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

months ago, having occasion for a Bible, going to an establishment, the object of which was to send Bibles all over the world. The supporters of that establishment could have no self-interested views; for I was supplied by them with a noble-sized Bible at a price so small as to preclude the idea that it could bring any profit to the vendors.”234

The countenance of the man in black slightly fell. “I know the people to whom you allude,” said he; “indeed, unknown to them, I have frequently been to see them, and observed their ways. I tell you frankly that there is not a set of people in this kingdom who have caused our Church so much trouble and uneasiness. I should rather say that they alone cause us any; for as for the rest, what with their drowsiness, their plethora, their folly and their vanity, they are doing us anything but mischief. These fellows are a pestilent set of heretics, whom we would gladly see burnt; they are, with the most untiring perseverance, and in spite of diverse minatory declarations of the holy father, scattering their books abroad through all Europe, and have caused many people in Catholic countries to think that hitherto their priesthood have endeavoured, as much as possible, to keep them blinded. There is one fellow amongst them for whom we entertain a particular aversion; a big, burly parson, with the face of a lion, the voice of a buffalo, and a fist like a sledgehammer. The last time I was there, I observed that his eye was upon me, and I did not like the glance he gave me at all; I observed him clench his fist, and I took my departure as fast as I conveniently could. Whether he suspected who I was, I know not; but I did not like his look at all, and do not intend to go again.”

“Well, then,” said I, “you confess that you have redoubtable enemies to your plans in these regions, and that even amongst the ecclesiastics there are some widely different from those of the plethoric and Platitude schools?”

“It is but too true,” said the man in black; “and if the rest of your Church were like them we should quickly bid adieu to all hope of converting these regions, but we are thankful to be able to say that such folks are not numerous; there are, moreover, causes at work quite sufficient to undermine even their zeal. Their sons return at the vacations, from Oxford and Cambridge, puppies, full of the nonsense which they have imbibed from Platitude professors; and this nonsense they retail at home, where it fails not to make some impression, whilst the daughters scream⁠—I beg their pardons⁠—warble about Scotland’s Montrose, and Bonny Dundee, and all the Jacobs; so we have no doubt that their papas’ zeal about the propagation of such a vulgar book as the Bible will in a very little time be terribly diminished. Old Rome will win, so you had better join her.”

And the man in black drained the last drop in his glass.

“Never,” said I, “will I become the slave of Rome.”

“She will allow you latitude,” said the man in black; “do but serve her, and she will allow you to call her puta at a decent time and place, her popes occasionally call her puta. A pope has been known to start from his bed at midnight and rush out into the corridor, and call out puta three times in a voice which pierced the Vatican; that pope was⁠—”

“Alexander the Sixth,235 I dare say,” said I; “the greatest monster that ever existed, though the worthiest head which the popish system ever had⁠—so his conscience was not always still. I thought it had been seared with a brand of iron.”

“I did not allude to him, but to a much more modern pope,” said the man in black; “it is true he brought the word, which is Spanish, from Spain, his native country, to Rome. He was very fond of calling the Church by that name, and other popes have taken it up. She will allow you to call her by it, if you belong to her.”

“I shall call her so,” said I, “without belonging to her, or asking her permission.”

“She will allow you to treat her as such, if you belong to her,” said the man in black; “there is a chapel in Rome, where there is a wondrously fair statue⁠—the son of a cardinal⁠—I mean his nephew⁠—once⁠—Well, she did not cut off his head, but slightly boxed his cheek and bade him go.”

“I have read all about that in Keysler’s Travels,” said I; “do you tell her that I would not touch her with a pair of tongs, unless to seize her nose.”

“She is fond of lucre,” said the man in black; “but does not grudge a faithful priest a little private perquisite,” and he took out a very handsome gold repeater.

“Are you not afraid,” said I, “to flash that watch before the eyes of a poor tinker in a dingle?”

“Not before the eyes of one like you,” said the man in black.

“It is getting late,” said I; “I care not for perquisites.”

“So you will not join us?” said the man in black.

“You have had my answer,” said I.

“If I belong to Rome,” said the man in black, “why should not you?”

“I may be a poor tinker,” said I, “but I may never have undergone what you have. You remember, perhaps, the fable of the fox who had lost his tail?”

The man in black winced, but almost immediately recovering himself, he said: “Well, we can do without you, we are sure of winning.”

“It is not the part of wise people,” said I, “to make sure of the battle before it is fought: there’s the landlord of the public-house, who made sure that his cocks would win, yet the cocks lost the main, and