NEW ACQUAINTANCE--WIRED CASES--BREAD AND WINE--ARMENIAN
COLONIES--LEARNING WITHOUT MONEY--WHAT A LANGUAGE--THE TIDE--YOUR
FOIBLE--LEARNING OF THE HAIKS--PRESSING INVITATION
Just as I was about to reply to the interrogation of my new-formed
acquaintance, a man with a dusky countenance, probably one of the
Lascars, or Mulattos, of whom the old woman had spoken, came up and
whispered to him, and with this man he presently departed, not however
before he had told me the place of his abode, and requested me to visit
him.
After the lapse of a few days, I called at the house which he had
indicated. It was situated in a dark and narrow street, in the heart of
the City, at no great distance from the Bank. I entered a counting-room,
in which a solitary clerk, with a foreign look, was writing. The
stranger was not at home; returning the next day, however, I met him at
the door as he was about to enter; he shook me warmly by the hand. 'I am
glad to see you,' said he, 'follow me, I was just thinking of you.' He
led me through the counting-room, to an apartment up a flight of stairs;
before ascending, however, he looked into the book in which the
foreign-visaged clerk was writing, and, seemingly not satisfied with the
manner in which he was executing his task, he gave him two or three
cuffs, telling him at the same time that he deserved crucifixion.
The apartment above stairs, to which he led me, was large, with three
windows, which opened upon the street. The walls were hung with wired
cases, apparently containing books. There was a table and two or three
chairs; but the principal article of furniture was a long sofa, extending
from the door by which we entered to the farther end of the apartment.
Seating himself upon the sofa, my new acquaintance motioned to me to sit
beside him, and then, looking me full in the face, repeated his former
inquiry. 'In the name of all that is wonderful, how came you to know
aught of my language?'
'There is nothing wonderful in that,' said I; 'we are at the commencement
of a philological age, every one studies languages; that is, every one
who is fit for nothing else; philology being the last resource of dulness
and ennui, I have got a little in advance of the throng, by mastering the
Armenian alphabet; but I foresee the time when every unmarriageable miss,
and desperate blockhead, will likewise have acquired the letter of
Mesroub, and will know the term for bread, in Armenian, and perhaps that
for wine.'
'Kini,' said my companion; and that and the other word put me in mind of
the duties of hospitality. 'Will you eat bread and drink wine with me?'
'Willingly,' said I. Whereupon my companion, unlocking a closet,
produced on a silver salver, a loaf of bread, with a silver-handled
knife, and wine in a silver flask, with cups of the same metal. 'I hope
you like my fare,' said he, after we had both eaten and drunk.
'I like your bread,' said I, 'for it is stale; I like not your wine, it
is sweet, and I hate sweet wine.'
'It is wine of Cyprus,' said my entertainer; and, when I found that it
was wine of Cyprus, I tasted it again, and the second taste pleased me
much better than the first, notwithstanding that I still thought it
somewhat sweet. 'So,' said I after a pause, looking at my companion,
'you are an Armenian.'
'Yes,' said he, 'an Armenian born in London, but not less an Armenian on
that account. My father was a native of Ispahan, one of the celebrated
Armenian colony which was established there shortly after the time of the
dreadful hunger, which drove the children of Haik in swarms from their
original country, and scattered them over most parts of the eastern and
western world. In Ispahan he passed the greater portion of his life,
following mercantile pursuits with considerable success. Certain
enemies, however, having accused him to the despot of the place, of using
seditious language, he was compelled to flee, leaving most of his
property behind. Travelling in the direction of the west, he came at
last to London, where he established himself, and where he eventually
died, leaving behind a large property and myself, his only child, the
fruit of a marriage with an Armenian Englishwoman, who did not survive my
birth more than three months.'
The Armenian then proceeded to tell me that he had carried on the
business of his father, which seemed to embrace most matters, from buying
silks of Lascars, to speculating in the funds, and that he had
considerably increased the property which his father had left him. He
candidly confessed that he was wonderfully fond of gold, and said there
was nothing like it for giving a person respectability and consideration
in the world: to which assertion I made no answer, being not exactly
prepared to contradict it.
And, when he had related to me his history, he expressed a desire to know
something more of myself, whereupon I gave him the outline of my history,
concluding with saying, 'I am now a poor author, or rather philologist,
upon the streets of London, possessed of many tongues, which I find of no
use in the world.'
'Learning without money is anything but desirable,' said the Armenian,
'as it unfits a man for humble occupations. It is true that it may
occasionally beget him friends; I confess to you that your understanding
something of my language weighs more with me than the service you
rendered me in rescuing my pocket-book the other day from the claws of
that scoundrel whom I yet hope to see hanged, if not crucified,
notwithstanding there were in that pocket-book papers and documents of
considerable value. Yes, that circumstance makes my heart warm towards
you, for I am proud of my language--as I indeed well may be--what a
language, noble and energetic! quite original, differing from all others
both in words and structure.'
'You are mistaken,' said I; 'many languages resemble the Armenian both in
structure and words.'
'For example?' said the Armenian.
'For example,' said I, 'the English.'
'The English!' said the Armenian; 'show me one word in which the English
resembles the Armenian.'
'You walk on London Bridge,' said I.
'Yes,' said the Armenian.
'I saw you look over the balustrade the other morning.'
'True,' said the Armenian.
'Well, what did you see rushing up through the arches with noise and
foam?'
'What was it?' said the Armenian. 'What was it?--you don't mean the
_tide_?'
'Do I not?' said I.
'Well, what has the tide to do with the matter?'
'Much,' said I; 'what is the tide?'
'The ebb and flow of the sea,' said the Armenian.
'The sea itself; what is the Haik word for sea?'
The Armenian gave a strong gasp; then, nodding his head thrice, 'You are
right,' said he, 'the English word tide is the Armenian for sea; and now
I begin to perceive that there are many English words which are Armenian;
there is --- and ---; and there again in French, there is --- and ---
derived from the Armenian. How strange, how singular--I thank you. It
is a proud thing to see that the language of my race has had so much
influence over the languages of the world.'
I saw that all that related to his race was the weak point of the
Armenian. I did not flatter the Armenian with respect to his race or
language. 'An inconsiderable people,' said I, 'shrewd and industrious,
but still an inconsiderable people. A language bold and expressive, and
of some antiquity, derived, though perhaps not immediately, from some
much older tongue. I do not think that the Armenian has had any
influence over the formation of the languages of the world. I am not
much indebted to the Armenian for the solution of any doubts; whereas to
the language of Mr. Petulengro--'
'I have heard you mention that name before,' said the Armenian; 'who is
Mr. Petulengro?'
And then I told the Armenian who Mr. Petulengro was. The Armenian spoke
contemptuously of Mr. Petulengro and his race. 'Don't speak
contemptuously of Mr. Petulengro,' said I, 'nor of anything belonging to
him. He is a dark mysterious personage; all connected with him is a
mystery, especially his language; but I believe that his language is
doomed to solve a great philological problem--Mr. Petulengro--'
'You appear agitated,' said the Armenian; 'take another glass of wine;
you possess a great deal of philological knowledge, but it appears to me
that the language of this Petulengro is your foible: but let us change
the subject; I feel much interested in you, and would fain be of service
to you. Can you cast accounts?'