LETTER FROM ISOPEL WITH A LOCK OF HER HAIR--THE END OF A CHAPTER IN THE
LIFE OF THE ROMANY RYE--AND OF THE BOOK OF ISOPEL BERNERS.
Nothing occurred to me of any particular moment during the following day.
Isopel Berners did not return; but Mr. Petulengro and his companions came
home from the fair early in the morning. When I saw him, which was about
mid-day, I found him with his face bruised and swelled. It appeared
that, some time after I had left him, he himself perceived that the
jockeys with whom he was playing cards were cheating him and his
companion; a quarrel ensued, which terminated in a fight between Mr.
Petulengro and one of the jockeys, which lasted some time, and in which
Mr. Petulengro, though he eventually came off victor, was considerably
beaten. His bruises, in conjunction with his pecuniary loss, which
amounted to about seven pounds, were the cause of his being much out of
humour; before night, however, he had returned to his usual philosophic
frame of mind, and, coming up to me as I was walking about, apologised
for his behaviour on the preceding day, and assured me that he was
determined, from that time forward, never to quarrel with a friend for
giving him good advice.
Two more days passed, and still Isopel Berners did not return. Gloomy
thoughts and forebodings filled my mind. During the day I wandered about
the neighbouring roads in the hopes of catching an early glimpse of her
and her returning vehicle; and at night lay awake, tossing about on my
hard couch, listening to the rustle of every leaf, and occasionally
thinking that I heard the sound of her wheels upon the distant road. Once
at midnight, just as I was about to fall into unconsciousness, I suddenly
started up, for I was convinced that I heard the sound of wheels. I
listened most anxiously, and the sound of wheels striking against stones
was certainly plain enough. "She comes at last," thought I, and for a
few moments I felt as if a mountain had been removed from my
breast;--"here she comes at last, now, how shall I receive her? Oh,"
thought I, "I will receive her rather coolly, just as if I was not
particularly anxious about her--that's the way to manage these women."
The next moment the sound became very loud, rather too loud, I thought,
to proceed from her wheels, and then by degrees became fainter. Rushing
out of my tent, I hurried up the path to the top of the dingle, where I
heard the sound distinctly enough, but it was going from me, and
evidently proceeded from something much larger than the cart of Isopel. I
could, moreover, hear the stamping of a horse's hoofs at a lumbering
trot. Those only whose hopes have been wrought up to a high pitch, and
then suddenly dashed down, can imagine what I felt at that moment; and
yet when I returned to my lonely tent, and lay down on my hard pallet,
the voice of conscience told me that the misery I was then undergoing, I
had fully merited, from the unkind manner in which I had intended to
receive her, when for a brief moment I supposed that she had returned.
It was on the morning after this affair, and the fourth, if I forget not,
from the time of Isopel's departure, that, as I was seated on my stone at
the bottom of the dingle, getting my breakfast, I heard an unknown voice
from the path above--apparently that of a person descending--exclaim,
"Here's a strange place to bring a letter to;" and presently an old
woman, with a belt round her middle, to which was attached a leathern
bag, made her appearance, and stood before me.
"Well, if I ever!" said she, as she looked about her. "My good
gentlewoman," said I, "pray what may you please to want?" "Gentlewoman!"
said the old dame, "please to want!--well, I call that speaking civilly,
at any rate. It is true, civil words cost nothing; nevertheless, we do
not always get them. What I please to want is to deliver a letter to a
young man in this place; perhaps you be he?" "What's the name on the
letter?" said I, getting up and going to her. "There is no name upon
it," said she, taking a letter out of her scrip and looking at it. "It
is directed to the young man in Mumpers' Dingle." "Then it is for me, I
make no doubt," said I, stretching out my hand to take it. "Please to
pay me ninepence first," said the old woman. "However," said she, after
a moment's thought, "civility is civility, and, being rather a scarce
article, should meet with some return. Here's the letter, young man, and
I hope you will pay for it; for if you do not, I must pay the postage
myself." "You are the postwoman, I suppose?" said I, as I took the
letter. "I am the postman's mother," said the old woman; "but as he has
a wide beat, I help him as much as I can, and I generally carry letters
to places like this, to which he is afraid to come himself." "You say
the postage is ninepence," said I, "here's a shilling." "Well, I call
that honourable," said the old woman, taking the shilling and putting it
into her pocket--"here's your change, young man," said she, offering me
threepence. "Pray keep that for yourself," said I; "you deserve it for
your trouble." "Well, I call that genteel," said the old woman; "and as
one good turn deserves another, since you look as if you couldn't read, I
will read your letter for you. Let's see it; it's from some young woman
or other, I dare say." "Thank you," said I, "but I can read." "All the
better for you," said the old woman; "your being able to read will
frequently save you a penny, for that's the charge I generally make for
reading letters; though, as you behaved so genteelly to me, I should have
charged you nothing. Well, if you can read, why don't you open the
letter, instead of keeping it hanging between your finger and thumb?" "I
am in no hurry to open it," said I, with a sigh. The old woman looked at
me for a moment--"Well, young man," said she, "there are some--especially
those who can read--who don't like to open their letters when anybody is
by, more especially when they come from young women. Well, I won't
intrude upon you, but leave you alone with your letter. I wish it may
contain something pleasant. God bless you," and with these words she
departed.
I sat down on my stone, with my letter in my hand. I knew perfectly well
that it could have come from no other person than Isopel Berners; but
what did the letter contain? I guessed tolerably well what its purport
was--an eternal farewell! yet I was afraid to open the letter, lest my
expectation should be confirmed. There I sat with the letter, putting
off the evil moment as long as possible. At length I glanced at the
direction, which was written in a fine bold hand, and was directed, as
the old woman had said, to the young man in "Mumpers' Dingle," with the
addition, "near . . ., in the county of . . . ." Suddenly the idea
occurred to me, that, after all, the letter might not contain an eternal
farewell; and that Isopel might have written, requesting me to join her.
Could it be so? "Alas! no," presently said Foreboding. At last I became
ashamed of my weakness. The letter must be opened sooner or later. Why
not at once? So as the bather who, for a considerable time has stood
shivering on the bank, afraid to take the decisive plunge, suddenly takes
it, I tore open the letter almost before I was aware. I had no sooner
done so than a paper fell out. I examined it; it contained a lock of
bright flaxen hair. "This is no good sign," said I, as I thrust the lock
and paper into my bosom, and proceeded to read the letter, which ran as
follows:--
"TO THE YOUNG MAN IN MUMPERS' DINGLE.
"SIR,--I send these lines, with the hope and trust that they will find
you well, even as I am myself at this moment, and in much better
spirits, for my own are not such as I could wish they were, being
sometimes rather hysterical and vapourish, and at other times, and
most often, very low. I am at a sea-port, and am just going on
shipboard; and when you get these I shall be on the salt waters, on my
way to a distant country, and leaving my own behind me, which I do not
expect ever to see again.
"And now, young man, I will, in the first place, say something about
the manner in which I quitted you. It must have seemed somewhat
singular to you that I went away without taking any leave, or giving
you the slightest hint that I was going; but I did not do so without
considerable reflection. I was afraid that I should not be able to
support a leave-taking; and as you had said that you were determined
to go wherever I did, I thought it best not to tell you at all; for I
did not think it advisable that you should go with me, and I wished to
have no dispute.
"In the second place, I wish to say something about an offer of
wedlock which you made me; perhaps, young man, had you made it at the
first period of our acquaintance, I should have accepted it, but you
did not, and kept putting off and putting off, and behaving in a very
grange manner, till I could stand your conduct no longer, but
determined upon leaving you and Old England, which last step I had
been long thinking about; so when you made your offer at last,
everything was arranged--my cart and donkey engaged to be sold--and
the greater part of my things disposed of. However, young man, when
you did make it, I frankly tell you that I had half a mind to accept
it; at last, however, after very much consideration, I thought it best
to leave you for ever, because, for some time past, I had become
almost convinced, that though with a wonderful deal of learning, and
exceedingly shrewd in some things, you were--pray don't be offended--at
the root mad! and though mad people, I have been told sometimes make
very good husbands, I was unwilling that your friends, if you had any,
should say that Belle Berners, the workhouse girl, took advantage of
your infirmity; for there is no concealing that I was born and bred up
in a workhouse; notwithstanding that, my blood is better than your
own, and as good as the best; you having yourself told me that my name
is a noble name, and once, if I mistake not, that it was the same word
as baron, which is the same thing as bear; and that to be called in
old times a bear was considered a great compliment--the bear being a
mighty strong animal, on which account our forefathers called all
their great fighting-men barons, which is the same as bears.
"However, setting matters of blood and family entirely aside, many
thanks to you, young man, from poor Belle, for the honour you did her
in making that same offer; for, after all, it is an honour to receive
an honourable offer, which she could see clearly yours was, with no
floriness nor chaff in it; but, on the contrary, entire sincerity. She
assures you that she shall always bear it and yourself in mind,
whether on land or water; and as a proof of the good-will she bears to
you, she sends you a lock of the hair which she wears on her head,
which you were often looking at, and were pleased to call flax, which
word she supposes you meant as a compliment, even as the old people
meant to pass a compliment to their great folks, when they called them
bears; though she cannot help thinking that they might have found an
animal as strong as a bear, and somewhat less uncouth, to call their
great folks after: even as she thinks yourself, amongst your great
store of words, might have found something a little more genteel to
call her hair after than flax, which, though strong and useful, is
rather a coarse and common kind of article.
"And as another proof of the good-will she bears to you, she sends
you, along with the lock, a piece of advice, which is worth all the
hair in the world, to say nothing of the flax.
"_Fear God_, and take your own part. There's Bible in that, young
man; see how Moses feared God, and how he took his own part against
everybody who meddled with him. And see how David feared God, and
took his own part against all the bloody enemies which surrounded
him--so fear God, young man, and never give in. The world can bully,
and is fond, provided it sees a man in a kind of difficulty, of
getting about him, calling him coarse names, and even going so far as
to hustle him; but the world, like all bullies, carries a white
feather in its tail, and no sooner sees the man taking off his coat,
and offering to fight his best, than it scatters here and there, and
is always civil to him afterwards. So when folks are disposed to ill-
treat you, young man, say 'Lord, have mercy upon me!' and then tip
them Long Melford, to which, as the saying goes, there is nothing
comparable for shortness all the world over; and these last words,
young man, are the last you will ever have from her who is
nevertheless,
"Your affectionate female servant,
"ISOPEL BERNERS."
After reading the letter I sat for some time motionless, holding it in my
hand. {361} The day-dream in which I had been a little time before
indulging, of marrying Isopel Berners, of going with her to America, and
having by her a large progeny, who were to assist me in felling trees,
cultivating the soil, and who would take care of me when I was old, was
now thoroughly dispelled. Isopel had deserted me, and was gone to
America by herself, where, perhaps, she would marry some other person,
and would bear him a progeny, who would do for him what in my dream I had
hoped my progeny by her would do for me. Then the thought came into my
head that though she was gone I might follow her to America, but then I
thought that if I did I might not find her; America was a very large
place, and I did not know the port to which she was bound; but I could
follow her to the port from which she had sailed, and there possibly
discover the port to which she was bound; but then I did not even know
the port from which she had set out, for Isopel had not dated her letter
from any place. Suddenly it occurred to me that the post-mark on the
letter would tell me from whence it came, so I forthwith looked at the
back of the letter, and in the post-mark read the name of a well-known
and not very distant sea-port. I then knew with tolerable certainty the
port where she had embarked, and I almost determined to follow her, but I
almost instantly determined to do no such thing. Isopel Berners had
abandoned me, and I would not follow her; "perhaps," whispered Pride, "if
I overtook her, she would only despise me for running after her"; and it
also told me pretty roundly that, provided I ran after her, whether I
overtook her or not, I should heartily despise myself. So I determined
not to follow Isopel Berners; I took her lock of hair, and looked at it,
then put it in her letter, which I folded up and carefully stowed away,
resolved to keep both for ever, but I determined not to follow her. Two
or three times, however, during the day I wavered in my determination,
and was again and again almost tempted to follow her, but every
succeeding time the temptation was fainter. In the evening I left the
dingle, and sat down with Mr. Petulengro and his family by the door of
his tent. Mr. Petulengro soon began talking of the letter which I had
received in the morning. "Is it not from Miss Berners, brother?" said
he. I told him it was. "Is she coming back, brother?" "Never," said I;
"she is gone to America, and has deserted me." "I always knew that you
two were never destined for each other," said he. "How did you know
that?" I inquired. "The dook told me so, brother; you are born to be a
great traveller." "Well," said I, "if I had gone with her to America, as
I was thinking of doing, I should have been a great traveller." "You are
to travel in another direction, brother," said he. "I wish you would
tell me all about my future wanderings," said I. "I can't, brother,"
said Mr. Petulengro, "there's a power of clouds before my eye." "You are
a poor seer, after all," said I, and getting up, I retired to my dingle
and my tent, where I betook myself to my bed, and there, knowing the
worst, and being no longer agitated by apprehension, nor agonised by
expectation, I was soon buried in a deep slumber, the first which I had
fallen into for several nights.
Footnotes:
{1} He was christened George Henry, but he dropped the Henry, as, Tobias
George Smollett dropped his George.
{2} Dafydd ab Gwilym, "the greatest genius of the Cimbric race and one
of the first poets of the world." See _Wild Wales_, chap. lxxxvi., for a
very interesting account of this "Welsh Ovid."
{5} Elsewhere he writes to John Murray: "What a contemptible trade is
the author's compared with that of the jockey!"
{8} For a useful, if more commonplace and merely bibliographical study
of Sir Richard Phillipps, see W. E. A. Axon's _Stray Chapters_, 1888, p.
237.
{12} This is no less true of Borrow's still earlier book _The Zincali_,
_An Account of the Gypsies of Spain_ (1841)--a book which every true
Borrovian will carefully assimilate, if only for these reasons: First, it
supplies a key to much of his later work, many of the greatest qualities
of which may here be found in embryo. Secondly, it contains some of the
finest descriptive passages in the English tongue, notably the account of
the Gitana of Seville.
{20a} The beer he got was seldom to his taste; he called it "swipes,"
but went on drinking glass after glass. What a figure he must have made
in the bar parlour of the Bald-faced Stag at Roehampton, with his tales
of Jerry Abershaw, Ambrose Gwinett, Thurtell and Wainewright! Mr. Watts-
Dunton says he had the gift of drinking deeply, but he adds "of the
waters of life," a refinement which Borrow himself might have deprecated.
{20b} Henry Hall Dixon.
{22} Of the marvellous facility with which some people learn languages
in the latter sense we have a good example cited by Alfred Russel
Wallace, in the case of a Flemish planter of Ceram, near Amboyna, named
Captain Van der Beck. "When quite a youth he had accompanied a
Government official who was sent to report on the trade and commerce of
the Mediterranean, and had acquired _the colloquial language of every
place they stayed a few weeks at_. He had afterwards made voyages to St.
Petersburg, and to other parts of Europe, including a few weeks in
London; and had then come out to the East, where he had been for some
years trading and speculating in the various islands. He now spoke
Dutch, French, Malay and Javanese, all equally well; English with a very
slight accent, but with perfect fluency, and a most complete knowledge of
idiom, in which I often tried to puzzle him in vain. German and Italian
were also quite familiar to him, and his acquaintance with European
languages included Modern Greek, Turkish, Russian and colloquial Hebrew
and Latin. As a test of his power, I may mention that he had made a
voyage to the out-of-the-way island of Salibaboo, and had stayed there
trading a few weeks. As I was collecting vocabularies, he told me he
thought he could remember some words, and dictated a considerable number.
Some time after I met with a short list of words taken down in those
islands, and in every case they agreed with those he had given me. He
used to sing a Hebrew drinking-song, which he had learned from some Jews
with whom he had once travelled and astonished by joining in their
conversation." {23} Borrow's colloquial gift was, to all appearance,
closely allied to that of this polyglot Fleming.
{23} Wallace, _The Malay Archipelago_, 1890, p. 269.
{25} Flunkeyism he called it, and thence deduced the pecuniary miseries
of Scott's later life. His depreciatory view was in part, too, I
believe, an echo from his favourite _Vidocq_. Speaking of the gipsies in
his chapter on "Les Careurs," Vidocq calls them a species characterised
and depicted with so little truth by the first romance-writer of our
time. But Borrow certainly had a far deeper reason for his dislike of
Scott. Under the specious pretence of deference for antiquity and
respect for primitive models, he imagined that Scott was sapping the
foundations of Protestantism. Newman from the opposite camp saw only the
beneficial effect of Scott's influence in turning men's minds in the
direction of the Middle Ages. (See his article in the _British Critic_
for April 1839, and _Apologia_, chap. iii.). As for Wordsworth, Borrow
(with characteristic wrong-headedness) conceived him as an impostor. Had
_he_ made Nature his tent and the hard earth his bed with the stars for a
canopy? No; he walked out to sing of moorland, and fell from a "highly
eligible" cottage in the Lakes, where women-folk, at his beck and call,
bore the brunt of the "plain living."
{27a} The "splendid old corsair," E. J. T., is best known perhaps as the
grim and grizzled pilot in Millais' great picture (now in the Tate) of
the North-west Passage. Trelawny and Borrow are linked together as men
whose mental powers were strong but whose bodily powers were still
stronger in the _Memoirs_ of Gordon Hake (who knew both of them well).
Another rival of Borrow in respect to the _Mens sana in corpore sano_ was
the famous Dr. Whewell, Master of Trinity. Mr. Murray tells a story of
his concern at a dinner-party upon a prospect of an altercation between
Borrow and Whewell. With both omniscience was a foible. Both were
powerful men; and both of them, if report were true, had more than a
superficial knowledge of the art of self-defence.
{27b} As a matter of fact there was nothing in the least degree squalid
about Borrow's subjects or treatment. His tramps and vagabonds have
nothing about them that is repulsive. Borrow, it is true, was ready
enough to condone the offences of those who sought dupes among the well-
to-do public; but he preferred the honester members of the vagrant class;
and it is plain that they reciprocated the preference, for they regarded
the Romany Rye with an almost superstitious reverence on account of his
truth, honour bright and fair speech. Borrow had a passion for depicting
the class that Hurtado de Mendoza had first caught for literature in his
_Lazarillo_ (1553)--that, namely, of the old tricksters of the highway
who still retained many traits, noble and ignoble, from the primeval
savage. For the characteristically mean and squalid one must go up
higher in the scale of civilisation.
{30} Of all the reviews of _Lavengro_, extraordinary as many now appear,
it was left for the month of July in the year of grace 1900 to produce
the most delightfully amazing. We subjoin it verbatim from the _Catholic
Times_ of July 27th, 1900.
"LAVENGRO: THE SCHOLAR, THE GYPSY, THE PRIEST. By George Burrow. With
an introduction by Theodore Watts-Dunton. (London: Ward, Lock, and Co.,
Ltd.) 2s.
"We suppose the publishers find that this sort of literary rubbish,
suffused with antediluvian bigotry of the most benighted character, pays:
otherwise, no doubt, they would not have issued it as a volume of their
'New Minerva Library.' It consists of a twaddling introduction by Mr.
Theodore Watts-Dunton, who tells us he has been 'brought into personal
relations with many men of genius,' and so on _ad nauseam_, and of a sort
of novel by Mr. Burrow, in a palpable imitation of the style of De Foe
without a spark of De Foe's ability. The only thing for which this Mr.
Burrow is distinguished is his crass anti-Catholic bigotry; and the terms
in which, in one part of the book at least, he refers to the Blessed
Virgin are an outrage not merely on the religious feelings of Catholics,
but also on ordinary propriety. Catholics, unless they deserve to be
treated scornfully, will take note of the fact that such a work as this
has been issued by Messrs. Ward and Lock." To get an idea of the _semper
eadem_ of Catholic criticism, the reader should compare with the above
the _Dublin Review_ for May 1843, in which the author of the _Bible in
Spain_ is described as "a missionary sent out by a gang of conspirators
against Christianity who denominate themselves the Bible Society."
{37} The popularity of _Lavengro_ has been rapidly on the increase
during the past ten years, if we may judge by the number of editions. It
was printed in the Minerva series in 1889, and reprinted 1900. A version
of large portions of the work by Duclos appeared in 1892. Macmillans
published an edition in 1896, Newnes in 1897. It was included in the
"Oxford Library," 1898. An illustrated edition, an edition produced
under the supervision of Dr. Knapp, a miniature edition of Dent's, and
the reprint of the Minerva edition, already referred to, appeared in
1900, apart from booksellers' reprints such as those of Denny and Mudie.
{38} Dr. Jessopp in _Daily Chronicle_. April 30th, 1900.
{39a} Borrow is said to have expressed a desire to meet but three
sentient beings: Dan O'Connell, Lamplighter (a racehorse), and Anna
Gurney. He was introduced into the presence of the last-mentioned at
Sheringham, but so far below the vision was the reality (as must appear)
that he turned and ran without stopping till he came to the Old Tucker's
Inn at Cromer (East Anglian tradition).
{39b} Mary Clarke, widow, daughter of Edmund Skepper, was wedded to
Borrow on April 23rd, 1840. Her daughter, Henrietta, is still living at
a great age at Yarmouth. Borrow gives a characteristic account of these
two ladies in the first chapter of _Wild Wales_. "Of my wife I will
merely say that she is a perfect paragon of wives--can make puddings and
sweets and treacle posset, and is the best woman of business in East
Anglia: of my step-daughter, for such she is though I generally call her
daughter, and with good reason seeing that she has always shown herself a
daughter to me, that she has all kinds of good qualities and several
accomplishments, knowing something of conchology, more of botany, drawing
capitally in the Dutch style, and playing remarkably well on the
guitar--not the trumpery German thing so-called, but the real Spanish
guitar." Borrow's mother had died in August 1858.
{40} This was written in December 1900.
{43} There remains only the _Appendix_. A delightful resume of
grievances brooded over in solitude, cruelly stigmatised by Professor
Knapp as "certain posterior interpolations." The ground base of the
theme is the wickedness of popery; and when argument gives out Borrow is
ready with all the boyish inconsequence of a Charles Kingsley to throw up
his cap and shout 'Go it, our side!' 'Down with the Pope!'
{49} Borrow's personal appearance, as we know from the later portrait by
his most intimate friend, Dr. Thomas Gordon Hake, must have been
sufficiently striking at any period of his life. "His figure was tall
and his bearing very noble. He had a finely moulded head and thick white
hair--white from his youth; his brown eyes were soft, yet piercing; his
mouth had a generous curve--his nose was somewhat of the Semitic type,
which gave his face the cast of a young Memnon." This is confirmed by
the assurance in _Lavengro_ that a famous heroic painter was extremely
anxious to secure Don Jorge as a model for the face and figure of
Pharaoh!
{52} "I am not cunning. If people think I am it is because, being made
up of art themselves, simplicity of character is a puzzle to
them."--_Romany Rye_, chap. xi.
{61} _Gypsy lad_.
{62} _Blacksmith_.
{63a} _Tell fortunes_.
{63b} Hill Tower: _i.e_. Norwich.
{63c} _Farewell_.
{64} _Blacksmith_.
{65a} _Smith_.
{65b} The "Wayland Smith" referred to in _Kenilworth_.
{67a} _Horse_.
{67b} _Horseshoe_.
{67c} _Striking_.
{69a} _Horse_.
{69b} _Knife_.
{69c} _Hoof_.
{69d} _Horseshoe nail_.
{69e} _Great file_.
{69f} _Tool box_.
{71} _Poison_.
{82} _Gipsy chap_.
{84a} _Going to the village one day_.
{84b} _Road my gypsy lass_.
{86} Mort, _i.e_., woman, concubine, a cant term.
{87} _Again_.
{90a} _Old man_.
{90b} _Wretch_, _hussy_.
{91} An old word for knife, used by Urquhart and also by Burns.
{93a} _Carcase_.
{93b} _Knife_.
{94a} _Donkey_.
{94b} _Lad_.
{106} The main characters in _Lavengro_ are three: the scholar (Borrow
himself), the gypsy (Mr. Petulengro), and the priest, or popish
propagandist. This last is the man in black. The word-master has in the
course of his travels heard a good deal about this man, and he is able to
identify him almost at once by his predilection for gin and water, cold,
with a lump of sugar in it. He hears of him first from his London
friend, Francis Ardry, then from an Armenian merchant whom he met in
London, and then again from a brother-author, who describes a silly and
intrusive Anglican parson, called Platitude, as a puppet in the hands of
"the man in black." The latter he characterises as a sharking priest,
who has come over from Italy to proselytize and plunder; he has "some
powers of conversation and some learning, but he carries the countenance
of an arch-villain; Platitude is evidently his tool."
{107} When Borrow (Lavengro, that is), was in London, his friend Francis
Ardry warned him against a certain papistical propagandist: "A strange
fellow--a half Italian, half English priest . . . he is fond of a glass
of gin and water--and over a glass of gin and water cold, with a lump of
sugar in it, he has been more communicative, perhaps, than was altogether
prudent. Were I my own master, I would kick him, politics and religious
movements, to a considerable distance."
{110} During his travels after his abandonment of Grub Street,
"Lavengro" frequently came upon the traces of the man in black. While
sojourning for one night with a hospitable though superstitious
acquaintance, whom he met after leaving Salisbury, "Lavengro" heard the
story of the Rev. Mr. Platitude, a sacerdotalist of weak intellects who
had been cajoled from his lawful allegiance to the "good, quiet Church of
England," by the wiles of a sharking priest come over from Italy to
proselytize and to plunder. From what he then heard of the sharking
priest, by putting two and two together, Lavengro was now able to
identify him with the "man in black." Subsequently he heard of the
efforts of the same clever dialectician to overcome the Methodist
preacher Peter Williams--efforts which collapsed upon the appearance of
the preacher's wife Winifred. "Wife, wife," muttered the disconcerted
priest, "if the fool has a wife he will never do for us." In the course
of his wanderings this nineteenth-century S. Augustine often gave himself
out to be a teacher of elocution.
{117} The man in black was completely mystified by the knowledge of his
own past life which this remark revealed (see Chap. IX. _infra_.). There
were, as have been seen, a variety of threads connecting the man in black
with definite scenes in the memory of Lavengro, though the latter did not
happen to have seen the "prowling priest" in the flesh before this
occasion. While in London Lavengro frequently met a certain Armenian
merchant, who much resented the pretensions of the Roman Papa: that he,
the Papa, had more to say in heaven than the Armenian patriarch, and that
the hillocks of Rome were higher than the ridges of Ararat. "The Papa of
Rome," said the Armenian to Lavengro, "has at present many emissaries in
this country, in order to seduce the people from their own quiet religion
to the savage heresy of Rome; this fellow" (describing the man in black)
"came to me partly in the hope of converting me, but principally to
extort money for the purpose of furthering the designs of Rome in this
country. I humoured the fellow at first, keeping him in play for nearly
a month, deceiving and laughing at him. At last he discovered that he
could make nothing of me, and departed with the scowl of Caiaphas, whilst
I cried after him, 'The roots of Ararat are _deeper_ than those of
Rome.'"
This same Armenian subsequently offered Lavengro a desk in his office
opposite his deaf Moldavian clerk, having surmised that he would make an
excellent merchant because he squinted like a true Armenian. Unhappily
for the Flaming Tinman and for Isopel Berners, the word-master refused
this singular offer.
{118} A passado at Belle's avowed weakness for that beverage.
{125a} _A strange listens_.
{125b} _Up yonder_.
{153} The Catholic controversy was just at its height in 1825, and the
Catholic Emancipation Bill received the Royal Assent in April 1829.
{156} The doctrine of economy in a nutshell.
{159} For Borrow's final verdict on Sir Walter Scott, it is only fair to
cite his _Romano Lavo-Lil_, a book on the English Gypsy Language,
corresponding to his book on the _Zincali_ or Spanish Gypsies, but
published more than forty years later, namely in 1874. Here he relates
how he once trudged to Dryburgh "to pay my respects at the tomb of Sir
Walter Scott, a man with whose principles I have no sympathy, but for
whose genius I have always entertained the most intense admiration."
{218} The story of Mumbo Jumbo and the English servant in Rome is that
narrated at great length by the postillion in the last chapter of
_Lavengro_.
{227} See the third Appendix to _Romany Rye_ on this subject of "Foreign
Nonsense." For Wolseley's perversion see _Dict. Nat. Biog_., lxii., p.
323.
{230} A blasphemous work by Albizzi. French version printed, Geneva,
1556.
{237} His deeds were not those of lions, but of foxes.
{238a} "Archibald Arbuthnot: Life, Adventures, and Vicissitudes of Simon
[Fraser] Lord Lovat." London, 1746, 12mo.
{238b} For later news of the red-haired Jack-priest and his dupe, Parson
Platitude, see _Romany Rye_, chap. xxvii.
{242} Plenty of gypsy lads; chals and chies, lads and lasses.
{244a} _Modest_.
{244b} _Gentlemen and ladies_.
{244c} Drop it.
{247} The Petulengres, a wandering clan of gypsies, led by Jasper
Petulengro and his wife Pakomovna are introduced to us in _Lavengro_
(chaps, v. and liv.). The etymology is thus explained by Borrow.
"Petulengro: A compound of the modern Greek [Greek text] and the Sanscrit
_kara_; the literal meaning being lord of the horse-shoe (_i.e_. maker),
it is one of the private cognominations of 'the Smiths,' an English gypsy
clan." Engro is apparently akin to the English suffix monger, and with
it may be compared the Anglo-Saxon suffix smith, in such words as lore-
smith or war-smith (warrior). Thus we have sapengro, lavengro, and
sherengro, head man. Of the gypsy tribes in England, Borrow in his
_Zincali_ (ed. 1846, Introd.) has the following: "The principal gypsy
tribes at present in existence are the Stanleys, whose grand haunt is the
New Forest; the Lovells, who are fond of London and its vicinity: the
Coopers, who call Windsor Castle their home; the Hernes, to whom the
north country, more especially Yorkshire, belongeth; and lastly my
brethren the Smiths, to whom East Anglia appears to have been allotted
from the beginning. All these families have gypsy names, which seem,
however, to be little more than attempts at translation of the English
ones. Thus the Stanleys are called Bar-engres, which means stony
fellows, the Coopers, Wardo-engres or wheelwrights, the Lovells, Camo-
mescres, or amorous fellows, the Hernes (German Haaren), Balors, hairs,
or hairy fellows, while the Smiths are called Petulengres, that is,
horseshoe-fellows, or blacksmiths. Besides the above-named gypsy clans,
there are other smaller ones, some of which do not comprise more than a
dozen individuals, children included. For example, the Bosviles, the
Browns, the Chilcotts, the Grays, Lees, Taylors and Whites; of these the
principal is the Bosvile tribe."
{249a} There's a witch and a wizard and their name is Petulengro.
{249b} _Tent_.
{256} This refers to a notorious match between a lion and six mastiffs,
arranged by George Wombwell at Warwick, in July 1825. The fight was that
between George Cooper and Ned Baldwin, 5 July, 1825.
{257} Peel's Metropolitan Police, constituted 1829.
{265} Said the gypsy lass to her mother--
'My dear mother, I am with child.'
'And what kind of a man made you with child,
My own daughter, my gypsy lass?'
'O my mother, a great gentleman,
A rich gentleman, a stranger to our race,
Who rides upon a fine stallion,
'Twas he that made me thus with child.'
'Vile little harlot that you are,
Be off, good-bye, you leave my tent!
Had a Romany lad got thee with child,
Then I had said to thee, poor lass!
But thou art just a vile harlot
By a stranger man to be with child.'
{266} _Pig-poisoning_.
{269a} _Honeycomb_.
{269b} _Tell their fortunes_.
{272} _King_.
{274} See Introduction, p. 10.
{275} The church of Willenhall, Staffordshire, near Mumpers' Dingle, is,
perhaps, intended. The hymn was originally Cennick's, but the verse in
question Charles Wesley's. The old tune Helmsley (not St. Thomas) was a
favourite of Queen Victoria.
{277} Chieftain.
{286} Dukkerin, fortune-telling: duk or dook, ghost.
{288} See Introduction, p. 9.
{289} The Shakespearean meaning was hysterical passion. See _Lear_,
II., iv. 52:
"O, how this mother swells up toward my heart!"
The word remained fairly common during the seventeenth century. Mary
Rich, Countess of Warwick, in her Diary (1667) speaks of herself as
suffering from "a fit of the spleen and mother together."
{290} _Stranger men_.
{291} Ursula is evidently intended by Borrow to typify the gypsy chi.
And the key to the type is supplied in the _Gypsies in Spain_ (see
especially chap. vii.). The gypsies, says Borrow, arc almost entirely
ignorant of the grand points of morality; but on one point they are in
general wiser than those who have had far better opportunities than such
unfortunate outcasts of regulating their steps and distinguishing good
from evil. They know that chastity is a jewel of high price, and that
conjugal fidelity is capable of occasionally flinging a sunshine even
over the dreary hours of a life passed in the contempt of almost all
laws, whether human or divine. There is a word in the gypsy language to
which those who speak it attach ideas of peculiar reverence, far superior
to that connected with the name of the Supreme Being, the creator of
themselves and the universe. This word is _Lacha_, which with them is
the corporeal chastity of the females; we say corporeal chastity, for no
other do they hold in the slightest esteem; it is lawful among them, nay
praiseworthy, to be obscene in look, gesture and discourse, to be
accessories to vice, and to stand by and laugh at the worst abominations
of the Busne (gorgios, or gentiles) provided their _Lacha ye trupos_, or
corporeal chastity, remains unblemished. The gypsy child, from her
earliest years, is told by her strange mother that a good Calli need only
dread one thing in this world, and that is the loss of her _Lacha_, in
comparison with which that of life is of little consequence, as in such
an event she will be provided for, but what provision is there for a
gypsy who has lost her _Lacha_. "Bear this in mind, my child," she will
say, "and now eat this bread and go forth and see what you can steal."
The Romany, in a word, is the sect of the Husbands (and Wives) and their
first precept is this: Be faithful to the _Roms_ (husbands) and take not
up with the gorgios, whether they be raior (gentlemen) or baior
(fellows).
{293} _Godly book_.
{295a} Chore, to steal.
{295b} Hokkawar, to cheat.
{295c} Lubbeny, the whore.
{296} _God_.
{298} Choomer, a kiss.
{299a} _Uncle_.
{299b} _Father_.
{301} Batu, father; coko, uncle.
{302a} _Law_.
{302b} _With child_.
{303} Tan, tent.
{305} _Tent_.
{306} Old Fulcher was an amateur in the meanest kinds of petty larceny
whose deplorable end is described in chapter xli. of the _Romany Rye_.
{307} The boxer who lost the fight near the Castle Hill (Norwich).
{312} Poknees, magistrate.
{318} _Steal_.
{326} See Introduction, p. 9. This is the book the MS. of which
Lavengro sold for 20 pounds, and upon the proceeds of which he started
upon the ramble which led him to the dingle. The _Life of Joseph Sell_
is not known to Bibliography; but the incident is nevertheless probably
drawn from Borrow's own career.
{330} "Good."
{337} The next time the compassionate word-master visited the landlord,
he found him a 'down pin' no longer, but the centre of an adulatory
crowd. The way in which he surmounted the sea of troubles that beset him
is described with much humour in _The Romany Rye_ (chap. xvii). The main
factors in his relief were (1) Strong ale, taken by the advice of
Lavengro, which leads to Catchpole knocking down the radical, Hunter, and
winning back the admiration of the tap-room, (2) a loan from the parson
of Willenhall, who wished to save a muscular fellow-Protestant from the
clutches of the man in black. The brewer now became very civil, a coach
was appointed to stop at the inn, and, in short, Catchpole is left by
Lavengro riding upon the summit of the wave of popularity and good
fortune.
{343} Jacobus Villotte, his _Dictionarium Latino-Armenium_, Rome, 1714.
{348} And this, alas! is the last glimpse we are to have of Isopel
Berners, a heroine whose like we shall scarce encounter again in the
whole wide world of romance. Charles Kingsley says of her, indeed, that
she is far too good not to be true. The likeness is undoubtedly a
masterpiece, yet, though Borrow has drawn the outline firmly, he leaves
much for the imagination to fill in. Languid indeed must be the
imagination that can fail to be stimulated by Borrow's outline of his
Brynhilda. Cast in the mould of Britannia, queen, however, not of the
waves but of the woodland, poor yet noble, and innocent of every mean
ambition of gentility, faithful, valiant, and proud,--as she stands pale
and commanding, in the sunshine at the dingle's mouth, in all her
virginal dignity, is she not a figure worthy to rank with the queens of
Beauty and Romance, with Dido "with a willow in her hand," with the
deeply-loving Rebecca as with a calm and tender dignity she bids for ever
adieu to the land of Wilfred of Ivanhoe?
{361} After the receipt of this letter three nights elapsed, and then
the word-master himself left the dingle for the last time. The third
night he spent alone in his encampment "in a very melancholy manner, with
little or no sleep, thinking of Isopel Berners; and in the morning when I
quitted the place, I shed several tears, as I reflected that I should
probably never again see the spot where I had passed so many hours in her
company."