"None; and yet there are plenty of strange things on these downs."
"What are they?"
"Strange heaps, and barrows, and great walls of earth built on the top
of hills."
"Do the people of the plain wonder how they came there?"
"They do not."
"Why?"
"They were raised by hands."
"And these stones?"
"How did they ever come here?"
"I wonder whether they are here?" said I.
"These stones?"
"Yes."
"So sure as the world," said the man; "and as the world, they will
stand as long."
"I wonder whether there is a world."
"What do you mean?"
"An earth and sea, moon and stars, sheep and men."
"Do you doubt it?"
"Sometimes."
"I never heard it doubted before."
"It is impossible there should be a world."
"It ain't possible there shouldn't be a world."
"Just so." At this moment a fine ewe, attended by a lamb, rushed into
the circle and fondled the knees of the shepherd. "I suppose you would
not care to have some milk?" said the man.
"Why do you suppose so?"
"Because, so be, there be no sheep, no milk, you know; and what there
ben't is not worth having."
"You could not have argued better," said I, "that is, supposing you
have argued; with respect to the milk you may do as you please."
"Be still, Nanny," said the man; and producing a tin vessel from his
scrip, he milked the ewe into it. "Here is milk of the plains, master,"
said the man, as he handed the vessel to me.
"Where are those barrows and great walls of earth you were speaking
of?" said I, after I had drunk some of the milk; "are there any near
where we are?"
"Not within many miles; the nearest is yonder away," said the shepherd,
pointing to the south-east. "It's a grand place, that, but not like
this; quite different, and from it you have a sight of the finest spire
in the world."
"I must go to it," said I, and I drank the remainder of the milk;
"yonder, you say."
"Yes, yonder; but you cannot get to it in that direction, the river
lies between."
"What river?"
"The Avon."
"Avon is British," said I.
"Yes," said the man, "we are all British here."
"No, we are not," said I.
"What are we, then?"
"English."
"A'n't they one?"
"No."
"Who were the British?"
"The men who are supposed to have worshipped God in this place, and who
raised these stones."
"Where are they now?"
"Our forefathers slaughtered them, spilled their blood all about,
especially in this neighbourhood, destroyed their pleasant places, and
left not, to use their own words, one stone upon another."
"Yes, they did," said the shepherd, looking aloft at the transverse
stone.
"And it is well for them they did; whenever that stone, which English
hands never raised, is by English hands thrown down, woe, woe, woe
to the English race; spare it, English! Hengist spared it!--Here is
sixpence."
"I won't have it," said the man.
"Why not?"
"You talk so prettily about these stones; you seem to know all about
them."
"I never receive presents; with respect to the stones, I say with
yourself, How did they ever come here?"
"How did they ever come here?" said the shepherd.
A PROSPECT
Leaving the shepherd, I bent my way in the direction pointed out by
him as that in which the most remarkable of the strange remains of
which he had spoken lay. I proceeded rapidly, making my way over the
downs covered with coarse grass and fern; with respect to the river of
which he had spoken, I reflected that, either by wading or swimming, I
could easily transfer myself and what I bore to the opposite side. On
arriving at its banks, I found it a beautiful stream, but shallow, with
here and there a deep place, where the water ran dark and still.
Always fond of the pure lymph, I undressed, and plunged into one of
these gulfs, from which I emerged, my whole frame in a glow, and
tingling with delicious sensations. After conveying my clothes and
scanty baggage to the farther side, I dressed, and then with hurried
steps bent my course in the direction of some lofty ground; I at
length found myself on a high road, leading over wide and arid downs;
following the road for some miles without seeing anything remarkable,
I supposed at length that I had taken the wrong path, and wended on
slowly and disconsolately for some time, till, having nearly surmounted
a steep hill, I knew at once, from certain appearances, that I was
near the object of my search. Turning to the right near the brow of
the hill, I proceeded along a path which brought me to a causeway
leading over a deep ravine, and connecting the hill with another which
had once formed part of it, for the ravine was evidently the work of
art. I passed over the causeway, and found myself in a kind of gateway
which admitted me into a square space of many acres, surrounded on all
sides by mounds or ramparts of earth. Though I had never been in such
a place before, I knew that I stood within the precincts of what had
been a Roman encampment, and one probably of the largest size, for many
thousand warriors might have found room to perform their evolutions in
that space, in which corn was now growing, the green ears waving in the
morning wind.
After I had gazed about the space for a time, standing in the gateway
formed by the mounds, I clambered up the mound to the left hand, and on
the top of that mound I found myself at a great altitude; beneath, at
the distance of a mile, was a fair old city, situated amongst verdant
meadows, watered with streams, and from the heart of that old city,
from amidst mighty trees, I beheld towering to the sky the finest spire
in the world.
After I had looked from the Roman rampart for a long time, I hurried
away, and, retracing my steps along the causeway, regained the road,
and, passing over the brow of the hill, descended to the city of the
spire.
"ONE OF THE PLEASANT MOMENTS OF LIFE"
After walking about a dozen miles, I came to a town, where I rested
for the night. The next morning I set out again in the direction
of the north-west. I continued journeying for four days, my daily
journeys varying from twenty to twenty-five miles. During this time
nothing occurred to me worthy of any especial notice. The weather was
brilliant, and I rapidly improved both in strength and spirits. On
the fifth day, about two o'clock, I arrived at a small town. Feeling
hungry, I entered a decent-looking inn--within a kind of bar I saw a
huge, fat, landlord-looking person, with a very pretty, smartly-dressed
maiden. Addressing myself to the fat man, "House!" said I, "house! Can
I have dinner, house?" "Young gentleman," said the huge fat landlord,
"you are come at the right time; dinner will be taken up in a few
minutes, and such a dinner," he continued, rubbing his hands, "as you
will not see every day in these times."
"I am hot and dusty," said I, "and should wish to cool my hands and
face."
"Jenny!" said the huge landlord, with the utmost gravity, "show the
gentleman into number seven, that he may wash his hands and face."
"By no means," said I, "I am a person of primitive habits, and there is
nothing like the pump in weather like this."
"Jenny!" said the landlord, with the same gravity as before, "go with
the young gentleman to the pump in the back kitchen, and take a clean
towel along with you."
Thereupon the rosy-faced clean-looking damsel went to a drawer, and
producing a large, thick, but snowy-white towel, she nodded to me to
follow her; whereupon I followed Jenny through a long passage into the
back kitchen.
And at the end of the back kitchen there stood a pump; and going to it
I placed my hands beneath the spout, and said, "Pump, Jenny"; and Jenny
incontinently, without laying down the towel, pumped with one hand, and
I washed and cooled my heated hands.
And, when my hands were washed and cooled, I took off my neckcloth, and
unbuttoning my shirt collar, I placed my head beneath the spout of the
pump, and I said unto Jenny, "Now, Jenny, lay down the towel, and pump
for your life."
Thereupon Jenny, placing the towel on a linen-horse, took the handle of
the pump with both hands and pumped over my head as handmaid had never
pumped before; so that the water poured in torrents from my head, my
face, and my hair down upon the brick floor.
And after the lapse of somewhat more than a minute, I called out with
a half-strangled voice, "Hold, Jenny!" and Jenny desisted. I stood
for a few moments to recover my breath, then taking the towel which
Jenny proffered, I dried composedly my hands and head, my face and
hair; then, returning the towel to Jenny, I gave a deep sigh and said,
"Surely this is one of the pleasant moments of life."
_George Borrow_,--"_Lavengro_."
The Snowdon Ranger
I quickened my steps, and soon came up to the two individuals. One was
an elderly man, dressed in a smock frock, and with a hairy cap on his
head. The other was much younger, wore a hat, and was dressed in a
coarse suit of blue, nearly new, and doubtless his Sunday's best. He
was smoking a pipe. I greeted them in English, and sat down near them.
They responded in the same language, the younger man with considerable
civility and briskness, the other in a tone of voice denoting some
reserve.
"May I ask the name of this lake?" said I, addressing myself to the
young man, who sat between me and the elderly one.
"Its name is Llyn Cwellyn, sir," said he, taking the pipe out of his
mouth. "And a fine lake it is."
"Plenty of fish in it?" I demanded.
"Plenty, sir; plenty of trout and pike and char."
"Is it deep?" said I.
"Near the shore it is shallow, sir, but in the middle and near the
other side it is deep, so deep that no one knows how deep it is."
"What is the name," said I, "of the great black mountain there on the
other side?"
"It is called Mynydd Mawr, or the Great Mountain. Yonder rock, which
bulks out from it, down the lake yonder, and which you passed as you
came along, is called Castell Cidwm, which means Wolf s rock or castle."
"Did a wolf ever live there?" I demanded.
"Perhaps so," said the man, "for I have heard say that there were
wolves of old in Wales."
"And what is the name of the beautiful hill yonder, before us across
the water?"
"That, sir, is called Cairn Drws y Coed," said the man.
"The stone heap of the gate of the wood," said I.
"Are you Welsh, sir?" said the man.
"No," said I, "but I know something of the language of Wales. I suppose
you live in that house?"
"Not exactly, sir; my father-in-law here lives in that house, and my
wife with him. I am a miner, and spend six days in the week at my mine,
but every Sunday I come here, and pass the day with my wife and him."
"And what profession does he follow?" said I; "is he a fisherman?"
"Fisherman!" said the elderly man contemptuously, "not I. I am the
Snowdon Ranger."
"And what is that?" said I.
The elderly man tossed his head proudly, and made no reply.
"A ranger means a guide, sir," said the younger man--"my father-in-law
is generally termed the Snowdon Ranger because he is a tip-top guide,
and he has named the house after him the Snowdon Ranger. He entertains
gentlemen in it who put themselves under his guidance in order to
ascend Snowdon and to see the country."
"There is some difference in your professions," said I; "he deals in
heights, you in depths; both, however, are break-necky trades."
"I run more risk from gunpowder than anything else," said the younger
man. "I am a slate-miner, and am continually blasting. I have, however,
had my falls. Are you going far to-night, sir?"
"I am going to Bethgelert," said I.
"A good six miles, sir, from here. Do you come from Caernarvon?"
"Farther than that," said I. "I come from Bangor."
"To-day, sir, and walking?"
"To-day, and walking."
"You must be rather tired, sir; you came along the valley very slowly."
"I am not in the slightest degree tired," said I; "when I start from
here, I shall put on my best pace, and soon get to Bethgelert."
"Anybody can get along over level ground," said the old man,
laconically.
"Not with equal swiftness," said I. "I do assure you, friend, to be
able to move at a good swinging pace over level ground is something
not to be sneezed at. Not," said I, lifting up my voice, "that I would
for a moment compare walking on the level ground to mountain ranging,
pacing along the road to springing up crags like a mountain goat, or
assert that even Powell himself, the first of all road walkers, was
entitled to so bright a wreath of fame as the Snowdon Ranger."
"Won't you walk in, sir?" said the elderly man.
"No, I thank you," said I; "I prefer sitting out here, gazing on the
lake and the noble mountains."
"I wish you would, sir," said the elderly man, "and take a glass of
something; I will charge you nothing."
"Thank you," said I--"I am in want of nothing, and shall presently
start. Do many people ascend Snowdon from your house?"
"Not so many as I could wish," said the ranger; "people in general
prefer ascending Snowdon from that trumpery place Bethgelert; but those
who do are fools--begging your honour's pardon. The place to ascend
Snowdon from is my house. The way from my house up Snowdon is wonderful
for the romantic scenery which it affords; that from Bethgelert
can't be named in the same day with it for scenery; moreover, from
my house you may have the best guide in Wales; whereas the guides of
Bethgelert--but I say nothing. If your honour is bound for the Wyddfa,
as I suppose you are, you had better start from my house to-morrow
under my guidance."
"I have already been up the Wyddfa from Llanberis," said I, "and am
now going through Bethgelert to Llangollen, where my family are; were
I going up Snowdon again, I should most certainly start from your
house under your guidance, and were I not in a hurry at present, I
would certainly take up my quarters here for a week, and every day
make excursions with you into the recesses of Eryri. I suppose you are
acquainted with all the secrets of the hills?"
"Trust the old ranger for that, your honour. I would show your honour
the black lake in the frightful hollow, in which the fishes have
monstrous heads and little bodies, the lake on which neither swan,
duck nor any kind of wildfowl was ever seen to light. Then I would show
your honour the fountain of the hopping creatures, where, where----"
"Were you ever at that Wolf's crag, that Castell y Cidwm?" said I.
"Can't say I ever was, your honour. You see it lies so close by, just
across that lake, that----"
"You thought you could see it any day, and so never went," said I.
"Can't you tell me whether there are any ruins upon it?"
"I can't, your honour."
"I shouldn't wonder," said I, "if in old times it was the stronghold
of some robber-chieftain; cidwm in the old Welsh is frequently applied
to a ferocious man. Castell Cidwm, I should think, rather ought to be
translated the robber's castle, than the wolf's rock. If I ever come
into these parts again, you and I will visit it together, and see
what kind of a place it is. Now farewell! It is getting late." I then
departed.
"What a nice gentleman!" said the younger man, when I was a few yards
distant.
"I never saw a nicer gentleman," said the old ranger.
I sped along, Snowdon on my left, the lake on my right, and the tip
of a mountain peak right before me in the east. After a little
time I looked back; what a scene! The silver lake and the shadowy
mountain over its southern side looking now, methought, very much like
Gibraltar. I lingered and lingered, gazing and gazing, and at last only
by an effort tore myself away. The evening had now become delightfully
cool in this land of wonders. On I sped, passing by two noisy brooks
coming from Snowdon to pay tribute to the lake. And now I had left the
lake and the valley behind, and was ascending a hill. As I gained its
summit, up rose the moon to cheer my way. In a little time, a wild
stony gorge confronted me, a stream ran down the gorge with hollow
roar, a bridge lay across it. I asked a figure whom I saw standing by
the bridge the place's name. "Rhyd du"--the black ford--I crossed the
bridge. The voice of the Methodist was yelling from a little chapel
on my left. I went to the door and listened: "When the sinner takes
hold of God, God takes hold of the sinner." The voice was frightfully
hoarse. I passed on; night fell fast around me, and the mountain to the
south-east, towards which I was tending, looked blackly grand. And now
I came to a milestone, on which I read with difficulty: "Three miles
to Bethgelert." The way for some time had been upward, but now it was
downward. I reached a torrent, which, coming from the north-west,
rushed under a bridge, over which I passed. The torrent attended me on
my right hand the whole way to Bethgelert. The descent now became very
rapid. I passed a pine wood on my left, and proceeded for more than two
miles at a tremendous rate. I then came to a wood--this wood was just
above Bethgelert--proceeding in the direction of a black mountain, I
found myself amongst houses, at the bottom of a valley. I passed over a
bridge, and inquiring of some people, whom I met, the way to the inn,
was shown an edifice brilliantly lighted up, which I entered.
OF UMBRELLAS
Wending my course to the north, I came to the white bare spot which I
had seen from the moor, and which was in fact the top of a considerable
elevation over which the road passed. Here I turned and looked at the
hills I had come across. There they stood, darkly blue, a rain cloud,
like ink, hanging over their summits. O, the wild hills of Wales, the
land of old renown and of wonder, the land of Arthur and Merlin.
The road now lay nearly due west. Rain came on, but it was at my back,
so I expanded my umbrella, flung it over my shoulder and laughed.
O, how a man laughs who has a good umbrella when he has the rain at
his back, aye and over his head too, and at all times when it rains
except when the rain is in his face, when the umbrella is not of much
service. O, what a good friend to a man is an umbrella in rain time,
and likewise at many other times. What need he fear if a wild bull or a
ferocious dog attacks him, provided he has a good umbrella? he unfurls
the umbrella in the face of the bull or dog, and the brute turns round
quite scared, and runs away. Or if a footpad asks him for his money,
what need he care provided he has an umbrella? he threatens to dodge
the ferrule into the ruffian's eye, and the fellow starts back and
says, "Lord, sir! I meant no harm. I never saw you before in all my
life. I merely meant a little fun." Moreover, who doubts that you are
a respectable character provided you have an umbrella? you go into a
public-house and call for a pot of beer, and the publican puts it down
before you with one hand without holding out the other for the money,
for he sees that you have an umbrella and consequently property. And
what respectable man, when you overtake him on the way and speak to
him, will refuse to hold conversation with you, provided you have an
umbrella? No one. The respectable man sees you have an umbrella and
concludes that you do not intend to rob him, and with justice, for
robbers never carry umbrellas. O, a tent, a shield, a lance and a
voucher for character is an umbrella. Amongst the very best friends of
man must be reckoned an umbrella.[2]
The way lay over dreary, moory hills: at last it began to descend and
I saw a valley below me with a narrow river running through it to
which wooded hills sloped down; far to the west were blue mountains.
The scene was beautiful but melancholy; the rain had passed away, but
a gloomy almost November sky was above, and the mists of night were
coming down apace.
I crossed a bridge at the bottom of the valley and presently saw a road
branching to the right. I paused, but after a little time went straight
forward. Gloomy woods were on each side of me and night had come down.
Fear came upon me that I was not in the right road, but I saw no house
at which I could inquire, nor did I see a single individual for miles
of whom I could ask. At last I heard the sound of hatchets in a dingle
on my right, and catching a glimpse of a gate at the head of a path,
which led down into it, I got over it. After descending some time I
hallooed. The noise of the hatchets ceased. I hallooed again, and a
voice cried in Welsh, "What do you want?" "To know the way to Bala,"
I replied. There was no answer, but presently I heard steps, and the
figure of a man drew nigh half undistinguishable in the darkness and
saluted me. I returned his salutation, and told him I wanted to know
the way to Bala. He told me, and I found I had been going right. I
thanked him and regained the road. I sped onward and in about half an
hour saw some houses, then a bridge, then a lake on my left, which I
recognised as the lake of Bala. I skirted the end of it, and came to
a street cheerfully lighted up, and in a minute more was in the White
Lion Inn.
SUPPER--AND A MORNING VIEW
The sun was going down as I left the inn. I recrossed the streamlet
by means of the pole and rail. The water was running with much less
violence than in the morning, and was considerably lower. The evening
was calm and beautifully cool, with a slight tendency to frost. I
walked along with a bounding and elastic step, and never remember to
have felt more happy and cheerful.
I reached the hospice at about six o'clock, a bright moon shining upon
me, and found a capital supper awaiting me, which I enjoyed exceedingly.
How one enjoys one's supper at one's inn, after a good day's walk,
provided one has the proud and glorious consciousness of being able to
pay one's reckoning on the morrow!
The morning of the sixth was bright and glorious. As I looked from
the window of the upper sitting-room of the hospice the scene which
presented itself was wild and beautiful to a degree. The oak-covered
tops of the volcanic crater were gilded with the brightest sunshine,
whilst the eastern side remained in dark shade and the gap or narrow
entrance to the north in shadow yet darker, in the midst of which shone
the silver of the Rheidol cataract. Should I live a hundred years I
shall never forget the wild fantastic beauty of that morning scene.
_George Borrow_,--"_Wild Wales_."
FOOTNOTE:
[2] As the umbrella is rather a hackneyed subject two or three things
will of course be found in the above eulogium on an umbrella which have
been said by other folks on that subject; the writer, however, flatters
himself that in his eulogium on an umbrella two or three things will
also be found which have never been said by any one else about an
umbrella.
Song of the Open Road
Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road!
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me, leading where-ever I choose!
Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.
The earth--that is sufficient,
I do not want the constellations any nearer,
I know they are very well where they are,
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.
Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,
I carry them, men and women--I carry them with me wherever I go,
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,
I am fill'd with them, and I will fill them in return.
You road I travel and look around! I believe you are not all that
is here!
I believe that something unseen is also here.
Here is the profound lesson of reception, neither preference or
denial;
The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseased, the
illiterate person, are not denied,
The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar's tramp, the
drunkard's stagger, the laughing party of mechanics,
The escaped youth, the rich person's carriage, the fop, the eloping
couple,
The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the
town, the return back from the town,
They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted,
None but are accepted, none but are dear to me.
You air that serves me with breath to speak!
You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them
shape!
You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable
showers!
You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the road-sides!
I think you are latent with curious existences--you are so dear
to me.
You flagg'd walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges!
You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined
sides! you distant ships!