We take a coach, but the driver does not like his fare and hits us foul—We change our mode of travelling upon the principle of slow and sure, and fall in with a very learned man.
I believe it to be a very general custom, when people set off upon a journey, to reckon up their means—that is, to count the money which they may have in their pockets. At all events, this was done by Timothy and me, and I found that my stock amounted to twenty-two pounds eighteen shillings, and Timothy's to the five guineas presented by Mr Cophagus, and three halfpence which were in the corner of his waistcoat pocket—sum total, twenty-eight pounds three shillings and three halfpence; a very handsome sum, as we thought, with which to commence our peregrinations, and, as I observed to Timothy, sufficient to last us for a considerable time, if husbanded with care.
"Yes," replied he, "but we must husband our legs also, Japhet, or we shall soon be tired, and very soon wear out our shoes. I vote we take a hackney coach."
"Take a hackney coach, Tim! we mustn't think of it; we cannot afford such a luxury; you can't be tired yet, we are now only just clear of Hyde Park Corner."
"Still I think we had better take a coach, Japhet, and here is one coming. I always do take one when I carry out medicines, to make up for the time I lose looking at the shops, and playing peg in the ring."
I now understood what Timothy meant, which was, to get behind and have a ride for nothing. I consented to this arrangement, and we got up behind one which was already well filled inside. "The only difference between an inside and outside passenger in a hackney coach, is that one pays, and the other does not," said I, to Timothy, as we rolled along at the act of parliament speed of four miles per hour.
"That depends upon circumstances: if we are found out, in all probability we shall not only have our ride, but be paid into the bargain."
"With the coachman's whip, I presume?"
"Exactly." And Timothy had hardly time to get the word out of his mouth, when flac, flac, came the whip across our eyes—a little envious wretch, with his shirt hanging out of his trousers, having called out, Cut behind! Not wishing to have our faces, or our behinds cut any more, we hastily descended, and reached the footpath, after having gained about three miles on the road before we were discovered.
"That wasn't a bad lift, Japhet, and as for the whip I never mind that with corduroys. And now, Japhet, I'll tell you something; we must get into a wagon, if we can find one going down the road, as soon as it is dark."
"But that will cost money, Tim."
"It's economy, I tell you; for a shilling, if you bargain, you may ride the whole night, and if we stop at a public-house to sleep, we shall have to pay for our beds, as well as be obliged to order something to eat, and pay dearer for it than if we buy what we want at cooks' shops."
"There is sense in what you say, Timothy; we will look out for a wagon."
"Oh! it's no use now—wagons are like black beetles, not only in shape but in habits, they only travel by night—at least most of them do. We are now coming into long dirty Brentford, and I don't know how you feel, Japhet, but I find that walking wonderfully increases the appetite—that's another reason why you should not walk when you can ride—for nothing."
"Well, I'm rather hungry myself; and dear me, how very good that piece of roast pork looks in that window!"
"I agree with you—let's go in and make a bargain!"
We bought a good allowance for a shilling, and after sticking out for a greater proportion of mustard than the woman said we were entitled to, and some salt, we wrapped it up in a piece of paper, and continued our course, till we arrived at a baker's, where we purchased our bread, and then taking up a position on a bench outside a public-house, called for a pot of beer, and putting our provisions down before us, made a hearty, and, what made us more enjoy it, an independent meal. Having finished our pork and our porter, and refreshed ourselves, we again started and walked till it was quite dark, when we felt so tired that we agreed to sit down on our bundles and wait for the first wagon which passed. We soon heard the jingling of bells, and shortly afterwards its enormous towering bulk appeared between us and the sky. We went up to the wagoner, who was mounted on a little pony, and asked him if he could give two poor lads a lift, and how much he would charge us for the ride.
"How much can you afford to give, measters? for there be others as poor as ye." We replied that we could give a shilling. "Well, then, get up in God's name, and ride as long as you will. Get in behind."
"Are there many people in there already?" said I, as I climbed up, and Timothy handed me the bundles.
"Noa," replied the wagoner, "there be nobody but a mighty clever poticary or doctor, I can't tell which; but he wear an uncommon queer hat, and he talk all sort of doctor stuff—and there be his odd man and his odd boy; that be all, and there be plenty of room, and plenty o' clean stra'."
After this intimation we climbed up, and gained a situation in the rear of the wagon under the cloth. As the wagoner said, there was plenty of room, and we nestled into the straw without coming into contact with the other travellers. Not feeling any inclination to sleep, Timothy and I entered into conversation, sotto voce, and had continued for more than half an hour, supposing by their silence that the other occupants of the wagon were asleep, when we were interrupted by a voice clear and sonorous as a bell.
"It would appear that you are wanderers, young men, and journey you know not whither. Birds seek their nests when the night falls—beasts hasten to their lairs—man bolts his door. 'Propria quæ maribus,' as Herodotus hath it; which, when translated, means, that 'such is the nature of mankind.' 'Tribuuntur mascula dicas' 'Tell me your troubles,' as Homer says."
I was very much surprised at this address—my knowledge of the language told me immediately that the quotations were out of the Latin grammar, and that all his learning was pretence; still there was a novelty of style which amused me, and at the same time gave me an idea that the speaker was an uncommon personage. I gave Timothy a nudge, and then replied,
"You have guessed right, most learned sir; we are, as you say, wanderers seeking our fortunes, and trust yet to find them—still we have a weary journey before us, 'Haustus horâ somni sumendum,' as Aristotle hath it; which I need not translate to so learned a person as yourself."
"Nay, indeed, there is no occasion; yet am I pleased to meet with one who hath scholarship," replied the other. "Have you also a knowledge of the Greek?"
"No, I pretend not to Greek."
"It is a pity that thou hast it not, for thou wouldst delight to commune with the ancients. Esculapius hath these words—'Asholder—offmotton—accapon—pasti—venison,'—which I will translate for thee—'We often find what we seek, when we least expect it.' May it be so with you, my friend. Where have you been educated? and what has been your profession?"
I thought I risked little in telling, so I replied, that I had been brought up as a surgeon and apothecary, and had been educated at a foundation school.
"'Tis well," replied he; "you have then commenced your studies in my glorious profession; still, have you much to learn; years of toil, under a great master, can only enable you to benefit mankind as I have done, and years of hardship and of danger must be added thereunto, to afford you the means. There are many hidden secrets. 'Ut sunt Divorum, Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, Virorum,'—many parts of the globe to traverse, 'Ut Cato, Virgilius, fluviorum, ut Tibris, Orontes.' All these have I visited, and many more. Even now do I journey to obtain more of my invaluable medicine, gathered on the highest Andes, when the moon is in her perigee. There I shall remain for months among the clouds, looking down upon the great plain of Mexico, which shall appear no larger than the head of a pin, where the voice of man is heard not. 'Vocito, vocitas vocitavi,' bending for months towards the earth. 'As in presenti,' suffering with the cold—'frico quod fricui dat,' as Eusebius hath it. Soon shall I be borne away by the howling winds towards the new world, where I can obtain more of the wonderful medicine, which I may say never yet hath failed me, and which nothing but love towards my race induces me to gather at such pains and risk."
"Indeed, sir," replied I, amused with his imposition, "I should like to accompany you—for, as Josephus says most truly, 'Capiat pillulæ duæ post prandium.' Travel is, indeed, a most delightful occupation, and I would like to run over the whole world."
"And I would like to follow you," interrupted Timothy. "I suspect we have commenced our grand tour already—three miles behind a hackney-coach—ten on foot, and about two, I should think, in this wagon. But as Cophagus says, Cochlearija crash many summendush,' which means, 'there are ups and downs in this world.'"
"Hah!" exclaimed our companion. "He, also, has the rudiments."
"Nay, I hope I've done with the Rudimans," replied Timothy.
"Is he your follower?" inquired the man.
"That very much depends upon who walks first," replied Timothy, "but whether or no—we hunt in couples."
"I understand—you are companions. 'Concordat cum nominativo numero et persona.' Tell me, can you roll pills, can you use the pestle and the mortar, handle the scapula, and mix ingredients?"
I replied that of course I knew my profession.
"Well, then, as we have still some hours of night, let us now obtain some rest. In the morning, when the sun hath introduced us to each other, I may then judge from your countenances whether it is likely that we may be better acquainted. Night is the time for repose, as Quintus Curtius says, 'Custos, bos, fur atque sacerdos. Sleep was made for all—my friends, good-night."
In which the adventures in the wagon are continued, and we become more puzzled with our new companions—We leave off talking Latin, and enter into an engagement.
Timothy and I took his advice, and were soon fast asleep. I was awakened the next morning by feeling a hand in my trouser's pocket. I seized it, and held it fast.
"Now just let go my hand, will you?" cried a lachrymal voice.
I jumped up—it was broad daylight, and looked at the human frame to which the hand was an appendix. It was a very spare, awkwardly-built form of a young man, apparently about twenty years old, but without the least sign of manhood on his chin. His face was cadaverous, with large goggling eyes, high cheek bones, hair long and ragged, reminding me of a rat's nest, thin lips, and ears large almost as an elephant's. A more woe-begone wretch in appearance I never beheld, and I continued to look at him with surprise. He repeated his words with an idiotical expression, "Just let go my hand, can't you?"
"What business had your hand in my pocket?" replied I, angrily.
"I was feeling for my pocket-handkerchief," replied the young man. "I always keeps it in my breeches' pocket."
"But not in your neighbour's, I presume?"
"My neighbour's!" replied he, with a vacant stare. "Well, so it is, I see now—I thought it was my own."
I released his hand; he immediately put it into his own pocket, and drew out his handkerchief, if the rag deserved the appellation. "There," said he, "I told you I put it in that pocket—I always do."
"And pray who are you?" said I, as I looked at his dress, which was a pair of loose white Turkish trousers, and an old spangled jacket.
"Me! why, I'm the fool."
"More knave than fool, I expect," replied I, still much puzzled with his strange appearance and dress.
"Nay, there you mistake," said the voice of last night. "He is not only a fool by profession, but one by nature. It is a half-witted creature, who serves me when I would attract the people. Strange in this world, that wisdom may cry in the streets without being noticed, yet folly will always command a crowd."
During this address I turned my eyes upon the speaker. He was an elderly-looking person, with white hair, dressed in a suit of black, ruffles and frill. His eyes were brilliant, but the remainder of his face it was difficult to decipher, as it was evidently painted, and the night's jumbling in the wagon had so smeared it, that it appeared of almost every colour in the rainbow. On one side of him lay a large three-cornered cocked hat, on the other, a little lump of a boy, rolled up in the straw like a marmot, and still sound asleep. Timothy looked at me, and when he caught my eye, burst out into a laugh.
"You laugh at my appearance, I presume," said the old man, mildly.
"I do in truth," replied Timothy. "I never saw one like you before, and I dare say never shall again."
"That is possible; yet probably if you meet me again, you would not know me."
"Among a hundred thousand," replied Timothy, with increased mirth.
"We shall see, perhaps," replied the quack doctor, for such the reader must have already ascertained to be his profession; "but the wagon has stopped, and the driver will bait his horses. If inclined to eat, now is your time. Come, Jumbo, get up; Philotas, waken him, and follow me."
Philotas, for so was the fool styled by his master, twisted up some straw, and stuffed the end of it into Jumbo's mouth. "Now, Jumbo will think he has got something to eat. I always wake him that way," observed the fool, grinning at us.
It certainly, as might be expected, did waken Jumbo, who uncoiled himself, rubbed his eyes, stared at the tilt of the wagon, then at us, and without saying a word, rolled himself out after the fool. Timothy and I followed. We found the doctor bargaining for some bread and bacon, his strange appearance exciting much amusement, and inducing the people to let him have a better bargain than perhaps otherwise they would have done. He gave a part of the refreshment to the boy and the fool, and walked out of the tap-room with his own share. Timothy and I went to the pump, and had a good refreshing wash, and then for a shilling were permitted to make a very hearty breakfast. The wagon having remained about an hour, the driver gave us notice of his departure; but the doctor was no where to be found. After a little delay, the wagoner drove off, cursing him for a bilk, and vowing that he'd never have any more to do with a "lamed man." In the mean time, Timothy and I had taken our seats in the wagon, in company with the fool, and Master Jumbo. We commenced a conversation with the former, and soon found out, as the doctor had asserted, that he really was an idiot, so much so, that it was painful to converse with him. As for the latter, he had coiled himself away to take a little more sleep. I forgot to mention, that the boy was dressed much in the same way as the fool, in an old spangled jacket, and dirty white trousers. For about an hour Timothy and I conversed, remarking upon the strange disappearance of the doctor, especially as he had given us hopes of employing us; in accepting which offer, if ever it should be made, we had not made up our minds, when we were interrupted with a voice crying out, "Hillo, my man, can you give a chap a lift as far as Reading, for a shilling?"
"Ay, get up, and welcome," replied the wagoner.
The wagon did not stop, but in a moment or two the new passenger climbed in. He was dressed in a clean smock frock, neatly worked up the front, leather gaiters, and stout shoes; a bundle and a stick were in his hand. He smiled as he looked round upon the company, and showed a beautiful set of teeth. His face was dark, and sun-burnt, but very handsome, and his eyes as black as coals, and as brilliant as gas. "Heh! player folk—I've a notion," said he, as he sat down, looking at the doctor's attendants, and laughing at us. "Have you come far, gentlemen?" continued he.
"From London," was my reply.
"How do the crops look up above, for down here the turnips seem to have failed altogether? Dry seasons won't do for turnips."
I replied that I really could not satisfy him on that point, as it was dark when we passed.
"Very true—I had forgotten that," replied he. "However, the barleys look well; but perhaps you don't understand farming?"
I replied in the negative, and the conversation was kept up for two or three hours, in the course of which I mentioned the quack doctor, and his strange departure.
"That is the fellow who cured so many people at ——," replied he; and the conversation then turned upon his profession and mode of life, which Timothy and I agreed must be very amusing. "We shall meet him again, I dare say," replied the man. "Would you know him?"
"I think so, indeed," replied Timothy, laughing.
"Yes, and so you would think that you would know a guinea from a halfpenny, if I put it into your hands," replied the man. "I do not wish to lay a bet, and win your money; but I tell you, that I will put either the one or the other into each of your hands, and if you hold it fast for one minute, and shut your eyes during that time, you will not be able to tell me which it is that you have in it."
"That I am sure I would," replied Tim; and I made the same assertion.
"Well, I was taken in that way at a fair, and lost ten shillings by the wager; now, we'll try whether you can tell or not." He took out some money from his pocket, which he selected without our seeing it, put a coin into the hand of each of us, closing our fists over it, "and now," said he, "keep your eyes shut for a minute."
We did so, and a second or two afterwards we heard a voice which we instantly recognised. "Nay, but it was wrong to leave me on the way side thus, having agreed to pay the sum demanded. At my age one walketh not without fatigue, Excipenda tamen quædam sunt urbium, as Philostratus says, meaning, 'that old limbs lose their activity, and seek the help of a crutch.'"
"There's the doctor," cried Timothy, with his eyes still shut.
"Now open your eyes," said the man, "and tell me, before you open your hand, what there is in it."
"A halfpenny in mine," said Tim.
"A guinea in mine," replied I.
We opened our hands, and they were empty.
"Where the devil is it?" exclaimed I, looking at Tim.
"And where the devil's the doctor?" replied he, looking round.
"The money is in the doctor's pocket," replied the man, smiling.
"Then where is the doctor's pocket?"
"Here," replied he, slapping his pocket, and looking significantly at us. "I thought you were certain of knowing him again. About as certain as you were of telling the money in your hand."
He then, to our astonishment, imitated the doctor's voice, and quoted prosody syntax, and Latin. Timothy and I were still in astonishment, when he continued, "If I had not found out that you were in want of employ, and further, that your services would be useful to me, I should not have made this discovery. Do you now think that you know enough to enter into my service? It is light work, and not bad pay; and now you may choose."
"I trust," said I, "that there is no dishonesty?"
"None that you need practise, if you are so scrupulous; perhaps your scruples may some day be removed. I make the most of my wares—every merchant does the same. I practise upon the folly of mankind—it is on that, that wise men live."
Timothy gave me a push, and nodded his head for me to give my consent. I reflected a few seconds, and at last I extended my hand. "I consent," replied I, "with the reservation I have made."
"You will not repent," said he; "and I will take your companion, not that I want him particularly, but I do want you. The fact is, I want a lad of gentlemanly address, and handsome appearance—with the very knowledge you possess—and now we will say no more for the present. By-the-bye, was that real Latin of yours?"
"No," replied I, laughing; "you quoted the grammar, and I replied with medical prescriptions. One was as good as the other."
"Quite—nay, better; for the school-boys may find me out, but not you. But now observe, when we come to the next cross road, we must get down—at least, I expect so; but we shall know in a minute."
In about the time he mentioned, a dark, gipsy-looking man looked into the wagon, and spoke to our acquaintance in an unknown language. He replied in the same, and the man disappeared. We continued our route for about a quarter of an hour, when he got out, asked us to follow him, and speaking a few words to the fool, which I did not hear, left him and the boy in the wagon. We paid our fare, took possession of our bundles, and followed our new companion for a few minutes on the cross road, when he stopped, and said, "I must now leave you, to prepare for your reception into our fraternity; continue straight on this road until you arrive at a lime-kiln, and wait there till I come."
He sprang over a stile, and took a direction verging at an angle from the road, forced his way through a hedge, and disappeared from our sight. "Upon my word, Timothy," said I, "I hardly know what to say to this. Have we done right in trusting to this man, who, I am afraid! is a great rogue? I do not much like mixing with these gipsy people, for such I am sure he belongs to."
"I really do not see how we can do better," replied Timothy. "The world is all before us, and we must force our own way through it. As for his being a quack doctor, I see no great harm in that. People put their faith in nostrums more than they do in regular medicines; and it is well known that quack medicines, as they call them, cure as often as others, merely for that very reason."
"Very true, Timothy; the mind once at ease, the body soon recovers, and faith, even in quack medicines, will often make people whole; but do you think that he does no more than impose upon people in that way?"
"He may, or he may not; at all events, we need do no more, I suppose."
"I am not sure of that; however, we shall see. He says we may be useful to him, and I suppose we shall be, or he would not have engaged us—we shall soon find out."
In which the reader is introduced to several new acquaintances, and all connected with them, except birth and parentage, which appears to be the one thing wanting throughout the whole of this work.
By this time we had arrived at the lime-kiln to which we had been directed, and we sat down on our bundles, chatting for about five minutes, when our new acquaintance made his appearance, with something in his hand, tied up in a handkerchief.
"You may as well put your coats into your bundles, and put on these frocks," said he, "you will appear better among us, and be better received, for there is a gathering now, and some of them are queer customers. However, you have nothing to fear; when once you are with my wife and me, you are quite safe; her little finger would protect you from five hundred."
"Your wife! who, then, is she?" inquired I, as I put my head through the smock frock.
"She is a great personage among the gipsies. She is, by descent, one of the heads of the tribe, and none dare to disobey her."
"And you—are you a gipsy?"
"No, and yes. By birth I am not, but by choice, and marriage, I am admitted; but I was not born under a hedge, I can assure you, although I very often pass a night there now—that is, when I am domestic; but do not think that you are to remain long here; we shall leave in a few days, and may not meet the tribe again for months, although you may see my own family occasionally. I did not ask you to join me to pass a gipsy's life—no, no, we must be stirring and active. Come, we are now close to them. Do not speak as you pass the huts, until you have entered mine. Then you may do as you please."
We turned short round, passed through a gap in the hedge, and found ourselves on a small retired piece of common, which was studded with about twenty or thirty low gipsy huts. The fires were alight and provisions apparently cooking. We passed by nine or ten, and obeyed our guide's injunctions, to keep silence. At last we stopped, and perceived ourselves to be standing by the fool, who was dressed like us, in a smock frock, and Mr Jumbo, who was very busy making the pot boil, blowing at the sticks underneath till he was black in the face. Several of the men passed near us, and examined us with no very pleasant expression of countenance; and we were not sorry to see our conductor, who had gone into the hut, return, followed by a woman, to whom he was speaking in the language of the tribe. "Nattée bids you welcome," said he, as she approached.
Never in my life will the remembrance of the first appearance of Nattée, and the effect it had upon me, be erased from my memory. She was tall, too tall, had it not been for the perfect symmetry of her form. Her face of a clear olive, and oval in shape; her eyes jetty black; nose straight, and beautifully formed; mouth small, thin lips, with a slight curl of disdain, and pearly teeth. I never beheld a woman of so commanding a presence. Her feet were bare, but very small, as well as her hands. On her fingers she wore many rings, of a curious old setting, and a piece of gold hung on her forehead, where the hair was parted. She looked at us, touched her high forehead with the ends of her fingers, and waving her hand gracefully, said, in a soft voice, "You are welcome," and then turned to her husband, speaking to him in her own language, until by degrees they separated from us in earnest conversation.
She returned to us after a short time, without her husband, and said, in a voice, the notes of which were indeed soft, but the delivery of the words was most determined; "I have said that you are welcome; sit down, therefore, and share with us—fear nothing, you have no cause to fear. Be faithful, then, while you serve him, and when you would quit us, say so, and receive your leave to depart; but if you attempt to desert us without permission, then we shall suspect that you are our enemies, and treat you accordingly. There is your lodging while here," continued she, pointing to another hut. "There is but one child with you, this boy (pointing to Jumbo), who can lay at your feet. And now join us as friends. Fleta, where are you?"
A soft voice answered from the tent of Nattée, and soon afterwards came out a little girl, of about eleven years old. The appearance of this child was a new source of interest. She was a little fairy figure, with a skin as white as the driven snow—light auburn hair, and large blue eyes; her dress was scanty, and showed a large portion of her taper legs. She hastened to Nattée, and folding her arms across her breast, stood still, saying meekly, "I am here."
"Know these as friends, Fleta. Send that lazy Num (this was Philotas, the fool), for more wood, and see that Jumbo tends the fire."
Nattée smiled, and left us. I observed she went to where forty or fifty of the tribe were assembled, in earnest discourse. She took her seat with them, and marked deference was paid to her. In the meantime Jumbo had blown up a brisk fire; we were employed by Fleta in shredding vegetables, which she threw into the boiling kettle. Num appeared with more fuel, and at last there was nothing more to do. Fleta sat down by us, and parting her long hair, which had fallen over her eyes, looked us both in the face.
"Who gave you that name, Fleta?" inquired I.
"They gave it me," replied she.
"And who are they?"
"Nattée, and Melchior, her husband."
"But you are not their daughter?"
"No, I am not—that is, I believe not."
The little girl stopped short, as if assured that she had said too much, cast her eyes down on the ground, and folded her arms, so that her hands rested on each opposite shoulder.
Timothy whispered to me, "She must have been stolen, depend upon it."
"Silence," said I.
The little girl overheard him, and looking at him, put her finger across her mouth, looking to where Num and Jumbo were sitting. I felt an interest for this child before I had been an hour in her company; she was so graceful, so feminine, so mournful in the expression of her countenance. That she was under restraint was evident; but still she did not appear to be actuated by fear. Nattée was very kind to her, and the child did not seem to be more reserved towards her than to others; her mournful pensive look, was perhaps inherent to her nature. It was not until long after our first acquaintance that I ever saw a smile upon her features. Shortly after this little conversation Nattée returned, walking with all the grace and dignity of a queen. Her husband, or Melchior, as I shall in future call him, soon joined us, and we sat down to our repast, which was excellent. It was composed of almost every thing; sometimes I found myself busy with the wing of a fowl, at another the leg of a rabbit—then a piece of mutton, or other flesh and fowl, which I could hardly distinguish. To these were added every sort of vegetable, among which potatoes predominated, forming a sort of stew, which an epicure might have praised. I had a long conversation with Melchior in the evening, and, not to weary the reader, I shall now proceed to state all that I then and subsequently gathered from him and others, relative to the parties with whom we were associating.
Melchior would not state who and what he was previous to his having joined the fraternity of gipsies; that he was not of humble birth, and that he had, when young, quitted his friends out of love for Nattée, or from some other causes not to be revealed, he led me to surmise. He had been many years in company with the tribe, and although, as one received into it, he did not stand so high in rank and estimation as his wife, still, from his marriage with Nattée, and his own peculiar qualifications and dexterity, he was almost as absolute as she was.
Melchior and Nattée were supposed to be the most wealthy of all the gipsies, and, at the same time, they were the most liberal of their wealth. Melchior, it appeared, gained money in three different characters; as a quack doctor, the character in which we first saw him; secondly, as a juggler, in which art he was most expert; and thirdly, as a fortune-teller, and wise man.
Nattée, as I before mentioned, was of very high rank, or caste, in her tribe. At her first espousal of Melchior she lost much of her influence, as it was considered a degradation; but she was then very young, and must have been most beautiful. The talents of Melchior, and her own spirit, however, soon enabled her to regain, and even add still more to, her power and consideration among the tribe, and it was incredible to what extent, with the means which she possessed, this power was augmented.
Melchior had no children by his marriage, and, as far as I could judge from the few words which would escape from the lips of Nattée, she did not wish for any, as the race would not be considered pure. The subdivision of the tribe which followed Nattée, consisted of about forty, men, women, and children. These were ruled by her during the absence of her husband, who alternately assumed different characters, as suited his purpose; but in whatever town Melchior might happen to be, Nattée and her tribe were never far off, and always encamped within communication.
I ventured to question Melchior about the little Fleta; and he stated that she was the child of a soldier's wife, who had been brought to bed, and died a few hours afterwards; that, at the time, she was on her way to join her husband, and had been taken ill on the road—had been assisted by Nattée and her companions, as far as they were able—had been buried by them, and that the child had been reared in the camp.
In time, the little girl became very intimate, and very partial to me. I questioned her as to her birth, telling her what Melchior had stated; for a long while she would not answer; the poor child had learned caution even at that early age; but after we were more intimate, she said, that which Melchior had stated was not true. She could recollect very well living in a great house, with everything very fine about her; but still it appeared as if it were a dream. She recollected two white ponies—and a lady who was her mamma—and a mulberry-tree, where she stained her frock; sometimes other things came to her memory, and then she forgot them again. From this it was evident that she had been stolen, and was probably of good parentage; certainly, if elegance and symmetry of person and form, could prove blood, it never was more marked than in this interesting child. Her abode with the gipsies, and their peculiar mode of life and manners, had rendered her astonishingly precocious in intellect; but of education she had none, except what was instilled into her by Melchior, whom she always accompanied when he assumed his character as a juggler. She then danced on the slack wire, at the same time performing several feats in balancing, throwing of oranges, &c. When Melchior was under other disguises, she remained in the camp with Nattée.
Of Num, or Philotas, as Melchior thought proper to call him, I have already spoken. He was a half-witted idiot, picked up in one of Melchior's excursions, and as he stated to me, so did it prove to be the fact, that when on the stage, and questioned as a fool, his natural folly, and idiotical vacancy of countenance, were applauded by the spectators as admirably assumed. Even at the alehouses and taverns where we stopped, every one imagined that all his folly was pretence, and looked upon him as a very clever fellow. There never was, perhaps, such a lachrymose countenance as this poor lad's, and this added still more to the mirth of others, being also considered as put on for the occasion. Stephen Kemble played Falstaff without stuffing—Num played the fool without any effort or preparation. Jumbo was also "picked up;" this was not done by Melchior, who stated, that any body might have him who claimed him; he tumbled with the fool upon the stage, and he also ate pudding to amuse the spectators—the only part of the performance which was suited to Jumbo's taste, for he was a terrible little glutton, and never lost any opportunity of eating, as well as of sleeping.
And now, having described all our new companions, I must narrate what passed between Melchior and me, the day after our joining the camp. He first ran through his various professions, pointing out to me that as juggler he required a confederate, in which capacity I might be very useful, as he would soon instruct me in all his tricks. As a quack doctor he wanted the services of both Tim and myself in mixing up, making pills, &c., and also in assisting him in persuading the public of his great skill. As a fortune-teller, I should also be of great service, as he would explain to me hereafter. In short, he wanted a person of good personal appearance and education, in whom he might confide in every way. As to Tim, he might be made useful if he chose, in various ways; amongst others, he wished him to learn tumbling and playing the fool, when, at times, the fool was required to give a shrewd answer on any point on which he would wish the public to be made acquainted. I agreed to my own part of the performance, and then had some conversation with Timothy, who immediately consented to do his best in what was allotted as his share. Thus was the matter quickly arranged, Melchior observing, that he had said nothing about remuneration, as I should find that trusting to him was far preferable to stipulated wages.
Whatever may be the opinion of the reader, he cannot assert that we are no conjurers—We suit our wares to our customers, and our profits are considerable.
We had been three days in the camp when the gathering was broken up, each gang taking their own way. What the meeting was about I could not exactly discover; one occasion of it was to make arrangements relative to the different counties in which the subdivisions were to sojourn during the next year, so that they might know where to communicate with each other, and, at the same time, not interfere by being too near; but there were many other points discussed, of which, as a stranger, I was kept in ignorance. Melchior answered all my questions with apparent candour, but his habitual deceit was such, that whether he told the truth or not was impossible to be ascertained by his countenance.
When the gathering dispersed we packed up, and located ourselves about two miles from the common, on the borders of a forest of oak and ash. Our food was chiefly game, for we had some excellent poachers among us; and as for fish, it appeared to be at their command; there was not a pond nor a pit but they could tell in a moment if it were tenanted, and if tenanted, in half an hour every fish would be floating on the top of the water, by the throwing in of some intoxicating sort of berry; other articles of food occasionally were found in the caldron; indeed, it was impossible to fare better than we did, or at less expense.
Our tents were generally pitched not far from a pool of water, and to avoid any unpleasant search, which sometimes would take place, everything liable to detection was sunk under the water until it was required for cooking; once in the pot, it was considered as safe. But with the foraging, Timothy and I had nothing to do; we participated in the eating, without asking any questions as to how it was procured.
My time was chiefly spent in company with Melchior, who initiated me into all the mysteries of cups and balls—juggling of every description—feats with cards, and made me acquainted with all his apparatus for prepared tricks. For hours and hours was I employed by his directions in what is called "making the pass" with a pack of cards, as almost all tricks on cards depend upon your dexterity in this manoeuvre. In about a month I was considered as a very fair adept; in the meantime, Timothy had to undergo his career of gymnastics, and was to be seen all day tumbling and retumbling, until he could tumble on his feet again. Light and active, he soon became a very dexterous performer, and could throw a somerset either backwards or forwards, walk on his hands, eat fire, pull out ribbons, and do fifty other tricks to amuse a gaping audience. Jumbo also was worked hard, to bring down his fat, and never was allowed his dinner until he had given satisfaction to Melchior. Even little Fleta had to practise occasionally, as we were preparing for an expedition. Melchior, who appeared determined to create an effect, left us for three days, and returned with not only dresses for Timothy and me, but also new dresses for the rest of the company; and shortly afterwards, bidding farewell to Nattée and the rest of the gipsies, we all set out—that is, Melchior, I, Timothy, Fleta, Num, and Jumbo. Late in the evening we arrived at the little town of ——, and took up our quarters at a public-house, with the landlord of which Melchior had already made arrangements.
"Well, Timothy," said I, as soon as we were in bed, "how do you like our new life and prospects?"
"I like it better than Mr Cophagus's rudimans, and carrying out physic, at all events. But how does your dignity like turning Merry Andrew, Japhet?"
"To tell you the truth, I do not dislike it. There is a wildness and a devil-may-care feeling connected with it which is grateful to me at present. How long it may last I cannot tell; but for a year or two it appears to me that we may be very happy. At all events, we shall see the world, and have more than one profession to fall back upon."
"That is true; but there is one thing that annoys me, Japhet, which is, we may have difficulty in leaving these people when we wish. Besides, you forget that you are losing sight of the principal object you had in view, that is, of 'finding out your father.'"
"I certainly never expect to find him among the gipsies," replied I, "for children are at a premium with them. They steal from others, and are not very likely therefore to leave them at the Foundling. But I do not know whether I have not as good a chance in our present employment as in any other. I have often been thinking that as fortune-tellers, we may get hold of many strange secrets; however, we shall see. Melchior says, that he intends to appear in that character as soon as he has made a harvest in his present one."
"What do you think of Melchior, now that you have been so much with him?"
"I think him an unprincipled man, but still with many good qualities. He appears to have a pleasure in deceit, and to have waged war with the world in general. Still he is generous, and, to a certain degree, confiding; kind in his disposition, and apparently a very good husband. There is something on his mind which weighs him down occasionally, and checks him in the height of his mirth. It comes over him like a dark cloud over a bright summer sun; and he is all gloom for a few minutes. I do not think that he would now commit any great crime; but I have a suspicion that he has done something which is a constant cause of remorse."
"You are a very good judge of character, Japhet. But what a dear little child is that Fleta! She may exclaim with you—'Who is my father?'"
"Yes, we are both in much the same predicament, and that it is which I believe has so much increased my attachment to her. We are brother and sister in misfortune, and a sister she ever shall be to me, if such is the will of Heaven. But we must rise early to-morrow, Tim; so good-night."
"Yes, to-morrow it will be juggle and tumble—eat fire—um—and so on, as Mr Cophagus would have said; so good-night, Japhet."
The next morning we arrayed ourselves in our new habiliments; mine were silk stockings, shoes, and white kerseymere kneed breeches, a blue silk waistcoat loaded with tinsel, and a short jacket to correspond of blue velvet, a sash round my waist, a hat and a plume of feathers. Timothy declared I looked very handsome, and as the glass said the same as plain as it could speak, I believed him. Timothy's dress was a pair of wide Turkish trousers and red jacket, with spangles. The others were much the same. Fleta was attired in small, white satin, Turkish trousers, blue muslin and silver embroidered frock, worked sandals, and her hair braided and plaited in long tails behind, and she looked like a little sylph. Melchior's dress was precisely the same as mine, and a more respectable company was seldom seen. Some musicians had been hired, and handbills were now circulated all over the town, stating that Signor Eugenio Velotti, with his company, would have the honour of performing before the nobility and gentry. The bill contained the fare which was to be provided, and intimated the hour of the performance, and the prices to be paid for the seats. The performance was to take place in a very large room attached to the inn, which, previous to the decadence of the town, had been used as an assembly-room. A platform was erected on the outside, on which were placed the musicians, and where we all occasionally made our appearance in our splendid dresses to attract the wonder of the people. There we strutted up and down, all but poor little Fleta, who appeared to shrink at the display from intuitive modesty. When the music ceased, a smart parley between Melchior and me, and Philotas, and Timothy, as the two fools, would take place; and Melchior declared, after the performance was over, that we conducted ourselves to admiration.
"Pray, Mr Philotas, do me the favour to tell me how many people you think are now present?" said Melchior to Num, in an imperative voice.
"I don't know," said Num, looking up with his idiotical, melancholy face.
"Ha! ha! ha'" roared the crowd at Num's stupid answer.
"The fellow's a fool'" said Melchior, to the gaping audience.
"Well, then, if he can't tell, perhaps you may, Mr Dionysius," said I, addressing Tim.
"How many, sir? Do you want to know exactly and directly?"
"Yes, sir, immediately."
"Without counting, sir?"
"Yes, sir, without counting."
"Well then, sir, I will tell, and make no mistake; there's exactly as many again as half."
"Ha! ha! ha!" from the crowd.
"That won't do, sir. How many may be the half?"
"How many may be the half? Do you know yourself, sir?"
"Yes, sir, to be sure I do."
"Then there's no occasion for me to tell you."
"Ha! ha! ha!"
"Well then, sir," continued Melchior to Philotas, "perhaps you'll tell how many ladies and gentlemen we may expect to honour us with their company to-night."
"How many, sir?"
"Yes, sir, how many."
"I'm sure I don't know," said Num, after a pause.
"Positively you are the greatest fool I ever met with," said Melchior.
"Well, he does act the fool as natural as life," observed the crowd. "What a stupid face he does put on!"
"Perhaps you will be able to answer that question, Mr Dionysius," said I to Tim.
"Yes, sir, I know exactly."
"Well, sir, let's hear."
"In the first place, all the pretty women will come, and all the ugly ones stay away; and as for the men, all those who have got any money will be certain to come; those who haven't, poor devils, must stay outside."
"Suppose, sir, you make a bow to the ladies."
"A very low one, sir?"
"Yes, very low indeed."
Tim bent his body to the ground, and threw a somerset forward. "There, sir; I bowed so low, that I came up on the other side."
"Ha! ha! capital!" from the crowd.
"I've got a round turn in my back, sir," continued Tim, rubbing himself. "Hadn't I better take it out again?"
"By all means."
Tim threw a somerset backwards. "There, sir, all's right now. One good turn deserves another. Now I'll be off."
"Where are you going to, sir?"
"Going, sir!! Why, I left my lollipop in the tinder-box, and I'm going to fetch it."
"Ha! ha! ha!"
"Strike up, music!" and Master Jumbo commenced tumbling.
Such was the elegant wit with which we amused and attracted the audience. Perhaps, had we been more refined, we should not have been so successful.
That evening we had the room as full as it could hold. Signor Velotti alias Melchior astonished them. The cards appeared to obey his commands—rings were discovered in lady's shoes—watches were beat to a powder and made whole—canary birds flew out of eggs. The audience were delighted. The entertainment closed with Fleta's performance on the slack wire; and certainly never was there anything more beautiful and graceful. Balanced on the wire in a continual, waving motion, her eyes fixed upon a point to enable her to maintain her position, she performed several feats, such as the playing with five oranges, balancing swords, &c. Her extreme beauty—her very picturesque and becoming dress—her mournful expression and downcast eyes—her gentle manner, appeared to win the hearts of the audience; and when she was assisted off from her perilous situation by Melchior and me, and made her graceful courtesy, the plaudits were unanimous.
When the company dispersed I went to her, intending to praise her, but I found her in tears. "What is the matter, my dear Fleta?"
"O nothing! don't say I have been crying—but I cannot bear it—so many people looking at me. Don't say a word to Melchior—I won't cry any more."