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

then went into my library; during this time I was seldom or never visited by the magic impulse, the reason being, that there was nothing in the wide world for which I cared sufficiently to move a finger to preserve it. When the ten years, however, were nearly ended, I started out of bed one morning in a fit of horror, exclaiming, ‘Mercy, mercy! what will become of me? I am afraid I shall go mad. I have lived thirty-five years and upwards without doing anything; shall I pass through life in this manner? Horror!’ And then in rapid succession I touched three different objects.

“I dressed myself and went down, determining to set about something; but what was I to do?⁠—there was the difficulty. I ate no breakfast, but walked about the room in a state of distraction; at last I thought that the easiest way to do something was to get into Parliament, there would be no difficulty in that. I had plenty of money, and could buy a seat: but what was I to do in Parliament? Speak, of course⁠—but could I speak? ‘I’ll try at once,’ said I, and forthwith I rushed into the largest dining-room, and, locking the door, I commenced speaking; ‘Mr. Speaker,’ said I, and then I went on speaking for about ten minutes as I best could, and then I left off, for I was talking nonsense. No, I was not formed for Parliament; I could do nothing there. What⁠—what was I to do?

“Many, many times I thought this question over, but was unable to solve it; a fear now stole over me that I was unfit for anything in the world, save the lazy life of vegetation which I had for many years been leading; yet, if that were the case, thought I, why the craving within me to distinguish myself? Surely it does not occur fortuitously, but is intended to rouse and call into exercise certain latent powers that I possess? and then with infinite eagerness I set about attempting to discover these latent powers. I tried an infinity of pursuits, botany and geology amongst the rest, but in vain; I was fitted for none of them. I became very sorrowful and despondent, and at one time I had almost resolved to plunge again into the whirlpool of dissipation; it was a dreadful resource, it was true, but what better could I do?

“But I was not doomed to return to the dissipation of the world. One morning a young nobleman, who had for some time past shown a wish to cultivate my acquaintance, came to me in a considerable hurry. ‘I am come to beg an important favour of you,’ said he; ‘one of the county memberships is vacant⁠—I intend to become a candidate; what I want immediately is a spirited address to the electors. I have been endeavouring to frame one all the morning, but in vain; I have, therefore, recourse to you as a person of infinite genius; pray, my dear friend, concoct me one by the morning.’ ‘What you require of me,’ I replied, ‘is impossible; I have not the gift of words; did I possess it I would stand for the county myself, but I can’t speak. Only the other day I attempted to make a speech, but left off suddenly, utterly ashamed, although I was quite alone, of the nonsense I was uttering.’ ‘It is not a speech that I want,’ said my friend, ‘I can talk for three hours without hesitating, but I want an address to circulate through the county, and I find myself utterly incompetent to put one together; do oblige me by writing one for me, I know you can; and, if at any time you want a person to speak for you, you may command me not for three but for six hours. Good morning; tomorrow I will breakfast with you.’ In the morning he came again. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘what success?’ ‘Very poor,’ said I; ‘but judge for yourself;’ and I put into his hand a manuscript of several pages. My friend read it through with considerable attention. ‘I congratulate you,’ said he, ‘and likewise myself; I was not mistaken in my opinion of you; the address is too long by at least two-thirds, or I should rather say it is longer by two-thirds than addresses generally are; but it will do⁠—I will not curtail it of a word. I shall win my election.’ And in truth he did win his election; and it was not only his own but the general opinion that he owed it to the address.

“But, however that might be, I had, by writing the address, at last discovered what had so long eluded my search⁠—what I was able to do. I, who had neither the nerve nor the command of speech necessary to constitute the orator⁠—who had not the power of patient research required by those who would investigate the secrets of nature, had, nevertheless, a ready pen and teeming imagination. This discovery decided my fate⁠—from that moment I became an author.”

LXVI

“An author,” said I, addressing my host; “is it possible that I am under the roof of an author?”

“Yes,” said my host, sighing, “my name is so-and-so, and I am the author of so-and-so; it is more than probable that you have heard both of my name and works. I will not detain you much longer with my history; the night is advancing, and the storm appears to be upon the increase. My life since the period of my becoming an author may be summed briefly as an almost uninterrupted series of doubts, anxieties and trepidations. I see clearly that it is not good to love anything immoderately in this world, but it has been my misfortune to love immoderately everything on which I have set my heart. This is not good, I repeat⁠—but where is the remedy? The ancients were always in the habit of saying, ‘Practise moderation,’ but