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

then a start, and comes nearer. I corks up my bottle and puts it into my pocket. My business is done, for the next two hours the horse would follow me anywhere⁠—the difficulty, indeed, would be to get rid of him. Now, is that your way of doing business?”

“My way of doing business? Mercy upon us! I wouldn’t steal a horse in that way, or, indeed, in any way, for all the money in the world; however, let me tell you, for your comfort, that a trick somewhat similar is described in the history of Herodotus.”326

“In the history of Herod’s ass!” said the jockey; “well, if I did write a book, it should be about something more genteel than a dickey.”

“I did not say Herod’s ass,” said I, “but Herodotus, a very genteel writer, I assure you, who wrote a history about very genteel people, in a language no less genteel than Greek, more than two thousand years ago. There was a dispute as to who should be king amongst certain imperious chieftains. At last they agreed to obey him whose horse should neigh first on a certain day, in front of the royal palace, before the rising of the sun; for you must know that they did not worship the person who made the sun as we do, but the sun itself. So one of these chieftains, talking over the matter to his groom, and saying he wondered who would be king, the fellow said: ‘Why you, master, or I don’t know much about horses.’ So the day before the day of trial, what does the groom do, but takes his master’s horse before the palace and introduce him to a mare in the stable, and then lead him forth again. Well, early the next day all the chieftains on their horses appeared in front of the palace before the dawn of day. Not a horse neighed but one, and that was the horse of him who had consulted with his groom, who, thinking of the animal within the stable, gave such a neigh that all the buildings rang. His rider was forthwith elected king, and a brave king he was. So this shows what seemingly wonderful things may be brought about by a little preparation.”

“It doth,” said the jockey; “what was the chap’s name?”

“His name⁠—his name⁠—Darius Hystaspes.”

“And the groom’s?”

“I don’t know.”

“And he made a good king?”

“First-rate.”

“Only think! well, if he made a good king, what a wonderful king the groom would have made, through whose knowledge of ’orses he was put on the throne. And now another question Mr. Romany Rye, have you particular words which have power to soothe or aggravate horses?”

“You should ask me,” said I, “whether I have horses that can be aggravated or soothed by particular words. No words have any particular power over horses or other animals who have never heard them before⁠—how should they? But certain animals connect ideas of misery or enjoyment with particular words which they are acquainted with. I’ll give you an example. I knew a cob in Ireland that could be driven to a state of kicking madness by a particular word, used by a particular person, in a particular tone; but that word was connected with a very painful operation which had been performed upon him by that individual, who had frequently employed it at a certain period whilst the animal had been under his treatment. The same cob could be soothed in a moment by another word, used by the same individual in a very different kind of tone; the word was deaghblasda,327 or sweet tasted. Some time after the operation, whilst the cob was yet under his hands, the fellow⁠—who was what the Irish call a fairy smith⁠—had done all he could to soothe the creature, and had at last succeeded by giving it gingerbread-buttons, of which the cob became passionately fond. Invariably, however, before giving it a button, he said, ‘Deaghblasda,’ with which word the cob by degrees associated an idea of unmixed enjoyment: so if he could rouse the cob to madness by the word which recalled the torture to its remembrance, he could as easily soothe it by the other word, which the cob knew would be instantly followed by the button, which the smith never failed to give him after using the word deaghblasda.”

“There is nothing wonderful to be done,” said the jockey, “without a good deal of preparation, as I know myself. Folks stare and wonder at certain things which they would only laugh at if they knew how they were done; and to prove what I say is true, I will give you one or two examples. Can either of you lend me a handkerchief? That won’t do,” said he, as I presented him with a silk one. “I wish for a delicate white handkerchief. That’s just the kind of thing,” said he, as the Hungarian offered him a fine white cambric handkerchief, beautifully worked with gold at the hems; “now you shall see me set this handkerchief on fire.” “Don’t let him do so by any means,” said the Hungarian, speaking to me in German, “it is the gift of a lady whom I highly admire, and I would not have it burnt for the world.” “He has no occasion to be under any apprehension,” said the jockey, after I had interpreted to him what the Hungarian had said, “I will restore it to him uninjured, or my name is not Jack Dale.” Then sticking the handkerchief carelessly into the left side of his bosom, he took the candle, which by this time had burnt very low, and holding his head back, he applied the flame to the handkerchief, which instantly seemed to catch fire. “What do you think of that?” said he to the Hungarian. “Why, that you have ruined me,” said the latter. “No harm done, I assure you,” said the jockey, who presently, clapping