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

“His worship is at home, young man,” said the servant, as he looked at my shoes, which bore evidence that I had come walking. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he added, as he looked me in the face.

“Ay, ay, servants,” thought I, as I followed the man into the house, “always look people in the face when you open the door, and do so before you look at their shoes, or you may mistake the heir of a Prime Minister for a shopkeeper’s son.”

I found his worship a jolly, red-faced gentleman, of about fifty-five; he was dressed in a green coat, white corduroy breeches, and drab gaiters, and sat on an old-fashioned leather sofa, with two small, thoroughbred, black English terriers, one on each side of him. He had all the appearance of a genuine old English gentleman who kept good wine in his cellar.

“Sir,” said I, “I have brought you a thousand pounds;” and I said this after the servant had retired, and the two terriers had ceased their barking, which is natural to all such dogs at the sight of a stranger.

And when the magistrate had received the money, and signed and returned a certain paper which I handed to him, he rubbed his hands, and looking very benignantly at me, exclaimed:⁠—

“And now, young gentleman, that our business is over, perhaps you can tell me where the fight is to take place?”

“I am sorry, sir,” said I, “that I can’t inform you, but everybody seems to be anxious about it;” and then I told him what had occurred to me on the road with the alehouse keeper.

“I know him,” said his worship; “he’s a tenant of mine, and a good fellow, somewhat too much in my debt, though. But how is this, young gentleman, you look as if you had been walking; you did not come on foot?”

“Yes, sir, I came on foot.”

“On foot! why, it is sixteen miles.”

“I shan’t be tired when I have walked back.”

“You can’t ride, I suppose?”

“Better than I can walk.”

“Then why do you walk?”

“I have frequently to make journeys connected with my profession; sometimes I walk, sometimes I ride, just as the whim takes me.”

“Will you take a glass of wine?”

“Yes.”

“That’s right; what shall it be?”

“Madeira!”

The magistrate gave a violent slap on his knee; “I like your taste,” said he, “I am fond of a glass of Madeira myself, and can give you such a one as you will not drink every day; sit down, young gentleman, you shall have a glass of Madeira, and the best I have.”

Thereupon he got up, and, followed by his two terriers, walked slowly out of the room.

I looked round the room, and, seeing nothing which promised me much amusement, I sat down, and fell again into my former train of thought.

“What is truth?” said I.

“Here it is,” said the magistrate, returning at the end of a quarter of an hour, followed by the servant with a tray; “here’s the true thing, or I am no judge, far less a justice. It has been thirty years in my cellar last Christmas. There,” said he to the servant, “put it down, and leave my young friend and me to ourselves. Now, what do you think of it?”

“It is very good,” said I.

“Did you ever taste better Madeira?”

“I never before tasted Madeira.”

“Then you ask for a wine without knowing what it is?”

“I ask for it, sir, that I may know what it is.”

“Well, there is logic in that, as Parr110 would say; you have heard of Parr?”

“Old Parr?”

“Yes, old Parr, but not that Parr; you mean the English, I the Greek Parr, as people call him.”

“I don’t know him.”

“Perhaps not⁠—rather too young for that, but were you of my age, you might have cause to know him, coming from where you do. He kept school there, I was his first scholar; he flogged Greek into me till I loved him⁠—and he loved me. He came to see me last year, and sat in that chair; I honour Parr⁠—he knows much, and is a sound man.”

“Does he know the truth?”

“Know the truth! he knows what’s good, from an oyster to an ostrich⁠—he’s not only sound but round.”

“Suppose we drink his health?”

“Thank you, boy: here’s Parr’s health, and Whiter’s.”111

“Who is Whiter?”

“Don’t you know Whiter? I thought everybody knew Reverend Whiter, the philologist, though I suppose you scarcely know what that means. A man fond of tongues and languages, quite out of your way⁠—he understands some twenty; what do you say to that?”

“Is he a sound man?”

“Why, as to that, I scarcely know what to say; he has got queer notions in his head⁠—wrote a book to prove that all words came originally from the earth⁠—who knows? Words have roots, and roots live in the earth; but, upon the whole, I should not call him altogether a sound man, though he can talk Greek nearly as fast as Parr.”

“Is he a round man?”

“Ay, boy, rounder than Parr; I’ll sing you a song, if you like, which will let you into his character:⁠—

‘Give me the haunch of a buck to eat, and to drink Madeira old,
And a gentle wife to rest with, and in my arms to fold,
An Arabic book to study, a Norfolk cob to ride,
And a house to live in shaded with trees, and near to a river side;
With such good things around me, and blessed with good health withal,
Though I should live for a hundred years, for death I would not call.’

Here’s to Whiter’s health⁠—so you know nothing about the fight?”

“No, sir; the truth is, that of late I have been very much occupied with various matters, otherwise I should, perhaps, have been able to afford you some information. Boxing is a noble art.”

“Can you box?”

“A little.”

“I tell you what, my boy; I honour you, and, provided your education had been a little less limited, I should have been glad to see you here in company with Parr and Whiter; both can box.