CHAPTER XII
THE DINGLE AT NIGHT--THE TWO SIDES OF THE QUESTION--ROMANFEMALES--FILLING THE KETTLE--THE DREAM--THE TALL FIGURE
I descended to the bottom of the dingle. It was nearly involved inobscurity. To dissipate the feeling of melancholy which came over mymind, I resolved to kindle a fire; and having heaped dry sticks upon myhearth, and added a billet or two, I struck a light, and soon produced ablaze. Sitting down, I fixed my eyes upon the blaze, and soon fell intoa deep meditation. I thought of the events of the day, the scene atchurch, and what I had heard at church, the danger of losing one's soul,the doubts of Jasper Petulengro as to whether one had a soul. I thoughtover the various arguments which I had either heard, or which had comespontaneously to my mind, for or against the probability of a state offuture existence. They appeared to me to be tolerably evenly balanced.I then thought that it was at all events taking the safest part toconclude that there was a soul. It would be a terrible thing, afterhaving passed one's life in the disbelief of the existence of a soul, towake up after death a soul, and to find one's self a lost soul. Yes,methought I would come to the conclusion that one has a soul. Choosingthe safe side, however, appeared to me playing rather a dastardly part.I had never been an admirer of people who chose the safe side ineverything; indeed I had always entertained a thorough contempt for them.Surely it would be showing more manhood to adopt the dangerous side, thatof disbelief. I almost resolved to do so--but yet in a question of somuch importance, I ought not to be guided by vanity. The question wasnot which was the safe, but the true side--yet how was I to know whichwas the true side? Then I thought of the Bible--which I had been readingin the morning--that spoke of the soul and a future state; but was theBible true? I had heard learned and moral men say that it was true, butI had also heard learned and moral men say that it was not: how was I todecide? Still that balance of probabilities! If I could but see the wayof truth, I would follow it, if necessary, upon hands and knees--on thatI was determined; but I could not see it. Feeling my brain begin to turnround, I resolved to think of something else; and forthwith began tothink of what had passed between Ursula and myself in our discoursebeneath the hedge.
I mused deeply on what she had told me as to the virtue of the females ofher race. How singular that virtue must be which was kept pure andimmaculate by the possessor, whilst indulging in habits of falsehood anddishonesty! I had always thought the gypsy females extraordinary beings.I had often wondered at them, their dress, their manner of speaking, and,not least, at their names; but, until the present day, I had beenunacquainted with the most extraordinary point connected with them. Howcame they possessed of this extraordinary virtue? Was it because theywere thievish? I remembered that an ancient thief-taker, who had retiredfrom his useful calling, and who frequently visited the office of mymaster at law, the respectable S---, {84} who had the management of hisproperty--I remembered to have heard this worthy, with whom Ioccasionally held discourse, philosophic and profound, when he and Ichanced to be alone together in the office, say that all first-ratethieves were sober, and of well-regulated morals, their bodily passionsbeing kept in abeyance by their love of gain; but this axiom couldscarcely hold good with respect to these women--however thievish theymight be, they did care for something besides gain: they cared for theirhusbands. If they did thieve, they merely thieved for their husbands;and though, perhaps, some of them were vain, they merely prized theirbeauty because it gave them favour in the eyes of their husbands.Whatever the husbands were--and Jasper had almost insinuated that themales occasionally allowed themselves some latitude--they appeared to beas faithful to their husbands as the ancient Roman matrons were totheirs. Roman matrons! and, after all, might not these be in realityRoman matrons? They called themselves Romans; might not they be thedescendants of the old Roman matrons? Might not they be of the sameblood as Lucretia? And were not many of their strange names--Lucretiaamongst the rest--handed down to them from old Rome? It is true theirlanguage was not that of old Rome; it was not, however, altogetherdifferent from it. After all, the ancient Romans might be a tribe ofthese people, who settled down and founded a village with the tilts ofcarts, which by degrees, and the influx of other people, became the grandcity of the world. I liked the idea of the grand city of the world owingits origin to a people who had been in the habit of carrying their housesin their carts. Why, after all, should not the Romans of history be abranch of these Romans? There were several points of similarity betweenthem; if Roman matrons were chaste, both men and women were thieves. OldRome was the thief of the world; yet still there were difficulties to beremoved before I could persuade myself that the old Romans and my Romanswere identical; and in trying to remove these difficulties, I felt mybrain once more beginning to turn, and in haste took up another subjectof meditation, and that was the patteran, and what Ursula had told meabout it.
I had always entertained a strange interest for that sign by which intheir wanderings the Romanese gave to those of their people who camebehind intimation as to the direction which they took; but it nowinspired me with greater interest than ever--now that I had learnt thatthe proper meaning of it was the leaves of trees. I had, as I have saidin my dialogue with Ursula, been very eager to learn the word for leaf inthe Romanian language, but had never learnt it till this day; so patteransignified leaf, the leaf of a tree; and no one at present knew that butmyself and Ursula, who had learnt it from Mrs. Herne, the last, it wassaid, of the old stock; and then I thought what strange people thegypsies must have been in the old time. They were sufficiently strangeat present, but they must have been far stranger of old; they must havebeen a more peculiar people--their language must have been moreperfect--and they must have had a greater stock of strange secrets. Ialmost wish that I had lived some two or three hundred years ago, that Imight have observed these people when they were yet stranger than atpresent. I wondered whether I could have introduced myself to theircompany at that period, whether I should have been so fortunate as tomeet such a strange, half-malicious, half good-humoured being as Jasper,who would have instructed me in the language, then more deserving of notethan at present. What might I not have done with that language, had Iknown it in its purity? Why, I might have written books in it; yet thosewho spoke it would hardly have admitted me to their society at thatperiod, when they kept more to themselves. Yet I thought that I mightpossibly have gained their confidence, and have wandered about with them,and learnt their language, and all their strange ways, and then--andthen--and a sigh rose from the depth of my breast; for I began to think,'Supposing I had accomplished all this, what would have been the profitof it? and in what would all this wild gypsy dream have terminated?'
Then rose another sigh, yet more profound, for I began to think, 'Whatwas likely to be the profit of my present way of life; the living indingles, making pony and donkey shoes, conversing with gypsy-women underhedges, and extracting from them their odd secrets?' What was likely tobe the profit of such a kind of life, even should it continue for alength of time?--a supposition not very probable, for I was earningnothing to support me, and the funds with which I had entered upon thislife were gradually disappearing. I was living, it is true, notunpleasantly, enjoying the healthy air of heaven; but, upon the whole,was I not sadly misspending my time? Surely I was; and, as I lookedback, it appeared to me that I had always been doing so. What had beenthe profit of the tongues which I had learnt? had they ever assisted mein the day of hunger? No, no! it appeared to me that I had alwaysmisspent my time, save in one instance, when by a desperate effort I hadcollected all the powers of my imagination, and written the Life ofJoseph Sell; {87} but even when I wrote the life of Sell, was I not in afalse position? Provided I had not misspent my time, would it have beennecessary to make that effort, which, after all, had only enabled me toleave London, and wander about the country for a time? But could I,taking all circumstances into consideration, have done better than I had?With my peculiar temperament and ideas, could I have pursued
withadvantage the profession to which my respectable parents had endeavouredto bring me up? It appeared to me that I could not, and that the hand ofnecessity had guided me from my earliest years, until the present nightin which I found myself seated in the dingle, staring on the brands ofthe fire. But ceasing to think of the past which, as irrecoverably gone,it was useless to regret, even were there cause to regret it, what shouldI do in future? Should I write another book like the Life of JosephSell; take it to London, and offer it to a publisher? But when Ireflected on the grisly sufferings which I had undergone whilst engagedin writing the Life of Sell, I shrank from the idea of a similar attempt;moreover, I doubted whether I possessed the power to write a similarwork--whether the materials for the life of another Sell lurked withinthe recesses of my brain? Had I not better become in reality what I hadhitherto been merely playing at--a tinker or a gypsy? But I soon sawthat I was not fitted to become either in reality. It was much moreagreeable to play the gypsy or the tinker, than to become either inreality. I had seen enough of gypsying and tinkering to be convinced ofthat. All of a sudden the idea of tilling the soil came into my head;tilling the soil was a healthful and noble pursuit! but my idea oftilling the soil had no connection with Britain; for I could only expectto till the soil in Britain as a serf. I thought of tilling it inAmerica, in which it was said there was plenty of wild, unclaimed land,of which any one, who chose to clear it of its trees, might takepossession. I figured myself in America, in an immense forest, clearingthe land destined, by my exertions, to become a fruitful and smilingplain. Methought I heard the crash of the huge trees as they fellbeneath my axe; and then I bethought me that a man was intended tomarry--I ought to marry; and if I married, where was I likely to be morehappy as a husband and a father than in America, engaged in tilling theground? I fancied myself in America, engaged in tilling the ground,assisted by an enormous progeny. Well, why not marry, and go and tillthe ground in America? I was young, and youth was the time to marry in,and to labour in. I had the use of all my faculties; my eyes, it istrue, were rather dull from early study, and from writing the Life ofJoseph Sell; but I could see tolerably well with them, and they were notbleared. I felt my arms, and thighs, and teeth--they were strong andsound enough; so now was the time to labour, to marry, eat strong flesh,and beget strong children--the power of doing all this would pass awaywith youth, which was terribly transitory. I bethought me that a timewould come when my eyes would be bleared, and, perhaps, sightless; myarms and thighs strengthless and sapless; when my teeth would shake in myjaws, even supposing they did not drop out. No going a wooing then--nolabouring--no eating strong flesh, and begetting lusty children then; andI bethought me how, when all this should be, I should bewail the days ofmy youth as misspent, provided I had not in them founded for myself ahome, and begotten strong children to take care of me in the days when Icould not take care of myself; and thinking of these things, I becamesadder and sadder, and stared vacantly upon the fire till my eyes closedin a doze.
I continued dozing over the fire, until rousing myself I perceived thatthe brands were nearly consumed, and I thought of retiring for the night.I arose, and was about to enter my tent, when a thought struck me.'Suppose,' thought I, 'that Isopel Berners should return in the midst ofthe night, how dark and dreary would the dingle appear without a fire!truly, I will keep up the fire, and I will do more; I have no board tospread for her, but I will fill the kettle, and heat it, so that, if shecomes, I may be able to welcome her with a cup of tea, for I know sheloves tea.' Thereupon, I piled more wood upon the fire, and soonsucceeded in producing a better blaze than before; then, taking thekettle, I set out for the spring. On arriving at the mouth of thedingle, which fronted the east, I perceived that Charles's wain wasnearly opposite to it, high above in the heavens, by which I knew thatthe night was tolerably well advanced. The gypsy encampment lay beforeme; all was hushed and still within it, and its inmates appeared to belocked in slumber; as I advanced, however, the dogs, which were fastenedoutside the tents, growled and barked; but presently recognising me, theywere again silent, some of them wagging their tails. As I drew near aparticular tent, I heard a female voice say--'Some one is coming!' and,as I was about to pass it, the cloth which formed the door was suddenlylifted up, and a black head, and part of a huge naked body protruded. Itwas the head and upper part of the giant Tawno, who, according to thefashion of gypsy men, lay next the door, wrapped in his blanket; theblanket, had, however, fallen off, and the starlight shone clear on hisathletic tawny body, and was reflected from his large staring eyes.
'It is only I, Tawno,' said I, 'going to fill the kettle, as it ispossible that Miss Berners may arrive this night.' 'Kos-ko,' {89}drawled out Tawno, and replaced the curtain. 'Good, do you call it?'said the sharp voice of his wife; 'there is no good in the matter; ifthat young chap were not living with the rawnee in the illegal anduncertificated line, he would not be getting up in the middle of thenight to fill her kettles.' Passing on, I proceeded to the spring, whereI filled the kettle, and then returned to the dingle.
Placing the kettle upon the fire, I watched it till it began to boil;then removing it from the top of the brands, I placed it close beside thefire, and leaving it simmering, I retired to my tent, where, having takenoff my shoes, and a few of my garments, I lay down on my palliasse, andwas not long in falling asleep. I believe I slept soundly for some time,thinking and dreaming of nothing; suddenly, however, my sleep becamedisturbed, and the subject of the patterans began to occupy my brain. Iimagined that I saw Ursula tracing her husband, Launcelot Lovell, bymeans of his patterans; I imagined that she had considerable difficultyin doing so; that she was occasionally interrupted by parish beadles andconstables, who asked her whither she was travelling, to whom she gavevarious answers. Presently methought that, as she was passing by afarmyard, two fierce and savage dogs flew at her; I was in great trouble,I remember, and wished to assist her, but could not, for though I seemedto see her, I was still at a distance; and now it appeared that she hadescaped from the dogs, and was proceeding with her cart along a gravellypath which traversed a wild moor; I could hear the wheels grating amidstsand and gravel. The next moment I was awake, and found myself siltingup in my tent; there was a glimmer of light through the canvas caused bythe fire. A feeling of dread came over me, which was perhaps natural onstarting suddenly from one's sleep in that wild lone place; I halfimagined that someone was nigh the tent; the idea made me ratheruncomfortable, and, to dissipate it, I lifted up the canvas of the doorand peeped out, and, lo! I had an indistinct view of a tall figurestanding by the tent. 'Who is that?' said I, whilst I felt my blood rushto my heart. 'It is I,' said the voice of Isopel Berners; 'you littleexpected me, I dare say; well, sleep on, I do not wish to disturb you.''But I was expecting you,' said I, recovering myself, 'as you may see bythe fire and the kettle. I will be with you in a moment.'
Putting on in haste the articles of dress which I had flung off, I cameout of the tent, and addressing myself to Isopel, who was standing besideher cart, I said: 'Just as I was about to retire to rest I thought itpossible that you might come to-night, and got everything in readinessfor you. Now, sit down by the fire whilst I lead the donkey and cart tothe place where you stay; I will unharness the animal, and presently comeand join you.' 'I need not trouble you,' said Isopel; 'I will go myselfand see after my things.' 'We will go together,' said I, 'and thenreturn and have some tea.' Isopel made no objection, and in about halfan hour we had arranged everything at her quarters. I then hastened andprepared tea. Presently Isopel rejoined me, bringing her stool; she haddivested herself of her bonnet, and her hair fell over her shoulders; shesat down, and I poured out the beverage, handing her a cup. 'Have youmade a long journey to-night?' said I. 'A very long one,' replied Belle,'I have come nearly twenty miles since six o'clock.' 'I believe I heardyou coming in my sleep,' said I; 'did the dogs above bark at you?''Yes,' said Isopel, 'very violently; did you think of me in your sleep?''No,' said I, 'I was thinking of
Ursula and something she had told me.''When and where was that?' said Isopel. 'Yesterday evening,' said I,'beneath the dingle hedge.' 'Then you were talking with her beneath thehedge?' 'I was,' said I, 'but only upon gypsy matters. Do you know,Belle, that she has just been married to Sylvester, so you need not thinkthat she and I--.' 'She and you are quite at liberty to sit where youplease,' said Isopel. 'However, young man,' she continued, dropping hertone, which she had slightly raised, 'I believe what you said, that youwere merely talking about gypsy matters, and also what you were going tosay, if it was, as I suppose, that she and you had no particularacquaintance.' Isopel was now silent for some time. 'What are youthinking of?' said I. 'I was thinking,' said Belle, 'how exceedinglykind it was of you to get everything in readiness for me, though you didnot know that I should come.' 'I had a presentiment that you wouldcome,' said I; 'but you forget that I have prepared the kettle for youbefore, though it was true I was then certain that you would come.' 'Ihad not forgotten your doing so, young man,' said Belle; 'but I wasbeginning to think that you were utterly selfish, caring for nothing butthe gratification of your own strange whims.' 'I am very fond of havingmy own way,' said I, 'but utterly selfish I am not, as I dare say I shallfrequently prove to you. You will often find the kettle boiling when youcome home.' 'Not heated by you,' said Isopel with a sigh. 'By whomelse?' said I; 'surely you are not thinking of driving me away?' 'Youhave as much right here as myself,' said Isopel, 'as I have told youbefore; but I must be going myself.' 'Well,' said I, 'we can gotogether; to tell you the truth, I am rather tired of this place.' 'Ourpaths must be separate,' said Belle. 'Separate,' said I, 'what do youmean? I shan't let you go alone, I shall go with you; and you know theroad is as free to me as to you; besides, you can't think of partingcompany with me, considering how much you would lose by doing so;remember that you scarcely know anything of the Armenian language; now,to learn Armenian from me would take you twenty years.'
Belle faintly smiled. 'Come,' said I, 'take another cup of tea.' Belletook another cup of tea, and yet another; we had some indifferentconversation, after which I arose and gave her donkey a considerable feedof corn. Belle thanked me, shook me by the hand, and then went to herown tabernacle, and I returned to mine.