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

We sat down to breakfast; my entertainer appeared to be in much better spirits than on the preceding day; I did not observe him touch once; ere breakfast was over a servant entered⁠—“The Reverend Mr. Platitude, sir,” said he.

A shade of dissatisfaction came over the countenance of my host. “What does the silly pestilent fellow mean by coming here?” said he, half to himself; “let him come in,” said he to the servant.

The servant went out, and in a moment reappeared, introducing the Reverend Mr. Platitude. The Reverend Mr. Platitude, having what is vulgarly called a game leg, came shambling into the room; he was about thirty years of age, and about five feet three inches high; his face was of the colour of pepper, and nearly as rugged as a nutmeg grater; his hair was black; with his eyes he squinted, and grinned with his lips, which were very much apart, disclosing two very irregular rows of teeth; he was dressed in the true Levitical fashion, in a suit of spotless black, and a neckerchief of spotless white.

The Reverend Mr. Platitude advanced winking and grinning to my entertainer, who received him politely but with evident coldness; nothing daunted, however, the Reverend Mr. Platitude took a seat by the table, and, being asked to take a cup of coffee, winked, grinned and consented.

In company I am occasionally subject to fits of what is generally called absence; my mind takes flight and returns to former scenes, or presses forward into the future. One of these fits of absence came over me at this time⁠—I looked at the Reverend Mr. Platitude for a moment, heard a word or two that proceeded from his mouth, and saying to myself, “You are no man for me,” fell into a fit of musing⁠—into the same train of thought as in the morning, no very pleasant one⁠—I was thinking of the future.

I continued in my reverie for some time, and probably should have continued longer, had I not been suddenly aroused by the voice of Mr. Platitude raised to a very high key. “Yes, my dear sir,” said he, “it is but too true; I have it on good authority⁠—a gone church⁠—a lost church⁠—a ruined church⁠—a demolished church is the Church of England. Toleration to Dissenters! oh, monstrous!”

“I suppose,” said my host, “that the repeal of the Test Acts will be merely a precursor of the emancipation of the Papists?”

“Of the Catholics,” said the Reverend Mr. Platitude. “Ahem. There was a time, as I believe you are aware, my dear sir, when I was as much opposed to the emancipation of the Catholics as it was possible for anyone to be; but I was prejudiced, my dear sir, labouring under a cloud of most unfortunate prejudice; but I thank my Maker I am so no longer. I have travelled, as you are aware. It is only by travelling that one can rub off prejudices; I think you will agree with me there. I am speaking to a traveller. I left behind all my prejudices in Italy. The Catholics are at least our fellow-Christians. I thank Heaven that I am no longer an enemy to Catholic emancipation.”

“And yet you would not tolerate Dissenters?”

“Dissenters, my dear sir; I hope you would not class such a set as the Dissenters with Catholics?”

“Perhaps it would be unjust,” said my host, “though to which of the two parties is another thing; but permit me to ask you a question: Does it not smack somewhat of paradox to talk of Catholics, whilst you admit there are Dissenters? If there are Dissenters, how should there be Catholics?”

“It is not my fault that there are Dissenters,” said the Reverend Mr. Platitude; “if I had my will I would neither admit there were any, nor permit any to be.”

“Of course you would admit there were such as long as they existed; but how would you get rid of them?”

“I would have the Church exert its authority.”

“What do you mean by exerting its authority?”

“I would not have the Church bear the sword in vain.”

“What, the sword of St. Peter? You remember what the founder of the religion which you profess said about the sword, ‘He who striketh with it⁠—’ I think those who have called themselves the Church have had enough of the sword. Two can play with the sword, Mr. Platitude. The Church of Rome tried the sword with the Lutherans: how did it fare with the Church of Rome? The Church of England tried the sword, Mr. Platitude, with the Puritans: how did it fare with Laud and Charles?”

“Oh, as for the Church of England,” said Mr. Platitude, “I have little to say. Thank God I left all my Church of England prejudices in Italy. Had the Church of England known its true interests, it would long ago have sought a reconciliation with its illustrious mother. If the Church of England had not been in some degree a schismatic church, it would not have fared so ill at the time of which you are speaking; the rest of the Church would have come to its assistance. The Irish would have helped it, so would the French, so would the Portuguese. Disunion has always been the bane of the Church.”

Once more I fell into a reverie. My mind now reverted to the past; methought I was in a small, comfortable room wainscoted with oak; I was seated on one side of a fireplace, close by a table on which were wine and fruit; on the other side of the fire sat a man in a plain suit of brown, with the hair combed back from his somewhat high forehead; he had a pipe in his mouth, which for some time he smoked gravely and placidly, without saying a word; at length, after drawing at the pipe for some time rather vigorously, he removed it from his mouth, and emitting an accumulated cloud of smoke, he exclaimed in a slow and measured tone: “As I was telling you just now, my good chap, I have always been an