Lavengro

lavengro - George Borrow:Lavengro

Several causes–Frogs and eftes–Gloom and twilight–What should I
do?–’Our Father’–Fellow-men–What a mercy!–Almost calm–Fresh
store–History of Saul–Pitch dark.

Heaviness had suddenly come over me, heaviness of heart, and of
body also. I had accomplished the task which I had imposed upon
myself, and now that nothing more remained to do, my energies
suddenly deserted me, and I felt without strength, and without
hope. Several causes, perhaps, co-operated to bring about the
state in which I then felt myself. It is not improbable that my
energies had been overstrained during the work the progress of
which I have attempted to describe; and every one is aware that the
results of overstrained energies are feebleness and lassitude–want
of nourishment might likewise have something to do with it. During
my sojourn in the dingle, my food had been of the simplest and most
unsatisfying description, by no means calculated to support the
exertion which the labour I had been engaged upon required; it had
consisted of coarse oaten cakes and hard cheese, and for beverage I
had been indebted to a neighbouring pit, in which, in the heat of
the day, I frequently saw, not golden or silver fish, but frogs and
eftes swimming about. I am, however, inclined to believe that Mrs.
Herne’s cake had quite as much to do with the matter as
insufficient nourishment. I had never entirely recovered from the
effects of its poison, but had occasionally, especially at night,
been visited by a grinding pain in the stomach, and my whole body
had been suffused with cold sweat; and indeed these memorials of
the drow have never entirely disappeared–even at the present time
they display themselves in my system, especially after much fatigue
of body and excitement of mind.

So there I sat in the dingle upon
my stone, nerveless and hopeless, by whatever cause or causes that
state had been produced–there I sat with my head leaning upon my
hand, and so I continued a long, long time. At last I lifted my
head from my hand, and began to cast anxious, unquiet looks about
the dingle–the entire hollow was now enveloped in deep shade–I
cast my eyes up; there was a golden gleam on the tops of the trees
which grew towards the upper parts of the dingle; but lower down
all was gloom and twilight–yet, when I first sat down on my stone,
the sun was right above the dingle, illuminating all its depths by
the rays which it cast perpendicularly down–so I must have sat a
long, long time upon my stone. And now, once more, I rested my
head upon my hand, but almost instantly lifted it again in a kind
of fear, and began looking at the objects before me–the forge, the
tools, the branches of the trees, endeavouring to follow their
rows, till they were lost in the darkness of the dingle; and now I
found my right hand grasping convulsively the three fore-fingers of
the left, first collectively, and then successively, wringing them
till the joints cracked; then I became quiet, but not for long.

Suddenly I started up, and could scarcely repress the shriek which
was rising to my lips. Was it possible? Yes, all too certain; the
evil one was upon me; the inscrutable horror which I had felt in my
boyhood had once more taken possession of me. I had thought that
it had forsaken me–that it would never visit me again; that I had
outgrown it; that I might almost bid defiance to it; and I had even
begun to think of it without horror, as we are in the habit of
doing of horrors of which we conceive we run no danger; and lo!
when least thought of, it had seized me again. Every moment I felt
it gathering force, and making me more wholly its own. What should
I do?–resist, of course; and I did resist. I grasped, I tore, and
strove to fling it from me; but of what avail were my efforts? I
could only have got rid of it by getting rid of myself: it was a
part of myself, or rather it was all myself. I rushed amongst the
trees, and struck at them with my bare fists, and dashed my head
against them, but I felt no pain. How could I feel pain with that
horror upon me? And then I flung myself on the ground, gnawed the
earth, and swallowed it; and then I looked round; it was almost
total darkness in the dingle, and the darkness added to my horror.
I could no longer stay there; up I rose from the ground, and
attempted to escape. At the bottom of the winding path which led
up the acclivity I fell over something which was lying on the
ground; the something moved, and gave a kind of whine. It was my
little horse, which had made that place its lair; my little horse;
my only companion and friend in that now awful solitude. I reached
the mouth of the dingle; the sun was just sinking in the far west
behind me, the fields were flooded with his last gleams. How
beautiful everything looked in the last gleams of the sun! I felt
relieved for a moment; I was no longer in the horrid dingle. In
another minute the sun was gone, and a big cloud occupied the place
where he had been: in a little time it was almost as dark as it
had previously been in the open part of the dingle. My horror
increased; what was I to do?–it was of no use fighting against the
horror–that I saw; the more I fought against it, the stronger it
became. What should I do: say my prayers? Ah! why not? So I
knelt down under the hedge, and said, ‘Our Father’; but that was of
no use; and now I could no longer repress cries–the horror was too
great to be borne. What should I do? run to the nearest town or
village, and request the assistance of my fellow-men? No! that I
was ashamed to do; notwithstanding the horror was upon me, I was
ashamed to do that. I knew they would consider me a maniac, if I
went screaming amongst them; and I did not wish to be considered a
maniac. Moreover, I knew that I was not a maniac, for I possessed
all my reasoning powers, only the horror was upon me–the screaming
horror! But how were indifferent people to distinguish between
madness and the screaming horror? So I thought and reasoned; and
at last I determined not to go amongst my fellow-men, whatever the
result might be. I went to the mouth of the dingle, and there,
placing myself on my knees, I again said the Lord’s Prayer; but it
was of no use–praying seemed to have no effect over the horror;
the unutterable fear appeared rather to increase than diminish, and
I again uttered wild cries, so loud that I was apprehensive they
would be heard by some chance passenger on the neighbouring road; I
therefore went deeper into the dingle. I sat down with my back
against a thorn bush; the thorns entered my flesh, and when I felt
them, I pressed harder against the bush; I thought the pain of the
flesh might in some degree counteract the mental agony; presently I
felt them no longer–the power of the mental horror was so great
that it was impossible, with that upon me, to feel any pain from
the thorns. I continued in this posture a long time, undergoing
what I cannot describe, and would not attempt if I were able.
Several times I was on the point of starting up and rushing
anywhere; but I restrained myself, for I knew I could not escape
from myself, so why should I not remain in the dingle? So I
thought and said to myself, for my reasoning powers were still
uninjured. At last it appeared to me that the horror was not so
strong, not quite so strong, upon me. Was it possible that it was
relaxing its grasp, releasing its prey? Oh what a mercy! but it
could not be; and yet–I looked up to heaven, and clasped my hands,
and said, ‘Our Father.’ I said no more–I was too agitated; and
now I was almost sure that the horror had done its worst.

After a little time I arose, and staggered down yet farther into
the dingle. I again found my little horse on the same spot as
before. I put my hand to his mouth–he licked my hand. I flung
myself down by him, and put my arms round his neck; the creature
whinnied, and appeared to sympathise with me. What a comfort to
have any one, even a dumb brute, to sympathise with me at such a
moment! I clung to my little horse, as if for safety and
protection. I laid my head on his neck, and felt almost calm.
Presently the fear returned, but not so wild as before; it
subsided, came again, again subsided; then drowsiness came over me,
and at last I fell asleep, my head supported on the neck of the
little horse. I awoke; it was dark, dark night–not a star was to
be seen–but I felt no fear, the horror had left me. I arose from
the side of the little horse, and went into my tent, lay down, and
again went to sleep.

I awoke in the morning weak and sore, and shuddering at the
remembrance of what I had gone through on the preceding day; the
sun was shining brightly, but it had not yet risen high enough to
show its head above the trees which fenced the eastern side of the
dingle, on which account the dingle was wet and dank from the dews
of the night. I kindled my fire, and, after sitting by it for some
time to warm my frame, I took some of the coarse food which I have
already mentioned; notwithstanding my late struggle, and the
coarseness of the fare, I ate with appetite. My provisions had by
this time been very much diminished, and I saw that it would be
speedily necessary, in the event of my continuing to reside in the
dingle, to lay in a fresh store. After my meal, I went to the pit
and filled a can with water, which I brought to the dingle, and
then again sat down on my stone. I considered what I should next
do: it was necessary to do something, or my life in this solitude
would be insupportable. What should I do? rouse up my forge and
fashion a horse-shoe? But I wanted nerve and heart for such an
employment; moreover, I had no motive for fatiguing myself in this
manner; my own horse was shod, no other was at hand, and it is hard
to work for the sake of working. What should I do? read? Yes, but
I had no other book than the Bible which the Welsh Methodist had
given me. Well, why not read the Bible? I was once fond of reading
the Bible; ay, but those days were long gone by. However, I did
not see what else I could well do on the present occasion–so I
determined to read the Bible–it was in Welsh; at any rate it might
amuse me. So I took the Bible out of the sack, in which it was
lying in the cart, and began to read at the place where I chanced
to open it. I opened it at that part where the history of Saul
commences. At first I read with indifference, but after some time
my attention was riveted, and no wonder, I had come to the
visitations of Saul–those dark moments of his, when he did and
said such unaccountable things; it almost appeared to me that I was
reading of myself; I, too, had my visitations, dark as ever his
were. Oh, how I sympathised with Saul, the tall dark man! I had
read his life before, but it had made no impression on me; it had
never occurred to me that I was like him; but I now sympathised
with Saul, for my own dark hour was but recently passed, and,
perhaps, would soon return again; the dark hour came frequently on
Saul.

Time wore away; I finished the book of Saul, and, closing the
volume, returned it to its place. I then returned to my seat on
the stone, and thought of what I had read, and what I had lately
undergone. All at once I thought I felt well-known sensations, a
cramping of the breast, and a tingling of the soles of the feet;
they were what I had felt on the preceding day–they were the
forerunners of the fear. I sat motionless on my stone, the
sensations passed away, and the fear came not. Darkness was now
coming again over the earth; the dingle was again in deep shade; I
roused the fire with the breath of the bellows, and sat looking at
the cheerful glow; it was cheering and comforting. My little horse
came now and lay down on the ground beside the forge; I was not
quite deserted. I again ate some of the coarse food, and drank
plentifully of the water which I had fetched in the morning. I
then put fresh fuel on the fire, and sat for a long time looking on
the blaze; I then went into my tent.

I awoke, on my own calculation, about midnight–it was pitch dark,
and there was much fear upon me.