HIGHLY POETICAL--VOLUNDR--GRECIAN MYTHOLOGY--MAKING A PETUL--SPITE OF
DUKKERIN--HEAVINESS
It has always struck me that there is something highly poetical about a
forge. I am not singular in this opinion: various individuals have
assured me that they can never pass by one, even in the midst of a
crowded town, without experiencing sensations which they can scarcely
define, but which are highly pleasurable. I have a decided penchant for
forges, especially rural ones, placed in some quaint quiet spot--a
dingle, for example, which is a poetical place, or at a meeting of four
roads, which is still more so; for how many a superstition--and
superstition is the soul of poetry--is connected with these cross roads!
I love to light upon such a one, especially after nightfall, as
everything about a forge tells to most advantage at night; the hammer
sounds more solemnly in the stillness; the glowing particles scattered by
the strokes sparkle with more effect in the darkness, whilst the sooty
visage of the sastramescro, half in shadow and half illumed by the red
and partial blaze of the forge, looks more mysterious and strange. On
such occasions I draw in my horse's rein, and, seated in the saddle,
endeavour to associate with the picture before me--in itself a picture of
romance--whatever of the wild and wonderful I have read of in books, or
have seen with my own eyes in connection with forges.
I believe the life of any blacksmith, especially a rural one, would
afford materials for a highly poetical history. I do not speak
unadvisedly, having the honour to be free of the forge, and therefore
fully competent to give an opinion as to what might be made out of the
forge by some dexterous hand. Certainly, the strangest and most
entertaining life ever written is that of a blacksmith of the olden
north, a certain Volundr, or Velint, who lived in woods and thickets,
made keen swords--so keen, indeed, that if placed in a running stream
they would fairly divide an object, however slight, which was borne
against them by the water, and who eventually married a king's daughter,
by whom he had a son, who was as bold a knight as his father was a
cunning blacksmith. I never see a forge at night, when seated on the
back of my horse, at the bottom of a dark lane, but I somehow or other
associate it with the exploits of this extraordinary fellow, with many
other extraordinary things, amongst which, as I have hinted before, are
particular passages of my own life, one or two of which I shall perhaps
relate to the reader.
I never associate Vulcan and his Cyclops with the idea of a forge. These
gentry would be the very last people in the world to flit across my mind
whilst gazing at the forge from the bottom of the dark lane. The truth
is, they are highly unpoetical fellows, as well they may be, connected as
they are with the Grecian mythology. At the very mention of their names
the forge burns dull and dim, as if snowballs had been suddenly flung
into it; the only remedy is to ply the bellows, an operation which I now
hasten to perform.
I am in the dingle making a horse-shoe. Having no other horses on whose
hoofs I could exercise my art, I made my first essay on those of my own
horse, if that could be called horse which horse was none, being only a
pony. Perhaps, if I had sought all England, I should scarcely have found
an animal more in need of the kind offices of the smith. On three of his
feet there were no shoes at all, and on the fourth only a remnant of one,
on which account his hoofs were sadly broken and lacerated by his late
journeys over the hard and flinty roads. 'You belonged to a tinker
before,' said I, addressing the animal, 'but now you belong to a smith.
It is said that the household of the shoemaker invariably go worse shod
than that of any other craft. That may be the case of those who make
shoes of leather, but it shan't be said of the household of him who makes
shoes of iron; at any rate it shan't be said of mine. I tell you what,
my gry, whilst you continue with me, you shall both be better shod and
better fed than you were with your last master.'
I am in the dingle making a petul; and I must here observe that whilst I
am making a horse-shoe the reader need not be surprised if I speak
occasionally in the language of the lord of the horse-shoe--Mr.
Petulengro. I have for some time past been plying the peshota, or
bellows, endeavouring to raise up the yag, or fire, in my primitive
forge. The angar, or coals, are now burning fiercely, casting forth
sparks and long vagescoe chipes, or tongues of flame; a small bar of
sastra, or iron, is lying in the fire, to the length of ten or twelve
inches, and so far it is hot, very hot, exceeding hot, brother. And now
you see me prala, snatch the bar of iron, and place the heated end of it
upon the covantza, or anvil, and forthwith I commence cooring the sastra
as hard as if I had been just engaged by a master at the rate of dui
caulor, or two shillings, a day, brother; and when I have beaten the iron
till it is nearly cool, and my arm tired, I place it again in the angar,
and begin again to rouse the fire with the pudamengro, which signifies
the blowing thing, and is another and more common word for bellows; and
whilst thus employed I sing a gypsy song, the sound of which is
wonderfully in unison with the hoarse moaning of the pudamengro, and ere
the song is finished, the iron is again hot and malleable. Behold, I
place it once more on the covantza, and recommence hammering; and now I
am somewhat at fault; I am in want of assistance; I want you, brother, or
some one else, to take the bar out of my hand and support it upon the
covantza, whilst I, applying a chinomescro, or kind of chisel, to the
heated iron, cut off with a lusty stroke or two of the shukara baro, or
big hammer, as much as is required for the petul. But having no one to
help me, I go on hammering till I have fairly knocked off as much as I
want, and then I place the piece in the fire, and again apply the
bellows, and take up the song where I left it off; and when I have
finished the song, I take out the iron, but this time with my plaistra,
or pincers, and then I recommence hammering, turning the iron round and
round with my pincers; and now I bend the iron and, lo and behold! it has
assumed something of the outline of a petul.
I am not going to enter into further details with respect to the
process--it was rather a wearisome one. I had to contend with various
disadvantages; my forge was a rude one, my tools might have been better;
I was in want of one or two highly necessary implements, but, above all,
manual dexterity. Though free of the forge, I had not practised the
albeytarian art for very many years, never since--but stay, it is not my
intention to tell the reader, at least in this place, how and when I
became a blacksmith. There was one thing, however, which stood me in
good stead in my labour, the same thing which through life has ever been
of incalculable utility to me, and has not unfrequently supplied the
place of friends, money, and many other things of almost equal
importance--iron perseverance, without which all the advantages of time
and circumstance are of very little avail in any undertaking. I was
determined to make a horse-shoe, and a good one, in spite of every
obstacle--ay, in spite of dukkerin. At the end of four days, during
which I had fashioned and refashioned the thing at least fifty times, I
had made a petul such as no master of the craft need have been ashamed
of; with the second shoe I had less difficulty, and, by the time I had
made the fourth, I would have scorned to take off my hat to the best
smith in Cheshire.
But I had not yet shod my little gry: this I proceeded now to do. After
having first well pared the hoofs with my churi, I applied each petul
hot, glowing hot, to the pindro. Oh, how the hoofs hissed! and, oh, the
pleasant pungent odour which diffused itself through the dingle!--an
odour good for an ailing spirit.
I shod the little horse bravely--merely pricked him once, slightly, with
a cafi, for doing which, I remember, he kicked me down; I was not
disconcerted, however, but, getting up, promised to be more cautious in
future; and having finished the operation, I filed the hoof well with the
rin baro, then dismissed him to graze amongst the trees, and, putting my
smaller tools into the muchtar, I sat down on my stone, and, supporting
my arm upon my knee, leaned my head upon my hand. Heaviness had come
over me.