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

his side, he poured some milk into a horn cup, saying: “ ‘Croesaw.’ That,” added he with a smile, “is Welsh for welcome.”

The fare upon the tray was of the simplest description, consisting of bread, cheese, milk and curds. My two friends partook with a good appetite. “Mary,” said the preacher, addressing himself to the woman of the house, “every time I come to visit thee, I find thee less inclined to speak Welsh. I suppose, in a little time, thou wilt entirely have forgotten it; hast thou taught it to any of thy children?” “The two eldest understand a few words,” said the woman, “but my husband does not wish them to learn it; he says sometimes, jocularly, that though it pleased him to marry a Welsh wife, it does not please him to have Welsh children. ‘Who,’ I have heard him say, ‘would be a Welshman, if he could be an Englishman?’ ” “I for one,” said the preacher, somewhat hastily; “not to be king of all England would I give up my birthright as a Welshman. Your husband is an excellent person, Mary, but I am afraid he is somewhat prejudiced.” “You do him justice, Peter, in saying that he is an excellent person,” said the woman; “as to being prejudiced, I scarcely know what to say, but he thinks that two languages in the same kingdom are almost as bad as two kings.” “That’s no bad observation,” said the preacher, “and it is generally the case; yet, thank God, the Welsh and English go on very well, side by side, and I hope will do so till the Almighty calls all men to their long account.” “They jog on very well now,” said the woman; “but I have heard my husband say that it was not always so, and that the Welsh, in old times, were a violent and ferocious people, for that once they hanged the mayor of Chester.”193 “Ha, ha!” said the preacher, and his eyes flashed in the moonlight; “he told you that, did he?” “Yes,” said Mary; “once, when the mayor of Chester, with some of his people, was present at one of the fairs over the border, a quarrel arose between the Welsh and English, and the Welsh beat the English and hanged the mayor.” “Your husband is a clever man,” said Peter, “and knows a great deal; did he tell you the name of the leader of the Welsh? No? then I will: the leader of the Welsh on that occasion was ⸻. He was a powerful chieftain, and there was an old feud between him and the men of Chester. Afterwards, when two hundred of the men of Chester invaded his country to take revenge for their mayor, he enticed them into a tower, set fire to it, and burnt them all. That⁠—was a very fine, noble⁠—God forgive me, what was I about to say!⁠—a very bad, violent man; but, Mary, this is very carnal and unprofitable conversation, and in holding it we set a very bad example to the young man here⁠—let us change the subject.”

They then began to talk on religious matters. At length Mary departed to her abode, and the preacher and his wife retired to their tilted cart.

“Poor fellow, he seems to be almost brutally ignorant,” said Peter, addressing his wife in their native language, after they had bidden me farewell for the night.

“I am afraid he is,” said Winifred; “yet my heart warms to the poor lad, he seems so forlorn.”

LXXIII

I slept soundly during that night, partly owing to the influence of the opiate. Early in the morning I was awakened by the voices of Peter and his wife, who were singing a morning hymn in their own language. Both subsequently prayed long and fervently. I lay still till their devotions were completed, and then left my tent. “Good morning,” said Peter, “how dost thou feel?” “Much better,” said I, “than I could have expected.” “I am glad of it,” said Peter. “Art thou hungry? yonder comes our breakfast,” pointing to the same young woman I had seen the preceding night, who was again descending the hill, bearing the tray upon her head.

“What dost thou intend to do, young man, this day?” said Peter, when we had about half finished breakfast. “Do,” said I, “as I do other days, what I can.” “And dost thou pass this day as thou dost other days?” said Peter. “Why not?” said I; “what is there in this day different from the rest? it seems to be of the same colour as yesterday.” “Art thou aware,” said the wife interposing, “what day it is? that it is Sabbath? that it is Sunday?” “No,” said I, “I did not know that it was Sunday.” “And how did that happen?” said Winifred with a sigh. “To tell you the truth,” said I, “I live very much alone, and pay very little heed to the passing of time.” “And yet of what infinite importance is time,” said Winifred. “Art thou not aware that every year brings thee nearer to thy end?” “I do not think,” said I, “that I am so near my end as I was yesterday.” “Yes thou art,” said the woman; “thou wast not doomed to die yesterday; an invisible hand was watching over thee yesterday; but thy day will come, therefore improve the time; be grateful that thou wast saved yesterday; and, oh! reflect on one thing; if thou hadst died yesterday, where wouldst thou have been now?” “Cast into the earth, perhaps,” said I. “I have heard Mr. Petulengro say that to be cast into the earth is the natural end of man.” “Who is Mr. Petulengro?” said Peter, interrupting his wife, as she was about to speak. “Master of the horseshoe,” said I, “and, according to his own account, king of Egypt.” “I understand,” said Peter, “head of some family of wandering Egyptians⁠—they are a race utterly godless. Art