THE GYPSY CAMP.
The clear, unshadowed sun, as it declined towards the western verge of
the horizon, shone brightly upon the gypsy encampment, a few miles
from Redwood. The wandering tribe had displayed their proverbial
taste, in their selection of a spot wherein to pitch their tents. A
green and glossy pasture was partly surrounded by a luxuriant forest
of ancient oaks, which supplied the crew with firewood; while a
beautiful and clear stream, the pride and boast of the county, curved
into the waving grass land, and kept it ever fresh and verdant. Here
and there its silvery bosom reflected a small tent, or the figure of
an idler, bending over the bank, with fishing rod in hand, a perfect
picture of patience and philosophy. Half a dozen tents served to
accommodate the gregarious fraternity; and though the sail cloths
which composed them were worn and weather-beaten, yet their brown hues
harmonized well with the rich tints of the landscape, and showed
distinct enough against the dark background of the forest. As the
shades of the evening darkened the ancestral trees, a line of fire was
lit up, the flames of which glared ruddily against the huge trunks of
the woodland, and played and flickered in the rippling stream. Huge
kettles, suspended on forked sticks, were beginning to send up a
savory steam; and several swarthy beings, lounging round the fires,
occasionally fed them, or basking in the blaze, watched the bubbling
of the caldrons with intense anxiety. Even the king of the gypsies
observed the preparations for supper with an eager air, which ill
assorted with his lofty forehead and reverend white beard. Every
moment some stroller would come in with a pilfered fowl, or a basket
of eggs; and each addition to the feast was hailed with shouts of
applause by the swarthy crew.
Somewhat remote from this scene of bustle and noise, at the door of a
small tent, sat two female gypsies. One of these was the queen, an
aged crone, who, though bent with age and care, and wrinkled by time
and the indulgence of vehement passions, yet prided herself upon the
unfrosted darkness of her raven tresses, which fell over her shoulders
in profusion. A turban of rich crimson cloth crowned her head, and a
shawl of the same color and material was wrapped around her shoulders.
Her skinny hands were supported by a silver-headed staff, which was
covered with quaint carvings. Her gown was of dark serge, and her
shoes were pointed, and turned up in the Oriental fashion, and
garnished with broad silver buckles. She sat apart, and the rising
moon shone down upon her dusky figure, and threw her wild features
into bold relief. At her feet sat a beautiful girl, with dark Grecian
features, and a full, voluptuous form. She, too, had long, flowing,
raven tresses, into which were twisted strings of pearl. From a
necklace of topaz hung a little silver crucifix, resting upon a full
and heaving bust, to which was fitted a close jacket, made of
deep-blue cloth, and fastened together with loops and silver buttons.
Her soft and round arms were naked, save at the shoulders, and her
wrists were encircled with tarnished gold bracelets. Her white
petticoat was short enough to display a well-turned ankle, and a small
foot, encased in neat black slippers. Her features, dark and
sun-browned, showed to more advantage in the pale moonlight than they
would have done in the broad blaze of day. The gypsy girl sat at the
feet of the queen, and looking up in her face, listened attentively to
her discourse.
"Myra," said the queen of the gypsies, "do you love him yet?"
"Love him!" repeated the girl. "Yes, mother--passionately. To obtain
his hand--his heart, I would peril every thing!"
"Strange and mysterious passion!" said the crone, "which defies reason
and law. Many years agone I loved with the same intense devotion. The
same fiery blood courses in your veins; the same contempt of
obstacles. Yet the man I loved was nobler and prouder than the sexton
of St. Hubert's. We lived among the Gitanos of Spain, when we were
wedded. Five sons I bore to the partner of my cares. Where are they?
One followed his father to the gibbet; a second hurled defiance at his
enemies, as he perished in the flames of an _auto da fe_; the third
and fourth died in the galleys; the fifth--the fifth, Myra--my best
beloved, my brave, my beautiful, received his death wound in defending
me from outrage. _You are his child!_ Judge, then, how I love you, my
daughter. You love the sexton of St. Hubert's--he shall marry you."
"Ah, mother!" said the gypsy girl, "I fear me he is lost. He is the
accepted lover of Margaret Ellis. She did love a young stranger; but
the sexton of St. Hubert's has Farmer Ellis in his debt, and
threatened to throw him in jail, if the latter did not grant him the
hand of his daughter. He has done so, and the wedding day is fixed.
Alas! before he saw his May-day queen, he loved me, and promised to
marry me. Often beneath that very moon, mother, has he sat and told me
his love. When I smiled at his protestations, he would speak of his
wealth, and tell me of hidden stores of gold, for a thrifty and a
rich man is the sexton of St. Hubert's. I do not love him less because
he does not frown upon our wandering tribe, but has lax principles
that suit the fiery passions of our race. I know not in what consists
the art by which he won me; it is enough for me to know that I am
devoted to him. Alas! that knowledge is too much, since he has owned
the fascination of the Queen of the May."
"Enough said, daughter!" cried the crone. "Before the altar he shall
marry you. He shall love you better than he loves the May queen. What
are her attractions when compared to yours? Praise from the old is
little to the young; yet let me say that I have wandered east and
west, north and south; have seen the Georgian and Sicilian maids, have
seen the dark-haired girls of Naples, and the donnas of Madrid; yet
never did these aged eyes rest on a finer form or face than yours, my
daughter."
The gypsy girl smiled.
"Ay," said the old woman, "now you look lovelier than ever. That smile
is like a sunbeam to my heart; it thaws the frost of age. Believe me,
Myra, the sexton of St. Hubert's shall adore you."
"Then you must have love charms," said the gypsy girl, blushing.
"Love charms I have," said the old woman, "and those of wondrous
potency. We are a favored race, Myra. Descended from the old
Egyptians, we inherit their mysterious learning. To a few among us,
the queens and magi of our tribes, there has come down a knowledge of
charms and medicine, and some of the secrets of astrology. Go, Myra;
leave me. I will provide for your peace. Yes, yes, I have love charms.
I have them!"
The gypsy girl smiled, rose, kissed the hand of her grandmother, and
then bounded away like a fawn.
"Poor child!" muttered the old woman, when alone; "she must not die of
a broken heart. Love charms, did she say! Yes--I have them for fools;
but the love charm I shall use to give her joy is poison. The
betrothed bride of the sexton of St. Hubert's lies ill of an unknown
malady. The physicians cannot do her good, for she is sick of a
wounded heart. To-night the sexton of St. Hubert's, who has faith in
my skill, comes to seek a remedy. He shall have one. Does he think to
spurn the poor gypsy girl? He is mistaken. He plighted his troth to
her in the silence of the forest; they broke a piece of gold across a
running brook; they swore truth and fidelity! One has broken the oath,
but it shall be sworn anew. None but Myra shall wed the sexton of St.
Hubert's!"