Lavengro: The Scholar, the Gypsy, the PriestBorrow, George
General
Lavengro: The Scholar, the Gypsy, the Priest
Borrow, George
England -- Fiction; Romanies -- Fiction
"In this manner four years passed over. It happened that I was in London
in the height of the season with my uncle, at his house; one morning he
summoned me into the parlour, he was standing before the fire, and looked
very serious. 'I have had a letter,' said he; 'your mother is very ill.'
I staggered, and touched the nearest object to me; nothing was said for
two or three minutes, and then my uncle put his lips to my ear and
whispered something. I fell down senseless. My mother was--I remember
nothing for a long time--for two years I was out of my mind; at the end
of this time I recovered, or partly so. My uncle the baronet was very
kind to me; he advised me to travel, he offered to go with me. I told
him he was very kind, but I would rather go by myself. So I went abroad,
and saw, amongst other things, Rome and the Pyramids. By frequent change
of scene my mind became not happy, but tolerably tranquil. I continued
abroad some years, when, becoming tired of travelling, I came home, found
my uncle the baronet alive, hearty, and unmarried, as he still is. He
received me very kindly, took me to Newmarket, and said that he hoped by
this time I was become quite a man of the world; by his advice I took a
house in town, in which I lived during the season. In summer I strolled
from one watering-place to another; and, in order to pass the time, I
became very dissipated.
"At last I became as tired of dissipation as I had previously been of
travelling, and I determined to retire to the country, and live on my
paternal estate; this resolution I was not slow in putting into effect; I
sold my house in town, repaired and refurnished my country house, and for
at least ten years, lived a regular country life; I gave dinner parties,
prosecuted poachers, was charitable to the poor, and now and then went
into my library; during this time I was seldom or never visited by the
magic impulse, the reason being, that there was nothing in the wide world
for which I cared sufficiently to move a finger to preserve it. When the
ten years, however, were nearly ended, I started out of bed one morning
in a fit of horror, exclaiming, 'Mercy, mercy! what will become of me? I
am afraid I shall go mad. I have lived thirty-five years and upwards
without doing anything; shall I pass through life in this manner?
Horror!' And then in rapid succession I touched three different objects.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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