Transcribed from the 1900 Macmillian and Co. Edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org LAVENGRO THE SCHOLAR, THE GYPSY, THE PRIEST BY GEORGE BORROW ILLUSTRATED BY E. J. SULLIVAN WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY AUGUSTINE BIRRELL, Q.C., M.P. London MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1900 _All rights reserved_ _First published in_ "_Macmillan's Illustrated Standard Novel_," 1896 _Reprinted_ 1900 {picture:George Borrow: page0.jpg} INTRODUCTION The author of _Lavengro_, _the Scholar_, _the Gypsy_, _and the Priest_ has after his fitful hour come into his own, and there abides securely. Borrow's books,--carelessly written, impatient, petulant, in parts repellant,--have been found so full of the elixir of life, of the charm of existence, of the glory of motion, so instinct with character, and mood, and wayward fancy, that their very names are sounds of enchantment, whilst the fleeting scenes they depict and the deeds they describe have become the properties and the pastimes for all the years that are still to be of a considerable fraction of the English-speaking race. And yet I suppose it would be considered ridiculous in these fine days to call Borrow a great artist. His fascination, his hold upon his reader, is not the fascination or the hold of the lords of human smiles and tears. They enthrall us; Borrow only bewitches. Isopel Berners, hastily limned though she be, need fear comparison with no damsel that ever lent sweetness to the stage, relish to rhyme, or life to novel. She can hold up her head and take her own part amidst all the Rosalinds, Beatrices, and Lucys that genius has created and memory can muster. But how she came into existence puzzles us not a little. Was she summoned out of nothingness by the creative fancy of Lavengro, or did he really first set eyes upon her in the dingle whither she came with the Flaming Tinman, whose look Lavengro did not like at all? Reality and romance, though Borrow made them wear double harness, are not meant to be driven together. It is hard to weep aright over Isopel Berners. The reader is tortured by a sense of duty towards her. This distraction prevents our giving ourselves away to Borrow. Perhaps after all he did meet the tall girl in the dingle, in which case he was a fool for all his pains, losing a gift the gods could not restore. Quite apart from this particular doubt, the reader of Borrow feels that good luck, happy chance, plays a larger part in the charm of the composition than is quite befitting were Borrow to be reckoned an artist. But nobody surely will quarrel with this ingredient. It can turn no stomach. Happy are the lucky writers! Write as they will, they are almost certain to please. There is such a thing as 'sweet unreasonableness.'