Lavengro, George Borrow [i love reading books txt] 📗

man whether he was not afraid to live alone. He told me that he was not, for that, upon the whole, his neighbours were very kind to him. I mentioned the fellow who had swindled him of his donkey upon the road. “That was no neighbour of mine,” said the old man, “and, perhaps, I shall never see him again, or his like.” “It’s a dreadful thing,” said I, “to have no other resource, when injured, than to shed tears on the road.” “It is so,” said the old man; “but God saw the tears of the old, and sent a helper.” “Why did you not help yourself?” said I. “Instead of getting off your ass, why did you not punch at the fellow, or at any rate use dreadful language, call him villain, and shout robbery?” “Punch!” said the old man, “shout! what, with these hands, and this voice⁠—Lord, how you run on! I am old, young chap, I am old!” “Well,” said I, “it is a shameful thing to cry even when old.” “You think so now,” said the old man, “because you are young and strong; perhaps when you are as old as I, you will not be ashamed to cry.”

Upon the whole I was rather pleased with the old man, and much with all about him. As evening drew nigh, I told him that I must proceed on my journey; whereupon he invited me to tarry with him during the night, telling me that he had a nice room and bed above at my service. I, however, declined, and bidding him farewell, mounted my horse and departed. Regaining the road, I proceeded once more in the direction of the north; and, after a few hours, coming to a comfortable public-house, I stopped, and put up for the night.

XXII

I did not awake till rather late the next morning, and when I did, I felt considerable drowsiness, with a slight headache, which I was uncharitable enough to attribute to the mead which I had drunk on the preceding day. After feeding my horse, and breakfasting, I proceeded on my wanderings. Nothing occurred worthy of relating till midday was considerably past, when I came to a pleasant valley, between two gentle hills. I had dismounted, in order to ease my horse, and was leading him along by the bridle, when, on my right, behind a bank in which some umbrageous ashes were growing, I heard a singular noise. I stopped short and listened, and presently said to myself: “Surely this is snoring, perhaps that of a hedgehog.” On further consideration, however, I was convinced that the noise which I heard, and which certainly seemed to be snoring, could not possibly proceed from the nostrils of so small an animal, but must rather come from those of a giant, so loud and sonorous was it. About two or three yards farther was a gate, partly open, to which I went, and peeping into the field, saw a man lying on some rich grass, under the shade of one of the ashes; he was snoring away at a great rate. Impelled by curiosity, I fastened the bridle of my horse to the gate, and went up to the man. He was a genteelly-dressed individual; rather corpulent, with dark features, and seemingly about forty-five. He lay on his back, his hat slightly over his brow, and at his right hand lay an open book. So strenuously did he snore that the wind from his nostrils agitated, perceptibly, a fine cambric frill which he wore at his bosom. I gazed upon him for some time, expecting that he might awake; but he did not, but kept on snoring, his breast heaving convulsively. At last, the noise he made became so terrible, that I felt alarmed for his safety, imagining that a fit might seize him, and he lose his life while fast asleep. I therefore exclaimed: “Sir, sir, awake! you sleep overmuch.” But my voice failed to rouse him, and he continued snoring as before; whereupon I touched him slightly with my riding wand, but failing to wake him, I touched him again more vigorously; whereupon he opened his eyes, and, probably imagining himself in a dream, closed them again. But I was determined to arouse him, and cried as loud as I could: “Sir, sir, pray sleep no more!” He heard what I said, opened his eyes again, stared at me with a look of some consciousness, and, half-raising himself upon his elbows, asked me what was the matter. “I beg your pardon,” said I, “but I took the liberty of awaking you, because you appeared to be much disturbed in your sleep; I was fearful, too, that you might catch a fever from sleeping under a tree.” “I run no risk,” said the man, “I often come and sleep here; and as for being disturbed in my sleep, I felt very comfortable; I wish you had not awoke me.” “Well,” said I, “I beg your pardon once more. I assure you that what I did was with the best intention.” “Oh! pray make no further apology,” said the individual; “I make no doubt that what you did was done kindly; but there’s an old proverb, to the effect, ‘that you should let sleeping dogs lie,’ ” he added with a smile. Then, getting up, and stretching himself with a yawn, he took up his book and said: “I have slept quite long enough, and it’s quite time for me to be going home.” “Excuse my curiosity,” said I, “if I inquire what may induce you to come and sleep in this meadow?” “To tell you the truth,” answered he, “I am a bad sleeper.” “Pray, pardon me,” said I, “if I tell you that I never saw one sleep more heartily.” “If I did so,” said the individual, “I am beholden to this meadow and this book; but I am talking riddles, and will explain myself. I