lavengro-第20章

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'What　is　it？'　said　I；　retreating；　'I　never　saw　the　horse　so　

before。'



'Go　between　his　legs；　agrah；'　said　the　smith；　'his　hinder　legs'；　

and　he　again　showed　his　fang。



'I　dare　not；'　said　I；　'he　would　kill　me。'



'He　would　kill　ye！　and　how　do　ye　know　that；　agrah？'



'I　feel　he　would；'　said　I；　'something　tells　me　so。'



'And　it　tells　ye　truth；　agrah；　but　it's　a　fine　beast；　and　it's　a　

pity　to　see　him　in　such　a　state：　　Is　agam　an't　leigeas'　…　and　here　

he　uttered　another　word　in　a　voice　singularly　modified；　but　sweet　

and　almost　plaintive；　the　effect　of　it　was　as　instantaneous　as　that　

of　the　other；　but　how　different！　…　the　animal　lost　all　its　fury；　

and　became　at　once　calm　and　gentle。　　The　smith　went　up　to　it；　

coaxed　and　patted　it；　making　use　of　various　sounds　of　equine　

endearment；　then　turning　to　me；　and　holding　out　once　more　the　grimy　

hand；　he　said；　'And　now　ye　will　be　giving　me　the　Sassannach　

tenpence；　agrah？'







CHAPTER　XIV







A　fine　old　city　…　Norman　master…work　…　Lollards'　Hole　…　Good　blood　

…　The　Spaniard's　sword　…　Old　retired　officer　…　Writing　to　a　duke　…　

God　help　the　child　…　Nothing　like　Jacob　…　Irish　brigades　…　Old　

Sergeant　Meredith　…　I　have　been　young　…　Idleness　…　Only　course　open　

…　The　bookstall　…　A　portrait　…　A　banished　priest。



FROM　the　wild　scenes　which　I　have　attempted　to　describe　in　the　

latter　pages　I　must　now　transport　the　reader　to　others　of　a　widely　

different　character。　　He　must　suppose　himself　no　longer　in　Ireland；　

but　in　the　eastern　corner　of　merry　England。　　Bogs；　ruins；　and　

mountains　have　disappeared　amidst　the　vapours　of　the　west：　　I　have　

nothing　more　to　say　of　them；　the　region　in　which　we　are　now　is　not　

famous　for　objects　of　that　kind：　　perhaps　it　flatters　itself　that　

it　can　produce　fairer　and　better　things；　of　some　of　which　let　me　

speak；　there　is　a　fine　old　city　before　us；　and　first　of　that　let　me　

speak。



A　fine　old　city；　truly；　is　that；　view　it　from　whatever　side　you　

will；　but　it　shows　best　from　the　east；　where　the　ground；　bold　and　

elevated；　overlooks　the　fair　and　fertile　valley　in　which　it　stands。　　

Gazing　from　those　heights；　the　eye　beholds　a　scene　which　cannot　

fail　to　awaken；　even　in　the　least　sensitive　bosom；　feelings　of　

pleasure　and　admiration。　　At　the　foot　of　the　heights　flows　a　narrow　

and　deep　river；　with　an　antique　bridge　communicating　with　a　long　

and　narrow　suburb；　flanked　on　either　side　by　rich　meadows　of　the　

brightest　green；　beyond　which　spreads　the　city；　the　fine　old　city；　

perhaps　the　most　curious　specimen　at　present　extant　of　the　genuine　

old　English　town。　　Yes；　there　it　spreads　from　north　to　south；　with　

its　venerable　houses；　its　numerous　gardens；　its　thrice　twelve　

churches；　its　mighty　mound；　which；　if　tradition　speaks　true；　was　

raised　by　human　hands　to　serve　as　the　grave…heap　of　an　old　heathen　

king；　who　sits　deep　within　it；　with　his　sword　in　his　hand；　and　his　

gold　and　silver　treasures　about　him。　　There　is　a　gray　old　castle　

upon　the　top　of　that　mighty　mound；　and　yonder；　rising　three　hundred　

feet　above　the　soil；　from　among　those　noble　forest　trees；　behold　

that　old　Norman　master…work；　that　cloud…encircled　cathedral　spire；　

around　which　a　garrulous　army　of　rooks　and　choughs　continually　

wheel　their　flight。　　Now；　who　can　wonder　that　the　children　of　that　

fine　old　city　are　proud　of　her；　and　offer　up　prayers　for　her　

prosperity？　　I；　myself；　who　was　not　born　within　her　walls；　offer　up　

prayers　for　her　prosperity；　that　want　may　never　visit　her　cottages；　

vice　her　palaces；　and　that　the　abomination　of　idolatry　may　never　

pollute　her　temples。　　Ha；　idolatry！　the　reign　of　idolatry　has　been　

over　there　for　many　a　long　year；　never　more；　let　us　hope；　to　

return；　brave　hearts　in　that　old　town　have　borne　witness　against　

it；　and　sealed　their　testimony　with　their　hearts'　blood　…　most　

precious　to　the　Lord　is　the　blood　of　His　saints！　we　are　not　far　

from　hallowed　ground。　　Observe　ye　not　yon　chalky　precipice；　to　the　

right　of　the　Norman　bridge？　　On　this　side　of　the　stream；　upon　its　

brow；　is　a　piece　of　ruined　wall；　the　last　relic　of　what　was　of　old　

a　stately　pile；　whilst　at　its　foot　is　a　place　called　the　Lollards'　

Hole；　and　with　good　reason；　for　many　a　saint　of　God　has　breathed　

his　last　beneath　that　white　precipice；　bearing　witness　against　

popish　idolatry；　midst　flame　and　pitch；　many　a　grisly　procession　

has　advanced　along　that　suburb；　across　the　old　bridge；　towards　the　

Lollards'　Hole：　　furious　priests　in　front；　a　calm　pale　martyr　in　

the　midst；　a　pitying　multitude　behind。　　It　has　had　its　martyrs；　the　

venerable　old　town！



Ah！　there　is　good　blood　in　that　old　city；　and　in　the　whole　

circumjacent　region　of　which　it　is　the　capital。　　The　Angles　

possessed　the　land　at　an　early　period；　which；　however；　they　were　

eventually　compelled　to　share　with　hordes　of　Danes　and　Northmen；　

who　flocked　thither　across　the　sea　to　found　hearthsteads　on　its　

fertile　soil。　　The　present　race；　a　mixture　of　Angles　and　Danes；　

still　preserve　much　which　speaks　strongly　of　their　northern　

ancestry；　amongst　them　ye　will　find　the　light…brown　hair　of　the　

north；　the　strong　and　burly　forms　of　the　north；　many　a　wild　

superstition；　ay；　and　many　a　wild　name　connected　with　the　ancient　

history　of　the　north　and　its　sublime　mythology；　the　warm　heart　and　

the　strong　heart　of　the　old　Danes　and　Saxons　still　beats　in　those　

regions；　and　there　ye　will　find；　if　anywhere；　old　northern　

hospitality　and　kindness　of　manner；　united　with　energy；　

perseverance；　and　dauntless　intrepidity；　better　soldiers　or　

mariners　never　bled　in　their　country's　battles　than　those　nurtured　

in　those　regions；　and　within　those　old　walls。　　It　was　yonder；　to　

the　west；　that　the　great　naval　hero　of　Britain　first　saw　the　light；　

he　who　annihilated　the　sea　pride　of　Spain；　and　dragged　the　humbled　

banner　of　France　in　triumph　at　his　stem。　　He　was　born　yonder；　

towards　the　west；　and　of　him　there　is　a　glorious　relic　in　that　old　

town；　in　its　dark　flint　guildhouse；　the　roof　of　which　you　can　just　

descry　rising　above　that　maze　of　buildings；　in　the　upper　hall　of　

justice；　is　a　species　of　glass　shrine；　in　which　the　relic　is　to　be　

seen；　a　sword　of　curious　workmanship；　the　blade　is　of　keen　Toledan　

steel；　the　heft　of　ivory　and　mother…of…pearl。　　'Tis　the　sword　of　

Cordova；　won　in　bloodiest　fray　off　Saint　Vincent's　promontory；　and　

presented　by　Nelson　to　the　old　capital　of　the　much…loved　land　of　

his　birth。　　Yes；　the　proud　Spaniard's　sword　is　to　be　seen　in　yonder　

guildhouse；　in　the　glass　case　affixed　to　the　wall：　　many　other　

relics　has　the　good　old　town；　but　none　prouder　than　the　Spaniard's　

sword。



Such　was　the　place　to　which；　when　the　war　was　over；　my　father　

retired：　　it　was　here　that　the　old　tired　soldier　set　himself　down　

with　his　little　family。　　He　had　passed　the　greater　part　of　his　life　

in　meritorious　exertion；　in　the　service　of　his　country；　and　his　

chief　wish　now　was　to　spend　the　remainder　of　his　days　in　quiet　and　

respectability；　his　means；　it　is　true；　were　not　very　ample；　

fortunate　it　was　that　his　desires　corresponded　with　them；　with　a　

small　fortune　of　his　own；　and　with　his　half…pay　as　a　royal　soldier；　

he　had　no　fears　for　himself　or　for　his　faithful　partner　and　

helpmate；　but　then　his　children！　how　was　he　to　provide　for　them？　

how　launch　them　upon　the　wide　ocean　of　the　world？　　This　was；　

perhaps；　the　only　thought　which　gave　him　uneasiness；　and　I　believe　

that　many　an　old　retired　officer　at　that　time；　and　under　similar　

circumstances；　experienced　similar　anxiety；　had　the　war　continued；　

their　children　would　have　been；　of　course；　provided　for　in　the　

army；　but　peace　now　reigned；　and　the　military　career　was　closed　to　

all　save　the　scions　of　the　aristocracy；　or　those　who　were　in　some　

degree　connected　with　that　privileged　order；　an　advantage　which　few　

of　these　old　officers　could　boast　of；　they　had　slight　influence　

with　the　great；　who　gave　themselves　very　little　trouble　either　

about　them　or　their　families。



'I　have　been　writing　to　the　Duke；'　said　my　father　one　day　to　my　

excellent　mother；　after　we　had　been　at　home　somewhat　better　than　a　

year。　　'I　have　been　writing　to　the　Duke　of　York　about　a　commission　

for　that　eldest　boy　of　ours。　　He；　however；　affords　me　no　hopes；　he　

says　that　his　list　is　crammed　with　names；　and　that　the　greater　

number　of　the　candidates　have　better　claims　than　my　son。'



'I　do　not　see　how　that　can　be；'　said　my　mother。



'Nor　do　I；'　replied　my　father。　　'I　see　the　sons　of　bankers　and　

merchants　gazetted　every　month；　and　I　do　not　see　what　claims　they　

have　to　urge；　unless　they　be　golden　ones。　　However；　I　have　not　

served　my　king　fifty　years　to　turn　grumbler　at　this　time　of　life。　　

I　suppose　that　the　people　at　the　head　of　affairs　know　what　is　most　

proper　and　convenient；　perhaps　when　the　lad　sees　how　difficult；　

nay；　how　impossible　it　is　that　he　should　enter　the　army；　he　will　

turn　his　mind　to　some　other　profession；　I　wish　he　may！'



'I　think　he　has　already；'　said　my　mother；　'you　see　how　fond　he　is　

of　the　arts；　of　drawing　and　painting；　and；　as　far　as　I　can　judge；　

what　he　has　already　done　is　very　respectable；　his　mind　seems　quite　

turned　that　way；　and　I　heard　him　say　the　other　day　that　he　would　

sooner　be　a　Michael　Angelo　than　a　general　officer。　　But　you　are　

always　talking　of　him；　what　do　you　think　of　doing　with　the　other　

child？'



'What；　indeed！'　said　my　father；　'that　is　a　consideration　which　

gives　me　no　little　uneasiness。　　I　am　afraid　it　will　be　much　more　

difficult　to　settle　him　in　life　than　his　brother。　　What　is　he　

fitted　for；　even　were　it　in　my　power　to　provide　for　him？　　God　help　

the　child！　　I　bear　him　no　ill　will；　on　the　contrary；　all　love　and　

affection；　but　I　cannot　shut　my　eyes；　there　is　something　so　strange　

about　him！　　How　he　behaved　in　Ireland！　　I　sent　him　to　school　to　

learn　Greek；　and　he　picked　up　Irish！'



'And　Greek　as　well；'　said　my　mother。　　'I　heard　him　say　the　other　

day　that　he　could　read　St。　John　in　the　original　tongue。'



'You　will　find　excuses　for　him；　I　know；'　said　my　father。　　'You　tell　

me　I　am　always　talking　of　my　first…born；　I　might　retort　by　saying　

you　are　always　thinking　of　the　other：　　but　it　is　the　way　of　women　

always　to　side　with　the　second…born。　　There's　what's　her　name　in　

the　Bible；　by　whose　wiles　the　old　blind　man　was　induced　to　give　to　

his　second　son　the　blessing　which　was　the　birthright　of　the　other。　　

I　wish　I　had　been　in　his　place！　　I　should　not　have　been　so　easily　

deceived！　no　disguise　would　ever　have　caused　me　to　mistake　an　

impostor　for　my　first…born。　　Though　I　must　say　for　this　boy　that　he　

is　nothing　like　Jacob；　he　is　neither　smooth　nor　sleek；　and；　though　

my　second…born；　is　already　taller　and　larger　than　his　brother。'



'Just　so；'　said　my　mother；　'his　brother　would　make　a　far　better　

Jacob　than　he。'



'I　will　hear　nothing　ag