- Seller of lottery tickets, driver of death
carts, or poet laureate in Gypsy songs?
I wonder whether thou art
still living, my friend Manuel; thou gentleman of Nature's forming-
-honest, pure-minded, humble, yet dignified being! Art thou still
wandering through the courts of beautiful Safacoro, or on the banks
of the Len Baro, thine eyes fixed in vacancy, and thy mind striving
to recall some half-forgotten couplet of Luis Lobo; or art thou
gone to thy long rest, out beyond the Xeres gate within the wall of
the Campo Santo, to which in times of pest and sickness thou wast
wont to carry so many, Gypsy and Gentile, in thy cart of the
tinkling bell? Oft in the reunions of the lettered and learned in
this land of universal literature, when weary of the display of
pedantry and egotism, have I recurred with yearning to our Gypsy
recitations at the old house in the Pila Seca. Oft, when sickened
by the high-wrought professions of those who bear the cross in
gilded chariots, have I thought on thee, thy calm faith, without
pretence, - thy patience in poverty, and fortitude in affliction;
and as oft, when thinking of my speedily approaching end, have I
wished that I might meet thee once again, and that thy hands might
help to bear me to "the dead man's acre" yonder on the sunny plain,
O Manuel!
My principal visitor was Dionysius, who seldom failed to make his
appearance every forenoon: the poor fellow came for sympathy and
conversation. It is difficult to imagine a situation more forlorn
and isolated than that of this man, - a Greek at Seville, with
scarcely a single acquaintance, and depending for subsistence on
the miserable pittance to be derived from selling a few books, for
the most part hawked about from door to door. "What could have
first induced you to commence bookselling in Seville?" said I to
him, as he arrived one sultry day, heated and fatigued, with a
small bundle of books secured together by a leather strap.
Dionysius. - For want of a better employment, Kyrie, I have adopted
this most unprofitable and despised one. Oft have I regretted not
having been bred up as a shoe-maker, or having learnt in my youth
some other useful handicraft, for gladly would I follow it now.
Such, at least, would procure me the respect of my fellow-creatures
inasmuch as they needed me; but now all avoid me and look upon me
with contempt; for what have I to offer in this place that any one
cares about? Books in Seville! where no one reads, or at least
nothing but new romances, translated from the French, and
obscenity. Books! Would I were a Gypsy and could trim donkeys,
for then I were at least independent and were more respected than I
am at present.
Myself. - Of what kind of books does your stock in trade consist?
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Words from 187716 to 188215
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