Peregrine's Progress Part 41

CHAPTER XXV

TELLS OF MY ADVENTURES AT THE FAIR

A hoa.r.s.e clamour upon the air, shouts, laughter, the bray of horns, throbbing of drums, clashing of cymbals and tinkling of bells: a pandemonium that deafened me, a blatant uproar that shocked and distressed me as I stood, amid the hurly-burly of the fair--in it, not of it--staring about me for some glimpse of Diana or the Tinker who had vanished amid the surging crowd hours ago, it seemed, and whom I had sought vainly ever since.

Thus I wandered, lost and none too happy, amid a jumble of carts and waggons, carriages and country wains, of booths and stalls and tents; amid a restless, seething crowd of people who pushed and strove more or less good-naturedly. Among all these unfamiliar sights and sounds I ranged disconsolate, awed by the vast concourse, deafened by the universal uproar, and not a little disgusted by the coa.r.s.e humour and rough horse-play of this truly motley throng.

On I went, a lost soul, pushed and jostled; past rows of gaudy tents and shows, each with its platform before it, where men and women, in outlandish livery and spangled tights, danced and sang, cracked broad jokes, beat drums, blew horns, or strove to out-roar each other in crying up their respective wares and wonders. One in especial drew my notice,--a stout, bull-necked Stentor in mighty c.o.c.ked hat, whose bra.s.sy voice boomed and bellowed high above the din, so that I paused to observe him in wondering disgust.

"In meat alone--in meat alone!" he roared. "Will eat 'is weight in meat alone! The famous and fab'lous Franko o' Florence, the fire-eatin', flame-swallerin', fat feller as weighs thirty-two stone if a hounce--seein's believin'--and all for a tanner--a tanner!

Sixpence an' no more! Come and see Franko the fattest feller o'

Florence as will eat fire, devour gla.s.s and swaller swords, and all for sixpence--for sixpence! See Franko as will dance ye a hornpipe, breakdown or double-shuffle wi' helegance and hease, bein' nippy, neat and nimble though weighin' thirty-two stone, seein's believin'--and all for a tanner--a tanner! Walk up, ladies and gents, an' don't be shy; walk up an' shake 'ands wi' Franko the fab'lous fat feller as can sing ye, dance ye, tell fortun's, forecast the future, cast 'orrer-scopes, strike na-tivities or stand on 'is 'ead--and all for sixpence--for sixpence!"

In this fashion, or much like it, he held forth tirelessly until, chancing to meet my wide-eyed gaze, he immediately singled me out for his remarks thus:

"Wot O, my Lord, wot O! You in the n.o.bby 'at an' patched unmentionables--wot O! Walk up, Tom-noddy, my lord, walk up and spend a tanner; never mind your breeches, walk up an' see the stoopendious fat feller as could swaller ye, breeches, patches, 'at an' all, an'

never blink a heyelid--a man as can swaller 'is wight in meat alone--in meat alone!

Walk up, my lord, an' see Franko Breeches or no, my lord, breeches or no!"

This sorry and meaningless jingle set the immediate crowd in a roar. I became an object for ribald laughter and cheers; I was pushed and hustled, albeit good-naturedly enough, but none the less to my great annoyance, so that I made all haste to wriggle away and, espying a narrow lane between these canvas booths and tents, I slipped into it, took to my heels and turning a sharp corner in full career, came thus upon an ancient man who sat upon a box, puffing serenely at a long pipe and who, despite my so sudden appearance, merely glanced at me with a pair of keen, bright eyes and wished me "Good-day." Hereupon I stopped and, because I had very nearly upset him, took off my hat, bowed, and humbly craved his pardon; at this he gave me a second and keener glance and uncovering his white head, returned my salute with grave punctilio.

He was a slight, spare old man habited in shabby garments of a quaint, old-world fashion, but in his upright carriage was an impressive dignity, in his vigorous gestures, quick eyes and strongly marked, resolute features an air of command, a latent power very arresting.

"I fear I startled you, sir!" said I.

"I am not readily startled," he answered, "though indeed this very afternoon I was beset by gipsy rogues hereabouts and rescued from their clutches by a young Amazon of a remarkable beauty and a rare intelligence. Youth is ever impetuous, though I trust your so pa.s.sionate speed does not argue depredations upon your neighbour's goods; you are not a runaway pickpocket, I hope?"

"Indeed, no, sir!" I answered, and briefly narrated the reason of my flight.

"Hum!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the aged person and sat puffing his pipe and regarding me with such close scrutiny that I grew a little uneasy.

"I trust that you believe me, sir?" said I.

"Entirely, sir!" he answered with a quick, decisive nod. "For I perceive that you are a gentleman. Therefore, if you have the time and inclination, pray sit down and let us talk awhile."

"Willingly, sir," said I, seating myself upon the gra.s.s, "for it is at least quieter here, and I will confess the crowd with its tumultuous turmoil and sordid vulgarity offends me greatly."

"Indeed, sir!" said my companion. "And yet it is simply to listen to what you term offensive and vulgar turmoil that I am here. For, sir, yonder clamour, being inarticulate, may speak infinitely to such as hearken understandingly, being one of Nature's awful voices, a very symphony of Life. Heard separately, each sound is an offence, I admit, but blent thus together they become akin to the incessant surge of ocean, the roar of foaming cataracts, the voice of some rushing, mighty wind, and these are the elemental music of G.o.d."

"Indeed, sir," said I, "sitting here with you sufficiently remote from the crowd's too-familiar contact, I can begin to appreciate the wisdom of your remarks."

"Yet you speak a little disdainfully, I think, sir! But what is there more proper to the contemplation of a philosopher than a concourse of human beings? How compelling its interest, how infinite its variety!

The good rub shoulders with the evil, the merry with the sad, the murderer with his victim, each formed alike yet each different--"

All at once as I listened, my attention was distracted by a face that projected itself suddenly through the canvas of an adjacent tent, an evil, stealthy face with narrowed eyes that watched us furtively a while and was suddenly gone; my companion espied it also, it seemed, for he sighed a little impatiently. "Tush, young sir!" said he. "Will you allow the face of a peeping rogue to alienate your mind from a conversation that promises to become interesting?"

"But sir," said I, rising somewhat hurriedly, "this place is suggestively lonely; I think we were wiser to retire--"

"Go if you will, young sir," broke in my strange companion a little grimly, "hasten away by all means, but I remain here."

"As you will, sir," I answered and sat down again, though careful to keep my eyes in the one direction.

"Sir," continued the aged person, "I have seen much of men and cities, I have journeyed in the desolate places of the world, but--"

Uttering a warning cry, I sprang to my feet as three men appeared, desperate-seeming fellows who approached us with a very evident intention: but suddenly, as I watched them in sweating panic, I heard a sharp click behind me, and immediately they halted all three, their ferocious looks smitten to surprised dismay--and glancing over my shoulder I beheld the aged person still puffing serenely at his pipe but with his slender right hand grasping a small, silver-mounted pistol levelled at our would-be aggressors across his knee. And there was something very terrible, I thought, in his imperturbable serenity.

"Rogues! Rascals!" sighed he. "To rob is sinful, to disturb the excogitations of philosophers is blasphemous. I found it necessary to shoot one of your sort recently--and why not again?"

At this the three began to whine while the ancient person hearkened and puffed his pipe, viewing them with eyes of scorn.

"Oh, begone!" said he. "See you do not trouble me again, lest I prove better citizen next time and rid the country of you once and for all."

Scarcely had the words left his lips than the cowed ruffians made off so hastily that they might have vanished into thin air.

"And now, sir," said my companion, carefully unc.o.c.king the pistol ere he pocketed it, "let us continue our so agreeable conversation. A crowd of humans, sir, to my mind is a mystery deep as ocean, sublime as the starry firmament, for who shall divine the thoughts, hopes, pa.s.sions and desires animating its many various and component ent.i.ties? Moreover, though composed of many different souls, it may yet possess but one in common, to be swayed to mirth and anger, lifted to a reverent ecstasy or fired to b.l.o.o.d.y vengeance and merciless destruction. What is there can give any just conception of a mystery so complex?"

"Surely nothing, sir," said I.

"Nay, young sir, therein I venture to think you are wrong, for we possess a divine joy, a soul medium, a very gift of G.o.d and we call it,--music, sir. To such as have ears, music is the speech of G.o.ds, of the Infinite, soaring far above mere words, revealing the unconceived, speaking forth the unthinkable."

"And what, sir, is the unthinkable?" I questioned.

"That which flashes upon a man's consciousness without the labour of thought, an intimate cognizance of--What the devil is it now, Atkinson?" he broke off so suddenly that I started and, glancing up, beheld an extremely neat, grave, sedate personage who removed his hat to bow, and advancing deferentially, stooped sleek head to murmur discreetly in my aged companion's ear.

"Tell 'em I'm engaged; bid 'em be hanged--no, say I'll come!" The grave personage bowed again and moved sedately off.

"Young sir," sighed my companion, rising, "I have found you particularly interesting, your arguments well-founded, your views on music particularly arresting. It grieves me, therefore, to depart, but duty calls. Pray oblige me with your arm, for I am a little lame. A bullet, sir!" he volunteered as he limped beside me. "A shattered knee-cap to remind me of my vivid youth, an awkward limp to keep in my mind the lovely cause--aha, she was all clinging tenderness and plump as a partridge then. I was her Eugenio and she my Sacharissa--a withered crone to-day, sir, and, alas, most inelegantly slim, I hear--bones, a temper, an eagle's beak and nut-cracker chin! Aye, me--what changes time doth ring--_eheu! fugaces!_"

"And what of--him, sir, your opponent?" I ventured to ask.

"Was necessitated to buy himself a new hat, seeing I'd peppered the one he wore, young sir."

Now at this moment, my gaze chancing to be turned earthwards, I espied a pair of elegant though very dirty boots that strode us-wards, jingling their spurs in oddly familiar manner; therefore I glanced up, beholding in turn white buckskin breeches, flowered waistcoat, bottle-green coat with twinkling silver b.u.t.tons, the frill of an ample shirt-front and above, the square, dimpled chin, shapely nose and resolute blue eyes of my uncle George who, flourishing off his hat, advanced towards us, his handsome face beaming in cheery welcome.

"Well met, my Lord!" he exclaimed, grasping the ancient person's hand.

"You've heard the fight's off?"

"Is it, George? I grieve!"

"Yes, it seems Jerningham's man Croxton--The 'Thunderbolt'--fell foul of a harmless-looking customer on his way here, and who should it be but Jessamy himself. So they fought there instead of here, and The 'Thunderbolt's' bolt is shot, sir--and that's the dooce of it--the whole thing's a bite!"

"Bite indeed, George!" agreed his lordship, shaking white head until his shabby hat toppled. "Though, to be sure, my money is on Jessamy.

But indeed the affair slipped my memory--old age, George! However, Fortune was so kind as to send me this young gentleman, a youth of remarkably sound ideas, Sir George; his conception of the ethics of music, for instance--"

My uncle George glanced at me, stared, uttered an unintelligible sound and fell back, gaping.