THE PALACE IN THE HOLY LAND.
The wanderer amidst the crowded thoroughfares of the multitudinous
metropolis cannot be unacquainted with that assemblage of densely
populated streets and lanes which is situate between High Street (St.
Giles's) and Great Russell Street (Bloomsbury).
The district alluded to is called the Holy Land.
There poverty hides its head through shame, and crime lurks concealed
through fear;--there every thing that is squalid, hideous, debauched,
and immoral, makes its dwelling;--there woman is as far removed from the
angel as Satan is from the Godhead, and man is as closely allied to the
brute as the idiot is to the baboon;--there days are spent in idleness,
and nights in dissipation;--there no refinement of habit or of speech is
known, but male and female alike wallow in obscene debauchery and filthy
ideas;--there garments are patched with pieces of various dyes, and
language is disfigured with words of a revolting slang;--there the
natural ruffianism and brutal instincts of the human heart are
unrepressed by social ties or conventional decencies;--there infamy is
no disgrace, crime no reproach, vice no stain.
Such is the Holy Land.
In a dark and gloomy alley, connecting two of the longer streets in this
district, stood a large house four storeys high, and with windows of
such narrow dimensions that they seemed intended to admit the light of
day only by small instalments.
Four steep stone steps, each only about six inches broad, led to the
front door, which always stood open during the day-time.
This front-door gave admittance into a small square compartment, which
was denominated "the lobby," and from which a second door opened into
the house.
The inner door just alluded to was kept constantly shut, save when
admittance was demanded by any one who had the right of entry into the
habitation. But even that admittance was never granted without
precaution. In the ceiling of the little hall or lobby described, there
was a small trap-door, let into the floor of the room above; and by
these means the sentinel on duty up-stairs was enabled to reconnoitre
every one who knocked at the inner door.
The interior of the house resembled a small barrack. The apartments on
the ground floor were used as day-rooms or refectories, and were fitted
up with long tables and forms. The floors were strewed with sand; and
the appearance of the place was more cleanly and comfortable than might
have been expected in such a neighbourhood. The lower panes of the
windows were smeared with a whitewash, which prevented passers-by from
peering from the street into the apartments.
The upper storeys were all used as dormitories, some being allotted to
the male and others to the female inmates of the house. These rooms were
furnished with mattresses, blankets, and coverlids; but there were no
bedsteads. The aspect of the dormitories was as cleanly as that of the
day-rooms.
To the ceiling over the landing-place of the second floor was hung a
large bell, to the wheel of which were attached numerous ropes, which
branched off, through holes in the walls and floors, in all directions,
so that an alarm could be rung from every room in that spacious
tenement.
Behind the house there was a large yard, surrounded by the dead walls
which formed the sides of other buildings; thus, in no way, was the
dwelling which we have described, overlooked by the neighbours. At the
bottom of the yard was a door opening into a court which communicated
with another street; and thus a convenient mode of egress was secured to
any one who might find it prudent to beat a precipitate retreat from the
house.
We have now endeavoured to furnish the reader with an idea of King
Zingary's Palace in the Holy Land.
In order to complete the description, it only remains for us to state
that the various precautions to which we have alluded, in connexion with
the Palace, were adopted for the protection and safety of those inmates
who, either in the course of their avocations or otherwise, might happen
to render themselves obnoxious to the myrmidons of the law. Not that the
pursuits of the subjects of King Zingary necessarily comprised practices
which rendered their headquarters liable to constant visits from the
police: but persons accustomed to a vagabond kind of existence, could
not be otherwise than often tempted into lawless courses; and his
Majesty did not dare disown or discard a dependant who thus became
involved in danger. Moreover, the protection of the gipsies was
frequently accorded to persons who rendered them a service, or who could
pay for such succour, as in the respective cases of Skilligalee and the
Rattlesnake: or it was not unusually granted upon motives of humanity,
as in reference to the man called the Traveller. This intercourse with
characters of all descriptions was another reason for the adoption of
precautionary measures at the Palace; but seldom--very seldom was it
that the necessity of those measures was justified by events, the police
being well aware that no good ever resulted from a visit to the royal
mansion in the Holy Land.
It was ten o'clock at night; and the king of the gipsies was presiding
at the banqueting-table in his palace.
Upwards of sixty gipsies, male and female, were assembled round the
board. These consisted of the chiefs of the different districts into
which the gipsy kingdom was divided, with their wives and daughters.
Skilligalee, the Rattlesnake, and the Traveller were also seated at the
table, and were honoured as the king's guests.
The meal was over; and the board was covered with bottles containing
various descriptions of liquor, drinking mugs, pipes, and tobacco.
With all the solemn gravity of a chairman at a public dinner, Zingary
rapped his knuckles upon the table, and commanded those present to fill
their glasses.
The order was obeyed by both men and women; and the king then spoke as
follows:--
"Most loyal and dutiful friends, this is the hundred and thirty-first
anniversary of the institution of that custom in virtue of which the
provincial rulers of the united races of Egyptians and Bohemians in
England assemble together once every year at the Palace. A hundred and
thirty-one years ago, this house was purchased by my grandfather King
Sisman, and bequeathed to his descendants to serve as the head-quarters
and central point of our administration. There is scarcely an individual
of the united races who has not experienced the hospitality of this
Palace. Every worthy Zingaree who visits the metropolis enjoys his bed
and his board without fee and without price for seven days in our
mansion, the superintendence of which is so ably conducted, while we are
absent, by our brother on my right." Here the king glanced towards a
venerable-looking gipsy who sate next to him. "In his hands our
treasures are safe; and to-morrow he will place before you an account of
the remittances he has received from the provincial districts, and the
expenditures he has made in the maintenance of this establishment. You
will find, I have reason to believe, a considerable balance in our
favour. Let us then celebrate with a bumper the hundred and thirty-first
anniversary of the opening of our royal palace!"
This toast was drunk without noise--without hurrahs--without
clamour,--but not the less sincerely on that account.
"My pretty Eva," said the king, after a pause, "will now oblige us with
a song?"
Zingary's daughter-in-law did not require to be pressed to exhibit her
vocal powers; but in a sweet voice she sang the following air:--
THE GIPSY'S HOME.
Oh! who is so blythe, and happy, and free
As the ever-wandering Zingaree?
'Tis his at his own wild will to roam;
And in each fair scene does he find a home,--
Does he find a home!
The sunny slope, or the shady grove,
Where nightingales sing and lovers rove;
The fields where the golden harvests wave,
And the verdant bank which the streamlets lave,
Are by turns his home.
The busy town with its selfish crowd,
The city where dwell the great and proud,
The haunts of the mighty multitude,
Where the strong are raised and the weak subdued,
Are to him no home.
Oh! ever happy--and ever free,
Who is so blest as the Zingaree?--
Where nature puts on her gayest vest,
Where flowers are sweetest and fruits are best,
Oh! there is his home.
"Thank you, sweet Eva," said the king, when the gipsy woman had
concluded her song, in the chorus of which the other females had joined
in a low and subdued tone. "Ours is indeed a happy life," continued
Zingary. "When roving over the broad country, we enjoy a freedom unknown
to the rest of the world. No impost or taxes have we then to pay: we
drink of the stream at pleasure, and never feel alarmed lest our water
should be cut off. We can choose pleasant paths, and yet pay no
paving-rate. The sun lights us by day, and the stars by night; and no
one comes to remind us that we owe two quarters' gas. We pitch our tents
where we will, but are not afraid of a ground-landlord. We do not look
forward with fear and trembling to Lady-day or Michaelmas, for the
broker cannot distress us. We move where we like, without dreading an
accusation of _shooting the moon_. In fine, we are as free and
independent as the inhabitants of the desert. A health, then, to the
united races of Zingarees!"
This toast was drunk in silence, like the former; and the king then
called upon the pretty dark-eyed daughter of one of the chiefs to favour
the company with a song.
The request was complied with in the following manner:--
"COME HITHER, FAIR MAIDEN."
Come hither, fair maiden! and listen to me,
I've a store of good tidings to tell unto thee--
Bright hopes to call smiles to those sweet lips of thine,
And visions of bliss little short of divine.
Come hither, fair maiden! the poor Zingaree
Hath promise of love and of fortune for thee:
Away from the future the dark cloud shall fly,
And years yet unborn be revealed to thine eye.
Come hither, fair maiden! no more shall thou be
Alarmed lest the fates act unkindly to thee;--
The planet that governed the hour of thy birth
Shall guide thee to all the fair spots of the earth!
Come hither, fair maiden! futurity's sea
Shall roll on no longer unfathomed by thee;
With me canst thou plunge in its dark depths, and know
How rich are the pearls that Hope treasures below.
In this manner did the gipsies pass the evening, until the clock struck
eleven, when they separated to their dormitories.
The Rattlesnake was astonished to observe the order and regularity which
prevailed with the strange association amongst which accident had thrown
her. The festival had passed without noise and without intemperance; the
presence of the king and queen seemed alone sufficient to maintain
tranquillity and prevent enjoyment from passing the barriers of
propriety.
We need not, however, linger upon this portion of our tale. Suffice it
to say that a fortnight glided away, during which the king of the
gipsies was detained in the metropolis by the business which he had to
transact with his chiefs. The Rattlesnake did not venture out of the
house; and Skilligalee was her constant companion.
The Traveller meantime disguised himself in a manner which would have
defied the penetrating eyes of even a parent, had he met his own mother;
and from morning until evening did he prowl about London, in search of
the _one individual_ against whom he nourished the most terrible hatred.
But, every evening, when he returned home to the Gipsy Palace, his
countenance was more gloomy and his brow more lowering; and, if
questioned relative to the causes of his rage or grief, he replied in a
savage tone, "Another day is gone--and _he_ still lives: but I will
never rest until I trace him out."
And then he would grind his teeth like a hyena.