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

transported for it, if there had been any harm in it? and what’s more, would the blessed woman in the book here have written her life as she has done, and given it to the world, if there had been any harm in faking? She, too, was what they call a thief and a cutpurse; ay, and was transported for it, like my dear son; and do you think she would have told the world so, if there had been any harm in the thing? Oh, it is a comfort to me that the blessed woman was transported, and came back⁠—for come back she did, and rich too⁠—for it is an assurance to me that my dear son, who was transported too, will come back like her.”

“What was her name?”

“Her name, blessed Mary Flanders.”134

“Will you let me look at the book?”

“Yes, dear, that I will, if you promise me not to run away with it.”

I took the book from her hand; a short thick volume, at least a century old, bound with greasy black leather. I turned the yellow and dog’s-eared pages, reading here and there a sentence. Yes, and no mistake! His pen, his style, his spirit might be observed in every line of the uncouth-looking old volume⁠—the air, the style, the spirit of the writer of the book which first taught me to read. I covered my face with my hand, and thought of my childhood.

“This is a singular book,” said I at last; “but it does not appear to have been written to prove that thieving is no harm, but rather to show the terrible consequences of crime: it contains a deep moral.”

“A deep what, dear?”

“A⁠—but no matter, I will give you a crown for this volume.”

“No, dear, I will not sell the volume for a crown.”

“I am poor,” said I; “but I will give you two silver crowns for your volume.”

“No, dear, I will not sell my volume for two silver crowns; no, nor for the golden one in the king’s tower down there; without my book I should mope and pine, and perhaps fling myself into the river; but I am glad you like it, which shows that I was right about you, after all; you are one of our party, and you have a flash about that eye of yours which puts me just in mind of my dear son. No, dear, I won’t sell you my book; but, if you like, you may have a peep into it whenever you come this way. I shall be glad to see you; you are one of the right sort, for, if you had been a common one, you would have run away with the thing; but you scorn such behaviour, and, as you are so flash of your money, though you say you are poor, you may give me a tanner to buy a little baccy with; I love baccy, dear, more by token that it comes from the plantations to which the blessed woman was sent.”

“What’s a tanner?” said I.

“Lor! don’t you know, dear? Why, a tanner is sixpence; and, as you were talking just now about crowns, it will be as well to tell you that those of our trade never calls them crowns, but bulls; but I am talking nonsense, just as if you did not know all that already, as well as myself; you are only shamming⁠—I’m no trap, dear, nor more was the blessed woman in the book. Thank you, dear⁠—thank you for the tanner; if I don’t spend it, I’ll keep it in remembrance of your sweet face. What, you are going?⁠—well, first let me whisper a word to you. If you have any clies to sell at any time, I’ll buy them of you; all safe with me; I never ’peach, and scorns a trap; so now, dear, God bless you! and give you good luck. Thank you for your pleasant company, and thank you for the tanner.”

XXXII

“Tanner!” said I musingly, as I left the bridge; “Tanner! what can the man who cures raw skins by means of a preparation of oak bark and other materials have to do with the name which these fakers, as they call themselves, bestow on the smallest silver coin in these dominions? Tanner! I can’t trace the connection between the man of bark and the silver coin, unless journeymen tanners are in the habit of working for sixpence a day. But I have it,” I continued, flourishing my hat over my head, “tanner, in this instance, is not an English word.” Is it not surprising that the language of Mr. Petulengro and of Tawno Chikno, is continually coming to my assistance whenever I appear to be at a nonplus with respect to the derivation of crabbed words? I have made out crabbed words in Aeschylus by means of the speech of Chikno and Petulengro, and even in my Biblical researches I have derived no slight assistance from it. It appears to be a kind of picklock, an open sesame, Tanner⁠—Tawno! the one is but a modification of the other; they were originally identical, and have still much the same signification. Tanner, in the language of the apple-woman, meaneth the smallest of English silver coins; and Tawno, in the language of the Petulengros, though bestowed upon the biggest of the Romans, according to strict interpretation, signifieth a little child.

So I left the bridge, retracing my steps for a considerable way, as I thought I had seen enough in the direction in which I had hitherto been wandering.

[At last I came to a kind of open place from which three large streets branched, and in the middle of the place stood the figure of a man on horseback. It was admirably executed, and I stood still to survey it.

“Is that the statue of Cromwell?” said I to a drayman who was passing by, driving a team of that enormous breed of horses which had struck