Transcribed from by the 1903 Methuen & Co. edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org. Many thanks to Norfolk and Norwich Millennium Library,
UK, for kindly supplying the images from which this transcription was made.
THE
ROMANY RYE
A Sequel to 'Lavengro'
_By_
GEORGE BORROW
_WITH NOTES AND AN INTRODUCTION_
BY JOHN SAMPSON
_WITH A FRONTISPIECE_
LONDON
METHUEN & CO.
36, ESSEX STREET, W.C.
MDCCCCIII
[Picture: Bushbury Church]
INTRODUCTION
'Lavengro' and 'The Romany Rye' are one book, though the former was
published in 1851 and the latter not until 1857. After a slumber of six
years the dingle re-awakes to life, Lavengro's hammer shatters the
stillness, and the blaze of his forge again lights up its shadows, while
all the strange persons of the drama take up their parts at the point
where the curtain had been so abruptly rung down. The post-chaise
overturned in the last chapter of 'Lavengro' is repaired in the first of
this sequel, the Man in Black proceeds with his interrupted disquisition,
and Borrow resumes his cold-blooded courtship of poor Isopel, playing
with her feelings as a cat with a mouse. The dingle episode is divided
equally between the two works; and had not 'Glorious John,' after a
series of peremptory notes from the author, at last consented to publish
'The Romany Rye' 'to oblige Mr. Borrow,' we had lost some of the most
delightful scenes of which that enchanted spot was the theatre.
What part of this narrative is _Dichtung _and what is _Wahrheit _has been
a debated question. In his chapter on pseudo-critics in the appendix to
the present book, Borrow denies that he ever called 'Lavengro' an
autobiography, or authorized any other person to call it so. But it had
been advertised for some months as, 'Lavengro: an Autobiography'; while
as early as 1843 Borrow writes to Murray that he is engaged upon his
life; and as late as 1862, in an account of himself written for Mr. John
Longe of Norwich, Borrow says that 'in 1851 he published "Lavengro," a
work in which he gives an account of his early life.' There is indeed no
doubt that the earlier part of 'Lavengro' is, in the main, a true history
of the life and adventures of George Borrow, however embellished here or
there with Borrovian touches; it is only of the truth of the occurrences
just before and after leaving London that scepticism has been expressed.
Borrow's story, however, is so circumstantial that we should at least be
able to discover whether this part of his history is credible and
consistent.
Plainly, the year when Borrow leaves London is 1825. 'Somewhat more than
a year before,' in March (or rather April) {0a} of the year of Byron's
funeral, {0b} he had entered the 'Big City,' a youth verging on manhood.
In his preface to 'Lavengro' he speaks of the time as embracing 'nearly
the first quarter of the present century,' and in 'The Romany Rye' refers
to having edited the _Newgate Chronicle _some months ago. {0c} We know
also that his youthful contributions to literature ceased with his
translation of Klinger's 'Faustus,' published on April 18, 1825. About
this time, then, when Borrow was literally reduced to his last shilling,
he describes himself as visiting a fair in the neighbourhood of London.
He refuses a loan of 50 pounds from Jasper Petulengro, and, returning
homewards, notices in a publisher's window a request for a tale or novel.
Subsisting on bread and water, he writes in a week the 'Life of Joseph
Sell,' for which he receives 20 pounds, and twelve days after attending
the fair leaves London. Passing through Salisbury, he travels northward
and encamps in a dingle, where he is poisoned by his old enemy Mrs.
Herne. Saved by the timely intervention of a methodist preacher and his
wife, he recovers on the following day (Sunday), and nine days later
accompanies his friends to the Welsh border. Here he again meets Jasper,
returning with him the greater part of the day's journey, settling in
'Mumpers' Dingle,' where he is visited by his gypsy friends, four days
before the Sunday upon which they all attend church.
A casual remark of Mr. Petulengro's on this occasion affords a valuable
clue to the precise date. 'Any news stirring, Mr. Petulengro?' said
Borrow; 'have you heard anything of the great religious movements?'
'Plenty,' said Mr. Petulengro; 'all the religious people, more especially
the evangelicals, those who go about distributing tracts, are very angry
about the fight between Gentleman Cooper and White-headed Bob, which they
say ought not to have been permitted to take place; and then they are
trying all they can to prevent the fight between the lion and the dogs,
which they say is a disgrace to a Christian country.' The prize-fight
between Baldwin and Cooper was fought on Tuesday, July 5, 1825, near
Maidenhead. The combat between the lion, Nero, and six dogs took place
at Warwick on Tuesday, July 26, and for months beforehand had been the
subject of much discussion in the London and provincial press. {0d} The
Wednesday, therefore, when the gypsies visited Borrow in the dingle must
have fallen between these two events--_i.e._, must have been the 6th,
13th, or 20th of July. The fair to the south-east of London, towards
which Borrow was attracted by a huge concourse of people, all moving in
the same direction, is unmistakably the Greenwich Fair, held on
Whit-Monday, May 23, 1825. {0e} He must, then, have set out after this
date, and on a Tuesday, as we calculate by reckoning backwards from the
first Sunday passed with Peter Williams. The gypsies' visit occurred on
the 58th day of his tour, so that he must have left London on Tuesday,
May 24, 1825, since to have started on any later day would have carried
him beyond the date of the lion fight.
From these data we can now construct an exact diary of Borrow's
adventures, from the day on which he left London to that on which he
arrived at the posting-inn on the Great North Road.
Diary.
1st day [Tuesday, May 24, 1825]. Leaves London, afternoon; walks nine
miles S.W.; takes coach to [Amesbury].
2nd day [Wednesday, May 25]. Arrives [Amesbury] before dawn; sees
Stonehenge; crosses Avon; descends to City of the Spire [Salisbury].
3rd day [Thursday, May 26]. Salisbury.
4th day [Friday, May 27]. Leaves Salisbury; walks N.W., about twelve
miles to small town [? Heytesbury].
5th to 8th day [Saturday, May 28, to Tuesday, May 31]. Walks N.W.,
twenty to twenty-five miles per day.
9th day [Wednesday, June 1]. About two reaches small town, meets author
and accompanies him home (two miles off main road).
10th day [Thursday, June 2]. Rev. Mr. Platitude visits author, Borrow
leaves early; walks N. for two hours; buys Slingsby's pony and cart;
afternoon travels N.W.; late at night arrives at a dingle [in
Shropshire].
11th day [Friday, June 3]. Learning tinkering in dingle.
12th to 14th day [Saturday, June 4, to Monday, June 6]. Tinkering in
dingle. {0f}
15th day [Tuesday, June 7]. Visited by Leonora.
16th day [Wednesday, June 8]. Collects kettles to mend.
17th to 18th day [Thursday, June 9, to Friday, June 10]. Uneventful.
19th day [Saturday, June 11]. Poisoned by Mrs. Herne's cake; saved by
intervention of Welsh preacher and his wife; travels with them by night.
20th day [Sunday, June 12]. Peter Williams preaches; Borrow bathes;
meets the dairyman's daughter.
21st day [Monday, June 13]. Uneventful.
22nd day [Tuesday, June 14]. Peter promises to tell his tale.
23rd to 24th day [Wednesday, June 15, to Thursday, June 16]. Uneventful.
25th day [Friday, June 17]. Peter tells his tale.
26th day [Saturday, June 18]. Peter tranquillized.
27th day [Sunday, June 19]. Peter preaches.
28th day [Monday, June 20]. Borrow talks of departing.
29th day [Tuesday, June 21]. Accompanies preacher and wife to Welsh
border; meets Mr. Petulengro; returns with him; parts near the Silent
Woman; settles in Mumper's Dingle.
30th to 32nd day [Wednesday, June 22, to Friday, June 24]. Practises
making horse-shoes.
33rd day [Saturday, June 25]. Succeeds (after four days); at evening the
horrors.
34th day [Sunday, June 26]. Better; reads Welsh Bible.
35th day [Monday, June 27]. Uneventful.
36th day [Tuesday, June 28]. Fight with Flaming Tinman; meets Isopel
Berners, who remains in dingle.
37th day [Wednesday, June 29]. Visits public-house (landlord says fight
took place day before); meets Man in Black; gives Belle her first
Armenian lesson; Man in Black visits dingle.
38th to 40th day [Thursday, June 30, to Saturday, July 2]. Uneventful.
41st day [Sunday, July 3]. Landlord tells Borrow of approaching
cock-fight.
42nd to 43rd day [Monday, July 4, to Tuesday, July 5]. Uneventful.
44th day [Wednesday, July 6]. The cock-fight.
45th to 47th day [Thursday, July 7, to Saturday, July 9]_. _Uneventful.
48th to 50th day [Sunday, July 10, to Tuesday, July 12]. Landlord's loss
of cock-fight generally known.
51st day [Wednesday, July 13]. Landlord proposes fight between Borrow
and Belle.
52nd to 53rd day [Thursday, July 14, to Friday, July 15]. On one of
these days Man in Black probably visits dingle.
54th to 55th day [Saturday, July 16, to Sunday, July 17]. Uneventful.
56th day [Monday, July 18]. Thunderstorm; postillion's chaise
overturned.
[_End of_ '_Lavengro_.']
NOTE.--The last twenty dates are thus arrived at. There are two
references to the lapse of a fortnight since June 29, which was the date
of Borrow's first visit to the public-house, and of Belle's first
Armenian lesson. 'In about a fortnight Belle had hung up 100 Haikan
numerals on the hake of her memory;' while the landlord, on the occasion
when he suggests a fight between Borrow and Belle, complains that Hunter
calls _him _an old fool, whereas a fortnight ago it was _he _who called
Hunter a fool. The date, then, of this last visit of Borrow's to the
public-house must have been on or about July 13. The defeat of the
landlord's game-cocks has been noised abroad for the past three days
(July 10, 11, 12), and since the landlord had referred ten days before to
the fact that the fight was about to come off on the following Wednesday,
it must have occurred on July 6. 'One day'--not necessarily the 14th or
15th, but this date is unimportant--the Man in Black revisits the dingle,
and then follow three uneventful days, on the last evening of which is
the great thunderstorm (July 18). Henceforward the daily record is plain
and straightforward, and definitely fixed by the mention of the Sunday on
which Borrow and the gypsies attend the church of M--.
[_Beginning of_ '_Romany Rye_.']
57th day [Tuesday, July 19]. Makes linchpin; postillion departs;
evening, Man in Black.
58th day [Wednesday, July 20]. Arrival of gypsies; Belle goes on short
journey.
59th day [Thursday, July 21]. Gypsies feast at Ursula's wedding.
60th to 61st day [Friday, July 22, to Saturday, July 23]. Uneventful.
62nd day [Sunday, July 24]. Afternoon church at M--; talk with Ursula
under hedge; Belle returns at night.
63rd day [Monday, July 25]. Landlord in despair; evening, gypsies
prepare for fair.
64th day [Tuesday, July 26]. Attends fair with gypsies; last view of
Belle; sees horse.
65th day [Wednesday, July 27]. Gypsies return from fair.
66th to 67th day [Thursday, July 28, to Friday, July 29]. No Belle.
68th day [Saturday, July 30]. Belle's letter; Borrow sleeps soundly.
69th day [Sunday, July 31]. Landlord in luck; horse at public-house;
Petulengro lends Borrow 50 pounds.
70th day [Monday, August 1]. Buys horse.
71st day [Tuesday, August 2]. Leaves dingle; rescues old man's ass; puts
up at small inn on the North Road.
72nd day [Wednesday, August 3]. Reaches posting house [Swan Hotel,
Stafford].
So far as we have proceeded the accuracy of this calculation depends upon
two dates only. Can we verify it by establishing the truth of any of the
events recorded by Borrow? In reply to my enquiry whether the
_Wolverhampton Chronicle _contains any reference to a thunderstorm
occurring on July 18, Mr. J. Elliot, the city librarian replied by
sending me the following extract from that paper for Wednesday, July 20,
1825:
'On Monday afternoon [_i.e._, July 18] three men who were mowing in a
field at the Limes, near Seabridge, in this county, took shelter
under the hedge from a violent thunderstorm. They had not been long
there before one of them was struck with the electric fluid, causing
his immediate death. The other two men were a short distance from
the ill-fated man above mentioned, and were stunned about an hour,
but not injured further.'
Again, Borrow mentions attending a horse and cattle fair, in company with
the gypsies, on the morning of the day when, looking backward toward the
dingle, he saw Isopel Berners for the last time 'standing at the mouth,
{0g} the beams of the morning sun shining full on her noble face and
figure.' It seems probable that this fair, which took the party about
two hours to reach, was the Tamworth horse and cattle fair held on July
26.
Again, Borrow tells us that 'a young moon gave a feeble light,' as he
mounted the coach to Amesbury, and on May 24 the moon _was _in its first
quarter. {0h} The planet Jupiter, too, he could have seen after 10 p.m.
on June 3, but his reference to the position of Ursus Major on the
evening of his talk with Ursula is less satisfactory. 'On arriving at
the mouth of the dingle, which fronted the east, I perceived,' says
Borrow, 'that Charles's Wain was nearly opposite to it high above in the
heavens, by which I knew that the night was tolerably well advanced.'
But on July 24, as I learn, Charles's Wain was in the N.W., and at
midnight or 1 a.m. lay nearly due north, and as low down in the sky as it
could be. This, however, is perhaps to consider too closely. Indeed,
the general accuracy of this part of Borrow's story renders it probable
that it was expanded from a brief diary kept at the time.
It will be seen that the dates thus arrived at differ from those of
Borrow's biographer. According to Professor Knapp, {0i} Borrow visits
Greenwich Fair on May 12, 1825, writes 'Joseph Sell' May 13 to 18, and
disposes of the MS. on the 20th; leaves London on the 22nd, reaches
Amesbury on the 23rd; leaves Salisbury May 26, and meets author (man who
touches) May 30. On May 31 he buys Slingsby's pony, is in dingle June 1,
visited by Leonora on the 5th, and drugged by Mrs. Herne on the 8th. He
passes Sunday, June 12, and the following week with Peter Williams and
his wife, on the 21st he sees them to the border, turns back with
Petulengro and settles in Mumpers' Dingle. His fight with the Flaming
Tinman, Professor Knapp tells us, must have occurred about the end of
June. The Professor's chronology, however, seems to me derived from a
calculation--not in itself over-exact {0j}--based upon the erroneous idea
that the fair took place on May 12. {0k} This is traceable to a
statement in Thorpe {0l} that 'the fair lasted as a "hog" and pleasure
fair, and was held on May 12 and October 11, till 1872'; but Thorpe here
refers to a later period, and there is no doubt that in 1825 the
Greenwich Fair was held on Whit-Monday, May 23.
Not the least interesting corollary from this correction is the discovery
that 'that extraordinary work,' the 'Life of Joseph Sell,' was never
written. To me Borrow's insistent iteration of the bare statement that
he wrote such a book is in itself suspicious, and it _is _not a little
strange that a work for which 'during the last few months (before August,
1825) there has been a prodigious demand'{0m} should have entirely
disappeared from the face of the earth. The name 'Sell,' which in some
curious fashion seems to carry conviction to Professor Knapp's mind, {0n}
seems to me a singularly inauspicious one, especially when coming from a
writer who, like Pakomovna, was 'born not far from the sign of the
gammon,' and who boasts in his appendix of having inserted deliberate
misstatements in his books in order to deceive and mislead his critics.
{0o} But why should Borrow pretend to have written this book? Chiefly,
I think, to emphasize that independence of character of which he so
frequently boasts, and which, after his marriage fifteen years later to a
well-to-do widow, he is perhaps a little apt to antedate. {0p} However
Borrow obtained the money which enabled him to leave London, it is plain
that it was not by writing 'Joseph Sell' at the time and in the manner
described. If he were in as desperate circumstances as he represents, he
probably accepted Mr. Petulengro's offer, {0q} unless we are to suppose
that he imitated the methods of Jerry Abershaw, Galloping Dick, or some
of the 'fraternity of vagabonds' whose lives Borrow had chronicled in his
'Celebrated Trials.'
Borrow's narrative after his arrival at Stafford becomes dull, shadowy,
and unconvincing--a strong argument against its truth; for while Borrow
easily lived the life romantic, he seems to have lacked the power to
imagine it. He describes himself as accepting a somewhat nondescript
office at the posting-inn on the Great North Road, where he remains for
an undefined but considerable period, and meets again with Francis Ardrey
and the Rev. Mr. Platitude. On leaving the inn he refuses to accept the
landlord's offer of an honorarium of 10 pounds, and sets off with _his
_horse to Horncastle Fair. He meets with an accident a day's journey
from his destination, which confines him for eight days in the house of
the old man who could read Chinese crockery, but could not tell what was
o'clock. Ultimately he reaches Horncastle before the end of the fair,
sells his horse to Jack Dale the jockey, and journeys towards Norwich,
where we part with him at Spalding.
These statements are mutually irreconcilable. Horncastle Fair was held
from August 10 (the Feast of St. Lawrence) to August 21, and had 'just
begun' on the day following his accident; but, as his journey lasted six
days, this leaves no time at all for his experiences at the inn, where he
must have stopped for some weeks, and apparently a much longer period, as
'a kind of overlooker in the stables.' If, on the other hand, we allow
even a fortnight for his stop at the inn, for which 10 pounds would be
handsome payment, then he could not have arrived at Horncastle before the
end of the fair. Which part of his story, if any, are we to accept?
The Stafford story is decidedly weak. Borrow, being no fool, would not
have journeyed north for two days on his road to Horncastle, nor would
Ardrey have taken coach to Stafford _en route _for a lion fight at
Warwick, which had taken place several days before. Mr. Platitude's
reappearance is extremely artificial, and the ostler's tales of Abershaw
and Co. are obviously reminiscences of Borrow's 'Celebrated Trials.' But
the Horncastle story is weaker still. The 'Lord'-Lieutenant, _so _free
and young,' is pilloried, because eighteen years afterwards _he _did not
see _his _way to make Borrow a J.P. (Who would?) Murtagh is introduced
merely as a lay figure, upon which to drape an inverted account of
Borrow's own travels at a later period; and that very tedious gentleman,
the tall Hungarian, _is _a character, Professor Knapp tells us, whom
Borrow met in Hungary or Wallachia in 1884. It is plain that at this
point the whole story has become what Borrow calls a 'fakement.'
But that Borrow _did _buy a horse with money lent by Petulengro, and sold
it at a profit, we have some reason to credit. Nearly ten years before
Borrow wrote 'The Romany Rye,' in the second edition of his 'Zincali,'
published in 1843, he quotes a speech of Mr. Petulengro's 'on the day
after _mol-divvus_, {0r} 1842.' 'I am no _hindity mush_, {0s} as you
well know,' says Jasper. 'I suppose you have not forgot, how, fifteen
years ago, when you made horse-shoes in the little dingle by the side of
the Great North Road, I lent you fifty _cottors_ {0t} to purchase the
wonderful trotting cob of the innkeeper with the green Newmarket coat,
which three days later you sold for two hundred.' This earlier version
seems more probably the true one, and since three days would find Borrow
in Stafford, it seems reasonable to conclude that he sold his horse there
and not in Lincolnshire. Personally, however, I must confess to feeling
little interest in the fate of the animal--Belle's donkey were a dearer
object.
Mumpers' Dingle might well become the Mecca of true Borrovians, could we
but determine the authentic spot. Somewhere or other--who will find it
for us?--in west central Shropshire {0u} is a little roadside inn called
the Silent Woman; {0v} a little further to the east is a milestone on the
left hand side, and a few yards from the milestone the cross-road where
Petulengro parted from Borrow. Ten miles further still is a town, and
five miles from the town the famous dingle. Mr. Petulengro describes it
as 'surprisingly dreary'; 'a deep dingle in the midst of a large field
about which there has been a law-suit for some years past; the nearest
town five miles distant, and only a few huts and hedge public-houses in
the neighbourhood;' {0w} and Borrow speaks of it as 'a deep hollow in the
midst of a wide field; the shelving sides overgrown with trees and
bushes, a belt of sallows surrounding it on the top, and a steep winding
path leading down into the depths.' {0x} It was surrounded by a copse of
thorn bushes, {0y} and the mouth of the dingle fronted the east, {0z}
while the highroad lay too far distant for the noise of traffic to reach
Borrow's ears. {0z1}
Professor Knapp has located the dingle in Monmer Lane, Willenhall, and a
visit to the locality and references to old and new ordnance surveys
support this view. Willenhall lies in the coal measures of
Staffordshire, and the modern development of its coal and iron industries
has transformed the 'few huts and hedge public-houses' into a thriving
town of about 17,000 inhabitants. The name of 'Mumpers' Dingle' did not
seem to be locally recognised, and, indeed, was scornfully repudiated by
the oldest inhabitant; but this may have been merely his revenge for my
intrusion just about his dinner hour. But Monmer Lane, still pronounced
and in the older ordnance surveys written 'Mumber Lane,' is known to all.
At the top of this lane on the east side of the bridge lies the 'Monmer
Lane Ironworks,' which Professor Knapp, a little carelessly, assumes to
have been the site of the dingle; {0z2} and to the west a large flat,
bare, uncultivated piece of land, Borrow's 'plain,' cut in two by the
Bentley Canal, which runs through it east and west. A walk of 500 yards
along the tow-path brings us to a small bridge crossing the canal. This
is known as 'Dingle Bridge,' the little hawthorn-girt lane leading to it
is called 'Dingle Lane,' and a field opposite bears the name of 'Dingle
Piece.' The dingle itself has disappeared, possibly as a consequence of
levelling operations in the construction of the canal, and must not be
hastily identified by the pilgrim with the adjoining marl-pit, which has
been excavated still more recently. But we can hardly doubt that
somewhere hereabouts is the historic spot where Borrow fought and
vanquished the Flaming Tinman, that here he lived with Miss Berners 'in
an uncertificated manner,' that under an adjoining thorn-bush he held his
astounding conversation with Ursula, and that from here, wearied of her
companion's frigid regard and strange bantering, poor Isopel turned away
with her little donkey-cart and a heavy heart.
The public-house kept by the landlord in the green Newmarket coat, who
was 'the wonder and glory of the neighbourhood,' and who had fought and
beaten 'Tom of Hopton,' is still standing, though it is no longer used as
an inn, and the pious Borrovian must abandon any hopes he may have
cherished of drinking to the Lavengro's memory in 'hard old ale.' A
quaint old 'half-way house,' it lies, as Borrow describes, about two
miles east of the dingle--he saw the setting sun as he returned from his
frequent visits there--on the right-hand side of the highroad to Walsall,
along which the brewer proposed to establish 'a stage-coach and three to
run across the country', and a little nearer Willenhall, on the north
side of the road, is Bentley Hall, the 'hall' from which the postillion
must have been returning when overtaken by the thunderstorm. The church
attended by Borrow and his gypsy friends, when Mrs. Petulengro horrified
the sexton by invading the nobleman's vacant pew, may confidently be
identified with Bushbury Church, which has all the features described by
Borrow. It is rather over three miles' distance from the dingle, has a
peal of bells, a chancel entrance, and is surrounded by lofty
beech-trees. The vicar in 1825 was a Mr. Clare, but whether of
evangelical views and a widower with two daughters, the present vicar is
unable to inform me. 'The clergyman of M--, as they call him,' probably
took his name from Moseley Court or Moseley Hall, country seats in the
parish of Bushbury.
It is as a contribution to philology, Borrow tells us in the Appendix,
that he wishes 'Lavengro' and this book to be judged. Fortunately for
himself, his fame rests upon surer foundations. A great but careless
linguist, Borrow was assuredly no philologist. 'Hair-erecting'
(_haarstraubend_) is the fitting epithet which an Oriental scholar,
Professor Richard Pischel, of Berlin, finds to describe Borrow's
etymologies; while Pott, in quoting from the 'Zincali,' indicates his
horror by notes of exclamation; or, when Borrow once in a way hits on the
right etymon, confirms the statement with an ironical 'Ganz recht!'
Though Borrow had read Borde, it was reserved for a Viennese scholar, Dr.
Zupitza, to discover that the specimens of 'Egipt speche,' in our
original Merry-Andrew's 'Boke of Knowledge,' were in reality good
Anglo-Romany. And whatever may have been Lavengro's vaunted acquaintance
with Armenian, it was apparently insufficient to enable him to identify
any of the Armenian elements in the gypsy language.
Touching Borrow's knowledge of Romani, it must be confessed that while he
has been the means of attracting others to the study of that interesting
tongue, his own command of it was of the slightest. He never mastered
'deep' (or inflected) Romani, and even his broken gypsy is a curious
Borrovian variety, distinct from the idiom of the tents. No gypsy ever
uses _chal _or _engro _as a separate word, or talks of the _dukkering
dook _or _of penning a dukkerin_. His genders are perversely incorrect,
as in the title of the present book; and his 'Romano Lavo-Lil: Word Book
of the Romany or English Gypsy Language' probably contains more 'howlers'
than any other vocabulary in the world. He is responsible for the
creation of such ghost-words as _asarlas_, 'at all, in no manner'
(mistaking _helpasar les _for _help asarlas_, pp 18, 110); _cappi_,
'booty, gain' (_to lel cappi_, pp 28, 176 = 'to get blankets'); _ebyok_,
'sea' (? the gypsy questioned, mishearing 'ebb-eye' for 'ebb-tide');
_is_, 'if,' p. 51; _kokkodus_, 'uncle' (perhaps mistaking some such
phrase as 'like my _koko _does' for 'like my _kokkodus_'); _lutherum_,
'sleep'; _medisin_, 'measure' (perhaps because medicine is measured out);
_moskey_, 'a spy' (? mistaking _dikamaski _for _dik_! _a moskey)_; _o_,
'he' (mistaking _kai jivela _for _kai jivvel o_, p. 53); _pahamengro_,
'turnip' (probably mistaking _pusamengro_, 'pitchfork,' for the turnip it
was used to uproot); _pazorrhus_, 'indebted' = 'trust us'); _pios_,
'drunken as a health' (_aukko tu_ [_to_] _pios_, p. 78 = 'here's fun');
_sar_, 'with'; _sherrafo_, 'religious, converted,' pp. 89, 194 (really
'chief, principal,' from _shero_, 'head'); _sicovar_, 'eternally' (_si
covar ajaw_, p. 90 = 'so the thing is'); _sos_, 'who' (= 'what's');
_talleno_, 'woollen, flannel' (mistaking _talleno chofa_, p. 93,
'under-skirt' for 'flannel petticoat'), etc. Perhaps the most amusing
instance of all is the word _hinjiri _in 'Lavengro.' When Mrs. Herne
hanged herself, Petulengro says that she 'had been her own _hinjiri_,'
{0z3} and the word is explained by Professor Knapp as the feminine of
_hinjiro_, 'executioner,' from _djandjir_, 'a chain.' {0z4} But there
_is _no such word as _hinjero_, and _hinjiri _is merely the English
'injury' with a superfluous aspirate.
On the Sunday evening after his conversation with Ursula, Borrow, moved
by his discovery of the original meaning of the gypsy word _patteran_,
falls into a strange train of thought. 'No one at present,' he says,
'knew that but myself and Ursula, who had learnt it from Mrs. Herne, the
last, it was said, of the old stock; and then I thought what strange
people the gypsies must have been in the old time. They were
sufficiently strange at present, but they must have been far stranger of
old; they must have been a more peculiar people--their language must have
been more perfect--and they must have had a greater stock of strange
secrets. I almost wished that I had lived some two or three hundred
years ago, that I might have observed these people when they were yet
stranger than at present. I wondered whether I could have introduced
myself to their company at that period, whether I should have been so
fortunate as to meet such a strange, half-malicious, half good-humoured
being as Jasper, who would have instructed me in the language, then more
deserving of note than at present. What might I not have done with that
language had I known it in its purity? Why, I might have written books
in it! Yet those who spoke it would hardly have admitted me to their
society at that period, when they kept more to themselves. Yet I thought
that I might possibly have gained their confidence, and have wandered
about with them, and learnt their language and all their strange ways,
and then--and then--and a sigh rose from the depth of my breast; for I
began to think, "Supposing I had accomplished all this, what would have
been the profit of it? and in what would all this wild gypsy dream have
terminated?"'
It is one of the ironies of fate that Borrow, neither then nor thirty
years later, when he made his pedestrian tour through Wales, should have
known that there was still in that country a gypsy tribe who _had
_preserved the language of two or three hundred years ago. He might have
met gypsies who had spoken to that Romani patriarch Abram Wood; he might
have told us the origin of the mysterious Ingrams, for one of whom he was
himself mistaken; {0z5} he might have learned from Black Ellen some of
the three hundred folk-tales with which she is credited; he might have
sat at the feet of that fairy witch Alabina the _Meleni_, or have
described 'Taw' as a girl in her teens. We may sigh for the pictures
which the word-master would have given us of this people, but the sigh is
almost one of relief when we think of the escape of the exquisite tongue
which Borrow would have tortured and defaced, and I, for one, cannot
pretend to regret that the discovery of Welsh Romani should have fallen
instead to the lot of that perfect scholar-gypsy and gypsy-scholar,
FRANCIS HINDES GROOME.
* * * * *
NOTE.--The page references to 'Lavengro' in the foot-notes are to F. H.
Groome's edition published in this series; references to 'Romano
Lavo-Lil' and 'Wild Wales' are to the original editions. Borrow's own
foot-notes are marked (G. B.), and facts quoted on Professor Knapp's
authority (Kn.).
ADVERTISEMENT
It having been frequently stated in print that the book called 'Lavengro'
was got up expressly against the Popish agitation in the years 1850-51,
the author takes this opportunity of saying that the principal part of
that book was written in the year '43, that the whole of it was completed
before the termination of the year '46, and that it was in the hands of
the publisher in the year '48. {0z6} And here he cannot forbear
observing, that it was the duty of that publisher to have rebutted a
statement which he knew to be a calumny; and also to have set the public
right on another point dealt with in the Appendix to the present work,
more especially as he was the proprietor of a review enjoying, however
undeservedly, a certain sale and reputation.
'But take your own part, boy!
For if you don't, no one will take it for you.'
With respect to 'Lavengro,' the author feels that he has no reason to be
ashamed of it. In writing that book he did his duty, by pointing out to
his country-people the nonsense which, to the greater part of them, is as
the breath of their nostrils, and which, if indulged in, as it probably
will be, to the same extent as hitherto, will, within a very few years,
bring the land which he most loves beneath a foreign yoke; he does not
here allude to the yoke of Rome.
Instead of being ashamed, has he not rather cause to be proud of a book
which has had the honour of being rancorously abused and execrated by the
very people of whom the country has least reason to be proud?
* * * * *
One day Cogia Efendy went to a bridal festival. The masters of the
feast, observing his old and coarse apparel, paid him no consideration
whatever. The Cogia saw that he had no chance of notice; so going out,
he hurried to his house, and, putting on a splendid pelisse, returned to
the place of festival. No sooner did he enter the door than the masters
advanced to meet him, and saying, 'Welcome, Cogia Efendy,' with all
imaginable honour and reverence, placed him at the head of the table, and
said, 'Please to eat, Lord Cogia.' Forthwith the Cogia, taking hold of
one of the furs of his pelisse, said, 'Welcome, my pelisse; please to
eat, my lord.' The masters, looking at the Cogia with great surprise,
said, 'What are you about?' Whereupon the Cogia replied, 'As it is quite
evident that all the honour paid is paid to my pelisse, I think it ought
to have some food too.'--PLEASANTRIES OF THE COGIA NASR EDDIN EFENDI.
CHAPTER I
THE MAKING OF THE LINCH-PIN--THE SOUND SLEEPER--BREAKFAST--THE
POSTILLION'S DEPARTURE
I awoke at the first break of day, and, leaving the postillion fast
asleep, stepped out of the tent. The dingle was dank and dripping. I
lighted a fire of coals and got my forge in readiness. I then ascended
to the field, where the chaise was standing as we had left it on the
previous evening. After looking at the cloud-stone near it, now cold,
and split into three pieces, I set about prying narrowly into the
condition of the wheel and axle-tree--the latter had sustained no damage
of any consequence, and the wheel, as far as I was able to judge, was
sound, being only slightly injured in the box. The only thing requisite
to set the chaise in a travelling condition appeared to be a linch-pin,
which I determined to make. Going to the companion wheel, I took out the
linch-pin, which I carried down with me to the dingle, to serve me as a
model.
I found Belle by this time dressed, and seated near the forge: with a
slight nod to her like that which a person gives who happens to see an
acquaintance when his mind is occupied with important business, I
forthwith set about my work. Selecting a piece of iron which I thought
would serve my purpose, I placed it in the fire, and, plying the bellows
in a furious manner, soon made it hot; then seizing it with the tongs, I
laid it on my anvil, and began to beat it with my hammer, according to
the rules of my art. The dingle resounded with my strokes. Belle sat
still, and occasionally smiled, but suddenly started up, and retreated
towards her encampment, on a spark, which I purposely sent in her
direction, alighting on her knee. I found the making of a linch-pin no
easy matter; it was, however, less difficult than the fabrication of a
pony-shoe; my work, indeed, was much facilitated by my having another pin
to look at. In about three-quarters of an hour I had succeeded tolerably
well, and had produced a linch-pin which I thought would serve. During
all this time, notwithstanding the noise which I was making, the
postillion never showed his face. His non-appearance at first alarmed
me: I was afraid he might be dead, but, on looking into the tent, I found
him still buried in the soundest sleep. 'He must surely be descended
from one of the seven sleepers,' said I, as I turned away and resumed my
work. My work finished, I took a little oil, leather, and sand, and
polished the pin as well as I could; then, summoning Belle, we both went
to the chaise, where, with her assistance, I put on the wheel. The
linch-pin which I had made fitted its place very well, and having
replaced the other, I gazed at the chaise for some time with my heart
full of that satisfaction which results from the consciousness of having
achieved a great action; then, after looking at Belle in the hope of
obtaining a compliment from her lips, which did not come, I returned to
the dingle, without saying a word, followed by her. Belle set about
making preparations for breakfast; and I, taking the kettle, went and
filled it at the spring. Having hung it over the fire, I went to the
tent in which the postillion was still sleeping, and called upon him to
arise. He awoke with a start, and stared around him at first with the
utmost surprise, not unmixed, I could observe, with a certain degree of
fear. At last, looking in my face, he appeared to recollect himself. 'I
had quite forgot,' said he, as he got up, 'where I was, and all that
happened yesterday. However, I remember now the whole
affair--thunder-storm, thunder-bolt, frightened horses, and all your
kindness. Come, I must see after my coach and horses. I hope we shall
be able to repair the damage.' 'The damage is already quite repaired,'
said I, 'as you will see, if you come to the field above.' 'You don't
say so,' said the postillion, coming out of the tent; 'well, I am
mightily beholden to you. Good morning, young gentlewoman,' said he,
addressing Belle, who, having finished her preparations, was seated near
the fire. 'Good-morning, young man,' said Belle, 'I suppose you would be
glad of some breakfast; however, you must wait a little, the kettle does
not boil.' 'Come and look at your chaise,' said I; 'but tell me how it
happened that the noise which I have been making did not awake you; for
three-quarters of an hour at least I was hammering close at your ear.'
'I heard you all the time,' said the postillion, 'but your hammering made
me sleep all the sounder; I am used to hear hammering in my morning
sleep. There's a forge close by the room where I sleep when I'm at home,
at my inn; for we have all kinds of conveniences at my inn--forge,
carpenter's shop, and wheelwright's--so that when I heard you hammering,
I thought, no doubt, that it was the old noise, and that I was
comfortable in my bed at my own inn.' We now ascended to the field,
where I showed the postillion his chaise. He looked at the pin
attentively, rubbed his hands, and gave a loud laugh. 'Is it not well
done?' said I. 'It will do till I get home,' he replied. 'And that is
all you have to say?' I demanded. 'And that's a good deal,' said he,
'considering who made it. But don't be offended,' he added, 'I shall
prize it all the more for its being made by a gentleman, and no
blacksmith; and so will my governor, when I show it to him. I shan't let
it remain where it is, but will keep it, as a remembrance of you, as long
as I live.' He then again rubbed his hands with great glee, and said, 'I
will now go and see after my horses, and then to breakfast, partner, if
you please.' Suddenly, however, looking at his hands, he said, 'Before
sitting down to breakfast, I am in the habit of washing my hands and
face: I suppose you could not furnish me with a little soap and water.'
'As much water as you please,' said I, 'but if you want soap, I must go
and trouble the young gentlewoman for some.' 'By no means,' said the
postillion, 'water will do at a pinch.' 'Follow me,' said I, and leading
him to the pond of the frogs and newts, I said, 'this is my ewer; you are
welcome to part of it--the water is so soft that it is scarcely necessary
to add soap to it;' then lying down on the bank, I plunged my head into
the water, then scrubbed my hands and face, and afterwards wiped them
with some long grass which grew on the margin of the pond. 'Bravo,' said
the postillion, 'I see you know how to make a shift:' he then followed my
example, declared he never felt more refreshed in his life, and, giving a
bound, said, 'he would go and look after his horses.'
We then went to look after the horses, which we found not much the worse
for having spent the night in the open air. My companion again inserted
their heads in the corn-bags, and, leaving the animals to discuss their
corn, returned with me to the dingle, where we found the kettle boiling.
We sat down, and Belle made tea and did the honours of the meal. The
postillion was in high spirits, ate heartily, and, to Belle's evident
satisfaction, declared that he had never drank better tea in his life, or
indeed any half so good. Breakfast over, he said that he must now go and
harness his horses, as it was high time for him to return to his inn.
Belle gave him her hand and wished him farewell: the postillion shook her
hand warmly, and was advancing close up to her--for what purpose I cannot
say--whereupon Belle, withdrawing her hand, drew herself up with an air
which caused the postillion to retreat a step or two with an exceedingly
sheepish look. Recovering himself, however, he made a low bow, and
proceeded up the path. I attended him, and helped to harness his horses
and put them to the vehicle; he then shook me by the hand, and taking the
reins and whip mounted to his seat; ere he drove away he thus addressed
me: 'If ever I forget your kindness and that of the young woman below,
dash my buttons. If ever either of you should enter my inn you may
depend upon a warm welcome, the best that can be set before you, and no
expense to either, for I will give both of you the best of characters to
the governor, who is the very best fellow upon all the road. As for your
linch-pin, I trust it will serve till I get home, when I will take it out
and keep it in remembrance of you all the days of my life:' then giving
the horses a jerk with his reins, he cracked his whip and drove off.
I returned to the dingle, Belle had removed the breakfast things, and was
busy in her own encampment: nothing occurred, worthy of being related,
for two hours, at the end of which time Belle departed on a short
expedition, and I again found myself alone in the dingle.