In this work, published in two volumes in 1857, George Borrow
continued the "kind of biography in the Robinson Crusoe style"
which he had begun in the three volumes of "Lavengro," issued
six years earlier. "Romany Rye" is described as a sequel to
"Lavengro," and takes up that story with the author and his
friend Isopel Berners encamped side by side in the Mumpers'
Dingle, whither the gipsies, Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro and their
relations, shortly afterwards arrive. The book consists of a
succession of episodes, without plot, the sole connecting
thread being Borrow's personality as figuring in them. Much of
the "Romany Rye" was written at Oulton Broad, where, after his
marriage in 1840, Borrow lived until he removed to Hereford
Square, Brompton. At Oulton, it is worthy of record, gipsies
were allowed to pitch their tents, the author of "Romany Rye"
and "Lavengro" mingling freely with them. As a novel, the
"Romany Rye" is preferred by many readers to any of Borrow's
other works.
_I.--The Roving Life_
It was, as usual, a brilliant morning, the dewy blades of the rye-grass
which covered the plain sparkled brightly in the beams of the sun, which
had probably been about two hours above the horizon. Near the mouth of
the dingle--Mumpers' Dingle, near Wittenhall, Staffordshire--where my
friend Isopel Berners and I, the travelling tinker, were encamped side
by side, a rather numerous body of my ancient friends and allies
occupied the ground. About five yards on the right, Mr. Petulengro was
busily employed in erecting his tent; he held in his hand an iron bar,
sharp at the bottom, with a kind of arm projecting from the top for the
purpose of supporting a kettle or cauldron over the fire. With the sharp
end of this he was making holes in the earth at about twenty inches
distance from each other, into which he inserted certain long rods with
a considerable bend towards the top, which constituted the timbers of
the tent and the supporters of the canvas. Mrs. Petulengro and a female
with a crutch in her hand, whom I recognised as Mrs. Chikno, sat near
him on the ground.
"Here we are, brother," said Mr. Petulengro. "Here we are, and plenty of
us."
"I am glad to see you all," said I; "and particularly you, madam," said
I, making a bow to Mrs. Petulengro, "and you also, madam," taking off my
hat to Mrs. Chikno.
"Good-day to you, sir," said Mrs. Petulengro. "You look as usual,
charmingly, and speak so, too; you have not forgot your manners."
"It is not all gold that glitters," said Mrs. Chikno. "However,
good-morrow to you, young rye."
"I am come on an errand," said I. "Isopel Berners, down in the dell
there, requests the pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro's company at
breakfast. She will be happy also to see you, madam," said I, addressing
Mrs. Chikno.
"Is that young female your wife, young man?" said Mrs. Chikno.
"My wife?" said I.
"Yes, young man, your wife--your lawful certificated wife?"
"No," said I. "She is not my wife."
"Then I will not visit with her," said Mrs. Chikno. "I countenance
nothing in the roving line."
"What do you mean by the roving line?" I demanded.
"What do I mean by the roving line? Why, by it I mean such conduct as is
not tatcheno. When ryes and rawnies lives together in dingles, without
being certificated, I call such behaviour being tolerably deep in the
roving line, everything savouring of which I am determined not to
sanctify. I have suffered too much by my own certificated husband's
outbreaks in that line to afford anything of the kind the slightest
shadow of countenance."
"It is hard that people may not live in dingles together without being
suspected of doing wrong," said I.
"So it is," said Mrs. Petulengro, interposing. "I am suspicious of
nobody, not even of my own husband, whom some people would think I have
a right to be suspicious of, seeing that on his account I once refused a
lord. I always allows him an agreeable latitude to go where he pleases.
But I have had the advantage of keeping good company, and therefore----"
"Meklis," said Mrs. Chikno, "pray drop all that, sister; I believe I
have kept as good company as yourself; and with respect to that offer
with which you frequently fatigue those who keeps company with you, I
believe, after all, it was something in the roving and uncertificated
line."
_II.--The Parting of the Ways_
Belle was sitting before the fire, at which the kettle was boiling.
"Were you waiting for me?" I inquired.
"Yes," said Belle.
"That was very kind," said I.
"Not half so kind," said she, "as it was of you to get everything ready
for me in the dead of last night."
After tea, we resumed our study of Armenian. "First of all, tell me,"
said Belle, "what a verb is?"
"A part of speech," said I, "which, according to the dictionary,
signifies some action or passion. For example: I command you, or I hate
you."
"I have given you no cause to hate me," said Belle, looking me
sorrowfully in the face.
"I was merely giving two examples," said I. "In Armenian, there are four
conjugations of verbs; the first ends in al, the second in yel, the
third in oul, and the fourth in il. Now, have you understood me?"
"I am afraid, indeed, it will all end ill," said Belle.
"Let us have no unprofitable interruptions," said I. "Come, we will
begin with the verb hntal, a verb of the first conjugation, which
signifies rejoice. Come along. Hntam, I rejoice; hntas, thou rejoicest.
Why don't you follow, Belle?"
"I'm sure I don't rejoice, whatever you may do," said Belle.
"The chief difficulty, Belle," said I, "that I find in teaching you the
Armenian grammar proceeds from your applying to yourself and me every
example I give."
"I can't bear this much longer," said Belle.
"Keep yourself quiet," said I. "We will skip hntal and proceed to the
second conjugation. Belle, I will now select for you to conjugate the
prettiest verb in Armenian--the verb siriel. Here is the present tense:
siriem, siries, sirè, siriemk, sirèk, sirien. Come on, Belle, and say
'siriem.'"