Lavengro George Borrow (free ebook reader for ipad TXT) 📖

saw some people making their way thither today,” said he; “the fair lasts three weeks, and it has just commenced. Yes, I think I may promise you that you will be in time for the very heat of it. In a few days you will be able to mount your saddle with your arm in a sling, but you must by no means appear with your arm in a sling at Horncastle, as people would think that your horse had flung you, and that you wanted to dispose of him because he was a vicious brute. You must, by all means, drop the sling before you get to Horncastle.”

For three days I kept my apartment by the advice of the surgeon. I passed my time as I best could. Stretched on my bed, I either abandoned myself to reflection, or listened to the voices of the birds in the neighbouring garden. Sometimes, as I lay awake at night, I would endeavour to catch the tick of a clock, which methought sounded from some distant part of the house.

The old man visited me twice or thrice every day to inquire into my state. His words were few on these occasions, and he did not stay long. Yet his voice and his words were kind. What surprised me most in connection with this individual was, the delicacy of conduct which he exhibited in not letting a word proceed from his lips which could testify curiosity respecting who I was, or whence I came. All he knew of me was, that I had been flung from my horse on my way to a fair for the purpose of disposing of the animal, and that I was now his guest. I might be a common horsedealer for what he knew, yet I was treated by him with all the attention which I could have expected, had I been an alderman of Boston’s heir, and known to him as such. The county in which I am now, thought I at last, must be either extraordinarily devoted to hospitality, or this old host of mine must be an extraordinary individual. On the evening of the fourth day, feeling tired of my confinement, I put my clothes on in the best manner I could, and left the chamber. Descending a flight of stairs, I reached a kind of quadrangle, from which branched two or three passages; one of these I entered, which had a door at the farther end, and one on each side; the one to the left standing partly open, I entered it, and found myself in a middle-sized room with a large window, or rather glass door, which looked into a garden, and which stood open. There was nothing remarkable in this room, except a large quantity of china. There was china on the mantelpiece, china on two tables, and a small beaufet, which stood opposite the glass door, was covered with china; there were cups, teapots and vases of various forms, and on all of them I observed characters⁠—not a teapot, not a teacup, not a vase of whatever form or size, but appeared to possess hieroglyphics on some part or other. After surveying these articles for some time with no little interest, I passed into the garden, in which there were small parterres of flowers, and two or three trees, and which, where the house did not abut, was bounded by a wall; turning to the right by a walk by the side of the house, I passed by a door⁠—probably the one I had seen at the end of the passage⁠—and arrived at another window similar to that through which I had come, and which also stood open; I was about to pass by it; when I heard the voice of my entertainer exclaiming: “Is that you? pray come in.”

I entered the room, which seemed to be a counterpart of the one which I had just left. It was of the same size, had the same kind of furniture, and appeared to be equally well stocked with china; one prominent article it possessed, however, which the other room did not exhibit⁠—namely, a clock, which, with its pendulum moving tick-a-tick, hung against the wall opposite to the door, the sight of which made me conclude that the sound which methought I had heard in the stillness of the night was not an imaginary one. There it hung on the wall, with its pendulum moving tick-a-tick. The old gentleman was seated in an easy-chair a little way into the room, having the glass door on his right hand. On a table before him lay a large open volume, in which I observed Roman letters as well as characters. A few inches beyond the book on the table, covered all over with hieroglyphics, stood a china vase. The eyes of the old man were fixed upon it.

“Sit down,” said he, motioning me with his hand to a stool close by, but without taking his eyes from the vase.

“I can’t make it out,” said he at last, removing his eyes from the vase, and leaning back on the chair, “I can’t make it out.”

“I wish I could assist you,” said I.

“Assist me,” said the old man, looking at me with a half smile.

“Yes,” said I, “but I do not understand Chinese.”

“I suppose not,” said the old man, with another slight smile; “but⁠—but⁠—”

“Pray proceed,” said I.

“I wished to ask you,” said the old man, “how you knew that the characters on yon piece of crockery were Chinese; or, indeed, that there was such a language?”

“I knew the crockery was china,” said I, “and naturally enough supposed what was written upon it to be Chinese; as for there being such a language⁠—the English have a language, the French have a language, and why not the Chinese?”

“May I ask you a question?”

“As many as you like.”

“Do you know any language besides English?”

“Yes,” said I, “I know a little of two or three.”

“May I ask their names?”

“Why not?” said