The Romany Rye / A Sequel to 'Lavengro'

by George Borrow

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE OLD MAN’S STORY CONTINUED—MISERY IN THE HEAD—THE STRANGE MARKS—TEA-DEALER FROM LONDON—DIFFICULTIES OF THE CHINESE LANGUAGE

After another pause the old man once more resumed his narration: ‘If ever there was a man perfectly miserable it was myself, after the loss of that cherished woman. I sat solitary in the house, in which I

had hoped in her company to realize the choicest earthly happiness, a prey to the bitterest reflections; many people visited and endeavoured to console me—amongst them was the clergyman of the parish, who begged me to be resigned, and told me that it was good to be afflicted. I bowed my head, but I could not help thinking how easy it must be for those who feel no affliction, to bid others to be resigned, and to talk of the benefit resulting from sorrow; perhaps I should have paid more attention to his discourse than I did, provided he had been a person for whom it was possible to entertain much respect, but his own heart was known to be set on the things of this world.

‘Within a little time he had an opportunity, in his own case, of practising resignation, and of realizing the benefit of being afflicted. A merchant, to whom he had entrusted all his fortune, in the hope of a large interest, became suddenly a bankrupt, with scarcely any assets. I will not say that it was owing to this misfortune that the divine died within less than a month after its occurrence, but such was the fact. Amongst those who most frequently visited me was my friend the surgeon; he did not confine himself to the common topics of consolation, but endeavoured to impress upon me the necessity of rousing myself, advising me to occupy my mind with some pursuit, particularly recommending agriculture; but agriculture possessed no interest for me, nor, indeed, any pursuit within my reach; my hopes of happiness had been blighted, and what cared I for anything; so at last he thought it best to leave me to myself, hoping that time would bring with it consolation; and I remained solitary in my house, waited upon by a male and a female servant. Oh, what dreary moments I passed! My only amusement—and it was a sad one—was to look at the things which once belonged to my beloved, and which were now in my possession. Oh, how fondly would I dwell upon them! There were some books; I cared not for books, but these had belonged to my beloved. Oh, how fondly did I dwell on them! Then there was her hat and bonnet—oh, me, how fondly did I gaze upon them! and after looking at her things for hours, I would sit and ruminate on the happiness I had lost. How I execrated the moment I had gone to the fair to sell horses! “Would that I had never been at Horncastle

to sell horses!” I would say; “I might at this moment have been enjoying the company of my beloved, leading a happy, quiet, easy life, but for that fatal expedition.” That thought worked on my brain, till my brain seemed to turn round.

‘One day I sat at the breakfast table gazing vacantly around me, my mind was in a state of inexpressible misery; there was a whirl in my brain, probably like that which people feel who are rapidly going mad; this increased to such a degree that I felt giddiness coming upon me. To abate this feeling I no longer permitted my eyes to wander about, but fixed them upon an object on the table, and continued gazing at it for several minutes without knowing what it was. At length the misery in my head was somewhat stilled, my lips moved, and I heard myself saying, “What odd marks!” I had fastened my eyes on the side of a teapot, and by keeping them fixed upon it, had become aware of a fact that had escaped my notice before—namely, that there were marks upon it. I kept my eyes fixed upon them, and repeated at intervals, “What strange marks!”—for I thought that looking upon the marks tended to abate the whirl in my head. I kept tracing the marks one after the other, and I observed that though they all bore a resemblance to each other, they were all to a certain extent different. The smallest portion possible of curious interest had been awakened within me, and, at last, I asked myself within my own mind, “What motive could induce people to put such odd marks on their crockery? They were not pictures, they were not letters. What motive could people have for putting them there?” At last I removed my eyes from the teapot, and thought for a few moments about the marks; presently, however, I felt the whirl returning; the marks became almost effaced from my mind, and I was beginning to revert to my miserable ruminations, when suddenly methought I heard a voice say, “The marks! the marks! cling to the marks! or—” So I fixed my eyes again upon the marks, inspecting them more attentively, if possible, than I had done before, and, at last, I came to the conclusion that they were not capricious or fanciful marks, but were arranged systematically. When I had gazed at them for a considerable time I turned the teapot round, and on the other side I observed marks of a similar kind, which

I soon discovered were identical with the ones I had been observing. All the marks were something alike, but all somewhat different, and on comparing them with each other, I was struck with the frequent occurrence of a mark crossing an upright line, or projecting from it, now on the right, now on the left side, and I said to myself, “Why does this mark sometimes cross the upright line, and sometimes project?” and the more I thought on the matter the less did I feel of the misery in my head.

‘The things were at length removed, and I sat, as I had for some time past been wont to sit after my meals, silent and motionless; but in the present instance my mind was not entirely abandoned to the one mournful idea which had so long distressed it. It was, to a certain extent, occupied with the marks on the teapot; it is true that the mournful idea strove hard with the marks on the teapot for the mastery in my mind, and at last the painful idea drove the marks of the teapot out. They, however, would occasionally return and flit across my mind for a moment or two, and their coming was like a momentary relief from intense pain. I thought once or twice that I would have the teapot placed before me, that I might examine the marks at leisure, but I considered that it would be as well to defer the re-examination of the marks till the next morning. At that time I did not take tea of an evening. By deferring the examination thus, I had something to look forward to on the next morning. The day was a melancholy one, but it certainly was more tolerable to me than any of the others had been since the death of my beloved. As I lay awake that night I occasionally thought of the marks, and in my sleep methought I saw them upon the teapot vividly before me. On the morrow I examined the marks again. How singular they looked! Surely they must mean something, and if so, what could they mean? and at last I thought within myself whether it would be possible for me to make out what they meant. That day I felt more relief than on the preceding day, and towards night I walked a little about.

‘In about a week’s time I received a visit from my friend the surgeon. After a little discourse, he told me that he perceived I was better than when he had last seen me, and asked me what I had been about. I told him that I had been principally occupied in considering certain

marks which I had found on a teapot, and wondering what they could mean. He smiled at first, but instantly assuming a serious look, he asked to see the teapot. I produced it, and after having surveyed the marks with attention, he observed that they were highly curious, and also wondered what they meant. “I strongly advise you,” said he, “to attempt to make them out, and also to take moderate exercise, and to see after your concerns.” I followed his advice. Every morning I studied the marks on the teapot, and in the course of the day took moderate exercise, and attended to little domestic matters, as became the master of a house.

‘I subsequently learned that the surgeon, in advising me to study the marks, and endeavour to make out their meaning, merely hoped that by means of them my mind might by degrees be diverted from the mournful idea on which it had so long brooded. He was a man well skilled in his profession, but had read and thought very little on matters unconnected with it. He had no idea that the marks had any particular signification, or were anything else but common and fortuitous ones. That I became at all acquainted with their nature was owing to a ludicrous circumstance which I will now relate.

‘One day, chancing to be at a neighbouring town, I was struck with the appearance of a shop recently established. It had an immense bow-window, and every part of it to which a brush could be applied was painted in a gaudy flaming style. Large bowls of green and black tea were placed upon certain chests, which stood at the window. I stopped to look at them; such a display, whatever it may be at the present time, being, at the period of which I am speaking, quite uncommon in a country town. The tea, whether black or green, was very shining and inviting, and the bowls, of which there were three, standing on as many chests, were very grand and foreign-looking. Two of these were white, with figures and trees painted upon them in blue; the other, which was the middlemost, had neither trees nor figures upon it, but, as I looked through the window, appeared to have on its sides the very same kind of marks which I had observed on the teapot at home; there were also marks on the tea-chests somewhat similar, but much larger, and, apparently, not executed with so much care. “Best teas direct from China,” said a voice close to my

side, and looking round I saw a youngish man with a frizzled head, flat face, and an immensely wide mouth, standing in his shirt-sleeves by the door. “Direct from China,” said he. “Perhaps you will do me the favour to walk in and scent them?” “I do not want any tea,” said I; “I was only standing at the window examining those marks on the bowl and the chests. I have observed similar ones on a teapot at home.” “Pray walk in, sir,” said the young fellow, extending his mouth till it reached nearly from ear to ear—“pray walk in, and I shall be happy to give you any information respecting the manners and customs of the Chinese in my power.” Thereupon I followed him into his shop, where he began to harangue on the manners, customs, and peculiarities of the Chinese, especially their manner of preparing tea, not forgetting to tell me that the only genuine Chinese tea ever imported into England was to be found in his shop. “With respect to those marks,” said he, “on the bowl and the chests, they are nothing more nor less than Chinese writing expressing something, though what I can’t exactly tell you. Allow me to sell you this pound of tea,” he added, showing me a paper parcel. “On the envelope there is a printed account of the Chinese system of writing, extracted from authors of the most established reputation. These things I print, principally with the hope of in some degree removing the worse than Gothic ignorance prevalent amongst the natives of these parts. I am from London myself. With respect to all that relates to the Chinese real Imperial tea, I assure you, sir, that—” Well, to make short of what you doubtless consider a very tiresome story, I purchased the tea and carried it home. The tea proved imperially bad, but the paper envelope really contained some information on the Chinese language and writing, amounting to about as much as you gained from me the other day. On learning that the marks on the teapot expressed words, I felt my interest with respect to them considerably increased, and returned to the task of inspecting them with greater zeal than before, hoping, by continually looking at them, to be able eventually to understand their meaning, in which hope you may easily believe I was disappointed, though my desire to understand what they represented continued on the increase. In this dilemma I determined to apply again to the shopkeeper from whom I bought the tea. I

found him in rather low spirits, his shirt-sleeves were soiled, and his hair was out of curl. On my inquiring how he got on, he informed me that he intended speedily to leave, having received little or no encouragement, the people in their Gothic ignorance preferring to deal with an old-fashioned shopkeeper over the way, who, so far from possessing any acquaintance with the polity and institutions of the Chinese, did not, he firmly believed, know that tea came from China. “You are come for some more, I suppose?” said he. On receiving an answer in the negative he looked somewhat blank, but when I added that I came to consult with him as to the means which I must take in order to acquire the Chinese language he brightened up. “You must get a grammar,” said he, rubbing his hands. “Have you not one?” said I. “No,” he replied, “but any bookseller can procure you one.” As I was taking my departure he told me that as he was about to leave the neighbourhood the bowl at the window which bore the inscription, besides some other pieces of porcelain of a similar description, were at my service, provided I chose to purchase them. I consented, and two or three days afterwards took from off his hands all the china in his possession which bore inscriptions, paying what he demanded. Had I waited till the sale of his effects, which occurred within a few weeks, I could probably have procured it for a fifth part of the sum which I paid, the other pieces realizing very little. I did not, however, grudge the poor fellow what he got from me, as I considered myself to be somewhat in his debt for the information he had afforded me.

‘As for the rest of my story, it may be briefly told. I followed the advice of the shopkeeper and applied to a bookseller, who wrote to his correspondent in London. After a long interval, I was informed that if I wished to learn Chinese I must do so through the medium of French, there being neither Chinese grammar nor dictionary in our language. I was at first very much disheartened. I determined, however, at last to gratify my desire of learning Chinese, even at the expense of learning French. I procured the books, and in order to qualify myself to turn them to account, took lessons in French from a little Swiss, the usher of a neighbouring boarding-school. I was very stupid in acquiring French; perseverance, however, enabled me to acquire a knowledge

sufficient for the object I had in view. In about two years I began to study Chinese by myself through the medium of the French.’

‘Well,’ said I, ‘and how did you get on with the study of Chinese?’

And then the old man proceeded to inform me how he got on with the study of Chinese, enumerating all the difficulties he had had to encounter, dilating upon his frequent despondency of mind, and occasionally his utter despair of ever mastering Chinese. He told me that more than once he had determined upon giving up the study, but then the misery in his head forthwith returned, to escape from which he had as often resumed it. It appeared, however, that ten years elapsed before he was able to use ten of the two hundred and fourteen keys which serve to undo the locks of Chinese writing.

‘And are you able at present to use the entire number?’ I demanded.

‘Yes,’ said the old man; ‘I can at present use the whole number. I know the key for every particular lock, though I frequently find the words unwilling to give way.’

‘Has nothing particular occurred to you,’ said I, ‘during the time that you have been prosecuting your studies?’

‘During the whole time in which I have been engaged in these studies,’ said the old man, ‘only one circumstance has occurred which requires any particular mention—the death of my old friend the surgeon, who was carried off suddenly by a fit of apoplexy. His death was a great shock to me, and for a time interrupted my studies. His son, however, who succeeded him, was very kind to me, and, in some degree, supplied his father’s place; and I gradually returned to my Chinese locks and keys.’

‘And in applying keys to the Chinese locks you employ your time?’

‘Yes,’ said the old man, ‘in making out the inscriptions on the various pieces of porcelain, which I have at different times procured, I pass my time. The first inscription which I translated was that on the teapot of my beloved.’

‘And how many other pieces of porcelain may you have at present in your possession?’

‘About fifteen hundred.’

‘And how did you obtain them?’ I demanded.

‘Without much labour,’ said the old man, ‘in the neighbouring towns and villages—chiefly at auctions—of which, about twenty years ago, there were many in these parts.’

‘And may I ask your reasons for confining your studies entirely to the crockery literature of China, when you have all the rest at your disposal?’

‘The inscriptions enable me to pass my time,’ said the old man; ‘what more would the whole literature of China do?’

‘And from those inscriptions,’ said I, ‘what a book it is in your power to make, whenever so disposed! “Translations from the crockery literature of China.” Such a book would be sure to take. Even glorious John himself would not disdain to publish it.’

The old man smiled. ‘I have no desire for literary distinction,’ said he; ‘no ambition. My original wish was to pass my life in easy, quiet obscurity—with her whom I loved. I was disappointed in my wish; she was removed, who constituted my only felicity in this life: desolation came to my heart, and misery to my head. To escape from the latter I had recourse to Chinese. By degrees the misery left my head, but the desolation of heart yet remains.’

‘Be of good cheer,’ said I. ‘Through the instrumentality of this affliction you have learnt Chinese, and, in so doing, learnt to practise the duties of hospitality. Who but a man who could read Runes on a teapot, would have received an unfortunate wayfarer as you have received me?’

‘Well,’ said the old man, ‘let us hope that all is for the best. I am by nature indolent, and, but for this affliction, should, perhaps, have hardly taken the trouble to do my duty to my fellow-creatures. I am very, very indolent,’ said he, slightly glancing towards the clock; ‘therefore let us hope that all is for the best. But, oh! these trials, they are very hard to bear.’

CHAPTER XXXV

THE LEAVE-TAKING—SPIRIT OF THE HEARTH—WHAT’S O’CLOCK

The next morning, having breakfasted with my old friend, I went into the stable to make the necessary preparations for my departure; there, with the assistance of a stable lad, I cleaned and caparisoned my horse, and then, returning into the house, I made the old female attendant such a present as I deemed would be some compensation for the trouble I had caused. Hearing that the old gentleman was in the study, I repaired to him. ‘I am come to take leave of you,’ said I, ‘and to thank you for all the hospitality which I have received at your hands.’ The eyes of the old man were fixed steadfastly on the inscription which I had found him studying on a former occasion. ‘At length,’ he murmured to himself. ‘I have it—I think I have it;’ and then, looking at me, he said: ‘So you are about to depart?’

‘Yes,’ said I, ‘my horse will be at the front door in a few minutes. I am glad, however, before I go, to find that you have mastered the inscription.’

‘Yes,’ said the old man, ‘I believe I have mastered it. It seems to consist of some verses relating to the worship of the Spirit of the Hearth.’

‘What is the Spirit of the Hearth?’ said I.

‘One of the many demons which the Chinese worship,’ said the old man. ‘They do not worship one God, but many.’ And then the old man told me a great many highly-interesting particulars respecting the demon worship of the Chinese.

After the lapse of at least half an hour I said: ‘I must not linger here any longer, however willing. Horncastle is distant, and I wish to be there to-night. Pray can you inform me what’s o’clock?’

The old man, rising, looked towards the clock which hung on the side of the room at his left hand, on the farther side of the table at which he was seated.

‘I am rather short-sighted,’ said I, ‘and cannot distinguish the numbers at that distance.’

‘It is ten o’clock,’ said the old man; ‘I believe somewhat past.’

‘A quarter, perhaps?’

‘Yes,’ said the old man, ‘a quarter, or—’

‘Or?’

‘Seven minutes, or ten minutes past ten.’

‘I do not understand you.’

‘Why, to tell you the truth,’ said the old man, with a smile, ‘there is one thing to the knowledge of which I could never exactly attain.’

‘Do you mean to say,’ said I, ‘that you do not know what’s o’clock?’

‘I can give a guess,’ said the old man, ‘to within a few minutes.’

‘But you cannot tell the exact moment?’

‘No,’ said the old man.

‘In the name of wonder,’ said I, ‘with that thing there on the wall continually ticking in your ear, how comes it that you do not know what’s o’clock?’

‘Why,’ said the old man, ‘I have contented myself with giving a tolerably good guess; to do more would have been too great trouble.’

‘But you have learnt Chinese,’ said I.

‘Yes,’ said the old man, ‘I have learnt Chinese.’

‘Well,’ said I, ‘I really would counsel you to learn to know what’s o’clock as soon as possible. Consider what a sad thing it would be to go out of the world not knowing what’s o’clock. A millionth part of the trouble required to learn Chinese would, if employed, infallibly teach you to know what’s o’clock.’

‘I had a motive for learning Chinese,’ said the old man, ‘the hope of appeasing the misery in my head. With respect to not knowing what’s o’clock, I cannot see anything particularly sad in the matter. A man may get through the world very creditably without knowing what’s o’clock. Yet, upon the whole, it is no bad thing to know what’s o’clock—you, of course, do? It would be too good a joke if two people were to be together, one knowing Armenian and the other Chinese, and neither knowing what’s o’clock. I’ll now see you off.’

CHAPTER XXXVI

ARRIVAL AT HORNCASTLE—THE INN AND OSTLERS—THE GARRET—FIGURE OF A MAN WITH A CANDLE

Leaving the house of the old man who knew Chinese, but could not tell what was o’clock, I wended my way to Horncastle, which I reached in the evening of the same day, without having met any adventure on the way worthy of being marked down in this very remarkable history.

The town was a small one, seemingly ancient, and was crowded with people and horses. I proceeded, without delay, to the inn to which my friend the surgeon had directed me. ‘It is of no use coming here,’ said two or three ostlers, as I entered the yard—‘all full—no room whatever;’ whilst one added, in an undertone, ‘That ’ere ain’t a bad-looking horse.’ ‘I want to see the master of this inn,’ said I, as I dismounted from the horse. ‘See the master,’ said an ostler—the same who had paid the negative kind of compliment to the horse—‘a likely thing, truly. My master is drinking wine with some of the grand gentry, and can’t be disturbed for the sake of the like of you.’ ‘I bring a letter to him,’ said I, pulling out the surgeon’s epistle. ‘I wish you would deliver it to him,’ I added, offering a half-crown. ‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ said the ostler, taking the letter and the half-crown. ‘My master will be right glad to see you. Why you hain’t been here for many a long year. I’ll carry the note to him at once.’ And with these words he hurried into the house. ‘That’s a nice horse, young man,’ said another ostler. ‘What will you take for it?’ to which interrogation I made no answer. ‘If you wish to sell him,’ said the ostler, coming up to me, and winking knowingly, ‘I think I and my partners might offer you a summut under seventy pounds;’ to which kind of half-insinuated offer I made no reply, save by winking in the same kind of knowing manner in which I had observed him wink. ‘Rather leary!’ said a third ostler. ‘Well, young man, perhaps you will drink to-night with me and my partners, when we can talk the matter over.’ Before I had time to answer, the landlord, a well-dressed, good-looking man, made his appearance with the ostler; he bore the letter in his hand. Without glancing at me, he betook himself

at once to consider the horse, going round him, and observing every point with the utmost minuteness. At last, after having gone round the horse three times, he stopped beside me, and keeping his eyes on the horse, bent his head towards his right shoulder. ‘That horse is worth some money,’ said he, turning towards me suddenly, and slightly touching me on the arm with the letter which he held in his hand; to which observation I made no reply, save by bending my head towards the right shoulder as I had seen him do. ‘The young man is going to talk to me and my partners about it to-night,’ said the ostler who had expressed an opinion that he and his friends might offer me somewhat under seventy pounds for the animal. ‘Pooh!’ said the landlord, ‘the young man knows what he is about; in the meantime lead the horse to the reserved stall, and see well after him. My friend,’ said he, taking me aside after the ostler had led the animal away, ‘recommends you to me in the strongest manner, on which account alone I take you and your horse in. I need not advise you not to be taken in, as I should say, by your look, that you are tolerably awake; but there are queer hands at Horncastle at this time, and those fellows of mine, you understand me—; but I have a great deal to do at present, so you must excuse me,’ and thereupon went into the house.

That same evening I was engaged at least two hours in the stable, in rubbing the horse down, and preparing him for the exhibition which I intended he should make in the fair on the following day. The ostler, to whom I had given the half-crown, occasionally assisted me, though he was too much occupied by the horses of other guests to devote any length of time to the service of mine; he more than once repeated to me his firm conviction that himself and partners could afford to offer me summut for the horse; and at a later hour when, in compliance with his invitation, I took a glass of summut with himself and partners, in a little room surrounded with corn-chests, on which we sat, both himself and partners endeavoured to impress upon me, chiefly by means of nods and winks, their conviction that they could afford to give me summut for the horse, provided I were disposed to sell him; in return for which intimation, with as many nods and winks as they had all collectively used, I endeavoured to impress upon them my conviction that I could get summut

handsomer in the fair than they might be disposed to offer me, seeing as how—which how I followed by a wink and a nod, which they seemed perfectly to understand, one or two of them declaring that if the case was so, it made a great deal of difference, and that they did not wish to be any hindrance to me, more particularly as it was quite clear I had been an ostler like themselves.

It was late at night when I began to think of retiring to rest. On inquiring if there was any place in which I could sleep, I was informed that there was a bed at my service, provided I chose to sleep in a two-bedded room, one of the beds of which was engaged by another gentleman. I expressed my satisfaction at this arrangement, and was conducted by a maid-servant up many pairs of stairs to a garret, in which were two small beds, in one of which she gave me to understand another gentleman slept; he had, however, not yet retired to rest; I asked who he was, but the maid-servant could give me no information about him, save that he was a highly respectable gentleman, and a friend of her master’s. Presently, bidding me good night, she left me with a candle; and I, having undressed myself and extinguished the light, went to bed. Notwithstanding the noises which sounded from every part of the house, I was not slow in falling asleep, being thoroughly tired. I know not how long I might have been in bed, perhaps two hours, when I was partially awakened by a light shining upon my face, whereupon, unclosing my eyes, I perceived the figure of a man, with a candle in one hand, staring at my face, whilst with the other hand he held back the curtain of the bed. As I have said before, I was only partially awakened, my power of perception was consequently very confused; it appeared to me, however, that the man was dressed in a green coat; that he had curly brown or black hair, and that there was something peculiar in his look. Just as I was beginning to recollect myself, the curtain dropped, and I heard, or thought I heard, a voice say, ‘Don’t know the cove.’ Then there was a rustling like a person undressing, whereupon being satisfied that it was my fellow lodger, I dropped asleep, but was awakened again by a kind of heavy plunge upon the other bed, which caused it to rock and creak, when I observed that the light had been extinguished, probably blown out, if I might judge from a rather disagreeable smell of burnt

wick which remained in the room, and which kept me awake till I heard my companion breathing hard, when, turning on the other side, I was again once more speedily in the arms of slumber.