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

path to the spring which ran amidst the bushes; arriving there, I knelt down and drank of the water, but on lifting up my head I felt thirstier than before; again I drank, but with like results; I was about to drink for the third time, when I felt a dreadful qualm which instantly robbed me of nearly all my strength. What can be the matter with me, thought I; but I suppose I have made myself ill by drinking cold water. I got up and made the best of my way back to my tent; before I reached it the qualm had seized me again, and I was deadly sick. I flung myself on my pallet; qualm succeeded qualm, but in the intervals my mouth was dry and burning, and I felt a frantic desire to drink, but no water was at hand, and to reach the spring once more was impossible: the qualms continued, deadly pains shot through my whole frame; I could bear my agonies no longer, and I fell into a trance or swoon. How long I continued therein I know not; on recovering, however, I felt somewhat better, and attempted to lift my head off my couch; the next moment, however, the qualms and pains returned, if possible, with greater violence than before. I am dying, thought I, like a dog, without any help; and then methought I heard a sound at a distance like people singing, and then once more I relapsed into my swoon.

I revived just as a heavy blow sounded upon the canvas of the tent. I started, but my condition did not permit me to rise; again the same kind of blow sounded upon the canvas; I thought for a moment of crying out and requesting assistance, but an inexplicable something chained my tongue, and now I heard a whisper on the outside of the tent. “He does not move, bebee,” said a voice which I knew. “I should not wonder if it has done for him already; however, strike again with your ran;” and then there was another blow, after which another voice cried aloud in a strange tone: “Is the gentleman of the house asleep, or is he taking his dinner?” I remained quite silent and motionless, and in another moment the voice continued: “What, no answer? what can the gentleman of the house be about that he makes no answer? Perhaps the gentleman of the house may be darning his stockings?” Thereupon a face peered into the door of the tent, at the farther extremity of which I was stretched. It was that of a woman, but owing to the posture in which she stood, with her back to the light, and partly owing to a large straw bonnet, I could distinguish but very little of the features of her countenance. I had, however, recognised her voice; it was that of my old acquaintance, Mrs. Herne. “Ho, ho, sir!” said she, “here you are. Come here, Leonora,” said she to the gypsy girl, who pressed in at the other side of the door; “here is the gentleman, not asleep, but only stretched out after dinner. Sit down on your ham, child, at the door; I shall do the same. There⁠—you have seen me before, sir, have you not?”

“The gentleman makes no answer, bebee; perhaps he does not know you.”

“I have known him of old, Leonora,” said Mrs. Herne; “and, to tell you the truth, though I spoke to him just now, I expected no answer.”

“It’s a way he has, bebee, I suppose?”

“Yes, child, it’s a way he has.”

“Take off your bonnet, bebee; perhaps he cannot see your face.”

“I do not think that will be of much use, child; however, I will take off my bonnet⁠—there⁠—and shake out my hair⁠—there⁠—you have seen this hair before, sir, and this face⁠—”

“No answer, bebee.”

“Though the one was not quite so grey, nor the other so wrinkled.”

“How came they so, bebee?”

“All along of this gorgio, child.”

“The gentleman in the house, you mean, bebee.”

“Yes, child, the gentleman in the house. God grant that I may preserve my temper. Do you know, sir, my name? My name is Herne, which signifies a hairy individual, though neither grey-haired nor wrinkled. It is not the nature of the Hernes to be grey or wrinkled, even when they are old, and I am not old.”

“How old are you, bebee?”

“Sixty-five years, child⁠—an inconsiderable number. My mother was a hundred and one⁠—a considerable age⁠—when she died, yet she had not one grey hair, and not more than six wrinkles⁠—an inconsiderable number.”

“She had no griefs, bebee?”

“Plenty, child, but not like mine.”

“Not quite so hard to bear, bebee?”

“No, child; my head wanders when I think of them. After the death of my husband, who came to his end untimeously, I went to live with a daughter of mine, married out among certain Romans who walk about the eastern counties, and with whom for some time I found a home and pleasant society, for they lived right Romanly, which gave my heart considerable satisfaction, who am a Roman born, and hope to die so. When I say right Romanly, I mean that they kept to themselves, and were not much given to blabbing about their private matters in promiscuous company. Well, things went on in this way for some time, when one day my son-in-law brings home a young gorgio of singular and outrageous ugliness, and without much preamble, says to me and mine, ‘This is my pal, a’n’t he a beauty? fall down and worship him.’ ‘Hold,’ said I, ‘I for one will never consent to such foolishness.’ ”

“That was right, bebee, I think I should have done the same.”

“I think you would, child; but what was the profit of it? The whole party makes an almighty of this gorgio, lets him into their ways, says prayers of his making, till things come to such a pass that my own daughter says to me: ‘I shall buy