Gipsy , livre ebook

The Floating Press - R. James G. P.

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

340 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

In the early 1700s, the cultural group now known as Romani had made inroads into much of Europe. In some areas, they were granted special privileges and dispensations; in others, they were mercilessly persecuted and even sold into slavery. British historical novelist G. P. R. James captures the shifting role of the Gypsy people during the period in this remarkably detailed book.

Sujets

Historical fiction

Informations

Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 juillet 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776582952
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

THE GIPSY
A TALE
* * *
G. P. R. JAMES

*
The Gipsy A Tale First published in 1855 Epub ISBN 978-1-77658-295-2 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77658-296-9 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
VOLUME ONE Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Chapter XIV Chapter XV Chapter XVI VOLUME TWO Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Endnotes
*
"Ah! what a tangled web we weave, When first we venture to deceive." Sir Walter Scott.
VOLUME ONE
*
Chapter I
*
At that time in the world's history when watches, in their declinefrom the fat comeliness of the turnip to the scanty meagerness of thehalf-crown, had arrived at the intermediate form of a biffin—when thelast remnant of a chivalrous spirit instigated men to wear swordsevery day, and to take purses on horseback—when quadrupeds werepreferred to steam, and sails were necessary to a ship—when Chathamand Blackstone appeared in the senate and at the bar, and Goldsmith,Johnson, and Burke, Cowper, Reynolds, Robertson Hume, and Smollett,were just beginning to cumber the highways of arts and sciences—atthat period of the dark ages, the events which are about to be relatedundoubtedly took place, in a county which shall be nameless.
It may be that the reader would rather have the situation moreprecisely defined, in order, as he goes along, to fix each particularincident that this book may hereafter contain to the precise spot andperson for which it was intended. Nevertheless, such disclosures mustnot be; in the first place, because the story, being totally andentirely a domestic one, depends little upon locality; and, in thenext place, because greater liberties can be taken with people andthings when their identity is left in doubt, than when it is clearlyascertained; for, although—
"When caps into a crowd are thrown, What each man fits he calls his own,"
yet no one likes to have his name written upon his fool's cap, andhanded down for the benefit of posterity, attached to such anornament.
It was, then, on an evening in the early autumn, at that particularperiod of history which we have described, that two persons onhorseback were seen riding through a part of the country, the aspectof which was one whereon we delight to dwell; that is to say, it was apurely English aspect. Now, this character is different from allothers, yet subject to a thousand varieties; for although England, inits extent, contains more, and more beautiful scenes, of differentkinds and sorts of the picturesque, than any other country underheaven, nevertheless there is an aspect in them all that proclaimsthem peculiarly English. It is not a sameness—far, far from it; butit is a harmony; and whether the view be of a mountain or a valley, aplain or a wood, a group of cottages by the side of a clear, stilltrout stream, or a country town cheering the upland, there is still tobe seen in each a fresh green Englishness, which—like the peculiartone of a great composer's mind, pervading all his music, from hisrequiem to his lightest air—gives character and identity to everyobject, and mingles our country, and all its sweet associations, withthe individual scene.
The spot through which the travellers were riding, and which was awide piece of forest ground, one might have supposed, from the natureof the scenery, to be as common to all lands as possible; but no suchthing! and any one who gazed upon it required not to ask themselves inwhat part of the world they were. The road, which, though sandy, wassmooth, neat, and well tended, came down the slope of a long hill,exposing its course to the eye for near a mile. There was a gentlerise on each side, covered with wood; but this rise, and its forestburden, did not advance within a hundred yards of the road on eitherhand, leaving between—except where it was interrupted by some oldsand-pits—a space of open ground covered with short green turf, withhere and there an ancient oak standing forward before the other trees,and spreading its branches to the way-side. To the right was a littlerivulet gurgling along the deep bed it had worn for itself among theshort grass, in its way towards a considerable river that flowedthrough the valley at about two miles' distance; and, on the left, theeye might range far amid the tall, separate trees—now, perhaps,lighting upon a stag at gaze, or a fallow deer tripping away over thedewy ground as light and gracefully as a lady in a ballroom—tillsight became lost in the green shade and the dim wilderness of leavesand branches.
Amid the scattered oaks in advance of the wood, and nestled intothe dry nooks of the sand-pits, appeared about half a dozen dirtybrown shreds of canvass, none of which seemed larger than a dinnernapkin, yet which—spread over hoops, cross sticks, and othercontrivances—served as habitations to six or seven families of thatwild and dingy race, whose existence and history is a phenomenon, notamong the least strange of all the wonderful things that we pass bydaily without investigation or inquiry. At the mouths of one or two ofthese little dwelling-places might be seen some gipsy women with theirpeculiar straw bonnets, red cloaks, and silk handkerchiefs; somewithered, shrunk, and witch-like, bore evident the traces of longyears of wandering exposure and vicissitude; while others, with thewarm rose of health and youth glowing through the golden brown oftheir skins, and their dark gem-like eyes flashing undimmed by sorrowor infirmity, gave the beau idéal of a beautiful nation long passedaway from thrones and dignities, and left but as the fragments of awreck dashed to atoms by the waves of the past.
At one point, amid white wood ashes, and many an unlawful feather fromthe plundered cock and violated turkey, sparkled a fire and boiled acaldron; and, round about the ancient beldam who presided over the potwere placed in various easy attitudes several of the male members ofthe tribe—mostly covered with long loose great-coats, which bespokethe owners either changed or shrunk. A number of half-naked brats,engaged in many a sport, filled up the scene, and promised a sturdyand increasing race of rogues and vagabonds for after years.
Over the whole—wood, and road, and streamlet, and gipsyencampment—was pouring in full stream the purple light of evening,with the long shadows stretching across, and marking the distances allthe way up the slope of the hill. Where an undulation of the ground,about half-way up the ascent, gave a wider space of light thanordinary, were seen, as we have before said, two strangers ridingslowly down the road, whose appearance soon called the eyes of thegipsy fraternity upon their movements; for the laws in regard tovagabondism [1] had lately been strained somewhat hard, especially inthat part of the country, and the natural consequence was, that thegipsy and the beggar looked upon almost every human thing as an enemy.
With their usual quick perception, however, they soon gathered thatthe travellers were not of that cast from whom they had anything tofear; and indeed there was nothing of the swaggering bailiff orbullying constable in the aspect of either. The one was a man ofabout six-and-twenty years of age, with fine features, a slight butwell-made person, and a brown but somewhat pale complexion. His eyeswere remarkably fine, and his mouth and chin beautifully cut; he rodehis horse, too, with skill and grace; and withal he had that air ofconsequence which is at any time worth the riband of the Bath. Hiscompanion was older, taller, stronger. In age he might be thirty-twoor three, in height he was fully six feet, and seldom was there ever aform which excelled his in all those points where great strength isafforded without any appearance of clumsiness. He rode his horse,which was a powerful dark-brown gelding, as if half his life werespent on horseback; and as he came down the hill with the peculiarappearance of ease and power which great bodily strength and activityusually give, one might well have concluded that he was asfine-looking a man as one had ever beheld. But when he approached soas to allow his features to be seen, all one's prepossessions weredispelled, and one perceived that, notwithstanding this fine person,he was in some respects as ugly a man as it was possible to conceive.
Thanks to Jenner and vaccination, we (the English) are nowadays ashandsome a people as any, perhaps, in Europe, with smooth skins andfeatures as nature made them; but in the times I talk of, vaccination,alas! was unknown; and whatever the traveller we speak of might havebeen before he had been attacked by the smallpox, the traces whichthat horrible malady had left upon his face had deprived it of everyvestige of beauty—if, indeed, we except his eyes and eyelashes, whichhad been spared as if just to redeem his countenance from thefrightful. They—his eyes and eyelashes—were certainly fine, veryfine; but they were like the beauty of Tadmor in the wilderness,for all was ugliness around them. However, his countenance had agood-humoured expression, which made up for much; neither was it ofthat vulgar ugliness which robes and ermine but serve to render morelow and unprepossessing. But still, when first you saw him, you couldnot but feel that