Lavengro by George Borrow (read me a book txt) π
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Lavengro, the Scholar, the Gypsy, the Priest, published in 1851, is a heavily fictionalized account of George Borrowβs early years. Borrow, born in 1803, was a writer and self-taught polyglot, fluent in many European languages, and a lover of literature.
The Romany Rye, published six years later in 1857, is sometimes described as the βsequelβ to Lavengro, but in fact it begins with a straight continuation of the action of the first book, which breaks off rather suddenly. The two books therefore are best considered as a whole and read together, and this Standard Ebooks edition combines the two into one volume.
In the novel Borrow tells of his upbringing as the son of an army recruiting officer, moving with the regiment to different locations in Britain, including Scotland and Ireland. It is in Ireland that he first encounters a strange new language which he is keen to learn, leading to a life-long passion for acquiring new tongues. A couple of years later in England, he comes across a camp of gypsies and meets the gypsy Jasper Petulengro, who becomes a life-long friend. Borrow is delighted to discover that the Romany have their own language, which of course he immediately sets out to learn.
Borrowβs subsequent life, up to his mid-twenties, is that of a wanderer, traveling from place to place in Britain, encountering many interesting individuals and having a variety of entertaining adventures. He constantly comes in contact with the gypsies and with Petulengro, and becomes familiar with their language and culture.
The book also includes a considerable amount of criticism of the Catholic Church and its priests. Several chapters are devoted to Borrowβs discussions with βthe man in black,β depicted as a cynical Catholic priest who has no real belief in the religious teachings of the Church but who is devoted to seeing it reinstated in England in order for its revenues to increase.
Lavengro was not an immediate critical success on its release, but after Borrow died in 1881, it began to grow in popularity and critical acclaim. It is now considered a classic of English Literature. This Standard Ebooks edition of Lavengro and The Romany Rye is based on the editions published by John Murray and edited by W. I. Knapp, with many clarifying notes.
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- Author: George Borrow
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On an evening of July, in the year 18β βΈΊ, at East Dβ βΈΊ,3 a beautiful little town in a certain district of East Anglia,4 I first saw the light.5
My father was a Cornish man, the youngest, as I have heard him say, of seven brothers. He sprang from a family of gentlemen, or, as some people would call them, gentillΓ’tres, for they were not very wealthy; they had a coat of arms, however, and lived on their own property at a place called Tredinnock,6 which being interpreted means βthe house on the hill,β which house and the neighbouring acres had been from time immemorial in their possession. I mention these particulars that the reader may see at once that I am not altogether of low and plebeian origin; the present age is highly aristocratic, and I am convinced that the public will read my pages with more zest from being told that I am a gentillΓ’tre by birth with Cornish blood7 in my veins, of a family who lived on their own property at a place bearing a Celtic name, signifying the house on the hill, or more strictly the house on the hillock.
My father was what is generally termed a posthumous childβ βin other words, the gentillΓ’tre who begot him never had the satisfaction of invoking the blessing of the Father of All upon his head, having departed this life some months before the birth of his youngest son. The boy, therefore, never knew a fatherβs care; he was, however, well tended by his mother, whose favourite he was; so much so, indeed, that his brethren, the youngest of whom was considerably older than himself, were rather jealous of him. I never heard, however, that they treated him with any marked unkindness; and it will be as well to observe here that I am by no means well acquainted with his early history, of which, indeed, as I am not writing his life, it is not necessary to say much. Shortly after his motherβs death, which occurred when he was eighteen, he adopted the profession of arms, which he followed during the remainder of his life, and in which, had circumstances permitted, he would probably have shone amongst the best. By nature he was cool and collected, slow to anger, though perfectly fearless, patient of control, of great strength, and, to crown all, a proper man with his hands.
With far inferior qualifications many a man has become a field-marshal or general; similar ones made Tamerlane, who was not a gentillΓ’tre, but the son of a blacksmith, emperor of one-third of the world; but the race is not always for the swift, nor the battle for the strong, indeed I ought rather to say very seldom; certain it is, that my father, with all his high military qualifications, never became emperor, field-marshal, or even general; indeed, he had never an opportunity of distinguishing himself save in one battle, and that took place neither in Flanders, Egypt, nor on the banks of the Indus or Oxus, but in Hyde Park.
Smile not, gentle reader, many a battle has been fought in Hyde Park, in which as much skill, science and bravery have been displayed as ever achieved a victory in Flanders or by the Indus. In such a combat as that to which I allude, I opine that even Wellington or Napoleon would have been heartily glad to cry for quarter ere the lapse of five minutes, and even the Blacksmith Tartar would, perhaps, have shrunk from the opponent with whom, after having had a dispute with him,8 my father engaged in single combat for one hour, at the end of which time the champions shook hands and retired, each having experienced quite enough of the otherβs prowess. The name of my fatherβs antagonist was Brain.
What! still a smile? did you never hear that name before? I cannot help it! Honour to Brain, who four months after the event which I have now narrated was champion of England, having conquered the heroic Johnson. Honour to Brain, who at the end of other four months, worn out by the dreadful blows which he had received in his many9 combats, expired in the arms of my father, who read the Bible to him in his latter momentsβ βBig Ben Brain.10
You no longer smile, even you have heard of Big Ben.
I have already hinted that my father never rose to any very exalted rank in his profession, notwithstanding his prowess and other qualifications. After serving for many years in the line, he at last entered as captain11 in the militia regiment of the Earl of βΈ»,12 at that period just raised, and to which he was sent by the Duke of York to instruct the young levies in military manoeuvres and discipline; and in this mission I believe he perfectly succeeded, competent judges having assured me that the regiment in question soon came by his means to be considered as one of the most brilliant in the service, and inferior to no regiment of the line in appearance or discipline.
As the headquarters of this corps were at Dβ βΈΊ, the duties of my father not unfrequently carried him to that place, and it was on one of these occasions that he became acquainted with a young person of the neighbourhood, for whom he formed an attachment, which was returned; and this young person
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