Henry Brocken

  IX

  _A ... shop of rarities._

  --GEORGE HERBERT.

  A little before darkness fell we struck into a narrow road traversingthe wood. This, though apparently not much frequented, would at leastlead me into lands inhabited, so turning my face to the West, that Imight have light to survey as long as any gleamed in the sky, Itrudged on. But I went slow enough: Rosinante was lame; I like astranger to my body, it was so bruised and tumbled.

  The night was black, and a thin rain falling when at last I emergedfrom the interminable maze of lanes into which the wood-road had ledme. And glad I was to descry what seemed by the many lights shiningfrom its windows to be a populous village. A gay village also, forsong came wafted on the night air, rustic and convivial.

  Hereabouts I overtook a figure on foot, who, when I addressed him,turned on me as sharply as if he supposed the elms above him werethick with robbers, or that mine was a voice out of the unearthlyhailing him.

  I asked him the name of the village we were approaching. With smalldark eyes searching my face in the black shadow of night, he answeredin a voice so strange and guttural that I failed to understand a word.He shook his fingers in the air; pointed with the cudgel he carriedunder his arm now to the gloom behind us, now to the homely galaxybefore us, and gabbled on so fast and so earnestly that I began tosuppose he was a little crazed.

  One word, however, I caught at last from all this jargon, and thatoften repeated with a little bow to me, and an uneasy smile on hiswhite face--"Mishrush, Mishrush!" But whether by this he meant toconvey to me his habitual mood, or his own name, I did not learn tillafterwards. I stopped in the heavy road and raised my hand.

  "An inn," I cried in his ear, "I want lodging, supper--a tavern, aninn!" as if addressing a child or a natural.

  He began gesticulating again, evidently vain of having fullyunderstood me. Indeed, he twisted his little head upon his shouldersto observe Rosinante gauntly labouring on. "'Ame!--'ame!" he criedwith a great effort.

  I nodded.

  "Ah!" he cried piteously.

  He led me, after a few minutes' journey, into the cobbled yard of abright-painted inn, on whose signboard a rising sun glimmered faintlygold, and these letters standing close above it--"The World's End."

  Mr. "Mishrush" seemed not a little relieved at nearing company afterhis lonely walk; triumphant, too, at having guided me hither socunningly. He lifted his nimble cudgel in the air and waved itconceitedly to and fro in time to the song that rose beyond thewindow. "Fau'ow er Wur'!--Fau'ow er Wur'!" he cried delightedly againand again in my ear, eager apparently for my approval. So we stood,then, beneath the starless sky, listening to the rich _choragium_ ofthe "World's End." They sang in unison, sang with a kind of forlornheat and enthusiasm. And when the song was ended, and the roar ofapplause over, Night, like a darkened water whelmed silently in,engulfed it to the echo:

  Follow the World-- She bursts the grape, And dandles man In her green lap; She moulds her Creature From the clay, And crumbles him To dust away: Follow the World!

  One Draught, one Feast, One Wench, one Tomb; And thou must straight To ashes come: Drink, eat, and sleep; Why fret and pine? Death can but snatch What ne'er was thine: Follow the World!

  It died away, I say, and an ostler softly appeared out of the shadow.Into his charge, then, I surrendered Rosinante, and followed myinarticulate acquaintance into the noise and heat and lustre of theInn.

  It was a numerous company there assembled. But their voices fell to aman on the entry of a stranger. They scrutinised me, not uncivilly,but closely, seeking my badge, as it were by which to recognise andjudge me ever after.

  Mr. Mistrust, as I presently discovered my guide's name indeed to be,was volubly explaining how I came into his company. They listenedintently to what, so far as I could gather, might be Houyhnhnmish orDouble-Dutch. And then, as if to show me to my place forthwith, agreat fleshy fellow that sat close beside the hearth this summerevening continued in a loud voice the conversation I had interrupted.

  Whereupon Mr. Mistrust with no little confidence commended me in dumbshow to the landlady of the Inn, a Mrs. Nature, if I understood himaright. This person was still comely, though of uncertain age, worecherry ribbons, smiled rather vacantly from vague, wonderful,indescribable eyes that seemed to change colour, like the chameleon,according to that they dwelt on.

  I am afraid, as much to my amusement as wonder, I discovered that thislandlady of so much apparent _bonhomie_ was a deaf-mute. If victuals,or drink, or bed were required, one must chalk it down on a littleslate she carried at her girdle for the purpose. Indeed, the absenceof two of her three chief senses had marvellously sharpened theremaining one. Her eyes were on all, vaguely dwelling, lightly gone,inscrutable, strangely fascinating. She moved easily and soundlessly(as fat women may), and I doubt if ever mug or pot of any of thattalkative throng remained long empty, except at the tippler'sreiterated request.

  She laid before me an excellent supper on a little table somewhatremoved beside a curtained window. And while I ate I watched, andlistened, not at all displeased with my entertainment.

  The room in which we sat was low-ceiled and cheerful, but ratherclose after the rainy night-air. Gay pictures beautified the walls.Here a bottle, a cheese, grapes, a hare, a goblet--in a clear brownlight that made the guest's mouth water to admire. Here a finegentleman toasting a simpering chambermaid. Above the chimney-piece abloated old man in vineleaves that might be Silenus. And over againstthe door of the parlour what I took to be a picture of Potiphar's wife,she looked out of the paint so bold and beauteous and craftily. Birdsand fishes in cases stared glassily,--owl and kestrel, jack and eeland gudgeon. All was clean and comfortable as a hospitable inn can be.

  But they who frequented it interested me much more--as various andanimated a gathering as any I have seen. Yet in some peculiar mannerthey seemed one and all not to the last tittle quite of this world.They were, so to speak, more earthy, too definite, too true to themould, like figures in a bleak, bright light viewed out of darkness.Certainly not one of them was at first blush prepossessing. Yet whofinds much amiss with the fox at last, though all he seems to have becunning?

  Near beside me, however, sat retired a man a little younger and moreat his ease than most of the many there, and as busy with his eyes andears as I. His name, I learned presently, was Reverie; and from him Igathered not a little information regarding the persons who talked andsipped around us.

  He told me at whiles that his house was not in the village, but in avalley some few miles distant across the meadows; that he sat outthese bouts of argument and slander for the sheer delight he had ingathering the myriad strands of that strange rope Opinion; that helived (heart, soul, and hope) well-nigh alone; that he deeplymistrusted this place, and the company we were in, yet not for itsmistress's sake, who was at least faithful to her instincts, candid tothe candid, made no favourites, and, eventually, compelled order. Hetold me also that if friends he had, he deemed it wiser not to namethem, since the least sibilant of the sound of the voice incites totreachery; and in conclusion, that of all men he was acquainted with,one at least never failed to right his humour; and that one was yonderflabby, pallid fellow with the velvet collar to his coat, and therings on his fingers, and the gold hair, named Pliable, who sat besideMr. Stubborn on the settle by the fire.

  When, then, I had finished my supper, I drew in my chair a littlecloser to Mr. Reverie's and, having scribbled my wants on theLandlady's slate, turned my attention to the talk.

  At the moment when I first began to listen attentively they seemed tobe in heated dispute concerning the personal property of a certain Mr.Christian, who was either dead or had inexplicably disappeared. Mr.Obstinate, I gathered, had taken as his right this Christian's"easy-chair"; a gentleman named Smoothman most of his other goods fora debt; while a Parson Decorum had appropriated as heretical hisbooks and various peculiar MSS.

&nbs
p; But there now remained in question a trifling sum of money which a Mr.Liar loudly demanded in payment of an "affair of honour." This,however, he seemed little likely to obtain, seeing that an elderlyuncle by marriage of Christian's, whose name was Office, was as eagerand affable and frank about the sum as he was bent on keeping it; andrattled the contents of his breeches' pocket in sheer bravado of hismeans to go to law for it.

  "He left a bare pittance, the merest pittance," he said. "What couldthere be of any account? Christian despised money, professed todespise it. That alone would prove my wretched nephew queer in thehead--despised _money_!

  "Tush, friend!" cried Obstinate from his corner. "Whether the money isyours, or neighbour Liar's--and it is as likely as not neither's--thattalk about despising money's what but a silly lie? 'Twas all sourgrapes--sour grapes. He had cunning enough for envy, and pride enoughfor shame; and at last there was naught but cunning left wherewith topatch up a clout for him and his shame to be gone in. I watched himset out on his pestilent pilgrimage, crazed and stubborn, and not agroat to call his own."

  "Yet I have heard say he came of a moneyed stock," said Pliable. "TheSects of Privy Opinion were rare wealthy people, and they, so 'tissaid, were his kinsmen. Truth is, for aught I know, Christian musthave been in some degree a very liberal rascal, with all his faults."He tittered.

  "Oh! he was liberal enough," said Mr. Malice suavely: "why, even onsetting out, he emptied his wife's purse into a blind beggar'shat!--his that used to bleat, 'Cast thy bread--cast thy bread upon thewaters!' whensoever he spied Christian stepping along the street. Theysay," he added, burying his clever face in his mug, "the HeavenlyJerusalem lieth down by the weir."

  "But we must not contemn a man for his poverty, neighbours," saidLiar, gravely composing his hairless face. "Christian's was acharacter of beautiful simplicity--beautiful! _How_ many ricketychildren did he leave behind him?"

  A shrill voice called somewhat I could not quite distinguish, for atthat moment a youth rose abruptly near by, and went hastily out.

  Obstinate stared roundly. "Thou hast a piercing voice, friend Liar!"

  "I did but seek the truth," said Liar.

  "But whether or no, Christian believed in it--verily he seemed tobelieve in it. Was it not so, neighbour Obstinate?" enquired Pliable,stroking his leg.

  "Believed in what, my friend?" said Obstinate, in a dull voice.

  "About Mount Zion, and the Crowns of Glory, and the Harps of Gold, andsuch like," said Pliable uneasily--"at least, it is said so; so 'tis said."

  "Believed!" retorted a smooth young man who seemed to feel the heat,and sat by the staircase door. "That's an easy task--to believe, sir.Ask any pretty minikin!"

  "And I'd make bold to enquire of yonder Liveloose," said a thick,monotonous voice (a Mr. Dull's, so Reverie informed me), "if mebbe hebe referring to one of his own, or that fellow Sloth's devilish fairytales? I know one yet he'll eat again some day."

  At which remark all laughed consumedly, save Dull.

  "Well, one thing Christian had, and none can deny it," said Pliable, alittle hotly, "and that was Imagination? _I_ shan't forget the taleshe was wont to tell: what say you, Superstition?"

  Mr. Superstition lifted dark, rather vacant eyes on Pliable. "Yes,yes," he said: "Flame, and sigh, and lamentation. My God, my God,gentlemen!"

  "Oo-ay, Oo-ay," yelped the voice of Mistrust, startled out of silence.

  "Oo-ay," whistled Malice, under his breath.

  "Tush, tush!" broke in Obstinate again, and snapped his fingers in theair. "And what is this precious Imagination? Whither doth it conduct aman, but to beggary, infamy, and the mad-house? Look ye to it, friendPliable! 'Tis a devouring flame; give it but wind and leisure, thefairest house is ashes."

  "Ashes; ashes!" mocked one called Cruelty, who had more than oncetaken my attention with his peculiar contortions--"talking of ashes,what of Love-the-log Faithful, Master Tongue-stump? What ofLove-the-log Faithful?"

  At which Liveloose was so extremely amused, the tears stood in hiseyes for laughing.

  I looked round for Mistrust, and easily recognised my friend by hishare-like face, and the rage in his little active eyes. Butunfortunately, as I turned to enquire somewhat of Reverie, Liveloosesuddenly paused in his merriment with open mouth; and the wholecompany heard my question, "But who was Love-the-log Faithful?"

  I was at once again the centre of attention, and Mr. Obstinate rosevery laboriously from his settle and held out a great hand to me.

  "I'm pleased to meet thee," he said, with a heavy bow. "There's a dearheart with my good neighbour Superstition yonder who will present avery fair account of that misguided young man. Madam Wanton, here's ayoung gentleman that never heard tell of our old friend Love-the-log."

  A shrill peal of laughter greeted this sally.

  "Why, Faithful was a young gentleman, sir," explained the womancivilly enough, "who preferred his supper hot."

  "Oh, Madam Wanton, my dear, my dear!" cried a long-nosed woman nearlyhelpless with amusement.

  I saw Superstition gazing darkly at me. He shook his head as I wasabout to reply, so I changed my retort. "Who, then, was Mr.Christian?" I enquired simply.

  At that the house shook with the roar of laughter that went up.