THE DINGLE AT NIGHT--THE TWO SIDES OF THE QUESTION--ROMAN
FEMALES--FILLING THE KETTLE--THE DREAM--THE TALL FIGURE
I descended to the bottom of the dingle. It was nearly involved in
obscurity. To dissipate the feeling of melancholy which came over my
mind, I resolved to kindle a fire; and having heaped dry sticks upon my
hearth, and added a billet or two, I struck a light, and soon produced a
blaze. Sitting down, I fixed my eyes upon the blaze, and soon fell into
a deep meditation. I thought of the events of the day, the scene at
church, and what I had heard at church, the danger of losing one's soul,
the doubts of Jasper Petulengro as to whether one had a soul. I thought
over the various arguments which I had either heard, or which had come
spontaneously to my mind, for or against the probability of a state of
future existence. They appeared to me to be tolerably evenly balanced.
I then thought that it was at all events taking the safest part to
conclude that there was a soul. It would be a terrible thing, after
having passed one's life in the disbelief of the existence of a soul, to
wake up after death a soul, and to find one's self a lost soul. Yes,
methought I would come to the conclusion that one has a soul. Choosing
the safe side, however, appeared to me playing rather a dastardly part.
I had never been an admirer of people who chose the safe side in
everything; indeed I had always entertained a thorough contempt for them.
Surely it would be showing more manhood to adopt the dangerous side, that
of disbelief. I almost resolved to do so--but yet in a question of so
much importance, I ought not to be guided by vanity. The question was
not which was the safe, but the true side--yet how was I to know which
was the true side? Then I thought of the Bible--which I had been reading
in the morning--that spoke of the soul and a future state; but was the
Bible true? I had heard learned and moral men say that it was true, but
I had also heard learned and moral men say that it was not: how was I to
decide? Still that balance of probabilities! If I could but see the way
of truth, I would follow it, if necessary, upon hands and knees--on that
I was determined; but I could not see it. Feeling my brain begin to turn
round, I resolved to think of something else; and forthwith began to
think of what had passed between Ursula and myself in our discourse
beneath the hedge.
I mused deeply on what she had told me as to the virtue of the females of
her race. How singular that virtue must be which was kept pure and
immaculate by the possessor, whilst indulging in habits of falsehood and
dishonesty! I had always thought the gypsy females extraordinary beings.
I had often wondered at them, their dress, their manner of speaking, and,
not least, at their names; but, until the present day, I had been
unacquainted with the most extraordinary point connected with them. How
came they possessed of this extraordinary virtue? Was it because they
were thievish? I remembered that an ancient thief-taker, who had retired
from his useful calling, and who frequently visited the office of my
master at law, the respectable S---, {84} who had the management of his
property--I remembered to have heard this worthy, with whom I
occasionally held discourse, philosophic and profound, when he and I
chanced to be alone together in the office, say that all first-rate
thieves were sober, and of well-regulated morals, their bodily passions
being kept in abeyance by their love of gain; but this axiom could
scarcely hold good with respect to these women--however thievish they
might be, they did care for something besides gain: they cared for their
husbands. If they did thieve, they merely thieved for their husbands;
and though, perhaps, some of them were vain, they merely prized their
beauty because it gave them favour in the eyes of their husbands.
Whatever the husbands were--and Jasper had almost insinuated that the
males occasionally allowed themselves some latitude--they appeared to be
as faithful to their husbands as the ancient Roman matrons were to
theirs. Roman matrons! and, after all, might not these be in reality
Roman matrons? They called themselves Romans; might not they be the
descendants of the old Roman matrons? Might not they be of the same
blood as Lucretia? And were not many of their strange names--Lucretia
amongst the rest--handed down to them from old Rome? It is true their
language was not that of old Rome; it was not, however, altogether
different from it. After all, the ancient Romans might be a tribe of
these people, who settled down and founded a village with the tilts of
carts, which by degrees, and the influx of other people, became the grand
city of the world. I liked the idea of the grand city of the world owing
its origin to a people who had been in the habit of carrying their houses
in their carts. Why, after all, should not the Romans of history be a
branch of these Romans? There were several points of similarity between
them; if Roman matrons were chaste, both men and women were thieves. Old
Rome was the thief of the world; yet still there were difficulties to be
removed before I could persuade myself that the old Romans and my Romans
were identical; and in trying to remove these difficulties, I felt my
brain once more beginning to turn, and in haste took up another subject
of meditation, and that was the patteran, and what Ursula had told me
about it.
I had always entertained a strange interest for that sign by which in
their wanderings the Romanese gave to those of their people who came
behind intimation as to the direction which they took; but it now
inspired me with greater interest than ever--now that I had learnt that
the proper meaning of it was the leaves of trees. I had, as I have said
in my dialogue with Ursula, been very eager to learn the word for leaf in
the Romanian language, but had never learnt it till this day; so patteran
signified leaf, the leaf of a tree; and no one at present knew that but
myself and Ursula, who had learnt it from Mrs. Herne, the last, it was
said, of the old stock; and then I thought what strange people the
gypsies must have been in the old time. They were sufficiently strange
at present, but they must have been far stranger of old; they must have
been a more peculiar people--their language must have been more
perfect--and they must have had a greater stock of strange secrets. I
almost wish that I had lived some two or three hundred years ago, that I
might have observed these people when they were yet stranger than at
present. I wondered whether I could have introduced myself to their
company at that period, whether I should have been so fortunate as to
meet such a strange, half-malicious, half good-humoured being as Jasper,
who would have instructed me in the language, then more deserving of note
than at present. What might I not have done with that language, had I
known it in its purity? Why, I might have written books in it; yet those
who spoke it would hardly have admitted me to their society at that
period, when they kept more to themselves. Yet I thought that I might
possibly have gained their confidence, and have wandered about with them,
and learnt their language, and all their strange ways, and then--and
then--and a sigh rose from the depth of my breast; for I began to think,
'Supposing I had accomplished all this, what would have been the profit
of it? and in what would all this wild gypsy dream have terminated?'
Then rose another sigh, yet more profound, for I began to think, 'What
was likely to be the profit of my present way of life; the living in
dingles, making pony and donkey shoes, conversing with gypsy-women under
hedges, and extracting from them their odd secrets?' What was likely to
be the profit of such a kind of life, even should it continue for a
length of time?--a supposition not very probable, for I was earning
nothing to support me, and the funds with which I had entered upon this
life were gradually disappearing. I was living, it is true, not
unpleasantly, enjoying the healthy air of heaven; but, upon the whole,
was I not sadly misspending my time? Surely I was; and, as I looked
back, it appeared to me that I had always been doing so. What had been
the profit of the tongues which I had learnt? had they ever assisted me
in the day of hunger? No, no! it appeared to me that I had always
misspent my time, save in one instance, when by a desperate effort I had
collected all the powers of my imagination, and written the Life of
Joseph Sell; {87} but even when I wrote the life of Sell, was I not in a
false position? Provided I had not misspent my time, would it have been
necessary to make that effort, which, after all, had only enabled me to
leave London, and wander about the country for a time? But could I,
taking all circumstances into consideration, have done better than I had?
With my peculiar temperament and ideas, could I have pursued with
advantage the profession to which my respectable parents had endeavoured
to bring me up? It appeared to me that I could not, and that the hand of
necessity had guided me from my earliest years, until the present night
in which I found myself seated in the dingle, staring on the brands of
the fire. But ceasing to think of the past which, as irrecoverably gone,
it was useless to regret, even were there cause to regret it, what should
I do in future? Should I write another book like the Life of Joseph
Sell; take it to London, and offer it to a publisher? But when I
reflected on the grisly sufferings which I had undergone whilst engaged
in writing the Life of Sell, I shrank from the idea of a similar attempt;
moreover, I doubted whether I possessed the power to write a similar
work--whether the materials for the life of another Sell lurked within
the recesses of my brain? Had I not better become in reality what I had
hitherto been merely playing at--a tinker or a gypsy? But I soon saw
that I was not fitted to become either in reality. It was much more
agreeable to play the gypsy or the tinker, than to become either in
reality. I had seen enough of gypsying and tinkering to be convinced of
that. All of a sudden the idea of tilling the soil came into my head;
tilling the soil was a healthful and noble pursuit! but my idea of
tilling the soil had no connection with Britain; for I could only expect
to till the soil in Britain as a serf. I thought of tilling it in
America, in which it was said there was plenty of wild, unclaimed land,
of which any one, who chose to clear it of its trees, might take
possession. I figured myself in America, in an immense forest, clearing
the land destined, by my exertions, to become a fruitful and smiling
plain. Methought I heard the crash of the huge trees as they fell
beneath my axe; and then I bethought me that a man was intended to
marry--I ought to marry; and if I married, where was I likely to be more
happy as a husband and a father than in America, engaged in tilling the
ground? I fancied myself in America, engaged in tilling the ground,
assisted by an enormous progeny. Well, why not marry, and go and till
the ground in America? I was young, and youth was the time to marry in,
and to labour in. I had the use of all my faculties; my eyes, it is
true, were rather dull from early study, and from writing the Life of
Joseph Sell; but I could see tolerably well with them, and they were not
bleared. I felt my arms, and thighs, and teeth--they were strong and
sound enough; so now was the time to labour, to marry, eat strong flesh,
and beget strong children--the power of doing all this would pass away
with youth, which was terribly transitory. I bethought me that a time
would come when my eyes would be bleared, and, perhaps, sightless; my
arms and thighs strengthless and sapless; when my teeth would shake in my
jaws, even supposing they did not drop out. No going a wooing then--no
labouring--no eating strong flesh, and begetting lusty children then; and
I bethought me how, when all this should be, I should bewail the days of
my youth as misspent, provided I had not in them founded for myself a
home, and begotten strong children to take care of me in the days when I
could not take care of myself; and thinking of these things, I became
sadder and sadder, and stared vacantly upon the fire till my eyes closed
in a doze.
I continued dozing over the fire, until rousing myself I perceived that
the brands were nearly consumed, and I thought of retiring for the night.
I arose, and was about to enter my tent, when a thought struck me.
'Suppose,' thought I, 'that Isopel Berners should return in the midst of
the night, how dark and dreary would the dingle appear without a fire!
truly, I will keep up the fire, and I will do more; I have no board to
spread for her, but I will fill the kettle, and heat it, so that, if she
comes, I may be able to welcome her with a cup of tea, for I know she
loves tea.' Thereupon, I piled more wood upon the fire, and soon
succeeded in producing a better blaze than before; then, taking the
kettle, I set out for the spring. On arriving at the mouth of the
dingle, which fronted the east, I perceived that Charles's wain was
nearly opposite to it, high above in the heavens, by which I knew that
the night was tolerably well advanced. The gypsy encampment lay before
me; all was hushed and still within it, and its inmates appeared to be
locked in slumber; as I advanced, however, the dogs, which were fastened
outside the tents, growled and barked; but presently recognising me, they
were again silent, some of them wagging their tails. As I drew near a
particular tent, I heard a female voice say--'Some one is coming!' and,
as I was about to pass it, the cloth which formed the door was suddenly
lifted up, and a black head, and part of a huge naked body protruded. It
was the head and upper part of the giant Tawno, who, according to the
fashion of gypsy men, lay next the door, wrapped in his blanket; the
blanket, had, however, fallen off, and the starlight shone clear on his
athletic tawny body, and was reflected from his large staring eyes.
'It is only I, Tawno,' said I, 'going to fill the kettle, as it is
possible that Miss Berners may arrive this night.' 'Kos-ko,' {89}
drawled out Tawno, and replaced the curtain. 'Good, do you call it?'
said the sharp voice of his wife; 'there is no good in the matter; if
that young chap were not living with the rawnee in the illegal and
uncertificated line, he would not be getting up in the middle of the
night to fill her kettles.' Passing on, I proceeded to the spring, where
I filled the kettle, and then returned to the dingle.
Placing the kettle upon the fire, I watched it till it began to boil;
then removing it from the top of the brands, I placed it close beside the
fire, and leaving it simmering, I retired to my tent, where, having taken
off my shoes, and a few of my garments, I lay down on my palliasse, and
was not long in falling asleep. I believe I slept soundly for some time,
thinking and dreaming of nothing; suddenly, however, my sleep became
disturbed, and the subject of the patterans began to occupy my brain. I
imagined that I saw Ursula tracing her husband, Launcelot Lovell, by
means of his patterans; I imagined that she had considerable difficulty
in doing so; that she was occasionally interrupted by parish beadles and
constables, who asked her whither she was travelling, to whom she gave
various answers. Presently methought that, as she was passing by a
farmyard, two fierce and savage dogs flew at her; I was in great trouble,
I remember, and wished to assist her, but could not, for though I seemed
to see her, I was still at a distance; and now it appeared that she had
escaped from the dogs, and was proceeding with her cart along a gravelly
path which traversed a wild moor; I could hear the wheels grating amidst
sand and gravel. The next moment I was awake, and found myself silting
up in my tent; there was a glimmer of light through the canvas caused by
the fire. A feeling of dread came over me, which was perhaps natural on
starting suddenly from one's sleep in that wild lone place; I half
imagined that someone was nigh the tent; the idea made me rather
uncomfortable, and, to dissipate it, I lifted up the canvas of the door
and peeped out, and, lo! I had an indistinct view of a tall figure
standing by the tent. 'Who is that?' said I, whilst I felt my blood rush
to my heart. 'It is I,' said the voice of Isopel Berners; 'you little
expected me, I dare say; well, sleep on, I do not wish to disturb you.'
'But I was expecting you,' said I, recovering myself, 'as you may see by
the fire and the kettle. I will be with you in a moment.'
Putting on in haste the articles of dress which I had flung off, I came
out of the tent, and addressing myself to Isopel, who was standing beside
her cart, I said: 'Just as I was about to retire to rest I thought it
possible that you might come to-night, and got everything in readiness
for you. Now, sit down by the fire whilst I lead the donkey and cart to
the place where you stay; I will unharness the animal, and presently come
and join you.' 'I need not trouble you,' said Isopel; 'I will go myself
and see after my things.' 'We will go together,' said I, 'and then
return and have some tea.' Isopel made no objection, and in about half
an hour we had arranged everything at her quarters. I then hastened and
prepared tea. Presently Isopel rejoined me, bringing her stool; she had
divested herself of her bonnet, and her hair fell over her shoulders; she
sat down, and I poured out the beverage, handing her a cup. 'Have you
made a long journey to-night?' said I. 'A very long one,' replied Belle,
'I have come nearly twenty miles since six o'clock.' 'I believe I heard
you coming in my sleep,' said I; 'did the dogs above bark at you?'
'Yes,' said Isopel, 'very violently; did you think of me in your sleep?'
'No,' said I, 'I was thinking of Ursula and something she had told me.'
'When and where was that?' said Isopel. 'Yesterday evening,' said I,
'beneath the dingle hedge.' 'Then you were talking with her beneath the
hedge?' 'I was,' said I, 'but only upon gypsy matters. Do you know,
Belle, that she has just been married to Sylvester, so you need not think
that she and I--.' 'She and you are quite at liberty to sit where you
please,' said Isopel. 'However, young man,' she continued, dropping her
tone, which she had slightly raised, 'I believe what you said, that you
were merely talking about gypsy matters, and also what you were going to
say, if it was, as I suppose, that she and you had no particular
acquaintance.' Isopel was now silent for some time. 'What are you
thinking of?' said I. 'I was thinking,' said Belle, 'how exceedingly
kind it was of you to get everything in readiness for me, though you did
not know that I should come.' 'I had a presentiment that you would
come,' said I; 'but you forget that I have prepared the kettle for you
before, though it was true I was then certain that you would come.' 'I
had not forgotten your doing so, young man,' said Belle; 'but I was
beginning to think that you were utterly selfish, caring for nothing but
the gratification of your own strange whims.' 'I am very fond of having
my own way,' said I, 'but utterly selfish I am not, as I dare say I shall
frequently prove to you. You will often find the kettle boiling when you
come home.' 'Not heated by you,' said Isopel with a sigh. 'By whom
else?' said I; 'surely you are not thinking of driving me away?' 'You
have as much right here as myself,' said Isopel, 'as I have told you
before; but I must be going myself.' 'Well,' said I, 'we can go
together; to tell you the truth, I am rather tired of this place.' 'Our
paths must be separate,' said Belle. 'Separate,' said I, 'what do you
mean? I shan't let you go alone, I shall go with you; and you know the
road is as free to me as to you; besides, you can't think of parting
company with me, considering how much you would lose by doing so;
remember that you scarcely know anything of the Armenian language; now,
to learn Armenian from me would take you twenty years.'
Belle faintly smiled. 'Come,' said I, 'take another cup of tea.' Belle
took another cup of tea, and yet another; we had some indifferent
conversation, after which I arose and gave her donkey a considerable feed
of corn. Belle thanked me, shook me by the hand, and then went to her
own tabernacle, and I returned to mine.