Lavengro by George Borrow (read me a book txt) 📕

of the commonest sign-artist, hung a half-length portrait of him of round of beef celebrity⁠—my sturdy host of the town.

I had been in the library about ten minutes, amusing myself as I best could, when my friend entered; he seemed to have resumed his taciturnity⁠—scarce a word escaped his lips till dinner was served, when he said, smiling: “I suppose it would be merely a compliment to ask you to partake?”

“I don’t know,” said I, seating myself; “your first course consists of troutlets, I am fond of troutlets, and I always like to be companionable.”

The dinner was excellent, though I did but little justice to it from the circumstance of having already dined; the stranger also, though without my excuse, partook but slightly of the good cheer; he still continued taciturn, and appeared lost in thought, and every attempt which I made to induce him to converse was signally unsuccessful.

And now dinner was removed, and we sat over our wine, and I remember that the wine was good, and fully justified the encomiums of my host of the town. Over the wine I made sure that my entertainer would have loosened the chain which seemed to tie his tongue⁠—but no! I endeavoured to tempt him by various topics, and talked of geometry and the use of the globes, of the heavenly sphere, and the star Jupiter, which I said I had heard was a very large star, also of the evergreen tree, which, according to Olaus, stood of old before the heathen temple of Upsal, and which I affirmed was a yew⁠—but no, nothing that I said could induce my entertainer to relax his taciturnity.

It grew dark, and I became uncomfortable; “I must presently be going,” I at last exclaimed.

At these words he gave a sudden start; “Going,” said he, “are you not my guest, and an honoured one?”

“You know best,” said I; “but I was apprehensive I was an intruder; to several of my questions you have returned no answer.”

“Ten thousand pardons!” he exclaimed, seizing me by the hand; “but you cannot go now, I have much to talk to you about⁠—there is one thing in particular⁠—”

“If it be the evergreen tree at Upsal,” said I, interrupting him, “I hold it to have been a yew⁠—what else? The evergreens of the south, as the old bishop observes, will not grow in the north, and a pine was unfitted for such a locality, being a vulgar tree. What else could it have been but the yew⁠—the sacred yew which our ancestors were in the habit of planting in their churchyards? Moreover, I affirm it to have been the yew for the honour of the tree; for I love the yew, and had I home and land, I would have one growing before my front windows.”

“You would do right; the yew is indeed a venerable tree, but it is not about the yew.”

“The star Jupiter, perhaps?”

“Nor the star Jupiter, nor its moons; an observation which escaped you at the inn has made a considerable impression upon me.”

“But I really must take my departure,” said I; “the dark hour is at hand.”

And as I uttered these last words, the stranger touched rapidly something which lay near him, I forget what it was. It was the first action of the kind which I had observed on his part since we sat down to table.

“You allude to the evil chance,” said I; “but it is getting both dark and late.”

“I believe we are going to have a storm,” said my friend, “but I really hope that you will give me your company for a day or two; I have, as I said before, much to talk to you about.”

“Well,” said I, “I shall be most happy to be your guest for this night; I am ignorant of the country, and it is not pleasant to travel unknown paths by night⁠—dear me, what a flash of lightning!”

It had become very dark; suddenly a blaze of sheet-lightning illumed the room. By the momentary light I distinctly saw my host touch another object upon the table.

“Will you allow me to ask you a question or two?” said he at last.

“As many as you please,” said I; “but shall we not have lights?”

“Not unless you particularly wish it,” said my entertainer; “I rather like the dark, and though a storm is evidently at hand, neither thunder nor lightning have any terrors for me. It is other things I quake at⁠—I should rather say ideas. Now, permit me to ask you⁠—”

And then my entertainer asked me various questions, to all of which I answered unreservedly; he was then silent for some time, at last he exclaimed: “I should wish to tell you the history of my life; though not an adventurous one, I think it contains some things which will interest you.”

Without waiting for my reply he began. Amidst darkness and gloom, occasionally broken by flashes of lightning, the stranger related to me, as we sat at the table in the library, his truly touching history.

“Before proceeding to relate the events of my life, it will not be amiss to give you some account of my ancestors. My great-grandfather on the male side was a silk mercer, in Cheapside, who, when he died, left his son, who was his only child, a fortune of one hundred thousand pounds, and a splendid business; the son, however, had no inclination for trade, the summit of his ambition was to be a country gentleman, to found a family, and to pass the remainder of his days in rural ease and dignity, and all this he managed to accomplish; he disposed of his business, purchased a beautiful and extensive estate for four score thousand pounds, built upon it the mansion to which I had the honour of welcoming you today, married the daughter of a neighbouring squire, who brought him a fortune of five thousand pounds, became a magistrate, and only wanted a son and heir to make him completely happy; this blessing,