upon her face, as for the last time I kissed her lips (lips, Ann, that to me were not polluted), her eyes were streaming with tears: the tears were now wiped away; she seemed more beautiful than she was at that time, but in all other points the same, and not older. Her looks were tranquil, but with unusual solemnity of expression; and I now gazed upon her with some awe; but suddenly her countenance grew dim, and, turning to the mountains, I perceived vapours rolling between us; in a moment, all had vanished; thick darkness came on; and, in the twinkling of an eye, I was far away from mountains, and by lamp-light in Oxford-street, walking again with Ann-just as we walked seventeen years before, when we were both children. GEORGE BORROW 1803-1881 THE FLAMING TINMAN [From Lavengro, the Scholar, the Gypsy, and the Priest (1851), an autobiography partly fictitious. The author, a vagrant scholar ("Lavengro" in the Rommany, or Gypsy, language means "master of tongues") has bought a horse, cart, and outfit from a travelling tinker, Slingsby by name, who, beaten in fair fight by his rival, "The Flaming Tinman," had agreed to give up his trade and to quit the roads.] Two mornings after the period to which I have brought the reader in the preceding chapter, I sat by my fire at the bottom of the dingle; I had just breakfasted, and had finished the last morsel of food which I had brought with me to that solitude. "What shall I now do?" said I, to myself; "shall I continue here, or decamp-this is a sad lonely spot-perhaps I had better quit it; but whither should I go? the wide world is before me, but what can I do therein? I have been in the world already without much success. No, I had better remain here; the place is lonely, it is true, but here I am free and independent, and can do what I please; but I can't remain here without food. Well, I will find my way to the nearest town, lay in a fresh supply of provision, and come back, turning my back upon the world, which has turned its back upon me. I don't see why I should not write a little sometimes; I have pens and an inkhorn, and for a writing-desk I can place the Bible on my knee. I shouldn't wonder if I could write a capital satire on the world on the back of that Bible; but first of all I must think of supplying myself with food." I rose up from the stone on which I was seated, determining to go to the nearest town, with my little horse and cart, and procure what I wanted the nearest town, according to my best calculation, lay about five miles distant; I had no doubt, however, that by using ordinary diligence, I should be back before evening. In order to go lighter, I determined to leave my tent standing as it was, and all the things which I had purchased of the tinker, just as they were. "I need not be apprehensive on their account," said I, to myself; "nobody will come here to meddle with them—the great recommendation of this place is its perfect solitude-I dare say that I could live here six months without seeing a single human visage. I will now harness my little gry and be off to the town." At a whistle which I gave, the little gry, which was feeding on the bank near the uppermost part of the dingle, came running to me, for by this time he had become so accustomed to me, that he would obey my call, for all the world as if he had been one of the canine species. "Now," said I to him, "we are going to the town to buy bread for myself, and oats for you—I am in a hurry to be back; therefore, I pray you to do your best, and to draw me and the cart to the town with all possible speed, and to bring us back; if you do your best, I promise you oats on your return. You know the meaning of oats, Ambrol?" Ambrol whinnied as if to let me know that he understood me perfectly well, as indeed he well might, as I had never once fed him during the time he had been in my possession without saying the word in question to him. Now, Ambrol, in the Gypsy tongue, signifieth a pear. So I caparisoned Ambrol, and then, going to the cart, I removed two or three things from out it into the tent; I then lifted up the shafts, and was just going to call to the pony to come and be fastened to them, when I thought I heard a noise. I stood stock still supporting the shafts of the little cart in my hand, and bending the right side of my face slightly towards the ground; but I could hear nothing; the noise which I thought I had heard was not one of those sounds which I was accustomed to hear in that solitude, the note of a bird, or the rustling of a bough; it was there I heard it again, a sound very much resembling the grating of a wheel amongst gravel. Could it proceed from the road? Oh no, the road was too far distant for me to hear the noise of anything moving along it. Again I listened, and now I distinctly heard the sound of wheels, which seemed to be approaching the dingle; nearer and nearer they drew, and presently the sound of wheels was blended with the murmur of voices. Anon I heard a boisterous shout, which seemed to proceed from the entrance of the dingle. "Here are folks at hand,” said I, letting the shaft of the cart fall to the ground, "is it possible that they can be coming here?" My doubts on that point, if I entertained any, were soon dispelled; the wheels, which had ceased moving for a moment or two, were once again in motion, and were now evidently moving down the winding path which led to my retreat. Leaving my cart, I came forward and placed myself near the entrance of the open space, with my eyes fixed on the path down which my unexpected and I may say unwelcome visitors were coming. Presently I heard a stamping or sliding, as if of a horse in some difficulty; and then a loud curse, and the next moment appeared a man and a horse and cart; the former holding the head of the horse up to prevent him from falling, of which he was in danger, owing to the precipitous nature of the path. Whilst thus occupied, the head of the man was averted from me. When, however, he had reached the bottom of the descent, he turned his head, and perceiving me, as I stood bareheaded, without either coat or waistcoat, about two yards from him, he gave a sudden start, so violent, that the backward motion of his hand had nearly flung the horse upon his haunches. "Why don't you move forward?" said a voice from behind, apparently that of a female, "you are stopping up the way, and we shall be all down upon one another;" and I saw the head of another horse overtopping the back of the cart. "Why don't you move forward, Jack?" said another voice, also of a female, yet higher up the path. The man stirred not, but remained staring at me in the posture which he had assumed on first preceiving me, his body very much drawn back, his left foot far in advance of his right, and with his right hand still grasping the halter of the horse, which gave way more and more, till it was clean down on its haunches. "What is the matter?" said the voice which I had last heard. "Get back with you, Belle, Moll," said the man, still staring at me, "here's something not over-canny or comfortable." "What is it?" said the same voice; "let me pass, Moll, and I'll soon clear the way," and I heard a kind of rushing down the path. "You need not be afraid," said I, addressing myself to the man, “I mean you no harm; I am a wanderer like yourself— come here to seek for shelter—you need not be afraid; I am a Rome chabo by matriculation-one of the right sort, and no mistake-Good day to ye, brother; I bids ye welcome." The man eyed me suspiciously for a moment-then, turning to his horse with a loud curse, he pulled him up from his haunches and led him and the cart farther down to one side of the dingle, muttering as he passed me, "Afraid. Hm!" I do not remember ever to have seen a more ruffianly-looking fellow; he was about six feet high, with an immensely athletic frame; his face was black and bluff, and sported an immense pair of whiskers, but with here and there a grey hair, for his age could not be much under fifty. He wore a faded blue frock coat, corduroys, and highlows-on his black head was a kind of red nightcap, round his bull neck a Barcelona handkerchief—I did not like the look of the man at all. "Afraid," growled the fellow, proceeding to unharness his horse; "that was the word, I think." But other figures were now already upon the scene. Dashing past the other horse and cart, which by this time had reached the bottom of the pass, appeared an exceedingly tall woman, or rather girl, for she could scarcely have been above eighteen; she was dressed in a tight bodice and a blue stuff gown; hat, bonnet, or cap she had none, and her hair, which was flaxen, hung down on her shoulders unconfined; her complexion was fair, and her features handsome, with a determined but open expression-she was followed by another female, about forty, stout and vulgarlooking, at whom I scarcely glanced, my whole attention being absorbed by the tall girl. "What's the matter, Jack?" said the latter, looking at the man. “Only afraid, that's all," said the man, still proceeding with his work. "Afraid at what-at that lad? why, he looks like a ghost-I would engage to thrash him with one hand." "You might beat me with no hands at all," said I, “fair damsel, only by looking at me I never saw such a face and figure, both regal-why, you look like Ingeborg, Queen of Norway; she had twelve brothers, you know, and could lick them all, though they were heroes On Dovrefeld in Norway, Of Ingeborg the queen. |