"What a splendid country for a painter of cliffs!" observed Oliver, as
the friends walked briskly along; "I wonder much that our artists do not
visit it more frequently."
"Perhaps they find metal more attractive nearer home," replied
Tregarthen; "all the world has not fallen so violently in love with
furze-clad moorland and rugged sea-cliffs as you seem to have done.
Besides, the country is somewhat remote. Mayhap when a railway runs
into it, which will doubtless be the case before many years pass by, we
shall see knights of the brush pitching their white tents on the Land's
End; meanwhile we have a few promising young men of our own who bid fair
to rival the great Opie himself. You have heard of him, of course?"
"I have heard of him indeed, and seen some of his works, but I'm ashamed
to confess that, having left Cornwall when very young, and been a
dweller in the far north of the kingdom ever since, I have only known
the facts that he was a celebrated Cornish artist, and became the
President of the Royal Academy. Can you tell me anything of his
personal history?"
"Not much, but I can give you a brief outline of his career. John Opie
was the son of a carpenter of St. Agnes, near Truro, and was discovered
and extracted, like a `bunch' of rich ore, from the midst of the
tin-mines, by Dr Wolcot--who was celebrated under the name of Peter
Pindar. The doctor first observed and appreciated Opie's talent, and,
resolving to bring him into notice, wrote about him until he became
celebrated as the `Cornish Wonder.' He also introduced people of note
to the artist's studio in London, many of whom sat for their portraits.
These gave so much satisfaction that the reputation of the `Cornish
Wonder' spread far and wide, and orders came pouring in upon him,
insomuch that he became a rich man and a Royal Academician, and
ultimately President of the Academy. He married an authoress, and his
remains were deposited in St. Paul's Cathedral, near to those of Sir
Joshua Reynolds. I have heard my grandfather say that he met him once
in the town of Helston, and he described him as somewhat rough and
unpolished, but a sterling, kind-hearted man."
"Did he paint landscape at all?" inquired Oliver.
"Not much, I believe. He devoted himself chiefly to portraits."
"Well, now," said Oliver, looking round him; "it strikes me that this is
just the country for a landscape painter. There is nowhere else such
fine cliff scenery, and the wild moors, which remind me much of
Scotland, are worthy of being sketched by an able brush."
"People have curiously different opinions in reference to the moors
which you admire so much," said Tregarthen. "A clergyman who lived and
wrote not very long ago, came to Cornwall in search of the picturesque,
and he was so disappointed with what he termed a barren, desolate
region, that he stopped suddenly on the road between Launceston and
Bodmin, and turned his back on Cornwall for ever. As might be expected,
such a man gave a very false idea of the country. On the other hand, a
more recent writer, commenting on the first, speaks of his delight--
after having grown somewhat tired of the almost too rich and
over-cultivated scenery of Kent--on coming to what he styled `a sombre
apparition of the desert in a corner of green England,' and dwells with
enthusiasm on `these solitudes, and hills crowned with rugged rocks,
classical heaths and savage ravines, possessing a character of desolate
grandeur.' But this writer did more. He travelled through the country,
and discovered that it possessed other and not less beautiful features;
that there were richly clothed vales and beautiful rivulets, cultivated
fields and prolific gardens, in close proximity to our grand cliffs and
moors."
"He might have added," said Oliver, "that plants and flowers flourish in
the open air here, and attain to a size, and luxuriance which are rare
in other parts of England. Why, I have seen myrtles, laurels, fuchsias,
pomegranates, and hortensias forming hedges and growing on the windows
and walls of many houses. To my mind Cornwall is one of the finest
counties in England--of which Flora herself has reason to be proud, and
in which fairies as well as giants might dwell with much delight."
"Spoken like a true Cornishman!" said Tregarthen, laughing; "and in
regard to the fairies I may tell you that we are not without a few of
them, although giants confessedly preponderate."
"Indeed!" said Oliver; "pray whereabouts do they dwell?"
"You have heard of the Gump, I suppose?"
"What! the barren plain near Carn Kenidjack, to the north of St. Just?"
"The same. Well, this is said to be a celebrated haunt of the pixies,
who have often led benighted travellers astray, and shown them wonderful
sights. Of course one never meets with any individual who has actually
seen them, but I have frequently met with those who have assured me they
had known others who had conversed with persons who had seen fairies.
One old man, in particular, I have heard of, who was quite convinced of
the reality of a fairy scene which he once witnessed.
"This old fellow was crossing the Gump one evening, by one of the
numerous paths which intersect it. It was summer-time. The sun had
gone down beyond the sea-line, and the golden mists of evening were
merging into the quiet grey that hung over the Atlantic. Not a breath
of wind passed over land or sea. To the northward Chun Castle stood
darkly on the summit of the neighbouring hill, and the cromlech loomed
huge and mysterious; southward were traces of mystic circles and upright
stones, and other of those inexplicable pieces of antiquity which are
usually saddled on the overladen shoulders of the Druids. Everything,
in fact--in the scene, the season, and the weather--contributed to fill
the mind of the old man with romantic musings as he wended his way over
the barren moor. Suddenly there arose on the air a sound of sweet, soft
music, like the gentle breathings of an Aeolian harp. He stopped and
gazed around with looks of mingled curiosity and surprise, but could see
nothing unusual. The mysterious sounds continued, and a feeling of
alarm stole over him, for twilight was deepening, and home was still far
distant. He attempted to advance, but the music had such a charm for
him that he could not quit the spot, so he turned aside to discover, if
possible, whence it came. Presently he came to a spot where the turf
was smoother and greener than elsewhere, and here the most wonderful and
enchanting scene met his gaze. Fairies innumerable were before him;
real live fairies, and no mistake. Lying down on the grass, the old man
crept cautiously towards them, and watched their proceedings with deep
interest. They were evidently engaged in the pleasant occupation of
holding a fair. There were stalls, tastefully laid out and decorated
with garlands of flowers. On these were spread most temptingly all the
little articles of fairy costume. To be sure the said costume was very
scanty, and to all appearance more picturesque than useful; nevertheless
there was great variety. Some wore heath-bells jauntily stuck on their
heads; some were helmeted with golden blossoms of the furze, and looked
warlike; others had nothing but their own luxuriant hair to cover them.
A few of the lady fairies struck the old man as being remarkably
beautiful, and one of these, who wore an inverted tulip for a skirt,
with a small forget-me-not in her golden hair, seemed to him the very
picture of what his old Molly had been fifty years before. It was
particularly noticeable that the stalls were chiefly patronised by the
fairy fair sex, with the exception of one or two which were much
frequented by the men. At these latter, articles were sold which
marvellously resembled cigars and brandy, and the old man declared that
he saw them smoke the former, and that he smelt the latter; but as he
had himself been indulging a little that evening in smuggled spirits and
tobacco, we must regard this as a somewhat ungenerous statement on his
part, for it is ridiculous to suppose that fairies could be such
senseless creatures as to smoke or drink! They danced and sang,
however, and it was observed that one young man, with a yellow night-cap
and a bad cold, was particularly conspicuous for his anxiety to be
permitted to sing.
"The music was naturally the great attraction of the evening. It
consisted of a large band, and although some of the performers used
instruments made of reeds, and straws, and other hollow substances, cut
into various forms and lengths, most of them had noses which served the
purpose of musical instruments admirably. Indeed, the leader of the
band had a prolongation of the nose so like to a flesh-coloured
clarionet, that it might easily have been mistaken for the real thing,
and on this he discoursed the most seraphic music. Another fairy beside
him had a much longer nose, which he used as a trombone with great
effect. This fellow was quite a character, and played with such
tremendous energy that, on more than one occasion, he brought on a fit
of sneezing, which of course interrupted the music, and put the
clarionet in a passion. A stout old misshapen gnome, or some such
creature, with an enormous head, served for the big drum. Four fairies
held him down, and a fifth belaboured his head with a drumstick. It
sounded wonderfully hollow, and convinced the old man that it was
destitute of brains, and not subject to headache.
"All the time that the old man gazed at them, troops of fairies
continued to arrive, some on the backs of bats, from which they slipped
as they whirred past; others descending, apparently, on moonbeams. The
old man even fancied that he saw one attempting to descend by a
starbeam, which, being apparently too weak to support his weight, broke,
and let him down with a crash into the midst of a party who were very
busy round a refreshment stall, where a liberal supply of mountain dew
was being served out; but the old man never felt quite sure upon this
point, for, at sight of the mountain dew, he felt so thirsty that he
determined to taste it. Fixing his eyes on the stall, he suddenly threw
his hat into the midst of the party, and made a dash at it; but, to his
intense disappointment, the vision was instantly dispelled, and nothing
was to be seen on the spot but a few snails creeping over the wet grass,
and gossamer threads bespangled with dewdrops."
"A very pretty little vision," exclaimed Oliver, "and not the first that
has been prematurely dispelled by too ardent a pursuit of strong drink!
And now, Charlie, as you appear to be in the vein, and we have still
some distance to go, will you tell me something about the giants, and
how it came to pass that they were so fond of roaming about Cornwall?"
"Their fondness for it, Oliver, must be ascribed to the same cause as
your own--just because it is a lovable place," said Tregarthen;
"moreover, being a thinly-peopled county, they were probably not much
disturbed in their enjoyment of it. To recount their surprising deeds
would require a longer space of time than is just now at our disposal,
but you have only to look round, in passing through the country, to
understand what a mighty race of men they were. There are `giants'
quoits,' as you know, without end, some of which have the marks of the
fingers and thumbs with which they grasped them. Their strength may be
estimated by the fact that one of these quoits is no less than forty
feet long and twenty wide, and weighs some hundreds of tons. It would
puzzle even your strong arm to toss such a quoit! One of these giants
was a very notable fellow. He was named `Wrath,' and is said to have
been in the habit of quenching his thirst at the Holy Well under St.
Agnes's Beacon, where the marks of his hands, made in the solid granite
while he stooped to drink, may still be seen. This rascal, who was well
named, is said to have compelled poor St. Agnes, in revenge for her
refusing to listen to his addresses, to carry in her apron to the top of
Beacon Hill the pile of stones which lies there. But here we are at
Penzance, so we shall have done with fiction for the present, and revert
to matters of fact. You have business with a lawyer, I believe, and I
have business for a short time with a friend. Let us appoint a time and
place of meeting."
"What say you to the Wherry Mine at two o'clock?" said Oliver. "It is
probable that my business will be concluded by that time, when we can go
and see this mine together. My uncle seems to set great store by it,
because of an old prophecy to the effect that some day or other it will
enrich somebody!"
"Why, that prophecy has been fulfilled long ago," said Tregarthen, with
a laugh. "The mine was a bold undertaking, and at one time paid well,
but I fear it won't do so again. However, let us meet there; so
farewell, old boy, till two."