the holly-tree-第4章

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the　top　of　Blank　in　a　couple　of　hours　from　first　startnow！



Once　I　passed　a　fortnight　at　an　Inn　in　the　North　of　England；　where　I

was　haunted　by　the　ghost　of　a　tremendous　pie。　　It　was　a　Yorkshire

pie；　like　a　fort；an　abandoned　fort　with　nothing　in　it；　but　the

waiter　had　a　fixed　idea　that　it　was　a　point　of　ceremony　at　every

meal　to　put　the　pie　on　the　table。　　After　some　days　I　tried　to　hint；

in　several　delicate　ways；　that　I　considered　the　pie　done　with；　as；

for　example；　by　emptying　fag…ends　of　glasses　of　wine　into　it；

putting　cheese…plates　and　spoons　into　it；　as　into　a　basket；　putting

wine…bottles　into　it；　as　into　a　cooler；　but　always　in　vain；　the　pie

being　invariably　cleaned　out　again　and　brought　up　as　before。　　At

last；　beginning　to　be　doubtful　whether　I　was　not　the　victim　of　a

spectral　illusion；　and　whether　my　health　and　spirits　might　not　sink

under　the　horrors　of　an　imaginary　pie；　I　cut　a　triangle　out　of　it；

fully　as　large　as　the　musical　instrument　of　that　name　in　a　powerful

orchestra。　　Human　provision　could　not　have　foreseen　the　resultbut

the　waiter　mended　the　pie。　　With　some　effectual　species　of　cement；

he　adroitly　fitted　the　triangle　in　again；　and　I　paid　my　reckoning

and　fled。



The　Holly…Tree　was　getting　rather　dismal。　　I　made　an　overland

expedition　beyond　the　screen；　and　penetrated　as　far　as　the　fourth

window。　　Here　I　was　driven　back　by　stress　of　weather。　　Arrived　at　my

winter…quarters　once　more；　I　made　up　the　fire；　and　took　another　Inn。



It　was　in　the　remotest　part　of　Cornwall。　　A　great　annual　Miners'

Feast　was　being　holden　at　the　Inn；　when　I　and　my　travelling

companions　presented　ourselves　at　night　among　the　wild　crowd　that

were　dancing　before　it　by　torchlight。　　We　had　had　a　break…down　in

the　dark；　on　a　stony　morass　some　miles　away；　and　I　had　the　honour　of

leading　one　of　the　unharnessed　post…horses。　　If　any　lady　or

gentleman；　on　perusal　of　the　present　lines；　will　take　any　very　tall

post…horse　with　his　traces　hanging　about　his　legs；　and　will　conduct

him　by　the　bearing…rein　into　the　heart　of　a　country　dance　of　a

hundred　and　fifty　couples；　that　lady　or　gentleman　will　then；　and

only　then；　form　an　adequate　idea　of　the　extent　to　which　that　post…

horse　will　tread　on　his　conductor's　toes。　　Over　and　above　which；　the

post…horse；　finding　three　hundred　people　whirling　about　him；　will

probably　rear；　and　also　lash　out　with　his　hind　legs；　in　a　manner

incompatible　with　dignity　or　self…respect　on　his　conductor's　part。

With　such　little　drawbacks　on　my　usually　impressive　aspect；　I

appeared　at　this　Cornish　Inn；　to　the　unutterable　wonder　of　the

Cornish　Miners。　　It　was　full；　and　twenty　times　full；　and　nobody

could　be　received　but　the　post…horse；though　to　get　rid　of　that

noble　animal　was　something。　　While　my　fellow…travellers　and　I　were

discussing　how　to　pass　the　night　and　so　much　of　the　next　day　as　must

intervene　before　the　jovial　blacksmith　and　the　jovial　wheelwright

would　be　in　a　condition　to　go　out　on　the　morass　and　mend　the　coach；

an　honest　man　stepped　forth　from　the　crowd　and　proposed　his　unlet

floor　of　two　rooms；　with　supper　of　eggs　and　bacon；　ale　and　punch。

We　joyfully　accompanied　him　home　to　the　strangest　of　clean　houses；

where　we　were　well　entertained　to　the　satisfaction　of　all　parties。

But　the　novel　feature　of　the　entertainment　was；　that　our　host　was　a

chair…maker；　and　that　the　chairs　assigned　to　us　were　mere　frames；

altogether　without　bottoms　of　any　sort；　so　that　we　passed　the

evening　on　perches。　　Nor　was　this　the　absurdest　consequence；　for

when　we　unbent　at　supper；　and　any　one　of　us　gave　way　to　laughter；　he

forgot　the　peculiarity　of　his　position；　and　instantly　disappeared。

I　myself；　doubled　up　into　an　attitude　from　which　self…extrication

was　impossible；　was　taken　out　of　my　frame；　like　a　clown　in　a　comic

pantomime　who　has　tumbled　into　a　tub；　five　times　by　the　taper's

light　during　the　eggs　and　bacon。



The　Holly…Tree　was　fast　reviving　within　me　a　sense　of　loneliness。　　I

began　to　feel　conscious　that　my　subject　would　never　carry　on　until　I

was　dug　out。　　I　might　be　a　week　here；weeks！



There　was　a　story　with　a　singular　idea　in　it；　connected　with　an　Inn

I　once　passed　a　night　at　in　a　picturesque　old　town　on　the　Welsh

border。　　In　a　large　double…bedded　room　of　this　Inn　there　had　been　a

suicide　committed　by　poison；　in　one　bed；　while　a　tired　traveller

slept　unconscious　in　the　other。　　After　that　time；　the　suicide　bed

was　never　used；　but　the　other　constantly　was；　the　disused　bedstead

remaining　in　the　room　empty；　though　as　to　all　other　respects　in　its

old　state。　　The　story　ran；　that　whosoever　slept　in　this　room；　though

never　so　entire　a　stranger；　from　never　so　far　off；　was　invariably

observed　to　come　down　in　the　morning　with　an　impression　that　he

smelt　Laudanum；　and　that　his　mind　always　turned　upon　the　subject　of

suicide；　to　which；　whatever　kind　of　man　he　might　be；　he　was　certain

to　make　some　reference　if　he　conversed　with　any　one。　　This　went　on

for　years；　until　it　at　length　induced　the　landlord　to　take　the

disused　bedstead　down；　and　bodily　burn　it；bed；　hangings；　and　all。

The　strange　influence　（this　was　the　story）　now　changed　to　a　fainter

one；　but　never　changed　afterwards。　　The　occupant　of　that　room；　with

occasional　but　very　rare　exceptions；　would　come　down　in　the　morning；

trying　to　recall　a　forgotten　dream　he　had　had　in　the　night。　　The

landlord；　on　his　mentioning　his　perplexity；　would　suggest　various

commonplace　subjects；　not　one　of　which；　as　he　very　well　knew；　was

the　true　subject。　　But　the　moment　the　landlord　suggested　〃Poison；〃

the　traveller　started；　and　cried；　〃Yes！〃　　He　never　failed　to　accept

that　suggestion；　and　he　never　recalled　any　more　of　the　dream。



This　reminiscence　brought　the　Welsh　Inns　in　general　before　me；　with

the　women　in　their　round　hats；　and　the　harpers　with　their　white

beards　（venerable；　but　humbugs；　I　am　afraid）；　playing　outside　the

door　while　I　took　my　dinner。　　The　transition　was　natural　to　the

Highland　Inns；　with　the　oatmeal　bannocks；　the　honey；　the　venison

steaks；　the　trout　from　the　loch；　the　whisky；　and　perhaps　（having　the

materials　so　temptingly　at　hand）　the　Athol　brose。　　Once　was　I　coming

south　from　the　Scottish　Highlands　in　hot　haste；　hoping　to　change

quickly　at　the　station　at　the　bottom　of　a　certain　wild　historical

glen；　when　these　eyes　did　with　mortification　see　the　landlord　come

out　with　a　telescope　and　sweep　the　whole　prospect　for　the　horses；

which　horses　were　away　picking　up　their　own　living；　and　did　not

heave　in　sight　under　four　hours。　　Having　thought　of　the　loch…trout；

I　was　taken　by　quick　association　to　the　Anglers'　Inns　of　England　（I

have　assisted　at　innumerable　feats　of　angling　by　lying　in　the　bottom

of　the　boat；　whole　summer　days；　doing　nothing　with　the　greatest

perseverance；　which　I　have　generally　found　to　be　as　effectual

towards　the　taking　of　fish　as　the　finest　tackle　and　the　utmost

science）；　and　to　the　pleasant　white；　clean；　flower…pot…decorated

bedrooms　of　those　inns；　overlooking　the　river；　and　the　ferry；　and

the　green　ait；　and　the　church…spire；　and　the　country　bridge；　and　to

the　pearless　Emma　with　the　bright　eyes　and　the　pretty　smile；　who

waited；　bless　her！　with　a　natural　grace　that　would　have　converted

Blue…Beard。　　Casting　my　eyes　upon　my　Holly…Tree　fire；　I　next

discerned　among　the　glowing　coals　the　pictures　of　a　score　or　more　of

those　wonderful　English　posting…inns　which　we　are　all　so　sorry　to

have　lost；　which　were　so　large　and　so　comfortable；　and　which　were

such　monuments　of　British　submission　to　rapacity　and　extortion。　　He

who　would　see　these　houses　pining　away；　let　him　walk　from

Basingstoke；　or　even　Windsor；　to　London；　by　way　of　Hounslow；　and

moralise　on　their　perishing　remains；　the　stables　crumbling　to　dust；

unsettled　labourers　and　wanderers　bivouacking　in　the　outhouses；

grass　growing　in　the　yards；　the　rooms；　where　erst　so　many　hundred

beds　of　down　were　made　up；　let　off　to　Irish　lodgers　at　eighteenpence

a　week；　a　little　ill…looking　beer…shop　shrinking　in　the　tap　of

former　days；　burning　coach…house　gates　for　firewood；　having　one　of

its　two　windows　bunged　up；　as　if　it　had　received　punishment　in　a

fight　with　the　Railroad；　a　low；　bandy…legged；　brick…making　bulldog

standing　in　the　doorway。　　What　could　I　next　see　in　my　fire　so

naturally　as　the　new　railway…house　of　these　times　near　the　dismal

country　station；　with　nothing　particular　on　draught　but　cold　air　and

damp；　nothing　worth　mentioning　in　the　larder　but　new　mortar；　and　no

business　doing　beyond　a　conceited　affectation　of　luggage　in　the

hall？　　Then　I　came　to　the　Inns　of　Paris；　with　the　pretty　apartment

of　four　pieces　up　one　hundred　and　seventy…five　waxed　stairs；　the

privilege　of　ringing　the　bell　all　day　long　without　influencing

anybody's　mind　or　body　but　your　own；　and　the　not…too…much…for…

dinner；　considering　the　price。　　Next　to　the　provincial　Inns　of

France；　with　the　great　church…tower　rising　above　the　courtyard；　the

horse…bells　jingling　merrily　up　and　down　the　street　beyond；　and　the

clocks　of　all　descriptions　in　all　the　rooms；　which　are　never　right；

unless　taken　at　the　precise　minute　when；　by　getting　exactly　twelve

hours　too　fast　or　too　slow；　they　unintentionally　become　so。　　Away　I

went；　next；　to　the　lesser　roadside　Inns　of　Italy；　where　all　the

dirty　clothes　in　the　house　（not　in　wear）　are　always　lying　in　your

anteroom；　where　the　mosquitoes　make　a　raisin　pudding　of　your　face　in

summer；　and　the　cold　bites　it　blue　in　winter；　where　you　get　what　you

can；　and　forget　what　you　can't：　　where　I　should　again　like　to　be

boiling　my　tea　in　a　pocket…handkerchief　dumpling；　for　want　of　a

teapot。　　So　to　the　old　palace　Inns　and　old　monastery　Inns；　in　towns

and　cities　of　the　same　bright　country；　with　their　massive

quadrangular　staircases；　whence　you　may　look　from　among　clustering

pillars　high　into　the　blue　vault　of　heaven；　with　their　stately

banqueting…rooms；　and　vast　refectories；　with　their　labyrinths　of

ghostly　bedchambers；　and　their　glimpses　into　gorgeous　streets　that

have　no　appearance　of　reality　or　possibility。　　So　to　the　close

little　Inns　of　the　Malaria　districts；　with　their　pale　attendants；

and　their　peculiar　smell　of　never　letting　in　the　air。　　So　to　the

immense　fantastic　Inns　of　Venice；　with　the　cry　of　the　gondolier

below；　as　he　skims　the　corner；　the　grip　of　the　watery　odours　on　one

particular　little　bit　of　the　bridge　of　your　nose　（which　is　never

released　while　you　stay　there）；　and　the　great　bell　of　St。　Mark's

Cathedral　tolling　midnight。　　Next　I　put　up　for　a　minute　at　the

restless　Inns　upon　the　Rhine；　where　your　going　to　bed；　no　matter　at

what　hour；　appears　to　be　the　tocsin　for　everybody　else's　getting　up；

and　where；　in　the　table…d'hote　room　at　the　end　of　the　long　table

（with　several　Towers　of　Babel　on　it　at　the　other　end；　all　made　of

white　plates）；　one　knot　of　stoutish　men；　entirely　dressed　in　jewels

and　dirt；　and　having　nothing　else　upon　them；　will　remain　all　night；

clinki