lavengro-第62章

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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？



A　truly　singular　man　was　this　same　Colonel　B…；　of　Londonderry　in　

Ireland；　a　personage　of　most　strange　and　incredible　feats　and　

daring；　who　had　been　a　partizan　soldier；　a　bravo　…　who；　assisted　by　

certain　discontented　troopers；　nearly　succeeded　in　stealing　the　

crown　and　regalia　from　the　Tower　of　London；　who　attempted　to　hang　

the　Duke　of　Ormond　at　Tyburn；　and　whose　strange；　eventful　career　

did　not　terminate　even　with　his　life；　his　dead　body；　on　the　

circulation　of　an　unfounded　report　that　he　did　not　come　to　his　

death　by　fair　means；　having　been　exhumed　by　the　mob　of　his　native　

place；　where　he　had　retired　to　die；　and　carried　in　the　coffin　

through　the　streets。



Of　his　life　I　had　inserted　an　account　in　the　NEWGATE　LIVES　AND　

TRIALS；　it　was　bare　and　meagre；　and　written　in　the　stiff；　awkward　

style　of　the　seventeenth　century；　it　had；　however；　strongly　

captivated　my　imagination；　and　I　now　thought　that　out　of　it　

something　better　could　be　made；　that；　if　I　added　to　the　adventures；　

and　purified　the　style；　I　might　fashion　out　of　it　a　very　decent　

tale　or　novel。　　On　a　sudden；　however；　the　proverb　of　mending　old　

garments　with　new　cloth　occurred　to　me。　　'I　am　afraid；'　said　I；　

'any　new　adventures　which　I　can　invent　will　not　fadge　well　with　the　

old　tale；　one　will　but　spoil　the　other。'　　I　had　better　have　nothing　

to　do　with　Colonel　B…；　thought　I；　but　boldly　and　independently　sit　

down　and　write　the　life　of　Joseph　Sell。



This　Joseph　Sell；　dear　reader；　was　a　fictitious　personage　who　had　

just　come　into　my　head。　　I　had　never　even　heard　of　the　name；　but　

just　at　that　moment　it　happened　to　come　into　my　head；　I　would　write　

an　entirely　fictitious　narrative；　called　the　LIFE　AND　ADVENTURES　OF　

JOSEPH　SELL；　the　great　traveller。



I　had　better　begin　at　once；　thought　I；　and　removing　the　bread　and　

the　jug；　which　latter　was　now　empty；　I　seized　pen　and　paper；　and　

forthwith　essayed　to　write　the　life　of　Joseph　Sell；　but　soon　

discovered　that　it　is　much　easier　to　resolve　upon　a　thing　than　to　

achieve　it；　or　even　to　commence　it；　for　the　life　of　me　I　did　not　

know　how　to　begin；　and；　after　trying　in　vain　to　write　a　line；　I　

thought　it　would　be　as　well　to　go　to　bed；　and　defer　my　projected　

undertaking　till　the　morrow。



So　I　went　to　bed；　but　not　to　sleep。　　During　the　greater　part　of　the　

night　I　lay　awake；　musing　upon　the　work　which　I　had　determined　to　

execute。　　For　a　long　time　my　brain　was　dry　and　unproductive；　I　

could　form　no　plan　which　appeared　feasible。　　At　length　I　felt　

within　my　brain　a　kindly　glow；　it　was　the　commencement　of　

inspiration；　in　a　few　minutes　I　had　formed　my　plan；　I　then　began　to　

imagine　the　scenes　and　the　incidents。　　Scenes　and　incidents　flitted　

before　my　mind's　eye　so　plentifully；　that　I　knew　not　how　to　dispose　

of　them；　I　was　in　a　regular　embarrassment。　　At　length　I　got　out　of　

the　difficulty　in　the　easiest　manner　imaginable；　namely；　by　

consigning　to　the　depths　of　oblivion　all　the　feebler　and　less　

stimulant　scenes　and　incidents；　and　retaining　the　better　and　more　

impressive　ones。　　Before　morning　I　had　sketched　the　whole　work　on　

the　tablets　of　my　mind；　and　then　resigned　myself　to　sleep　in　the　

pleasing　conviction　that　the　most　difficult　part　of　my　undertaking　

was　achieved。







CHAPTER　LVI







Considerably　sobered　…　Power　of　writing　…　The　tempter　…　Hungry　

talent　…　Work　concluded。



RATHER　late　in　the　morning　I　awoke；　for　a　few　minutes　I　lay　still；　

perfectly　still；　my　imagination　was　considerably　sobered；　the　

scenes　and　situations　which　had　pleased　me　so　much　over　night　

appeared　to　me　in　a　far　less　captivating　guise　that　morning。　　I　

felt　languid　and　almost　hopeless　…　the　thought；　however；　of　my　

situation　soon　roused　me　…　I　must　make　an　effort　to　improve　the　

posture　of　my　affairs；　there　was　no　time　to　be　lost；　so　I　sprang　

out　of　bed；　breakfasted　on　bread　and　water；　and　then　sat　down　

doggedly　to　write　the　life　of　Joseph　Sell。



It　was　a　great　thing　to　have　formed　my　plan；　and　to　have　arranged　

the　scenes　in　my　head；　as　I　had　done　on　the　preceding　night。　　The　

chief　thing　requisite　at　present　was　the　mere　mechanical　act　of　

committing　them　to　paper。　　This　I　did　not　find　at　first　so　easy　as　

I　could　wish　…　I　wanted　mechanical　skill；　but　I　persevered；　and　

before　evening　I　had　written　ten　pages。　　I　partook　of　some　bread　

and　water；　and　before　I　went　to　bed　that　night；　I　had　completed　

fifteen　pages　of　my　life　of　Joseph　Sell。



The　next　day　I　resumed　my　task　…　I　found　my　power　of　writing　

considerably　increased；　my　pen　hurried　rapidly　over　the　paper　…　my　

brain　was　in　a　wonderfully　teeming　state；　many　scenes　and　visions　

which　I　had　not　thought　of　before　were　evolved；　and；　as　fast　as　

evolved；　written　down；　they　seemed　to　be　more　pat　to　my　purpose；　

and　more　natural　to　my　history；　than　many　others　which　I　had　

imagined　before；　and　which　I　made　now　give　place　to　these　newer　

creations：　　by　about　midnight　I　had　added　thirty　fresh　pages　to　my　

LIFE　AND　ADVENTURES　OF　JOSEPH　SELL。



The　third　day　arose　…　it　was　dark　and　dreary　out　of　doors；　and　I　

passed　it　drearily　enough　within；　my　brain　appeared　to　have　lost　

much　of　its　former　glow；　and　my　pen　much　of　its　power；　I；　however；　

toiled　on；　but　at　midnight　had　only　added　seven　pages　to　my　history　

of　Joseph　Sell。



On　the　fourth　day　the　sun　shone　brightly　…　I　arose；　and；　having　

breakfasted　as　usual；　I　fell　to　work。　　My　brain　was　this　day　

wonderfully　prolific；　and　my　pen　never　before　or　since　glided　so　

rapidly　over　the　paper；　towards　night　I　began　to　feel　strangely　

about　the　back　part　of　my　head；　and　my　whole　system　was　

extraordinarily　affected。　　I　likewise　occasionally　saw　double　…　a　

tempter　now　seemed　to　be　at　work　within　me。



'You　had　better　leave　off　now　for　a　short　space；'　said　the　tempter；　

'and　go　out　and　drink　a　pint　of　beer；　you　have　still　one　shilling　

left　…　if　you　go　on　at　this　rate；　you　will　go　mad　…　go　out　and　

spend　sixpence；　you　can　afford　it；　more　than　half　your　work　is　

done。'　　I　was　about　to　obey　the　suggestion　of　the　tempter；　when　the　

idea　struck　me　that；　if　I　did　not　complete　the　work　whilst　the　fit　

was　on　me；　I　should　never　complete　it；　so　I　held　on。　I　am　almost　

afraid　to　state　how　many　pages　I　wrote　that　day　of　the　life　of　

Joseph　Sell。



　From　this　time　I　proceeded　in　a　somewhat　more　leisurely　manner；　

but；　as　I　drew　nearer　and　nearer　to　the　completion　of　my　task；　

dreadful　fears　and　despondencies　came　over　me。　…　It　will　be　too　

late；　thought　I；　by　the　time　I　have　finished　the　work；　the　

bookseller　will　have　been　supplied　with　a　tale　or　a　novel。　　Is　it　

probable　that；　in　a　town　like　this；　where　talent　is　so　abundant　…　

hungry　talent　too　…　a　bookseller　can　advertise　for　a　tale　or　a　

novel；　without　being　supplied　with　half　a　dozen　in　twenty…four　

hours？　　I　may　as　well　fling　do