"Thy words I am not able to understand. But the Latin tongue, as it is
pronounced in England, I am able to interpret, and to speak, not
too abundantly." Scudamore spoke the best Latin he could muster at a
moment's notice, for he saw that this gentleman was a Catholic priest,
and probably therefore of good education.
"Art thou, then, an Englishman, my son?" the stranger replied, in the
same good tongue. "From thy countenance and walk, that opinion stood
fast in my mind at first sight of thee. Every Englishman is to me
beloved, and every Frenchman unfriendly--as many, at least, as now
govern the state. Father Bartholomew is my name, and though most men
here are heretical, among the faithful I avail sufficiently. What saith
the great Venusian? 'In straitened fortunes quit thyself as a man of
spirit and of mettle.' I find thee in straitened fortunes, and would
gladly enlarge thee, if that which thou art doing is pleasing to the God
omnipotent."
After a few more words, he led the hapless and hungry Englishman to
a quiet little cot which overlooked the noble bay, and itself was
overlooked by a tall flag-staff bearing the colours of Portugal. Here in
the first place he regaled his guest with the flank of a kid served with
cucumber, and fruit gathered early, and some native wine, scarcely good
enough for the Venusian bard, but as rich as ambrosia to Scudamore. Then
he supplied him with the finest tobacco that ever ascended in spiral
incense to the cloud-compelling Jove.
Pages:
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614