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

up. Connected with this tempest there was one feature to which I have already alluded⁠—the wonderful colours of the clouds. Some were of vivid green; others of the brightest orange; others as black as pitch. The gypsy’s finger was pointed to a particular part of the sky.

“What do you see there, brother?”

“A strange kind of cloud.”

“What does it look like, brother?”

“Something like a stream of blood.”

“That cloud foreshoweth a bloody dukkeripen.”

“A bloody fortune!” said I. “And whom may it betide?”

“Who knows!” said the gypsy.

Down the way, dashing and splashing and scattering man, horse and cart to the left and right, came an open barouche, drawn by four smoking steeds, with postillions in scarlet jackets, and leather skullcaps. Two forms were conspicuous in it; that of the successful bruiser and of his friend and backer, the sporting gentleman of my acquaintance.

“His!” said the gypsy, pointing to the latter, whose stern features wore a smile of triumph, as, probably recognising me in the crowd, he nodded in the direction of where I stood, as the barouche hurried by.

There went the barouche, dashing through the rain gushes, and in it one whose boast it was that he was equal to “either fortune.” Many have heard of that man⁠—many may be desirous of knowing yet more of him. I have nothing to do with that man’s afterlife⁠—he fulfilled his dukkeripen. “A bad, violent man!” Softly friend; when thou wouldst speak harshly of the dead, remember that thou hast not yet fulfilled thy own dukkeripen!

XXVII

My father, as I have already informed the reader, had been endowed by nature with great corporeal strength; indeed, I have been assured that, at the period of his prime, his figure had denoted the possession of almost Herculean powers. The strongest forms, however, do not always endure the longest, the very excess of the noble and generous juices which they contain being the cause of their premature decay. But, be that as it may, the health of my father, some few years after his retirement from the service to the quiet of domestic life, underwent a considerable change; his constitution appeared to be breaking up; and he was subject to severe attacks from various disorders, with which, till then, he had been utterly unacquainted. He was, however, wont to rally, more or less, after his illnesses, and might still occasionally be seen taking his walk, with his cane in his hand, and accompanied by his dog, who sympathised entirely with him, pining as he pined, improving as he improved, and never leaving the house save in his company; and in this manner matters went on for a considerable time, no very great apprehension with respect to my father’s state being raised either in my mother’s breast or my own. But, about six months after the period at which I have arrived in my last chapter, it came to pass that my father experienced a severer attack than on any previous occasion.

He had the best medical advice; but it was easy to see, from the looks of his doctors, that they entertained but slight hopes of his recovery. His sufferings were great, yet he invariably bore them with unshaken fortitude. There was one thing remarkable connected with his illness; notwithstanding its severity, it never confined him to his bed. He was wont to sit in his little parlour, in his easy chair, dressed in a faded regimental coat, his dog at his feet, who would occasionally lift his head from the hearthrug on which he lay, and look his master wistfully in the face. And thus my father spent the greater part of his time, sometimes in prayer, sometimes in meditation, and sometimes in reading the Scriptures. I frequently sat with him; though, as I entertained a great awe for my father, I used to feel rather ill at ease, when, as sometimes happened, I found myself alone with him.

“I wish to ask you a few questions,” said he to me, one day after my mother had left the room.

“I will answer anything you may please to ask me, my dear father.”

“What have you been about lately?”

“I have been occupied as usual, attending at the office at the appointed hours.”

“And what do you do there?”

“Whatever I am ordered.”

“And nothing else?”

“Oh, yes! sometimes I read a book.”

“Connected with your profession?”

“Not always; I have been lately reading Armenian.”

“What’s that?”

“The language of a people whose country is a region on the other side of Asia Minor.”

“Well!”

“A region abounding with mountains.”

“Well!”

“Amongst which is Mount Ararat.”

“Well!”

“Upon which, as the Bible informs us, the ark rested.”

“Well!”

“It is the language of the people of those regions.”

“So you told me.”

“And I have been reading the Bible in their language.”

“Well!”

“Or rather, I should say, in the ancient language of these people; from which I am told the modern Armenian differs considerably.”

“Well!”

“As much as the Italian from the Latin.”

“Well!”

“So I have been reading the Bible in ancient Armenian.”

“You told me so before.”

“I found it a highly difficult language.”

“Yes.”

“Differing widely from the languages in general with which I am acquainted.”

“Yes.”

“Exhibiting, however, some features in common with them.”

“Yes.”

“And sometimes agreeing remarkably in words with a certain strange wild speech with which I became acquainted⁠—”

“Irish?”

“No, father, not Irish⁠—with which I became acquainted by the greatest chance in the world.”

“Yes.”

“But of which I need say nothing further at present, and which I should not have mentioned but for that fact.”

“Well!”

“Which I consider remarkable.”

“Yes.”

“The Armenian is copious.”

“Is it?”

“With an alphabet of thirty-nine letters, but it is harsh and guttural.”

“Yes.”

“Like the language of most mountainous people⁠—the Armenians call it Haik.”121

“Do they?”

“And themselves, Haik, also; they are a remarkable people, and, though their original habitation is the Mountain of Ararat, they are to be found, like the Jews, all over the world.”

“Well!”

“Well, father, that’s all I can tell you about the Haiks, or Armenians.”

“And what does it all amount to?”

“Very little, father; indeed, there is very little known about the Armenians; their early history,