Lavengro: The Scholar, The Gypsy, The PriestBorrow, George
General
Lavengro: The Scholar, The Gypsy, The Priest
Borrow, George
England -- Fiction; Romanies -- Fiction
So I sat behind a desk many hours in the day, ostensibly engaged in
transcribing documents of various kinds; the scene of my labours was a
strange old house, occupying one side of a long and narrow court, into
which, however, the greater number of the windows looked not, but into an
extensive garden, filled with fruit trees, in the rear of a large,
handsome house, belonging to a highly respectable gentleman, who,
moyennant un douceur considerable, had consented to instruct my father’s
youngest son in the mysteries of glorious English law. Ah! would that I
could describe the good gentleman in the manner which he deserves; he has
long since sunk to his place in a respectable vault, in the aisle of a
very respectable church, whilst an exceedingly respectable marble slab
against the neighbouring wall tells on a Sunday some eye wandering from
its prayer-book that his dust lies below; to secure such respectabilities
in death, he passed a most respectable life. Let no one sneer, he
accomplished much; his life was peaceful, so was his death. Are these
trifles? I wish I could describe him, for I loved the man, and with
reason, for he was ever kind to me, to whom kindness has not always been
shown; and he was, moreover, a choice specimen of a class which no longer
exists—a gentleman lawyer of the old school. I would fain describe him,
but figures with which he has nought to do press forward and keep him
from my mind’s eye; there they pass, Spaniard and Moor, Gypsy, Turk, and
livid Jew. But who is that? what that thick pursy man in the loose,
snuff-coloured greatcoat, with the white stockings, drab breeches, and
silver buckles on his shoes; that man with the bull neck, and singular
head, immense in the lower part, especially about the jaws, but tapering
upward like a pear; the man with the bushy brows, small grey eyes replete
with catlike expression, whose grizzled hair is cut close, and whose
ear-lobes are pierced with small golden rings? Oh! that is not my dear
old master, but a widely different personage. Bon jour, Monsieur Vidocq!
expressions de ma part à Monsieur Le Baron Taylor. But here he comes at
last, my veritable old master!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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