We Love Our Profession, And Have All More Or
Less Suffered For It; Many Of Us, In The Times Of Terror, Were
Hanged For Selling An Innocent Translation From The French Or
English.
Shortly after the Constitution was put down by Angouleme
and the French bayonets, I was obliged to flee from Saint James and
take refuge in the wildest part of Galicia, near Corcuvion.
Had I
not possessed good friends, I should not have been alive now; as it
was, it cost me a considerable sum of money to arrange matters.
Whilst I was away, my shop was in charge of the ecclesiastical
officers. They frequently told my wife that I ought to be burnt
for the books which I had sold. Thanks be to God, those times are
past, and I hope they will never return."
Once, as we were walking through the streets of Saint James, he
stopped before a church and looked at it attentively. As there was
nothing remarkable in the appearance of this edifice, I asked him
what motive he had for taking such notice of it. "In the days of
the friars," said he, "this church was one of refuge, to which if
the worst criminals escaped, they were safe. All were protected
there save the negros, as they called us liberals." "Even
murderers, I suppose?" said I. "Murderers!" he answered, "far
worse criminals than they. By the by, I have heard that you
English entertain the utmost abhorrence of murder. Do you in
reality consider it a crime of very great magnitude?" "How should
we not," I replied; "for every other crime some reparation can be
made; but if we take away life, we take away all.
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