Lavengro by George Borrow (read me a book txt) 📕

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 the 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 practice 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.”

XXXV

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 his 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 tonight. 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 shortsighted,” 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