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

“Then you don’t deny that we have had a Priestley,” said I, “and admit the possibility of our having another? You were lately observing that all English literary men were sycophants?”

“Lick-spittles,” said the man in black; “yes, I admit that you have had a Priestley, but he was a Dissenter of the old sort; you have had him, and perhaps may have another.”

“Perhaps we may,” said I. “But with respect to the lower classes, have you mixed much with them?”

“I have mixed with all classes,” said the man in black, “and with the lower not less than the upper and middle, they are much as I have described them; and of the three, the lower are the worst. I never knew one of them that possessed the slightest principle, no, not ⸻. It is true, there was one fellow whom I once met,214 who ⸻, but it is a long story, and the affair happened abroad.”

“I ought to know something of the English people,” he continued, after a moment’s pause; “I have been many years amongst them labouring in the cause of the church.”

“Your see must have had great confidence in your powers, when it selected you to labour for it in these parts?” said I.

“They chose me,” said the man in black, “principally because being of British extraction and education, I could speak the English language and bear a glass of something strong. It is the opinion of my see, that it would hardly do to send a missionary into a country like this who is not well versed in English; a country where they think, so far from understanding any language besides his own, scarcely one individual in ten speaks his own intelligibly; or an ascetic person, where as they say, high and low, male and female, are, at some period of their lives, fond of a renovating glass, as it is styled, in other words, of tippling.”

“Your see appears to entertain a very strange opinion of the English,” said I.

“Not altogether an unjust one,” said the man in black, lifting the glass to his mouth.

“Well,” said I, “it is certainly very kind on its part to wish to bring back such a set of beings beneath its wing.”

“Why, as to the kindness of my see,” said the man in black, “I have not much to say; my see has generally in what it does a tolerably good motive; these heretics possess in plenty what my see has a great hankering for, and can turn to a good account⁠—money!”

“The founder of the Christian religion cared nothing for money,” said I.

“What have we to do with what the founder of the Christian religion cared for?” said the man in black; “how could our temples be built, and our priests supported without money? but you are unwise to reproach us with a desire of obtaining money; you forget that your own church, if the Church of England be your own church, as I suppose it is, from the willingness which you displayed in the public-house to fight for it, is equally avaricious; look at your greedy Bishops, and your corpulent Rectors; do they imitate Christ in His disregard for money? Go to! you might as well tell me that they imitate Christ in His meekness and humility.”

“Well,” said I, “whatever their faults may be, you can’t say that they go to Rome for money.”

The man in black made no direct answer, but appeared by the motion of his lips to be repeating something to himself.

“I see your glass is again empty,” said I; “perhaps you will replenish it.”

The man in black arose from his seat, adjusted his habiliments, which were rather in disorder, and placed upon his head his hat, which he had laid aside, then, looking at me, who was still lying on the ground, he said: “I might, perhaps, take another glass, though I believe I have had quite as much as I can well bear; but I do not wish to hear you utter anything more this evening after that last observation of yours⁠—it is quite original; I will meditate upon it on my pillow this night after having said an ave and a pater⁠—go to Rome for money!” He then made Belle a low bow, slightly motioned to me with his hand as if bidding farewell, and then left the dingle with rather uneven steps.

“Go to Rome for money,” I heard him say as he ascended the winding path, “he! he! he! Go to Rome for money, ho! ho! ho!”

Nearly three days elapsed without anything of particular moment occurring. Belle drove the little cart containing her merchandise about the neighbourhood, returning to the dingle towards the evening. As for myself, I kept within my wooded retreat, working during the periods of her absence leisurely at my forge. Having observed that the quadruped which my companion drove was as much in need of shoes as my own had been some time previously, I had determined to provide it with a set, and during the aforesaid periods occupied myself in preparing them. As I was employed three mornings and afternoons about them, I am sure that the reader will agree that I worked leisurely, or rather lazily. On the third day Belle arrived somewhat later than usual; I was lying on my back at the bottom of the dingle, employed in tossing up the shoes, which I had produced, and catching them as they fell, some being always in the air mounting or descending, somewhat after the fashion of the waters of a fountain.

“Why have you been absent so long?” said I to Belle, “it must be long past four by the day.”

“I have been almost killed by the heat,” said Belle; “I was never out in a more sultry day⁠—the poor donkey, too, could scarcely move along.”

“He shall have fresh shoes,” said I, continuing my exercise; “here they are, quite ready; tomorrow I will tack them on.”

“And why are