he. I told him it was. "Is she coming back, brother?"
"Never," said I; "she is gone to America, and has deserted me." "I
always knew that you two were never destined for each other," said
he. "How did you know that?" I inquired. "The dook told me so,
brother; you are born to be a great traveller." "Well," said I,
"if I had gone with her to America, as I was thinking of doing, I
should have been a great traveller." "You are to travel in another
direction, brother," said he. "I wish you would tell me all about
my future wanderings," said I. "I can't, brother," said Mr.
Petulengro, "there's a power of clouds before my eye." "You are a
poor seer, after all," said I; and getting up, I retired to my
dingle and my tent, where I betook myself to my bed, and there,
knowing the worst, and being no longer agitated by apprehension,
nor agonized by expectation, I was soon buried in a deep slumber,
the first which I had fallen into for several nights.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34