Lavengro

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Thereupon I demanded with some eagerness of the young man the direction
to the place where he thought it possible that I might effect the
exchange--which direction the young fellow cheerfully gave me, and, as I
turned away, had the civility to wish me success.

I had no difficulty in finding the house to which the young fellow had
directed me; it was a very large house, situated in a square; and upon
the side of the house was written in large letters, "Bibles, and other
religious books."

At the door of the house were two or three tumbrils, in the act of being
loaded with chests, very much resembling tea-chests; one of the chests
falling down, burst, and out flew, not tea, but various books, in a neat,
small size, and in neat leather covers; Bibles, said I,--Bibles,
doubtless. I was not quite right, nor quite wrong; picking up one of the
books, I looked at it for a moment, and found it to be the New Testament.
"Come, young lad," said a man who stood by, in the dress of a porter,
"put that book down, it is none of yours; if you want a book, go in and
deal for one."

Deal, thought I, deal,--the man seems to know what I am coming about,--and
going in, I presently found myself in a very large room. Behind a
counter two men stood with their backs to a splendid fire, warming
themselves, for the weather was cold.

Of these men one was dressed in brown, and the other was dressed in
black; both were tall men--he who was dressed in brown was thin, and had
a particularly ill-natured countenance; the man dressed in black was
bulky, his features were noble, but they were those of a lion.

"What is your business, young man?" said the precise personage, as I
stood staring at him and his companion.

"I want a Bible," said I.

"What price, what size?" said the precise-looking man.

"As to size," said I, "I should like to have a large one--that is, if you
can afford me one--I do not come to buy."

"Oh, friend," said the precise-looking man, "if you come here expecting
to have a Bible for nothing, you are mistaken--we--"

"I would scorn to have a Bible for nothing," said I, "or anything else; I
came not to beg, but to barter; there is no shame in that, especially in
a country like this, where all folks barter."

"Oh, we don't barter," said the precise man, "at least Bibles; you had
better depart."

"Stay, brother," said the man with the countenance of a lion, "let us ask
a few questions; this may be a very important case; perhaps the young man
has had convictions."

"Not I," I exclaimed, "I am convinced of nothing, and with regard to the
Bible--I don't believe--"

"Hey!" said the man with the lion countenance, and there he stopped. But
with that "Hey" the walls of the house seemed to shake, the windows
rattled, and the porter whom I had seen in front of the house came
running up the steps, and looked into the apartment through the glass of
the door.

There was silence for about a minute--the same kind of silence which
succeeds a clap of thunder.

At last the man with the lion countenance, who had kept his eyes fixed
upon me, said calmly, "Were you about to say that you don't believe in
the Bible, young man?"

"No more than in anything else," said I; "you were talking of
convictions--I have no convictions. It is not easy to believe in the
Bible till one is convinced that there is a Bible."

"He seems to be insane," said the prim-looking man, "we had better order
the porter to turn him out."

"I am by no means certain," said I, "that the porter could turn me out;
always provided there is a porter, and this system of ours be not a lie,
and a dream."

"Come," said the lion-looking man, impatiently, "a truce with this
nonsense. If the porter cannot turn you out, perhaps some other person
can; but to the point--you want a Bible?"

"I do," said I, "but not for myself; I was sent by another person to
offer something in exchange for one."

"And who is that person?"

"A poor old woman, who has had what you call convictions,--heard voices,
or thought she heard them--I forgot to ask her whether they were loud
ones."

"What has she sent to offer in exchange?" said the man, without taking
any notice of the concluding part of my speech.

"A book," said I.

"Let me see it."

"Nay, brother," said the precise man, "this will never do; if we once
adopt the system of barter, we shall have all the holders of useless
rubbish in the town applying to us."

"I wish to see what he has brought," said the other; "perhaps Baxter, or
Jewell's Apology, either of which would make a valuable addition to our
collection. Well, young man, what's the matter with you?"

I stood like one petrified; I had put my hand into my pocket--the book
was gone.

"What's the matter?" repeated the man with the lion countenance, in a
voice very much resembling thunder.

"I have it not--I have lost it!"

"A pretty story, truly," said the precise-looking man, "lost it!"

"You had better retire," said the other.

"How shall I appear before the party who intrusted me with the book? She
will certainly think that I have purloined it, notwithstanding all that I
can say; nor, indeed, can I blame her,--appearances are certainly against
me."

"They are so--you had better retire."

I moved towards the door. "Stay, young man, one word more; there is only
one way of proceeding which would induce me to believe that you are
sincere."

"What is that?" said I, stopping and looking at him anxiously.

"The purchase of a Bible."

"Purchase!" said I, "purchase! I came not to purchase, but to barter;
such was my instruction, and how can I barter if I have lost the book?"

The other made no answer, and turning away I made for the door; all of a
sudden I started, and turning round, "Dear me," said I, "it has just come
into my head, that if the book was lost by my negligence, as it must have
been, I have clearly a right to make it good."

No answer.

"Yes," I repeated, "I have clearly a right to make it good; how glad I
am! see the effect of a little reflection. I will purchase a Bible
instantly, that is, if I have not lost--" and with considerable agitation
I felt in my pocket.

The prim-looking man smiled: "I suppose," said he, "that he has lost his
money as well as book."

"No," said I, "I have not;" and pulling out my hand I displayed no less a
sum than three half-crowns.

"O, noble goddess of the Mint!" as Dame Charlotta Nordenflycht, the
Swede, said a hundred and fifty years ago, "great is thy power; how
energetically the possession of thee speaks in favour of man's
character!"

"Only half-a-crown for this Bible?" said I, putting down the money, "it
is worth three;" and bowing to the man of noble features, I departed with
my purchase.

"Queer customer," said the prim-looking man, as I was about to close the
door--"don't like him."

"Why, as to that, I scarcely know what to say," said he of the
countenance of a lion.

CHAPTER XLVI.

The Pickpocket--Strange Rencounter--Drag Him Along--A Great
Service--Things of Importance--Philological Matters--Mother of
Languages--Zhats!

A few days after the occurrence of what is recorded in the last chapter,
as I was wandering in the City, chance directed my footsteps to an alley
leading from one narrow street to another in the neighbourhood of
Cheapside. Just before I reached the mouth of the alley, a man in a
great coat, closely followed by another, passed it; and, at the moment in
which they were passing, I observed the man behind snatch something from
the pocket of the other; whereupon, darting into the street, I seized the
hindermost man by the collar, crying at the same time to the other, "My
good friend, this person has just picked your pocket."

The individual whom I addressed, turning round with a start, glanced at
me, and then at the person whom I held. London is the place for strange
rencounters. It appeared to me that I recognised both individuals--the
man whose pocket had been picked and the other; the latter now began to
struggle violently; "I have picked no one's pocket," said he. "Rascal,"
said the other, "you have got my pocket-book in your bosom." "No, I have
not," said the other; and struggling more violently than before, the
pocket-book dropped from his bosom upon the ground.

The other was now about to lay hands upon the fellow, who was still
struggling. "You had better take up your book," said I; "I can hold
him." He followed my advice; and, taking up his pocket-book, surveyed my
prisoner with a ferocious look, occasionally glaring at me. Yes, I had
seen him before--it was the stranger whom I had observed on London
Bridge, by the stall of the old apple-woman, with the cap and cloak; but,
instead of these, he now wore a hat and great coat. "Well," said I, at
last, "what am I to do with this gentleman of ours?" nodding to the
prisoner, who had now left off struggling. "Shall I let him go?"

"Go!" said the other, "go! The knave--the rascal; let him go, indeed!
Not so, he shall go before the Lord Mayor. Bring him along."

"Oh, let me go," said the other: "let me go; this is the first offence, I
assure ye--the first time I ever thought to do anything wrong."

"Hold your tongue," said I, "or I shall be angry with you. If I am not
very much mistaken, you once attempted to cheat me."

"I never saw you before in all my life," said the fellow, though his
countenance seemed to belie his words.

"That is not true," said I; "you are the man who attempted to cheat me of
one-and-ninepence in the coach-yard, on the first morning of my arrival
in London."

"I don't doubt it," said the other; "a confirmed thief;" and here his
tones became peculiarly sharp; "I would fain see him hanged--crucified.
Drag him along."

"I am no constable," said I; "you have got your pocket-book,--I would
rather you would bid me let him go."

"Bid you let him go!" said the other almost furiously, "I command--stay,
what was I going to say? I was forgetting myself," he observed more
gently; "but he stole my pocket-book;--if you did but know what it
contained."

"Well," said I, "if it contains anything valuable, be the more thankful
that you have recovered it; as for the man, I will help you to take him
where you please; but I wish you would let him go."

The stranger hesitated, and there was an extraordinary play of emotion in
his features: he looked ferociously at the pickpocket, and, more than
once, somewhat suspiciously at myself; at last his countenance cleared,
and, with a good grace, he said, "Well, you have done me a great service,
and you have my consent to let him go; but the rascal shall not escape
with impunity," he exclaimed suddenly, as I let the man go, and starting
forward, before the fellow could escape, he struck him a violent blow on
the face. The man staggered, and had nearly fallen; recovering himself,
however, he said, "I tell you what, my fellow; if I ever meet you in this
street in a dark night, and I have a knife about me, it shall be the
worse for you; as for you, young man," said he to me; but, observing that
the other was making towards him, he left whatever he was about to say
unfinished, and, taking to his heels, was out of sight in a moment.

The stranger and myself walked in the direction of Cheapside, the way in
which he had been originally proceeding; he was silent for a few moments,
at length he said, "You have really done me a great service, and I should
be ungrateful not to acknowledge it. I am a merchant; and a merchant's
pocket-book, as you perhaps know, contains many things of importance;
but, young man," he exclaimed, "I think I have seen you before; I thought
so at first, but where I cannot exactly say: where was it?" I mentioned
London Bridge and the old apple-woman. "Oh," said he, and smiled, and
there was something peculiar in his smile, "I remember now. Do you
frequently sit on London Bridge?" "Occasionally," said I; "that old
woman is an old friend of mine." "Friend?" said the stranger, "I am glad
of it, for I shall know where to find you. At present I am going to
'Change; time, you know, is precious to a merchant." We were by this
time close to Cheapside. "Farewell," said he, "I shall not forget this
service. I trust we shall soon meet again." He then shook me by the
hand and went his way.

The next day, as I was seated beside the old woman in the booth, the
stranger again made his appearance, and, after a word or two, sat down
beside me; the old woman was sometimes reading the Bible, which she had
already had two or three days in her possession, and sometimes
discoursing with me. Our discourse rolled chiefly on philological
matters.

"What do you call bread in your language?" said I.

"You mean the language of those who bring me things to buy, or who did;
for, as I told you before, I sha'n't buy any more, it's no language of
mine, dear--they call bread pannam in their language."

"Pannam!" said I, "pannam! evidently connected with, if not derived from,
the Latin panis; even as the word tanner, which signifieth a sixpence, is
connected with, if not derived from, the Latin tener, which is itself
connected with, if not derived from, tawno or tawner, which, in the
language of Mr. Petulengro, signifieth a sucking child. Let me see, what
is the term for bread in the language of Mr. Petulengro? Morro, or
manro, as I have sometimes heard it called; is there not some connection
between these words and panis? Yes, I think there is; and I should not
wonder if morro, manro, and panis were connected, perhaps derived from
the same root; but what is that root? I don't know--I wish I did;
though, perhaps, I should not be the happier. Morro--manro! I rather
think morro is the oldest form; it is easier to say morro than manro.
Morro! Irish, aran; Welsh, bara; English, bread. I can see a
resemblance between all the words, and pannam too; and I rather think
that the Petulengrian word is the elder. How odd it would be if the
language of Mr. Petulengro should eventually turn out to be the mother of
all the languages in the world; yet it is certain that there are some
languages in which the terms for bread have no connection with the word
used by Mr. Petulengro, notwithstanding those languages, in many other
points, exhibit a close affinity to the language of the horse-shoe
master: for example, bread, in Hebrew, is Laham, which assuredly exhibits
little similitude to the word used by the aforesaid Petulengro. In
Armenian it is--"

"Zhats!" said the stranger, starting up. "By the Patriarch and the Three
Holy Churches, this is wonderful! How came you to know aught of
Armenian?"

CHAPTER XLVII.

New Acquaintance--Wired Cases--Bread and Wine--Armenian Colonies--Learning
Without Money--What a Language--The Tide--Your Foible--Learning of the
Haiks--Old Proverb--Pressing Invitation.

Just as I was about to reply to the interrogation of my new-formed
acquaintance, a man, with a dusky countenance, probably one of the
Lascars, or Mulattos, of whom the old woman had spoken, came up and
whispered to him, and with this man he presently departed, not however
before he had told me the place of his abode, and requested me to visit
him.

After the lapse of a few days, I called at the house, which he had
indicated. It was situated in a dark and narrow street, in the heart of
the city, at no great distance from the Bank. I entered a counting-room,
in which a solitary clerk, with a foreign look, was writing. The
stranger was not at home; returning the next day, however, I met him at
the door as he was about to enter; he shook me warmly by the hand. "I am
glad to see you," said he, "follow me, I was just thinking of you." He
led me through the counting-room, to an apartment up a flight of stairs;
before ascending, however, he looked into the book in which the foreign-
visaged clerk was writing, and, seemingly not satisfied with the manner
in which he was executing his task, he gave him two or three cuffs,
telling him at the same time that he deserved crucifixion.

The apartment above stairs, to which he led me, was large, with three
windows which opened upon the street. The walls were hung with wired
cases, apparently containing books. There was a table and two or three
chairs; but the principal article of furniture was a long sofa, extending
from the door by which we entered to the farther end of the apartment.
Seating himself upon the sofa, my new acquaintance motioned to me to sit
beside him, and then, looking me full in the face, repeated his former
inquiry, "In the name of all that is wonderful, how came you to know
aught of my language?"

"There is nothing wonderful in that," said I; "we are at the commencement
of a philological age, every one studies languages; that is, every one
who is fit for nothing else; philology being the last resource of dulness
and ennui, I have got a little in advance of the throng, by mastering the
Armenian alphabet; but I foresee the time when every unmarriageable miss,
and desperate blockhead, will likewise have acquired the letters of
Mesroub, and will know the term for bread, in Armenian, and perhaps that
for wine."

"Kini," said my companion; and that and the other word put me in mind of
the duties of hospitality. "Will you eat bread and drink wine with me?"

"Willingly," said I. Whereupon my companion, unlocking a closet,
produced, on a silver salver, a loaf of bread, with a silver-handled
knife, and wine in a silver flask, with cups of the same metal. "I hope
you like my fare," said he, after we had both eaten and drunk.

"I like your bread," said I, "for it is stale; I like not your wine, it
is sweet, and I hate sweet wine."

"It is wine of Cyprus," said my entertainer; and when I found that it was
wine of Cyprus, I tasted it again, and the second taste pleased me much
better than the first, notwithstanding that I still thought it somewhat
sweet. "So," said I, after a pause, looking at my companion, "you are an
Armenian."

"Yes," said he, "an Armenian born in London, but not less an Armenian on
that account. My father was a native of Ispahan, one of the celebrated
Armenian colony which was established there shortly after the time of the
dreadful hunger, which drove the children of Haik in swarms from their
original country, and scattered them over most parts of the eastern and
western world. In Ispahan he passed the greater portion of his life,
following mercantile pursuits with considerable success. Certain
enemies, however, having accused him to the despot of the place, of using
seditious language, he was compelled to flee, leaving most of his
property behind. Travelling in the direction of the west, he came at
last to London, where he established himself, and eventually died,
leaving behind a large property and myself, his only child, the fruit of
a marriage with an Armenian English woman, who did not survive my birth
more than three months."

The Armenian then proceeded to tell me that he had carried on the
business of his father, which seemed to embrace most matters, from buying
silks of Lascars to speculating in the funds, and that he had
considerably increased the property which his father had left him. He
candidly confessed that he was wonderfully fond of gold, and said there
was nothing like it for giving a person respectability and consideration
in the world; to which assertion I made no answer, being not exactly
prepared to contradict it.

And, when he had related to me his history, he expressed a desire to know
something more of myself, whereupon I gave him the outline of my history,
concluding with saying, "I am now a poor author, or rather a philologist,
upon the streets of London, possessed of many tongues, which I find of no
use in the world."

"Learning without money is anything but desirable," said the Armenian,
"as it unfits a man for humble occupations. It is true that it may
occasionally beget him friends; I confess to you that your understanding
something of my language weighs more with me than the service you
rendered me in rescuing my pocket-book the other day from the claws of
that scoundrel whom I yet hope to see hanged, if not crucified,
notwithstanding there were in that pocket-book papers and documents of
considerable value. Yes, that circumstance makes my heart warm towards
you, for I am proud of my language--as I indeed well may be--what a
language, noble and energetic! quite original, differing from all others
both in words and structure."

"You are mistaken," said I; "many languages resemble the Armenian both in
structure and words."

"For example?" said the Armenian.

"For example?" said I, "the English."

"The English," said the Armenian; "show me one word in which the English
resembles the Armenian."

"You walk on London Bridge," said I.

"Yes," said the Armenian.

"I saw you look over the balustrade the other morning."

"True," said the Armenian.

"Well, what did you see rushing up through the arches with noise and
foam?"

"What was it?" said the Armenian. "What was it?--you don't mean the
_tide_?"

"Do I not?" said I.

"Well, what has the tide to do with the matter?"

"Much," said I; "what is the tide?"

"The ebb and flow of the sea," said the Armenian.

"The sea itself; what is the Haik word for sea?"

The Armenian gave a strong gasp; then, nodding his head thrice, "you are
right," said he, "the English word tide is the Armenian for sea; and now
I begin to perceive that there are many English words which are Armenian;
there is --- and --- and there again in French there is --- and ---
derived from the Armenian. How strange, how singular--I thank you. It
is a proud thing to see that the language of my race has had so much
influence over the languages of the world."

I saw that all that related to his race was the weak point of the
Armenian. I did not flatter the Armenian with respect to his race or
language. "An inconsiderable people," said I, "shrewd and industrious,
but still an inconsiderable people. A language bold and expressive, and
of some antiquity, derived, though perhaps not immediately, from some
much older tongue. I do not think that the Armenian has had any
influence over the formation of the languages of the world. I am not
much indebted to the Armenian for the solution of any doubts; whereas to
the language of Mr. Petulengro--"

"I have heard you mention that name before," said the Armenian; "who is
Mr. Petulengro?"

And then I told the Armenian who Mr. Petulengro was. The Armenian spoke
contemptuously of Mr. Petulengro and his race. "Don't speak
contemptuously of Mr. Petulengro," said I, "nor of anything belonging to
him. He is a dark, mysterious personage; all connected with him is a
mystery, especially his language; but I believe that his language is
doomed to solve a great philological problem--Mr. Petulengro--"

"You appear agitated," said the Armenian; "take another glass of wine;
you possess a great deal of philological knowledge, but it appears to me
that the language of this Petulengro is your foible: but let us change
the subject; I feel much interested in you, and would fain be of service
to you. Can you cast accounts?"

I shook my head.

"Keep books?"

"I have an idea that I could write books," said I; "but, as to keeping
them--" and here again I shook my head.

The Armenian was silent some time; all at once, glancing at one of the
wire cases, with which, as I have already said, the walls of the room
were hung, he asked me if I was well acquainted with the learning of the
Haiks. "The books in these cases," said he, "contain the masterpieces of
Haik learning."

"No," said I, "all I know of the learning of the Haiks is their
translation of the Bible."

"You have never read Z---?"

"No," said I, "I have never read Z---."

"I have a plan," said the Armenian; "I think I can employ you agreeably
and profitably; I should like to see Z--- in an English dress; you shall
translate Z---. If you can read the Scriptures in Armenian, you can
translate Z---. He is our Esop, the most acute and clever of all our
moral writers--his philosophy--"

"I will have nothing to do with him," said I.

"Wherefore?" said the Armenian.

"There is an old proverb," said I, "'that a burnt child avoids the fire.'
I have burnt my hands sufficiently with attempting to translate
philosophy, to make me cautious of venturing upon it again;" and then I
told the Armenian how I had been persuaded by the publisher to translate
his philosophy into German, and what sorry thanks I had received; "and
who knows," said I, "but the attempt to translate Armenian philosophy
into English might be attended with yet more disagreeable consequences."

The Armenian smiled. "You would find me very different from the
publisher."

"In many points I have no doubt I should," I replied; "but at the present
moment I feel like a bird which has escaped from a cage, and, though
hungry, feels no disposition to return. Of what nation is the dark man
below stairs, whom I saw writing at the desk?"

"He is a Moldave," said the Armenian; "the dog (and here his eyes
sparkled) deserves to be crucified, he is continually making mistakes."