Фредерик Марриет
Japhet in Search of a Father
Part 1—Chapter XII
It is very easy to humbug those who are so eager to be humbugged as people are in this World of Humbug—We show ourselves excessively disinterested, which astonishes everybody.
I kissed and consoled her; she threw her arm round my neck, and remained there with her face hid for some time. We then joined the others at supper. Melchior was much pleased with our success, and highly praised the conduct of Timothy and myself, which he pronounced was, for the first attempt, far beyond his expectations.
We continued to astonish all the good people of – for five days, when we discovered the indubitable fact, that there was no more money to be extracted from their pockets, upon which we resumed our usual clothes and smock-frocks and with our bundles in our hands, set off for another market town, about fifteen miles distant. There we were equally successful, and Melchior was delighted with our having proved such a powerful acquisition to his troop; but not to dwell too long upon one subject, I shall inform the reader that, after a trip of six weeks, during which we were very well received, we once more returned to the camp, which had located within five miles of our last scene of action. Everyone was content—we were all glad to get back and rest from our labours. Melchior was pleased with his profits, poor little Fleta overjoyed to be once more in the seclusion of her tent, and Nattée very glad to hear of our good fortune, and to see her husband. Timothy and I had already proved ourselves so useful, that Melchior treated us with the greatest friendship and confidence—and he made us a present out of the gains, for our exertions; to me he gave ten, and to Timothy five, pounds.
“There, Japhet, had you hired yourself I should not have paid you more than seven shillings per week, finding you in food; but you must acknowledge that for six weeks that is not bad pay. However, your earnings will depend upon our success, and I rather think that we shall make a much better thing of it when next we start, which will be in about a fortnight; but we have some arrangements to make. Has Timothy a good memory?”
“I think he has.”
“That is well. I told you before that we are to try the ‘Wise Man,’—but first we must have Nattée in play. To-morrow we will start for —,” mentioning a small quiet town about four miles off.
We did so, early the next morning, and arrived about noon, pitching our tents on the common, not far from the town; but in this instance we left all the rest of our gang behind. Melchior’s own party and his two tents were all that were brought by the donkeys.
Melchior and I, dressed as countrymen, went into the town at dusk, and entered a respectable sort of inn, taking our seats at one of the tables in the tap-room, and, as we had already planned, after we had called for beer, commenced a conversation in the hearing of the others who were sitting drinking and smoking.
“Well, I never will believe it—it’s all cheat and trickery,” said Melchior, “and they only do it to pick your pocket. Tell your fortune, indeed! I suppose she promised you a rich wife and half-a-dozen children.”
“No, she did not,” replied I, “for I am too young to marry; but she told me what I know has happened.”
“Well, what was that?”
“Why, she told me that my mother had married again, and turned me out of doors to work for my bread.”
“But she might have heard that.”
“How could she? No, that’s not possible; but she told me I had a mole on my knee, which was a sign of luck. Now how could she know that?”
“Well, I grant that was odd—and pray what else did she promise you?”
“Why, she said that I should meet with my dearest friend to-night. Now that does puzzle me, for I have but one in the world, and he is a long way off.”
“Well, if you do meet your friend, then I’ll believe her; but if not, it has been all guess work; and pray what did you pay for all this—was it a shilling, or did she pick your pocket?”
“That’s what puzzles me,—she refused to take anything. I offered it again and again, and she said, ‘No; that she would have no money—that her gift was not to be sold.’”
“Well, that is odd. Do you hear what this young man says?” said Melchior, addressing the others, who had swallowed every word.
“Yes,” replied one; “but who is this person?”
“The queen of the gipsies, I am told. I never saw such a wonderful woman in my life—her eye goes right through you. I met her on the common, and, as she passed, she dropped a handkerchief. I ran back to give it her, and then she thanked me and said, ‘Open your hand and let me see the palm. Here are great lines, and you will be fortunate;’ and then she told me a great deal more, and bid God bless me.”
“Then if she said that, she cannot have dealings with the devil,” observed Melchior.
“Very odd—very strange—take no money—queen of the gipsies,” was echoed from all sides.
The landlady and the bar-maid listened with wonder, when who should come in, as previously agreed, but Timothy. I pretended not to see him; but he came up to me, seizing me by the hand, and shaking it with apparent delight, and crying, “Wilson, have you forgot Smith?”
“Smith!” cried I, looking earnestly in his face. “Why so it is. How came you here?”
“I left Dublin three days ago,” replied he; “but how I came here into this house, is one of the strangest things that ever occurred. I was walking over the common, when a tall handsome woman looked at me, and said, ‘Young man, if you will go into the third public-house you pass, you will meet an old friend, who expects you.’ I thought she was laughing at me; but as it mattered very little in which house I passed the night, I thought, for the fun of the thing, I might as well take her advice.”
“How strange!” cried Melchior, “and she told him the same—that is, he would meet a friend.”
“Strange—very strange—wonderful—astonishing!” was echoed from all quarters, and the fame of the gipsy was already established.
Timothy and I sat down together, conversing as old friends, and Melchior went about from one to the other, narrating the wonderful occurrence till past midnight, when we all three took beds at the inn, as if we were travellers.
The report which we had circulated that evening induced many people to go out to see Nattée, who appeared to take no notice of them; and when asked to tell fortunes, waved them away with her hand. But, although this plan of Melchior’s was, for the first two or three days, very expedient, yet, as it was not intended to last, Timothy, who remained with me at the inn, became very intimate with the bar-maid, and obtained from her most of the particulars of her life. I, also, from repeated conversations with the landlady, received information very important, relative to herself and many of the families in the town, but as the employment of Nattée was for an ulterior object, we contented ourselves with gaining all the information we could before we proceeded further. After we had been there a week, and the fame of the gipsy woman had been marvellously increased—many things having been asserted of her which were indeed truly improbable—Melchior agreed that Timothy should persuade the bar-maid to try if the gipsy woman would tell her fortune: the girl, with some trepidation agreed, but at the same time, expecting to be refused, consented to walk with him over the common. Timothy advised her to pretend to pick up a sixpence when near to Nattée, and ask her if it did not belong to her; and the bar-maid acted upon his suggestions, having just before that quitted the arm of Timothy, who had conducted her.
“Did you drop a sixpence? I have picked up one,” said the girl, trembling with fear as she addressed Nattée.
“Child,” replied Nattée, who was prepared, “I have neither dropped a sixpence nor have you found one—but never mind that, I know that which you wish, and I know who you are. Now what would you with me? Is it to inquire whether the landlord and landlady of the Golden Lion intend to keep you in their service?”
“No,” replied this girl, frightened at what she heard; “not to inquire that, but to ask what my fortune will be?”
“Open your palm, pretty maid, and I will tell you. Hah! I see that you were born in the West—your father is dead—your mother is in service—and let me see,—you have a brother at sea—now in the West Indies.”
At this intelligence, all of which, as may be supposed, had been gathered by us, the poor girl was so frightened that she fell down in a swoon, and Timothy carried her off. When she was taken home to the inn, she was so ill that she was put into bed, and what she did say was so incoherent, that, added to Timothy’s narrative, the astonishment of the landlady and others was beyond all bounds. I tried very hard to bring the landlady, but she would not consent; and now Nattée was pestered by people of higher condition, who wished to hear what she would say. Here Nattée’s power were brought into play. She would not refuse to see them, but would not give answers till she had asked question and, as from us she had gleaned much general information, so by making this knowledge appear in her questions to them, she made them believe she knew more. If a young person came to her, she would immediately ask the name—of that name she had all the references acquired from us as to family and connexions. Bearing upon them, she would ask a few more, and then give them an abrupt dismissal.
This behaviour was put up with from one of her commanding presence, who refused money, and treated those who accosted her as if she was their superior. Many came again and again, telling her all they knew, and acquainting her with every transaction of their life, to induce her to prophesy, for such, she informed them, was the surest way to call the spirit upon her. By these means we obtained the secret history of the major part, that is, the wealthier part of the town of —; and although the predictions of Nattée were seldom given, yet when given, they were given with such perfect and apparent knowledge of the parties, that when she left, which she did about six weeks after her first appearance, the whole town rang with accounts of her wonderful powers.
It will appear strange that Melchior would not permit Nattée to reap a harvest, which might have been great; but the fact was that he only allowed the seed to be sown that a greater harvest might be gathered hereafter. Nattée disappeared, the gipsies’ tent was no longer on the common, and the grass, which had been beaten down into a road by the feet of the frequent applicants to her, was again permitted to spring up. We also took our departure, and rejoined the camp with Nattée, where we remained for a fortnight, to permit the remembrance of her to subside a little—knowing that the appetite was alive, and would not be satisfied until it was appeased.
After that time Melchior, Timothy, and I, again set off for the town of —, and stopping at a superior inn in another part of the town, dressed as travellers, that is, people who go about the country for orders from the manufacturers, ordered our beds and supper in the coffee-room. The conversation was soon turned upon the wonderful powers of Nattée, the gipsy. “Nonsense,” said Melchior, “she knows nothing. I have heard of her. But there’s a man coming this way (should he happen to pass through this town) who will surprise and frighten you. No one knows who he is. He is named the Great Aristodemus. He knows the past, the present, and the future. He never looks at people’s hands—he only looks you in the face, and woe be to them who tell him a lie. Otherwise, he is good-tempered and obliging, and will tell what will come to pass, and his predictions never have been known to fail. They say that he is hundreds of years old, and his hair is while as silver.” At this information many expressed their doubts, and many others vaunted the powers of the gipsy. Melchior replied, “that all he knew was, that for the sum of two guineas paid down, he had told him of a legacy left him of six hundred pounds, which otherwise he would never have known of or received.” All the town of – being quite alive for fortune-telling, this new report gained wind, and after a week’s sojourn, Melchior thought that the attempt should be made.
Part 1—Chapter XIII
The Seed having been carefully sown, we now reap a golden Harvest—We tell everyone what they knew before, and we are looked upon as most marvellous by most marvellous fools.
We accordingly packed up and departed to another market town. Timothy dressed in a sombre suit of black, very much like an undertaker, was provided with a horse, with the following directions: to proceed leisurely until he was within half a mile of the town of—, and then to gallop in as fast as he could, stop at the best inn in the place, and order apartments for the Great Aristodemus, who might be expected in half an hour. Everything in this world depends upon appearances, that is, when you intend to gull it; and as everyone in the town had heard of the Great Aristodemus, so everyone was anxious to know something about him, and Timothy was pestered with all manner of questions; but he declared that he was only his courier, and could only tell what other people said; but then what other people said, by Timothy’s account, was very marvellous indeed. Timothy had hardly time to secure the best rooms in the hotel, when Melchior, dressed in a long flowing silk gown, with a wig of long white hair, a square cap, and two or three gold chains hanging from his neck, certainly most admirably disguised, and attended by me in the dress of a German student, a wig of long brown locks hanging down my shoulders, made our appearance in a post-chaise and four, and drove up to the door of the inn, at a pace which shook every house in the street, and occasioned every window to be tenanted with one or more heads to ascertain the cause of this unusual occurrence, for it was not a very great town, although once of importance; but the manufactures had been removed, and it was occupied by those who had become independent by their own exertions, or by those of their forefathers.
The door of the chaise was opened by the obsequious Timothy, who pushed away the ostlers and waiters, as if unworthy to approach his master, and the Great Aristodemus made his appearance. As he ascended the steps of the door, his passage was for a moment barred by one whose profession Melchior well knew. “Stand aside, exciseman!” said he, in a commanding voice. “No one crosses my path with impunity.” Astonished at hearing his profession thus mentioned, the exciseman, who was the greatest bully in the town, slipped on one side with consternation, and all those present lifted up their eyes and hands with astonishment. The Great Aristodemus gained his room, and shut his door; and I went out to pay for the chaise and order supper, while Timothy and the porters were busy with our luggage, which was very considerable.
“My master will not see anyone,” said I to the landlord: “he quits this town to-morrow, if the letters arrive which he expects by the post; therefore, pray get rid of this crowd, and let him be quiet, for he is very tired, having travelled one hundred and fifty miles since the dawn of day.”
When Tim and I had performed this duty, we joined Melchior in his room, leaving the news to be circulated. “This promises well,” observed Melchior; “up to the present we have expended much time and money; now we must see if we cannot recover it tenfold. Japhet, you must take an opportunity of going out again after supper, and make inquiries of the landlord what poor people they have in the town, as I am very generous, and like to relieve them; you may observe, that all the money offered to me for practising my art, I give away to the poor, having no occasion for it.” This I did, and we then sat down to supper, and having unpacked our baggage, went to bed, after locking the door of the room, and taking out the key.
The next morning we had everything in readiness, and as the letters, as the reader may suppose, did not arrive by the post, we were obliged to remain, and the landlord ventured to hint to me, that several people were anxious to consult my master. I replied, that I would speak to him, but it was necessary to caution those who came, that they must either offer gold—or nothing at all. I brought his consent to see one or two, but no more. Now, although we had various apparatus to use, when required, it was thought that the effect would be greater, if, in the first instance, everything was simple. Melchior, therefore, remained sitting at the table, which was covered with a black cloth, worked with curious devices, and a book of hieroglyphics before him, and an ivory wand, tipped with gold lying by the book. Timothy standing at the door, with a short Roman sword buckled round his belt, and I, in a respectful attitude, behind the Great Aristodemus.
The first person who was admitted was the lady of the mayor of the town; nothing could be more fortunate, as we had every information relative to her and her spouse, for people in high places are always talked of. Aristodemus waved his hand, and I brought forward a chair in silence, and motioned that she should be seated. Aristodemus looked her in her face, and then turned over several leaves, until he fixed upon a page, which he considered attentively. “Mayoress of—, what wouldst thou with me?”
She started, and turned pale. “I would ask—”
“I know; thou wouldst ask many things, perhaps, had I time to listen. Amongst others thou wouldst ask if there is any chance of thy giving an heir to thy husband. Is it not so?”
“Yes, it is,” replied the lady, fetching her breath.
“So do I perceive by this book; but let me put one question to thee. Wouldst thou have blessings showered on thee, yet do no good? Thou art wealthy—yet what dost thou and thy husband do with these riches? Are ye liberal? No. Give, and it shall be given. I have said.”
Aristodemus waved his hand, and the lady rose to withdraw. A guinea was in her fingers, and her purse in her hand; she took out four more, and added them to the other, and laid them on the table.
“’Tis well, lady; charity shall plead for thee. Artolphe, let that money be distributed among the poor.”
I bowed in silence, and the lady retired.
“Who will say that I do no good,” observed Melchior, smiling, as soon as she was gone. “Her avarice and that of her husband are as notorious as their anxiety for children. Now, if I persuade them to be liberal, I do service.”
“But you have given her hopes.”
“I have, and the very hope will do more to further their wishes than anything else. It is despair which too often prevents those who have no children from having any. How often do you see a couple, who, after years waiting for children, have at last given up their hope, and resigned themselves to the dispensations of Providence, and then, when their anxiety has subsided, have obtained a family? Japhet, I am a shrewd observer of human nature.”
“That I believe,” replied I; “but I do not believe your last remark to be correct—but Timothy raps at the door.”
Another lady entered the room, and then started back, as if she would retreat, so surprised was she at the appearance of the Great Aristodemus; but as Timothy had turned the key, her escape was impossible. She was unknown to us, which was rather awkward; but Melchior raised his eyes from his book, and waved his hand as before, that she should be seated. With some trepidation she stated that she was a widow, whose dependence was upon an only son now at sea; that she had not heard of him for a long while, and was afraid that some accident had happened; that she was in the greatest distress—“and,” continued she, “I have nothing to offer but this ring. Can you tell me if he is yet alive?” cried she, bursting into tears; “but if you have not the art you pretend to, O do not rob a poor, friendless creature, but let me depart!”
“When did you receive your last letter from him?” said Melchior.
“It is now seven months—dated from Bahia,” replied she, pulling it out of her reticule, and covering her face with her handkerchief.
Melchior caught the address, and then turned the letter over on the other side, as it lay on the table. “Mrs Watson,” said he.
“Heavens! do you know my name?” cried the woman.
“Mrs Watson, I do not require to read your son’s letter—I know its contents.” He then turned over his book, and studied for a few seconds. “Your son is alive.”
“Thank God!” cried she, clasping her hands, and dropping her reticule.
“But you must not expect his return too soon—he is well employed.”
“Oh! I care not—he is alive—he is alive! God bless you—God bless you!”
Melchior made a sign to me, pointing to the five guineas and the reticule; and I contrived to slip them into her reticule, while she sobbed in her handkerchief.
“Enough, madam; you must go, for others require my aid.”
The poor woman rose, and offered the ring.
“Nay, nay, I want not thy money; I take from the rich, that I may distribute to the poor—but not from the widow in affliction. Open thy bag.” The widow took up her bag, and opened it. Melchior dropped in the ring, taking his wand from the table, waved it, and touched the bag. “As thou art honest, so may thy present wants be relieved. Seek, and thou shalt find.”
The widow left the room with tears of gratitude; and I must say, that I was affected with the same. When she had gone, I observed to Melchior, that up to the present he had toiled for nothing.
“Very true, Japhet; but depend upon it, if I assisted that poor woman from no other feelings than interested motives, I did well; but I tell thee candidly, I did it from compassion. We are odd mixtures of good and evil. I wage war with fools and knaves, but not with all the world. I gave that money freely—she required it; and it may be put as a set-off against my usual system of fraud, or it may not—at all events, I pleased myself.”
“But you told her that her son was alive.”
“Very true, and he may be dead; but is it not well to comfort her—even for a short time, to relieve that suspense which is worse than the actual knowledge of his death? Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.”
It would almost have appeared that this good action of Melchior met with its reward, for the astonishment of the widow at finding the gold in her reticule—her narrative of what passed, and her assertion (which she firmly believed to be true), that she had never left her reticule out of her hand, and that Melchior had only touched it with his wand, raised his reputation to that degree, that nothing else was talked about throughout the town, and, to crown all, the next day’s post brought her a letter and remittances from her son; and the grateful woman returned, and laid ten guineas on the black cloth, showering a thousand blessings upon Melchior, and almost worshipped him as a supernatural being. This was a most fortunate occurrence, and as Melchior prophesied, the harvest did now commence. In four days we had received upwards of 200 pounds, and we then thought it time that we should depart. The letters arrived, which were expected; and when we set on in a chaise and four, the crowd to see us was so great, that it was with difficulty we could pass through it.
