THE MONKS OF THE WEY.

A TRUE AND IMPORTANT RELATION OF THE WONDERFUL TUNNELL OF NEWARKE ABBEY

AND OF THE UNTIMELY ENDE OF SEVERALL OF YE GHOSTLY BRETH'REN.

The monks of the Wey seldom sung any psalms,

And little they thought of religion or qualms;

Such rollicking, frolicking, ranting, and gay,

And jolly old boys were the monks of the Wey.

To the sweet nuns of Ockham devoting their cares,

They had little time for their beads and their prayers;

For the love of these maidens they sighed night and day,

And neglected devotion, these monks of the Wey.

And happy i' faith might these brothers have been

If the river had never been rolling between

The abbey so grand and the convent so gray,

That stood on the opposite side of the Wey.

For daily they sighed, and then nightly they pined

But little to anchorite precepts inclined,

So smitten with beauty's enchantments were they,

These rollicking, frolicking monks of the Wey.

But scandal was rife in the country near,

They dared not row over the river for fear;

And no more could they swim it, so fat were they,

These oily and amorous monks of the Wey.

Loudly they groaned for their fate so hard,

From the love of these beautiful maidens debarred,

Till a brother just hit on a plan which would stay

The woe of these heart-broken monks of the Wey.

"Nothing," quoth he, "should true love sunder;

Since we cannot go over, then let us go under!

Boats and bridges shall yield to clay,

We'll dig a long tunnel clean under the Wey."

So to it they went with right good will,

With spade and shovel and pike and bill;

And from evening's close till the dawn of day

They worked like miners all under the Wey.

And at vesper hour, as their work begun,

Each sung of the charms of his favorite nun;

"How surprised they will be, and how happy!" said they,

"When we pop in upon them from under the Wey!"

And for months they kept grubbing and making no sound

Like other black moles, darkly under the ground;

And no one suspected such going astray,

So sly were these mischievous monks of the Wey.

At last their fine work was brought near to a close

And early one morn from their pallets they rose,

And met in their tunnel with lights to survey

If they'd scooped a free passage right under the Wey.

But alas for their fate! As they smirked and they smiled.

To think how completely the world was beguiled,

The river broke in, and it grieves me to say

It drowned all the frolicksome monks of the Wey.

* * * * *

O churchmen beware of the lures of the flesh,

The net of the devil has many a mesh!

And remember whenever you're tempted to stray,

The fate that befell the poor monks of the Wey.

It was all long ago, and now there are neither monks nor nuns; the

convent has been converted, little by little, age by age, into cottages,

even as the friars and nuns themselves may have been organically changed

possibly into violets, but more probably into the festive sparrows which

flit and hop and flirt about the ruins with abrupt startles, like

pheasants sudden bursting on the wing. There is a pretty little Latin

epigram, written by a gay monk, of a pretty little lady, who, being very

amorous, and observing that sparrows were like her as to love, hoped that

she might be turned into one after death; and it is not difficult for a

dreamer in an old abbey, of a golden day to fancy that these merry, saucy

birdies, who dart and dip in and out of the sunshine or shadow, chirping

their shameless ditties _pro et con_, were once the human dwellers in the

spot, who sang their gaudrioles to pleasant strains.

I became familiar with many such scenes for many miles about Oatlands,

not merely during solitary walks, but by availing myself of the kind

invitations of many friends, and by hunting afoot with the beagles. In

this fashion one has hare and hound, but no horse. It is not needed, for

while going over crisp stubble and velvet turf, climbing fences and

jumping ditches, a man has a keen sense of being his own horse, and when

he accomplishes a good leap of being intrinsically well worth 200 pounds.

And indeed, so long as anybody can walk day in and out a greater distance

than would tire a horse, he may well believe he is really worth one. It

may be a good thing for us to reflect on the fact that if slavery

prevailed at the present day as it did among the polished Greeks the

average price of young gentlemen, and even of young ladies, would not be

more than what is paid for a good hunter. Divested of diamonds and of

Worth's dresses, what would a girl of average charms be worth to a

stranger? Let us reflect!

It was an October morning, and, pausing after a run, I let the pack and

the "course-men" sweep away, while I sat in a pleasant spot to enjoy the

air and scenery. The solemn grandeur of groves and the quiet dignity of

woodland glades, barred with rays of solid-seeming sunshine, such as the

saint of old hung his cloak on, the brook into which the overhanging

chestnuts drop, as if in sport, their creamy golden little boats of

leaves, never seem so beautiful or impressive as immediately after a rush

and cry of many men, succeeded by solitude and silence. Little by little

the bay of the hounds, the shouts of the hunters, and the occasional

sound of the horn grew fainter; the birds once more appeared, and sent

forth short calls to their timid friends. I began again to notice who my

neighbors were, as to daisies and heather which resided around the stone

on which I sat, and the exclusive circle of a fairy-ring at a little

distance, which, like many exclusive circles, consisted entirely of

mushrooms.

As the beagle-sound died away, and while the hounds were "working around"

to the road, I heard footsteps approaching, and looking up saw before me

a gypsy woman and a boy. She was a very gypsy woman, an ideal witch,

nut-brown, tangle-haired, aquiline of nose, and fierce-eyed; and fiercely

did she beg! As amid broken Gothic ruins, overhung with unkempt ivy, one

can trace a vanished and strange beauty, so in this worn face of the

Romany, mantled by neglected tresses, I could see the remains of what

must have been once a wonderful though wild loveliness. As I looked into

those serpent eyes; trained for a long life to fascinate in

fortune-telling simple dove-girls, I could readily understand the

implicit faith with which many writers in the olden time spoke of the

"fascination" peculiar to female glances. "The multiplication of women,"

said the rabbis, "is the increase of witches," for the belles in Israel

were killing girls, with arrows, the bows whereof are formed by pairs of

jet-black eyebrows joined in one. And thus it was that these black-eyed

beauties, by _mashing_ {108} men for many generations, with shafts shot

sideways and most wantonly, at last sealed their souls into the corner of

their eyes, as you have heard before. Cotton Mather tells us that these

witches with peaked eye-corners could never weep but three tears out of

their long-tailed eyes. And I have observed that such tears, as they

sweep down the cheeks of the brunette witches, are also long-tailed, and

recall by their shape and glitter the eyes from which they fell, even as

the daughter recalls the mother. For all love's witchcraft lurks in

flashing eyes,--_lontan del occhio lontan dal' cuor_.

It is a great pity that the pigeon-eye-peaks, so pretty in young witches,

become in the old ones crow's-feet and crafty. When I greeted the woman,

she answered in Romany, and said she was a Stanley from the North. She

lied bravely, and I told her so. It made no difference in any way, nor

was she hurt. The brown boy, who seemed like a goblin, umber-colored

fungus, growing by a snaky black wild vine, sat by her and stared at me.

I was pleased, when he said _tober_, that she corrected him, exclaiming

earnestly, "Never say _tober_ for road; that is _canting_. Always say

_drom_; that is good Romanes." There is always a way of bringing up a

child in the way he should go,--though it be a gypsy one,--and _drom_

comes from the Greek _dromos_, which is elegant and classical. Then she

began to beg again, to pass the time, and I lectured her severely on the

sin and meanness of her conduct, and said, with bitterness, "Do dogs eat

dogs, or are all the Gorgios dead in the land, that you cry for money to

me? Oh, you are a fine Stanley! a nice Beshaley you, to sing mumpin and

mongerin, when a half-blood Matthews has too much decency to trouble the

rye! And how much will you take? Whatever the gentleman pleases, and

thank you, my kind sir, and the blessings of the poor gypsy woman on you.

Yes, I know that, _givelli_, you mother of all the liars. You expect a

sixpence, and here it is, and may you get drunk on the money, and be well

thrashed by your man for it. And now see what I had in my hand all the

time to give you. A lucky half crown, my deary; but that's not for you

now. I only give a sixpence to a beggar, but I stand a _pash-korauna_ to

any Romany who's a pal and amal."

This pleasing discourse made us very good friends, and, as I kept my eyes

sharply fixed on her viper orbs with an air of intense suspicion,

everything like ill-feeling or distrust naturally vanished from her mind;

for it is of the nature of the Romanys and all their kind to like those

whom they respect, and respect those whom they cannot deceive, and to

measure mankind exactly by their capacity of being taken in, especially

by themselves. As is also the case, in good society, with many ladies

and some gentlemen,--and much good may it do them!

There was a brief silence, during which the boy still looked wistfully

into my face, as if wondering what kind of gentleman I might be, until

his mother said,--

"How do you do with them _ryas_ [swells]? What do you tell

'em--about--what do they think--you know?"

This was not explicit, but I understood it perfectly. There is a great

deal of such loose, disjointed conversation among gypsies and other

half-thinkers. An educated man requires, or pretends to himself to

require, a most accurately-detailed and form-polished statement of

anything to understand it. The gypsy is less exacting. I have observed

among rural Americans much of this lottery style of conversation, in

which one man invests in a dubious question, not knowing exactly what

sort of a prize or blank answer he may draw. What the gypsy meant

effectively was, "How do you account to the Gorgios for knowing so much

about us, and talking with us? Our life is as different from yours as

possible, and you never acquired such a knowledge of all our tricky ways

as you have just shown without much experience of us and a double life.

You are related to us in some way, and you deceive the Gorgios about it.

What is your little game of life, on general principles?"

For the gypsy is so little accustomed to having any congenial interest

taken in him that he can clearly explain it only by consanguinity. And

as I was questioned, so I answered,--

"Well, I tell them I like to learn languages, and am trying to learn

yours; and then I'm a foreigner in the country, anyhow, and they don't

know my _droms_ [ways], and they don't care much what I do,--don't you

see?"

This was perfectly satisfactory, and as the hounds came sweeping round

the corner of the wood she rose and went her way, and I saw her growing

less and less along the winding road and up the hill, till she

disappeared, with her boy, in a small ale-house. "Bang went the

sixpence."

When the last red light was in the west I went down to the river, and as

I paused, and looked alternately at the stars reflected and flickering in

the water and at the lights in the little gypsy camp, I thought that as

the dancing, restless, and broken sparkles were to their serene types

above, such were the wandering and wild Romany to the men of culture in

their settled homes. It is from the house-dweller that the men of the

roads and commons draw the elements of their life, but in that life they

are as shaken and confused as the starlight in the rippling river. But

if we look through our own life we find that it is not the gypsy alone

who is merely a reflection and an imitation of the stars above him, and a

creature of second-hand fashion.

I found in the camp an old acquaintance, named Brown, and also perceived

at the first greeting that the woman Stanley had told Mrs. Brown that I

would not be _mongerdo_, or begged from, and that the latter, proud of

her power in extortion, and as yet invincible in mendicancy, had boasted

that she would succeed, let others weakly fail. And to lose no time she

went at me with an abruptness and dramatic earnestness which promptly

betrayed the secret. And on the spot I made a vow that nothing should

get a farthing from me, though I should be drawn by wild horses. And a

horse was, indeed, brought into requisition to draw me, or my money, but

without success; for Mr. Brown, as I very well knew,--it being just then

the current topic in the best society on the road,--had very recently

been involved in a tangled trouble with a stolen horse. This horse had

been figuratively laid at his door, even as a "love-babe" is sometimes

placed on the front steps of a virtuous and grave citizen,--at least,

this is what White George averred,--and his very innocence and purity

had, like a shining mark, attracted the shafts of the wicked. He had

come out unscathed, with a package of papers from a lawyer, which

established his character above par; but all this had cost money,

beautiful golden money, and brought him to the very brink of ruin! Mrs.

Brown's attack was a desperate and determined effort, and there was more

at stake on its success than the reader may surmise. Among gypsy women

skill in begging implies the possession of every talent which they most

esteem, such as artfulness, cool effrontery, and the power of moving pity

or provoking generosity by pique or humor. A quaint and racy book might

be written, should it only set forth the manner in which the experienced

matrons give straight-tips or suggestions to the maidens as to the manner

and lore of begging; and it is something worth hearing when several sit

together and devise dodges, and tell anecdotes illustrating the noble art

of mendicity, and how it should be properly practiced.

Mrs. Brown knew that to extort alms from me would place her on the

pinnacle as an artist. Among all the Cooper clan, to which she was

allied, there was not one who ever begged from me, they having all found

that the ripest nuts are those which fall from the tree of their own

accord, or are blown earthward by the soft breezes of benevolence, and

not those which are violently beaten down. She began by pitiful appeals;

she was moving, but I did not budge. She grew pathetic; she touched on

the stolen horse; she paused, and gushed almost to tears, as much as to

say, If it must be, you _shall_ know all. Ruin stared them in the face;

poverty was crushing them. It was well acted,--rather in the Bernhardt

style, which, if M. Ondit speaks the truth, is also employed rather

extensively for acquiring "de monish." I looked at the van, of which the

Browns are proud, and inquired if it were true that it had been insured

for a hundred pounds, as George had recently boasted. Persuasion having

failed, Mrs. Brown tried bold defiance, saying that they needed no

company who were no good to them, and plainly said to me I might be gone.

It was her last card, thinking that a threat to dissolve our acquaintance

would drive me to capitulate, and it failed. I laughed, went into the

van, sat down, took out my brandy flask, and then accepted some bread and

ale, and, to please them, read aloud all the papers acquitting George

from all guilt as concerned the stolen horse,--papers which, he declared,

had cost him full five pounds. This was a sad come-down from the story

first told. Then I seriously rated his wife for begging from me. "You

know well enough," I said, "that I give all I can spare to your family

and your people when they are sick or poor. And here you are, the

richest Romanys on the road between Windsor and the Boro Gav, begging a

friend, who knows all about you, for money! Now, here is a shilling.

Take it. Have half a crown? Two of 'em! No! Oh, you don't want it

here in your own house. Well, you have some decency left, and to save

your credit I won't make you take it. And you scandalize me, a gentleman

and a friend, just to show this tramp of a Stanley _juva_, who hasn't

even got a drag [wagon], that you can beat her _a mongerin mandy_

[begging me]."

Mrs. Brown assented volubly to everything, and all the time I saw in her

smiling eyes, ever agreeing to all, and heard from her voluble lips

nothing but the _lie_,--that lie which is the mental action and inmost

grain of the Romany, and especially of the _diddikai_, or half-breed.

Anything and everything--trickery, wheedling or bullying, fawning or

threatening, smiles, or rage, or tears--for a sixpence. All day long

flattering and tricking to tell fortunes or sell trifles, and all life

one greasy lie, with ready frowns or smiles: as it was in India in the

beginning, as it is in Europe, and as it will be in America, so long as

there shall be a rambler on the roads, amen!

Sweet peace again established, Mrs. Brown became herself once more, and

acted the hospitable hostess, exactly in the spirit and manner of any

woman who has "a home of her own," and a spark of decent feeling in her

heart. Like many actors, she was a bad lot on the boards, but a very

nice person off them. Here in her rolling home she was neither a beggar

nor poor, and she issued her orders grandly. "Boil some tea for the

_rye_--cook some coffee for the _rye_--wait a few minutes, my darling

gentleman, and I'll brile you a steak--or here's a fish, if you'd like

it?" But I declined everything except the corner of a loaf and some ale;

and all the time a little brown boy, with great black eyes, a perfect

Murillo model, sat condensed in wondrous narrow space by the fire, baking

small apples between the bars of the grate, and rolling up his orbs at me

as if wondering what could have brought me into such a circle,--even as

he had done that morning in the greenwood.

Now if the reader would know what the interior of a gypsy van, or "drag,"

or _wardo_, is like, he may see it in the following diagram.

[Picture: Interior of gypsy van]

_A_ is the door; _B_ is the bed, or rather two beds, each six feet long,

like berths, with a vacant space below; _C_ is a grate cooking-stove; _D_

is a table, which hangs by hinges from the wall; _E_ is a chest of

drawers; _f_ and _f_ are two chairs. The general appearance of a

well-kept van is that of a state-room. Brown's is a very good van, and

quite clean. They are admirably well adapted for slow traveling, and it

was in such vans, purchased from gypsies, that Sir Samuel Baker and his

wife explored the whole of Cyprus.

Mrs. Brown was proud of her van and of her little treasures. From the

great recess under the bed she raked out as a rare curiosity an old Dolly

Varden or damasked skirt, not at all worn, quite pretty, and evidently of

considerable value to a collector. This had belonged to Mrs. Brown's

grandmother, an old gypsy queen. And it may be observed, by the way,

that the claims of every Irishman of every degree to be descended from

one of the ancient kings of Ireland fade into nothing before those of the

gypsy women, all of whom, with rare exception, are the own daughters of

royal personages, granddaughterhood being hardly a claim to true

nobility. Then the bed itself was exhibited with pride, and the princess

sang its praises, till she affirmed that the _rye_ himself did not sleep

on a better one, for which George reprimanded her. But she vigorously

defended its excellence, and, to please her, I felt it and declared it

was indeed much softer than the one I slept on, which was really

true,--thank Heaven--and was received as a great compliment, and

afterwards proclaimed on the roads even unto the ends of Surrey.

"Yes," said Brown, as I observed some osiers in the cupboard, "when I

feels like it I sometimes makes a pound a day a-making baskets."

"I should think," I said, "that it would be cheaper to buy French baskets

of Bulrose [Bulureaux] in Houndsditch, ready made."

"So one would think; but the _ranyor_ [osiers] costs nothin', and so it's

all profit, any way."

Then I urged the greater profit of living in America, but both assured me

that so long as they could make a good living and be very comfortable, as

they considered themselves, in England, it would be nonsense to go to

America.

For all things are relative, and many a gypsy whom the begged-from pity

sincerely, is as proud and happy in a van as any lord in the land. A

very nice, neat young gypsy woman, camped long before just where the

Browns were, once said to me, "It isn't having everything fine and

stylish that makes you happy. Now we've got a van, and have everything

so elegant and comfortable, and sleep warm as anybody; and yet I often

say to my husband that we used to be happier when we used to sleep under

a hedge with, may be, only a thin blanket, and wake up covered with

snow." Now this woman had only a wretched wagon, and was always tramping

in the rain, or cowering in a smoky, ragged tent and sitting on the

ground, but she had food, fire, and fun, with warm clothes, and believed

herself happy. Truly, she had better reason to think so than any old

maid with a heart run to waste on church gossip, or the latest

engagements and marriages; for it is better to be a street-boy in a

corner with a crust than one who, without it, discusses, in starvation,

with his friend the sausages and turtle-soup in a cook-shop window,

between which and themselves there is a great pane of glass fixed, never

to be penetrated.