THE ZINGYNIES
The morning sun smiles upon a motley troop journeying towards the
Danube. Two or three lithe, supple urchins, bounding and dancing along
with half-naked bodies, and bright black eyes shining through knotted
elf-locks, form the advanced guard. Half-a-dozen donkeys seem to carry
the whole property of the tribe. The main body consists of sinewy,
active-looking men, and strikingly handsome girls, all walking with the
free, graceful air and elastic gait peculiar to those whose lives are
passed entirely in active exercise, under no roof but that of heaven.
Dark-browed women in the very meridian of beauty bring up the rear,
dragging or carrying a race of swarthy progeny, all alike distinguished
for the sparkling eyes and raven hair, which, with a cunning nothing can
overreach, and a nature nothing can tame, seem to be the peculiar
inheritance of the gipsy. Their costume is striking, not to say
grotesque. Some of the girls, and all the matrons, bind their brows
with various coloured handkerchiefs, which form a very picturesque and
not unbecoming head-gear; whilst in a few instances coins even of gold
are strung amongst the jetty locks of the Zingynie beauties. The men
are not so particular in their attire. One sinewy fellow wears only a
goatskin shirt and a string of beads round his neck, but the generality
are clad in the coarse cloth of the country, much tattered, and bearing
evident symptoms of weather and wear. The little mischievous urchins
who are clinging round their mothers' necks, or dragging back from their
mothers' hands, and holding on to their mothers' skirts, are almost
naked. Small heads and hands and feet, all the marks of what we are
accustomed to term high birth, are hereditary among the gipsies; and we
doubt if the Queen of the South herself was a more queenly-looking
personage than the dame now marching in the midst of the throng, and
conversing earnestly with her companion, a resolute-looking man scarce
entering upon the prime of life, with a gipsy complexion, but a bearing
in which it is not difficult to recognise the soldier. He is talking to
his protectress--for such she is--with a military frankness and
vivacity, which even to that royal personage, accustomed though she be
to exact all the respect due to her rank, appear by no means
displeasing. The lady is verging on the autumn of her charms (their
summer must have been scorching indeed!) and though a masculine beauty,
is a beauty nevertheless. Black-browed is she, and deep-coloured, with
eyes of fire, and locks of jet, even now untinged with grey. Straight
and regular are her features, and the wide mouth, with its strong, even
dazzling teeth, betokens an energy and force of will which would do
credit to the other sex. She has the face of a woman that would dare
much, labour much, everything but _love_ much. She ought to be a queen,
and she is one, none the less despotic for ruling over a tribe of
gipsies instead of a civilised community.
"None dispute my word here," says she, "and my word is pledged to bring
you to the Danube. Let me see a soldier of them all lay a hand upon
you, and you shall see the gipsy brood show their teeth. A long knife
is no bad weapon at close quarters. When you have got to the top of the
wheel you will remember me!"
The soldier laughed, and lightly replied, "Yours are the sort of eyes
one does not easily forget, mother. I wish I were a prince of the blood
in your nation. As I am situated now I can only be dazzled by so much
beauty, and go my ways."
The woman checked him sternly, almost savagely, though a few minutes
before she had been listening, half amused, to his gay and not very
respectful conversation.
"Hush!" she said, "trifler. Once more I say, when the wheel has turned,
remember me. Give me your hand; I can read it plainer so."
"What, mother?" laughed out her companion. "Every gipsy can tell
fortunes; mine has been told many a time, but it never came true."
She was studying the lines on his palm with earnest attention. She
raised her dark eyes angrily to his face.
"Blind! blind!" she answered, in a low, eager tone. "The best of you
cannot see a yard upon your way. Look at that white road, winding and
winding many a mile before us upon the plain. Because it is flat and
soft and smooth as far as we can see, will there be no hills on our
journey, no rocks to cut our feet--no thorns to tear our limbs? Can you
see the Danube rolling on far, far before us? Can you see the river you
will have to cross some day, or can you tell me where it leads? I have
the map of our journey here in my brain; I have the map of your career
here on your hand. Once more I say, when the chiefs are in council, and
the hosts are melting like snow before the sun, and the earth quakes,
and the heavens are filled with thunder, and the shower that falls
scorches and crushes and blasts--remember me! I follow the line of
wealth: Man of gold! spoil on; here a horse, there a diamond; hundreds
to uphold the right, thousands to spare the wrong; both hands full, and
broad lands near a city of palaces, and a king's favour, and a nation of
slaves beneath thy foot. I follow the line of pleasure: Costly amber;
rich embroidery; dark eyes melting for the Croat; glances unveiled for
the shaven head, many and loving and beautiful; a garland of roses, all
for one--rose by rose plucked and withered and thrown away; one tender
bud remaining; cherish it till it blows, and wear it till it dies. I
follow the line of blood: it leads towards the rising sun--charging
squadrons with lances in rest, and a wild shout in a strange tongue; and
the dead wrapped in grey, with charm and amulet that were powerless to
save; and hosts of many nations gathered by the sea--pestilence, famine,
despair, and victory. Rising on the whirlwind, chief among chiefs, the
honoured of leaders, the counsellor of princes--remember me! But ha!
the line is crossed. Beware! trust not the sons of the adopted land;
when the lily is on thy breast, beware of the dusky shadow on the wall;
beware and remember me!"
The gipsy stopped, and clung to him exhausted. For a few paces she was
unable to support herself; the prophetic mood past, there was a
reaction, and all her powers seemed to fail her at once; but her
companion walked on in silence. The eagerness of the Pythoness had
impressed even his strong, practical nature, and he seemed himself to
look into futurity as he muttered, "If man can win it, I will."
The gipsies travelled but slowly; and although the sun was already high,
they had not yet placed many miles between the fugitive and the castle.
This, however, was of no great importance. His disguise was so
complete, that few would have recognised in the tattered, swarthy
vagrant, the smart, soldier-like traveller who had arrived the previous
evening at Edeldorf. From the conversation I had overheard in the
Ghost's Gallery, I was alone in the secret, which, strange to say, I
forbore to confide even to my friend Victor. But I could not forget the
steward and his son; it was my first glimpse into the romance of real
life, and I could not help feeling a painful interest in his fortunes,
and an eager desire to see him at least safe off with his motley
company. I was rejoiced, therefore, at Victor's early proposal, made
the very instant we had swallowed our breakfasts, that we should take a
ride; and notwithstanding my misgivings about a strange pony, for I was
always timid on horseback, I willingly accepted his offer of a mount,
and jumped into the saddle almost as readily as my little companion, a
true Hungarian, with whom,
Like Mad Tom, the chiefest care
Was horse to ride and weapon wear.
Of course, Victor had a complete establishment of ponies belonging to
himself; and equally of course, he had detailed to me at great length
their several merits and peculiarities, with an authentic biography of
his favourite--a stiff little chestnut, rejoicing in the name of
"Gold-kind," which, signifying as it does "the golden-child," or
darling, he seemed to think an exceedingly happy allusion to the
chestnut skin and endearing qualities of his treasure.
Fortunately, my pony was very quiet; and although, when mounted, my
playfellow went off at score, we were soon some miles from Edeldorf,
without any event occurring to upset my own equilibrium or the sobriety
of my steed. Equally fortunately, we took the road by which the gipsies
had travelled. Ere long, we overtook the cavalcade as it wound slowly
along the plain. Heads were bared to Victor, and blessings called down
upon the family of De Rohan; for the old Count was at all times a friend
to the friendless, and a refuge to the poor.
"Good luck to you, young Count! shall I tell your fortune?" said one.
"Little, honourable cavalier, give me your hand, and cross it with a
'zwantziger,'" said another.
"Be silent, children, and let me speak to the young De Rohan," said the
gipsy queen; and she laid her hand upon his bridle, and fairly brought
Gold-kind to a halt.
Victor looked half afraid, although he began to laugh.
"Let me go," said he, tugging vigorously at his reins; "papa desired me
not to have my fortune told."
"Not by a common Zingynie," urged the queen, archly; "but I am the
mother of all these. My pretty boy, I was at your christening, and have
held you in my arms many a time. Let me tell your happy fortune."
Victor began to relent. "If Vere will have his told first, I will,"
said he, turning half bashfully, half eagerly to me.
I proffered my hand readily to the gipsy, and crossed it with one of the
two pieces of silver which constituted the whole of my worldly wealth.
The gipsy laughed, and began to prophesy in German. There are some
events a child never forgets; and I remember every word she said as well
as if it had been spoken yesterday.
"Over the sea, and again over the sea; thou shalt know grief and
hardship and losses, and the dove shall be driven from its nest. And
the dove's heart shall become like the eagle's, that flies alone, and
fleshes her beak in the slain. Beat on, though the poor wings be bruised
by the tempest, and the breast be sore, and the heart sink; beat on
against the wind, and seek no shelter till thou find thy resting-place
at last. The time will come--only beat on."
The woman laughed as she spoke; but there was a kindly tone in her voice
and a pitying look in her bright eyes that went straight to my heart.
Many a time since, in life, when the storm has indeed been boisterous
and the wings so weary, have I thought of those words of encouragement,
"The time will come--beat on."
It was now Victor's turn, and he crossed his palm with a golden ducat
ere he presented it to the sibyl. This was of itself sufficient to
insure him a magnificent future; and as the queen perused the lines on
his soft little hand, with its pink fingers, she indulged in
anticipations of magnificence proportioned to the handsome donation of
the child.
"Thou shalt be a 'De Rohan,' my darling, and I can promise thee no
brighter lot,--broad acres, and blessings from the poor, and horses, and
wealth, and honours. And the sword shall spare thee, and the battle
turn aside to let thee pass. And thou shalt wed a fair bride with dark
eyes and a queenly brow; but beware of St. Hubert's Day. Birth and
burial, birth and burial--beware of St. Hubert's Day."
"But I want to be a soldier," exclaimed Victor, who seemed much
disappointed at the future which was prognosticated for him; "the De
Rohans were always soldiers. Mother, can't you make out I shall be a
soldier?" still holding the little hand open.
"Farewell, my children," was the only answer vouchsafed by the
prophetess. "I can only read, I cannot write: farewell." And setting
the troop in order, she motioned to them to continue their march without
further delay.
I took advantage of the movement to press near my acquaintance of the
day before, whom I had not failed to recognise in his gipsy garb. Poor
fellow, my childish heart bled for him, and, in a happy moment, I
bethought me of my remaining bit of silver. I stooped from my pony and
kissed his forehead, while I squeezed the coin into his hand without a
word. The tears came into the deserter's eyes. "God bless you, little
man! I shall never forget you," was all he said; but I observed that he
bit the coin with his large, strong teeth till it was nearly double, and
then placed it carefully in his bosom. We turned our ponies, and were
soon out of sight; but I never breathed a syllable to Victor about the
fugitive, or the steward, or the Ghost's Gallery, for two whole days.
Human nature could keep the secret no longer.