George Borrow: The Man and His BooksThomas, Edward
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George Borrow: The Man and His Books
Thomas, Edward
Borrow, George, 1803-1881
"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
exertions 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 efts 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 forefingers of the left, first
collectively, and then successively, wringing them till the joints
cracked; then I became quiet, but not for long.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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