Chapter 45
bought and exchanged—quite
empty—a new firm—bibles—countenance of a lion—clap of thunder—lost it—clearly a
right—goddess of the mint
In pursuance of my promise to the old woman, I set
about procuring her a Bible with all convenient speed, placing the book which
she had entrusted to me for the purpose of exchange in my pocket. I went to
several shops, and asked if Bibles were to be had: I found that there were
plenty. When, however, I informed the people that I came to barter, they looked
blank, and declined treating with me; saying that they did not do business in
that way. At last I went into a shop over the window of which I saw written,
'Books bought and exchanged': there was a smartish young fellow in the shop,
with black hair and whiskers; 'You exchange?' said I. 'Yes,' said he,
'sometimes, but we prefer selling; what book do you want?' 'A Bible,' said I.
'Ah,' said he, 'there's a great demand for Bibles just now; all kinds of people
are become very pious of late,' he added, grinning at me; 'I am afraid I can't
do business with you, more especially as the master is not at home. What book
have you brought?' Taking the book out of my pocket, I placed it on the
counter: the young fellow opened the book, and inspecting the title-page, burst
into a loud laugh. 'What do you laugh for?' said I angrily, and half clenching
my fist. 'Laugh!' said the young fellow; 'laugh! who could help laughing?' 'I
could,' said I; 'I see nothing to laugh at; I want to exchange this book for a
Bible.' 'You do?' said the young fellow; 'well, I daresay there are plenty who
would be willing to exchange, that is, if they dared. I wish master were at
home; but that would never do, either. Master's a family man, the Bibles are
not mine, and master being a family man, is sharp, and knows all his stock; I'd
buy it of you, but, to tell you the truth, I am quite empty here,' said he,
pointing to his pocket, 'so I am afraid we can't deal.'
Whereupon, looking anxiously at the young man,
'What am I to do?' said I; 'I really want a Bible.'
'Can't you buy one?' said the young man; 'have you
no money?'
'Yes,' said I, 'I have some, but I am merely the
agent of another; I came to exchange, not to buy; what am I to do?'
'I don't know,' said the young man, thoughtfully
laying down the book on the counter; 'I don't know what you can do; I think you
will find some difficulty in this bartering job, the trade are rather precise.'
All at once he laughed louder than before; suddenly stopping, however, he put
on a very grave look. 'Take my advice,' said he; 'there is a firm established
in this neighbourhood which scarcely sells any books but Bibles; they are very
rich, and pride themselves on selling their books at the lowest possible price;
apply to them, who knows but what they will exchange with you?'
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 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 entrusted
me with the book? She will certainly think that I have purloined it,
notwithstanding all 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.
'Oh, 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 the 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 46
the pickpocket—strange
rencounter—drag him along—a great service—things of importance—philological
matters—a mother of languages
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 greatcoat, 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 encounters. 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 greatcoat. '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 shan'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 that 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?'