lavengro-第75部分

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'Nothing　more；　I　assure　you。　　How　came　you　to　ask　me　how　much　money　

I　had？'



'Because　there　was　something　in　your　look；　brother；　something　very　

much　resembling　that　which　a　person　showeth　who　does　not　carry　much　

money　in　his　pocket。　　I　was　looking　at　my　own　face　this　morning　in　

my　wife's　looking…glass　…　I　did　not　look　as　you　do；　brother。'



'I　believe　your　sole　motive　for　inquiring；'　said　I；　'was　to　have　an　

opportunity　of　venting　a　foolish　boast；　and　to　let　me　know　that　you　

were　in　possession　of　fifty　pounds。'



'What　is　the　use　of　having　money　unless　you　let　people　know　you　

have　it？'　said　Mr。　Petulengro。　　'It　is　not　every　one　can　read　

faces；　brother；　and；　unless　you　knew　I　had　money；　how　could　you　ask　

me　to　lend　you　any？'



'I　am　not　going　to　ask　you　to　lend　me　any。'



'Then　you　may　have　it　without　asking；　as　I　said　before；　I　have　

fifty　pounds；　all　lawfully…earnt　money；　got　by　fighting　in　the　ring　

…　I　will　lend　you　that；　brother。'



'You　are　very　kind；'　said　I；　'but　I　will　not　take　it。'



'Then　the　half　of　it？'



'Nor　the　half　of　it；　but　it　is　getting　towards　evening；　I　must　go　

back　to　the　Great　City。'



'And　what　will　you　do　in　the　Boro　Foros？'



'I　know　not；'　said　I。



'Earn　money？



'If　I　can。'



'And　if　you　can't？'



'Starve！'



'You　look　ill；　brother；'　said　Mr。　Petulengro。



'I　do　not　feel　well；　the　Great　City　does　not　agree　with　me。　　Should　

I　be　so　fortunate　as　to　earn　some　money；　I　would　leave　the　Big　

City；　and　take　to　the　woods　and　fields。'



'You　may　do　that；　brother；'　said　Mr。　Petulengro；　'whether　you　have　

money　or　not。　　Our　tents　and　horses　are　on　the　other　side　of　yonder　

wooded　hill；　come　and　stay　with　us；　we　shall　all　be　glad　of　your　

company；　but　more　especially　myself　and　my　wife　Pakomovna。'



'What　hill　is　that？'　I　demanded。



And　then　Mr。　Petulengro　told　me　the　name　of　the　hill。　　'We　shall　

stay　on　t'other　side　of　the　hill　a　fortnight；'　he　continued；　'and；　

as　you　are　fond　of　lil…writing；　you　may　employ　yourself　profitably　

whilst　there。　　You　can　write　the　lil　of　him　whose　dock　gallops　down　

that　hill　every　night；　even　as　the　living　man　was　wont　to　do　long　

ago。'



'Who　was　he？'　I　demanded。



'Jemmy　Abershaw；'　said　Mr。　Petulengro；　'one　of　those　whom　we　call　

Boro　drom　engroes；　and　the　gorgios　highway…men。　　I　once　heard　a　rye　

say　that　the　life　of　that　man　would　fetch　much　money；　so　come　to　

the　other　side　of　the　hill；　and　write　the　lil　in　the　tent　of　Jasper　

and　his　wife　Pakomovna。'



At　first　I　felt　inclined　to　accept　the　invitation　of　Mr。　

Petulengro；　a　little　consideration；　however；　determined　me　to　

decline　it。　　I　had　always　been　on　excellent　terms　with　Mr。　

Petulengro；　but　I　reflected　that　people　might　be　excellent　friends　

when　they　met　occasionally　in　the　street；　or　on　the　heath；　or　in　

the　wood；　but　that　these　very　people　when　living　together　in　a　

house；　to　say　nothing　of　a　tent；　might　quarrel。　　I　reflected；　

moreover；　that　Mr。　Petulengro　had　a　wife。　　I　had　always；　it　is　

true；　been　a　great　favourite　with　Mrs。　Petulengro；　who　had　

frequently　been　loud　in　her　commendation　of　the　young　rye；　as　she　

called　me；　and　his　turn　of　conversation；　but　this　was　at　a　time　

when　I　stood　in　need　of　nothing；　lived　under　my　parents'　roof；　and　

only　visited　at　the　tents　to　divert　and　to　be　diverted。　　The　times　

were　altered；　and　I　was　by　no　means　certain　that　Mrs。　Petulengro；　

when　she　should　discover　that　I　was　in　need　both　of　shelter　and　

subsistence；　might　not　alter　her　opinion　both　with　respect　to　the　

individual　and　what　he　said　…　stigmatising　my　conversation　as　saucy　

discourse；　and　myself　as　a　scurvy　companion；　and　that　she　might　

bring　over　her　husband　to　her　own　way　of　thinking；　provided；　

indeed；　he　should　need　any　conducting。　　I　therefore；　though　without　

declaring　my　reasons；　declined　the　offer　of　Mr。　Petulengro；　and　

presently；　after　shaking　him　by　the　hand；　bent　again　my　course　

towards　the　Great　City。



I　crossed　the　river　at　a　bridge　considerably　above　that　hight　of　

London；　for；　not　being　acquainted　with　the　way；　I　missed　the　

turning　which　should　have　brought　me　to　the　latter。　　Suddenly　I　

found　myself　in　a　street　of　which　I　had　some　recollection；　and　

mechanically　stopped　before　the　window　of　a　shop　at　which　various　

publications　were　exposed；　it　was　that　of　the　bookseller　to　whom　I　

had　last　applied　in　the　hope　of　selling　my　ballads　or　Ab　Gwilym；　

and　who　had　given　me　hopes　that；　in　the　event　of　my　writing　a　

decent　novel；　or　a　tale；　he　would　prove　a　purchaser。　　As　I　stood　

listlessly　looking　at　the　window；　and　the　publications　which　it　

contained；　I　observed　a　paper　affixed　to　the　glass　by　wafers　with　

something　written　upon　it。　　I　drew　yet　nearer　for　the　purpose　of　

inspecting　it；　the　writing　was　in　a　fair　round　hand　…　'A　Novel　or　

Tale　is　much　wanted；'　was　what　was　written。







CHAPTER　LV







Bread　and　water　…　Pair　play　…　Fashion　…　Colonel　B…　…　Joseph　Sell　…　

The　kindly　glow　…　Easiest　manner　imaginable。



'I　MUST　do　something；'　said　I；　as　I　sat　that　night　in　my　lonely　

apartment；　with　some　bread　and　a　pitcher　of　water　before　me。



Thereupon　taking　some　of　the　bread；　and　eating　it；　I　considered　

what　I　was　to　do。　　'I　have　no　idea　what　I　am　to　do；'　said　I；　as　I　

stretched　my　hand　towards　the　pitcher；　'unless　（and　here　I　took　a　

considerable　draught）　I　write　a　tale　or　a　novel　…　That　bookseller；'　

I　continued；　speaking　to　myself；　'is　certainly　much　in　need　of　a　

tale　or　a　novel；　otherwise　he　would　not　advertise　for　one。　　Suppose　

I　write　one；　I　appear　to　have　no　other　chance　of　extricating　myself　

from　my　present　difficulties；　surely　it　was　Fate　that　conducted　me　

to　his　window。



'I　will　do　it；'　said　I；　as　I　struck　my　hand　against　the　table；　'I　

will　do　it。'　　Suddenly　a　heavy　cloud　of　despondency　came　over　me。　　

Could　I　do　it？　　Had　I　the　imagination　requisite　to　write　a　tale　or　

a　novel？　　'Yes；　yes；'　said　I；　as　I　struck　my　hand　again　against　the　

table；　'I　can　manage　it；　give　me　fair　play；　and　I　can　accomplish　

anything。'



But　should　I　have　fair　play？　　I　must　have　something　to　maintain　

myself　with　whilst　I　wrote　my　tale；　and　I　had　but　eighteenpence　in　

the　world。　　Would　that　maintain　me　whilst　I　wrote　my　tale？　　Yes；　I　

thought　it　would；　provided　I　ate　bread；　which　did　not　cost　much；　

and　drank　water；　which　cost　nothing；　it　was　poor　diet；　it　was　true；　

but　better　men　than　myself　had　written　on　bread　and　water；　had　not　

the　big　man　told　me　so？　or　something　to　that　effect；　months　before？



It　was　true　there　was　my　lodging　to　pay　for；　but　up　to　the　present　

time　I　owed　nothing；　and　perhaps；　by　the　time　that　the　people　of　

the　house　asked　me　for　money；　I　should　have　written　a　tale　or　a　

novel；　which　would　bring　me　in　money；　I　had　paper；　pens；　and　ink；　

and；　let　me　not　forget　them；　I　had　candles　in　my　closet；　all　paid　

for；　to　light　me　during　my　night　work。　　Enough；　I　would　go　doggedly　

to　work　upon　my　tale　or　novel。



But　what　was　the　tale　or　novel　to　be　about？　　Was　it　to　be　a　tale　of　

fashionable　life；　about　Sir　Harry　Somebody；　and　the　Countess　

something？　　But　I　knew　nothing　about　fashionable　people；　and　cared　

less；　therefore　how　should　I　attempt　to　describe　fashionable　life？　

What　should　the　tale　consist　of？　　The　life　and　adventures　of　some　

one。　　Good　…　but　of　whom？　　Did　not　Mr。　Petulengro　mention　one　Jemmy　

Abershaw？　　Yes。　　Did　he　not　tell　me　that　the　life　and　adventures　of　

Jemmy　Abershaw　would　bring　in　much　money　to　the　writer？　　Yes；　but　I　

knew　nothing　of　that　worthy。　　I　heard；　it　is　true；　from　Mr。　

Petulengro；　that　when　alive　he　committed　robberies　on　the　hill；　on　

the　side　of　which　Mr。　Petulengro　had　pitched　his　tents；　and　that　

his　ghost　still　haunted　the　hill　at　midnight；　but　those　were　scant　

materials　out　of　which　to　write　the　man's　life。　　It　is　probable　

indeed；　that　Mr。　Petulengro　would　be　able　to　supply　me　with　further　

materials　if　I　should　apply　to　him；　but　I　was　in　a　hurry；　and　could　

not　afford　the　time　which　it　would　be　necessary　to　spend　in　passing　

to　and　from　Mr。　Petulengro；　and　consulting　him。　　Moreover；　my　pride　

revolted　at　the　idea　of　being　beholden　to　Mr。　Petulengro　for　the　

materials　of　the　history。　　No；　I　would　not　write　the　history　of　

Abershaw。　　Whose　then　…　Harry　Simms？　　Alas；　the　life　of　Harry　Simms　

had　been　already　much　better　written　by　himself　than　I　could　hope　

to　do　it；　and；　after　all；　Harry　Simms；　like　Jemmy　Abershaw；　was　

merely　a　robber。　　Both；　though　bold　and　extraordinary　men；　were　

merely　highwaymen。　　I　questioned　whether　I　could　compose　a　tale　

likely　to　excite　any　particular　interest　out　of　the　exploits　of　a　

mere　robber。　　I　want　a　character　for　my　hero；　thought　I；　something　

higher　than　a　mere　robber；　some　one　like　…　like　Colonel　B…。　　By　the　

way；　why　should　I　not　write　the　life　and　adventures　of　Colonel　B…；　

of　Londonderry　in　Ireland