The Romany Rye, by George Borrow

Some time ago the writer was set upon by an old Radical and his wife; but before he relates the manner in which they set upon him, it will be as well to enter upon a few particulars tending to elucidate their reasons for doing so.

The writer had just entered into his eighteenth year, when he met at the table of a certain Anglo–Germanist ²⁰⁸ an individual apparently somewhat under thirty, of middle stature, a thin and weaselly figure, a sallow complexion, a certain obliquity of vision, and a large pair of spectacles. This person, who had lately come from abroad, and had published a volume of translations, ²⁰⁹ had attracted some slight notice in the literary world, and was looked upon as a kind of lion in a small provincial capital. After dinner he argued a great deal, spoke vehemently against the Church, and uttered the most desperate Radicalism that was perhaps ever heard, saying he hoped that in a short time there would not be a king or queen in Europe, and inveighing bitterly against the English aristocracy, and against the Duke of Wellington in particular, whom he said, if he himself was ever president of an English republic — an event which he seemed to think by no means improbable — he would hang for certain infamous acts of profligacy and bloodshed which he had perpetrated in Spain. Being informed that the writer was something of a philologist, to which character the individual in question laid great pretensions, he came and sat down by him, and talked about languages and literature. The writer, who was only a boy, was a little frightened at first, but, not wishing to appear a child of absolute ignorance, he summoned what little learning he had, and began to blunder out something about the Celtic languages and their literature, and asked the Lion who he conceived Finn Ma Coul to be? and whether he did not consider the ‘Ode to the Fox,’ by Red Rhys of Eryry, to be a masterpiece of pleasantry? Receiving no answer to these questions from the Lion, who, singular enough, would frequently, when the writer put a question to him, look across the table and flatly contradict some one who was talking to some other person, the writer dropped the Celtic languages and literature, and asked him whether he did not think it a funny thing that Temugin, generally called Genghis Khan, should have married the daughter of Prester John? ²¹⁰ The Lion, after giving a side-glance at the writer through his left spectacle glass, seemed about to reply, but was unfortunately prevented, being seized with an irresistible impulse to contradict a respectable doctor of medicine, who was engaged in conversation with the master of the house at the upper and further end of the table, the writer being a poor ignorant lad, sitting, of course, at the bottom. The doctor, who had served in the Peninsula, having observed that Ferdinand the Seventh was not quite so bad as had been represented, the Lion vociferated that he was ten times worse, and that he hoped to see him and the Duke of Wellington hanged together. The doctor who, being a Welshman, was somewhat of a warm temper, growing rather red, said that at any rate he had been informed that Ferdinand the Seventh knew sometimes how to behave himself like a gentleman. This brought on a long dispute, which terminated rather abruptly. The Lion having observed that the doctor must not talk about Spanish matters with one who had visited every part of Spain, the doctor bowed, and said that he was right, for that he believed no people in general possessed such accurate information about countries as those who had travelled them as bagmen. On the Lion asking the doctor what he meant, the Welshman, whose under jaw began to move violently, replied that he meant what he said. Here the matter ended, for the Lion, turning from him, looked at the writer. The writer, imagining that his own conversation hitherto had been too trivial and commonplace for the Lion to consider it worth his while to take much notice of it, determined to assume a little higher ground, and after repeating a few verses of the Koran, and gabbling a little Arabic, asked the Lion what he considered to be the difference between the Hegira and the Christian era, adding that he thought the general computation was in error by about one year; and being a particularly modest person, chiefly he believes owing to his having been at school in Ireland, absolutely blushed at finding that the Lion returned not a word in answer. ‘What a wonderful individual I am seated by,’ thought he, ‘to whom Arabic seems a vulgar speech, and a question about the Hegira not worthy of an answer!’ not reflecting that as lions come from the Saharra, they have quite enough of Arabic at home, and that the question about the Hegira was rather mal a propos to one used to prey on the flesh of hadjis. ‘Now I only wish he would vouchsafe me a little of his learning,’ thought the boy to himself, and in this wish he was at last gratified, for the Lion, after asking him whether he was acquainted at all with the Sclavonian languages, and being informed that he was not, absolutely dumbfoundered him by a display of Sclavonian erudition.

Years rolled by — the writer was a good deal about, sometimes in London, sometimes in the country, sometimes abroad; in London he occasionally met the man of the spectacles, who was always very civil to him, and, indeed, cultivated his acquaintance. The writer thought it rather odd that, after he himself had become acquainted with the Sclavonian languages and literature, the man of the spectacles talked little or nothing about them. In a little time, however, the matter ceased to cause him the slightest surprise, for he had discovered a key to the mystery. In the meantime the man of the spectacles was busy enough; he speculated in commerce, failed, and paid his creditors twenty pennies in the pound; published translations, of which the public at length became heartily tired; having, indeed, got an inkling of the manner in which those translations were got up. He managed, however, to ride out many a storm, having one trusty sheet-anchor — Radicalism. This he turned to the best advantage — writing pamphlets and articles in reviews, all in the Radical interest, and for which he was paid out of the Radical fund; which articles and pamphlets, when Toryism seemed to reel on its last legs, exhibited a slight tendency to Whiggism. Nevertheless, his abhorrence of desertion of principle was so great in the time of the Duke of Wellington’s administration, that when S—— ²¹¹ left the Whigs and went over, he told the writer, who was about that time engaged with him in a literary undertaking, that the said S—— was a fellow with a character so infamous, that any honest man would rather that you should spit in his face than insult his ears with the mention of the name of S——.

The literary project having come to nothing — in which, by-the-by, the writer was to have all the labour, and his friend all the credit, provided any credit should accrue from it — the writer did not see the latter for some years, during which time considerable political changes took place; the Tories were driven from, and the Whigs placed in, office, both events being brought about by the Radicals coalescing with the Whigs, over whom they possessed great influence for the services which they had rendered. When the writer next visited his friend he found him very much altered; his opinions were by no means so exalted as they had been — he was not disposed even to be rancorous against the Duke of Wellington, saying that there were worse men than he, and giving him some credit as a general; a hankering after gentility seeming to pervade the whole family, father and sons, wife and daughters, all of whom talked about genteel diversions — gentility novels, and even seemed to look with favour on high Churchism, having in former years, to all appearance, been bigoted Dissenters. In a little time the writer went abroad, as, indeed, did his friend; not, however, like the writer, at his own expense, but at that of the country — the Whigs having given him a travelling appointment, which he held for some years, during which he is said to have received upwards of twelve thousand pounds of the money of the country, for services which will, perhaps, be found inscribed on certain tablets when another Astolfo shall visit the moon. This appointment, however, he lost on the Tories resuming power — when the writer found him almost as radical and patriotic as ever, just engaged in trying to get into Parliament, into which he got by the assistance of his Radical friends, who, in conjunction with the Whigs, were just getting up a crusade against the Tories, which they intended should be a conclusive one.

A little time after the publication of ‘The Bible in Spain,’ the Tories being still in power, this individual, full of the most disinterested friendship for the author, was particularly anxious that he should be presented with an official situation in a certain region a great many miles off. ‘You are the only person for that appointment,’ said he; ‘you understand a great deal about the country, and are better acquainted with the two languages spoken there than anyone in England. Now, I love my country, and have, moreover, a great regard for you, and as I am in Parliament, and have frequent opportunities of speaking to the Ministry, I shall take care to tell them how desirable it would be to secure your services. It is true they are Tories, but I think that even Tories would give up their habitual love of jobbery in a case like yours, and for once show themselves disposed to be honest men and gentlemen; indeed, I have no doubt they will, for having so deservedly an infamous character, they would be glad to get themselves a little credit by a presentation which could not possibly be traced to jobbery or favouritism.’ The writer begged his friend to give himself no trouble about the matter, as he was not desirous of the appointment, being in tolerably easy circumstances, and willing to take some rest after a life of labour. All, however, that he could say was of no use, his friend indignantly observing that the matter ought to be taken entirely out of his hands, and the appointment thrust upon him for the credit of the country. ‘But may not many people be far more worthy of the appointment than myself?’ said the writer. ‘Where?’ said the friendly Radical. ‘If you don’t get it it will be made a job of, given to the son of some steward, or, perhaps, to some quack who has done dirty work. I tell you what, I shall ask it for you, in spite of you; I shall, indeed!’ and his eyes flashed with friendly and patriotic fervour through the large pair of spectacles which he wore.

And, in fact, it would appear that the honest and friendly patriot put his threat into execution. ‘I have spoken,’ said he, ‘more than once to this and that individual in Parliament, and everybody seems to think that the appointment should be given to you. Nay, that you should be forced to accept it. I intend next to speak to Lord A——.’ ²¹² And so he did, at least, it would appear so. On the writer calling upon him one evening, about a week afterwards, in order to take leave of him, as the writer was about to take a long journey for the sake of his health, his friend no sooner saw him than he started up in a violent fit of agitation, and glancing about the room, in which there were several people, amongst others two Whig members of Parliament, said: ‘I am glad you are come, I was just speaking about you. This,’ said he, addressing the two members, ‘is so-and-so, the author of so-and-so, the well-known philologist; as I was telling you, I spoke to Lord A—— this day about him, and said that he ought forthwith to have the head appointment in ——; ²¹³ and what did the fellow say? Why, that there was no necessity for such an appointment at all, and if there were, why — And then he hummed and ha’d. Yes,’ said he, looking at the writer, ‘he did, indeed. What a scandal! what an infamy! But I see how it will be, it will be a job. The place will be given to some son of a steward or to some quack, as I said before. Oh, these Tories! Well, if this does not make one —’ Here he stopped short, crunched his teeth, and looked the image of desperation.

Seeing the poor man in this distressed condition, the writer begged him to be comforted, and not to take the matter so much to heart; but the indignant Radical took the matter very much to heart, and refused all comfort whatsoever, bouncing about the room, and, whilst his spectacles flashed in the light of four spermaceti candles, exclaiming, ‘It will be a job — a Tory job! I see it all, I see it all, I see it all!’

And a job it proved, and a very pretty job, but no Tory job. Shortly afterwards the Tories were out, and the Whigs were in. From that time the writer heard not a word about the injustice done to the country in not presenting him with the appointment to ——; the Radical, however, was busy enough to obtain the appointment, not for the writer, but for himself, and eventually succeeded, partly through Radical influence, and partly through that of a certain Whig lord, for whom the Radical had done, on a particular occasion, work of a particular kind. So, though the place was given to a quack, and the whole affair a very pretty job, it was one in which the Tories had certainly no hand.

In the meanwhile, however, the friendly Radical did not drop the writer. Oh, no! On various occasions he obtained from the writer all the information he could about the country in question, and was particularly anxious to obtain from the writer, and eventually did obtain, a copy of a work ²¹⁴ written in the court language of that country, edited by the writer — a language exceedingly difficult, which the writer, at the expense of a considerable portion of his eyesight, had acquired, at least as far as by the eyesight it could be acquired. What use the writer’s friend made of the knowledge he had gained from him, and what use he made of the book, the writer can only guess; but he has little doubt that when the question of sending a person to —— was mooted in a Parliamentary Committee — which it was at the instigation of the Radical supporters of the writer’s friend — the Radical, on being examined about the country, gave the information which he had obtained from the writer as his own, and flashed the book and its singular characters in the eyes of the Committee; and then, of course, his Radical friends would instantly say, ‘This is the man! there is no one like him. See what information he possesses; and see that book written by himself in the court language of Serendib. This is the only man to send there. What a glory, what a triumph it would be to Britain, to send out a man so deeply versed in the mysterious lore of —— as our illustrious countryman — a person who with his knowledge could beat with their own weapons the wise men of ——! Is such an opportunity to be lost? Oh, no! surely not! If it is it will be an eternal disgrace to England, and the world will see that Whigs are no better than Tories.’

Let no one think the writer uncharitable in these suppositions. The writer is only too well acquainted with the antecedents of the individual, to entertain much doubt that he would shrink from any such conduct, provided he thought that his temporal interest would be forwarded by it. The writer is aware of more than one instance in which he has passed off the literature of friendless young men for his own, after making them a slight pecuniary compensation, and deforming what was originally excellent by interpolations of his own. This was his especial practice with regard to translation, of which he would fain be esteemed the king. This Radical literato is slightly acquainted with four or five of the easier dialects of Europe, on the strength of which knowledge he would fain pass for a universal linguist, publishing translations of pieces originally written in various difficult languages; which translations, however, were either made by himself from literal renderings done for him into French or German, or had been made from the originals into English, by friendless young men, and then deformed by his alterations.

Well, the Radical got the appointment, and the writer certainly did not grudge it him. He, of course, was aware that his friend had behaved in a very base manner towards him, but he bore him no ill-will, and invariably when he heard him spoken against, which was frequently the case, took his part when no other person would; indeed, he could well afford to bear him no ill-will. He had never sought for the appointment, nor wished for it, nor, indeed, ever believed himself qualified for it. He was conscious, it is true, that he was not altogether unacquainted with the language and literature of the country with which the appointment was connected. He was likewise aware that he was not altogether deficient in courage and in propriety of behaviour. He knew that his appearance was not particularly against him; his face not being like that of a convicted pickpocket, nor his gait resembling that of a fox who has lost his tail; yet he never believed himself adapted for the appointment, being aware that he had no aptitude for the doing of dirty work, if called to do it, nor pliancy which would enable him to submit to scurvy treatment, whether he did dirty work or not — requisites, at the time of which he is speaking, indispensable in every British official; requisites, by-the-by, which his friend, the Radical, possessed in a high degree; but though he bore no ill-will towards his friend, his friend bore anything but good-will towards him; for from the moment that he had obtained the appointment for himself, his mind was filled with the most bitter malignity against the writer, and naturally enough; for no one ever yet behaved in a base manner towards another, without forthwith conceiving a mortal hatred against him. You wrong another, know yourself to have acted basely, and are enraged, not against yourself — for no one hates himself — but against the innocent cause of your baseness; reasoning very plausibly, ‘But for that fellow, I should never have been base; for had he not existed I could not have been so, at any rate against him;’ and this hatred is all the more bitter, when you reflect that you have been needlessly base.

Whilst the Tories are in power the writer’s friend, of his own accord, raves against the Tories because they do not give the writer a certain appointment, and makes, or says he makes, desperate exertions to make them do so; but no sooner are the Tories out, with whom he has no influence, and the Whigs in, with whom he, or rather his party, has influence, than he gets the place for himself, though, according to his own expressed opinion — an opinion with which the writer does not, and never did, concur — the writer was the only person competent to hold it. Now had he, without saying a word to the writer, or about the writer with respect to the employment, got the place for himself when he had an opportunity, knowing, as he very well knew, himself to be utterly unqualified for it, the transaction, though a piece of jobbery, would not have merited the title of a base transaction; as the matter stands, however, who can avoid calling the whole affair not only a piece of — come, come, out with the word — scoundrelism on the part of the writer’s friend, but a most curious piece of uncalled-for scoundrelism? and who, with any knowledge of fallen human nature, can wonder at the writer’s friend entertaining towards him a considerable portion of gall and malignity!

This feeling on the part of the writer’s friend was wonderfully increased by the appearance of Lavengro, many passages of which the Radical in his foreign appointment applied to himself and family — one or two of his children having gone over to Popery, the rest become members of Mr. Platitude’s chapel, and the minds of all being filled with ultra notions of gentility.

The writer, hearing that his old friend had returned to England, to apply, he believes, for an increase of salary, and for a title, called upon him, unwillingly, it is true, for he had no wish to see a person for whom, though he bore him no ill-will, he could not avoid feeling a considerable portion of contempt, the truth is, that his sole object in calling was to endeavour to get back a piece of literary property which his friend had obtained from him many years previously, and which, though he had frequently applied for it, he never could get back. Well, the writer called; he did not get his property, which, indeed, he had scarcely time to press for, being almost instantly attacked by his good friend and his wife — yes, it was then that the author was set upon by an old Radical and his wife — the wife, who looked the very image of shame and malignity, did not say much, it is true, but encouraged her husband in all he said. Both of their own accord introduced the subject of ‘Lavengro.’ The Radical called the writer a grumbler, just as if there had ever been a greater grumbler than himself until, by the means above described, he had obtained a place: he said that the book contained a melancholy view of human nature — just as if anybody could look in his face without having a melancholy view of human nature. On the writer quietly observing that the book contained an exposition of his principles, the pseudo-Radical replied, that he cared nothing for his principles — which was probably true, it not being likely that he would care for another person’s principles after having shown so thorough a disregard for his own. The writer said that the book, of course, would give offence to humbugs; the Radical then demanded whether he thought him a humbug? — the wretched wife was the Radical’s protection, even as he knew she would be; it was on her account that the writer did not kick his good friend; as it was, he looked at him in the face and thought to himself, ‘How is it possible I should think you a humbug, when only last night I was taking your part in a company in which everybody called you a humbug?’

The Radical, probably observing something in the writer’s eye which he did not like, became all on a sudden abjectly submissive, and, professing the highest admiration for the writer, begged him to visit him in his government; this the writer promised faithfully to do, and he takes the present opportunity of performing his promise.

This is one of the pseudo-Radical calumniators of ‘Lavengro’ and its author; were the writer on his death-bed he would lay his hand on his heart and say, that he does not believe that there is one trait of exaggeration in the portrait which he has drawn. This is one of the pseudo-Radical calumniators of ‘Lavengro’ and its author; and this is one of the genus, who, after having railed against jobbery for perhaps a quarter of a century, at present batten on large official salaries which they do not earn. England is a great country, and her interests require that she should have many a well-paid official both at home and abroad; but will England long continue a great country if the care of her interests both at home and abroad, is in many instances entrusted to beings like him described above, whose only recommendation for an official appointment was that he was deeply versed in the secrets of his party and of the Whigs?

Before he concludes, the writer will take the liberty of saying of ‘Lavengro’ that it is a book written for the express purpose of inculcating virtue, love of country, learning, manly pursuits, and genuine religion, for example, that of the Church of England, and for awakening a contempt for nonsense of every kind, and a hatred for priestcraft, more especially that of Rome.

And in conclusion, with respect to many passages of his book, in which he has expressed himself in terms neither measured nor mealy, he will beg leave to observe, in the words of a great poet, who lived a profligate life it is true, but who died a sincere penitent — thanks, after God, to good Bishop Burnet —

Footnotes:

¹ ‘Lavengro,’ i. 265.

² Ibid., i. 340.

³ His ‘Celebrated Trials’ was published March 19, 1825.

⁴ Accounts of this fight, extracted from the Times and Morning Herald, are given in Hone’s ‘Every Day Book,’ vol. i., 1826.

⁵ References to the attempts of the authorities to suppress this fair will be found in the Times of Tuesday, May 24, 1825, and a description of the fair of 1825 is given in Hone’s ‘Every Day Book’ of the following year (1826).

⁶ Borrow says ‘two or three days passed by in much the same manner as the first.’ Since one of these days was Sunday, the latter seems the more probable; but if only two days passed, then Borrow must have left London one day later — i.e., Wednesday, May 25, 1825.

⁷ The fair-town lay, therefore, to the east of Willenhall.

⁸ For these astronomical calculations I am indebted to my colleague, Mr. W. E. Plummer, of the Liverpool Observatory.

⁹ ‘Life of Borrow,’ i. 104.

¹⁰ His calculation, for instance, gives one day too many at Salisbury, and places the poison episode and the Sunday with the preacher, which were two consecutive days, on the 8th and 12th respectively!

¹¹ This is the date given in Knapp’s ‘Life of Borrow,’ and also as a page heading in his edition of ‘Lavengro,’ p. 289. But in a note to his edition of ‘The Romany Rye,’ p. 385, he says that the fair was ‘on Easter–Monday’ (April 3).

¹² Thorpe’s ‘Environs of London,’ p. 48.

¹³ See chapter xxiv.

¹⁴ ‘Life of Borrow,’ i. 103. ‘There were Sells at Norwich; their great artist was John Sell Cotman.’ And there have been Sells elsewhere — nomen omen! to borrow one of Mr. Groome’s favourite quotations.

¹⁵ ‘The Romany Rye,’ Appendix, chapter ix.

¹⁶ Ibid., Appendix, chapter ii. ‘He eats his own bread, and is one of the very few men in England who are independent in every sense of the word.’

¹⁷ It looks as if he met Jasper by appointment at the Welsh border. But extraordinary rencontres are commonplace in Borrow’s career. He meets the Apple-woman’s Armenian customer and restores his purse, he meets Ardrey as he is leaving London, and later at the inn on the Great North Road, where he also meets the Man in Black, Mr. Platitude, and the Postillion. He meets the Apple-woman’s son after leaving Salisbury, and six days later meets Slingsby, whom he had met as a boy at Tamworth. He meets Mrs. Herne — or, rather, she meets him — in the Shropshire dingle; he meets his Irish friend Murtagh at Horncastle, at the same fair; and in the person of Jack Dale, he meets the pseudo-Quaker’s son, who many years ago had robbed the old Chinese scholar from whom Borrow had just parted.

¹⁸ Christmas Day.

¹⁹ Irishman.

²⁰ Guineas.

²¹ Borrow had accompanied the preacher and his wife to the Welsh border, where he meets Mr. Petulengro and turns back.

²² ‘Lavengro,’ ii. 262.

²³ Ibid., ii. 263.

²⁴ Ibid., ii. 264.

²⁵ Ibid., chapter x.

²⁶ ‘The Romany Rye,’ chapter xii.

²⁷ Lavengro, ii. 281.

²⁸ ‘Lavengro,’ ed. Knapp, notes, p. 567. ‘“Mumpers’ Dingle,” near Willenhall, Staffordshire. The place is properly Momber or Monmer Lane, and is now occupied by the “Monmer Lane Ironworks,” hence totally obliterated.’

²⁹ ‘Lavengro,’ ii. 249.

³⁰ See the ‘Gypsy List’ appended to Knapp’s ed. of ‘The Romany Rye.’

³¹ ‘Wild Wales,’ iii. 352.

³² ‘Lavengro’ was published February 7, 1851.

³³ ‘The earthern jugs out of which the people of Norfolk drink are called gotches.’— WRIGHT: ‘Provincial Dict.’

³⁴ Barberini.

³⁵ By Gregorio Leti, 2 v., 12o, 1667.

³⁶ Clement XIV., d. 1774.

³⁷ L’Alcoran des Cordeliers: c’est a dire Recueil des plus notables bourdes et blasphemes de ceux qui ont ose comparer Sainct Francois a Jesus Christ; tire du grand livre des conformitez, iadis compose par frere Barthelemi de Pise. — 12o, Geneve, 1578.

³⁸ The British and Foreign Bible Society. Borrow acted as the Society’s agent in Russia and Spain, 1833–1839.

³⁹ Rome.

⁴⁰ Sir Thomas Dereham, d. 1739.

⁴¹ ‘Celebrated Trials and Remarkable Cases of Criminal Jurisprudence, from the Earliest Records to the Year 1825.’ 6 vols., 8o, published March 19, 1825.

⁴² I.e. Petulengro, the gypsy word for ‘smith.’

⁴³ In the autograph MS. ‘Ambrose’ is written throughout (Kn.).

⁴⁴ Correctly kekaviako saster, ‘kettle-prop.’

⁴⁵ It should be ‘blanket.’

⁴⁶ Plenty of gypsies.

⁴⁷ Correct.

⁴⁸ ‘Gentlemen and ladies.’

⁴⁹ Let it be.

⁵⁰ Jade.

⁵¹ Borrow is fond of using ‘Roman’ and ‘Roumanian’ in the sense of ‘Romany’; but no gypsy ever does so.

⁵² Knapp quotes from Borrow’s MSS. the rest of this ditty:

The song may be translated:

⁵³ Tent.

⁵⁴ See ‘Lavengro,’ i. 158, note.

⁵⁵ Lady.

⁵⁶ His real name seems to have been Anselo Herne. See p. 72.

⁵⁷ Brother.

⁵⁸ The girl she is black. See p. 182, note.

⁵⁹ See Introduction.

⁶⁰ Ibid.

⁶¹ Better gaujo, ‘gentile.’

⁶² Smiths.

⁶³ Only used by gypsies in the phrase ‘Romani chal.’

⁶⁴ According to Knapp, this song was built up from a slender prose draft, three separate versions of it occurring in his MSS.

⁶⁵ ‘People.’ Not Anglo Romani. The English gypsies use the loan word foki.

⁶⁶ Better trupos.

⁶⁷ Better raati.

⁶⁸ For hotcher, ‘to burn,’ but the right word for ‘roast’ is pek.

⁶⁹ Boshimengro, fiddler.

⁷⁰ Tarni juvel, ‘young woman.’

⁷¹ The apothecary.

⁷² Lit., entrail.

⁷³ The best of Borrow’s songs, here or elsewhere. Knapp gives no account of it, but the Romani is evidently Borrow’s own, and does not admit of our taking it for a modernization of a genuine old gypsy song. Imitating the uncouth lilt of the original, this piece may be translated:

⁷⁴ Pronounced chy, ‘girl.’

⁷⁵ Better kabni, ‘enceinte.’

⁷⁶ ‘What,’ incorrectly for kon, ‘who.’

⁷⁷ Better barvalo, ‘rich.’

⁷⁸ Lit., ‘what’s,’ incorrectly for te, ‘that.’

⁷⁹ Read kister’d, ‘rode.’

⁸⁰ Better jal, ‘go.’

⁸¹ Better avri, ‘out.’

⁸² Pronounced chee, ‘nothing.’

⁸³ Read gorjiko.

⁸⁴ Incorrectly for baulay, ‘pigs.’

⁸⁵ Better balovas, ‘pigmeat.’

⁸⁶ Lit., ‘sweet bee.’

⁸⁷ ‘Tell their fortunes,’ but no gypsy would say anything except dukker lende.

⁸⁸ Jasper’s real name. See p. 29 note.

⁸⁹ King.

⁹⁰ Book.

⁹¹ See Introduction.

⁹² East Dereham.

⁹³ Better krallis, ‘king.’

⁹⁴ See Introduction.

⁹⁵ ‘Cuckooing,’ a made-up word.

⁹⁶ Fortune-telling.

⁹⁷ Authorship.

⁹⁸ Ghost (Borrovian Gy.).

⁹⁹ See ‘Lavengro,’ i. 139.

¹⁰⁰ Lady.

¹⁰¹ Cf. ‘King Lear,’ II. iv. 56:

¹⁰² Gypsy girls.

¹⁰³ ‘My God’s book,’ the Bible.

¹⁰⁴ Steal.

¹⁰⁵ Better hokker, ‘lie.’

¹⁰⁶ Harlot.

¹⁰⁷ God.

¹⁰⁸ Kiss.

¹⁰⁹ Uncles.

¹¹⁰ Father (Spanish Gy.); the true word is dad.

¹¹¹ Law (Spanish Gy.).

¹¹² Enceinte.

¹¹³ Uncles and brothers.

¹¹⁴ Tent.

¹¹⁵ Generally speaking, there is no purer gypsy clan than the Hernes.

¹¹⁶ Read ‘Boswell.’

¹¹⁷ See pp. 261–264.

¹¹⁸ Fighting-man.

¹¹⁹ Hill-town, i.e., Norfolk.

¹²⁰ July 17, 1820. See ‘Lavengro,’ chap. xxvi.

¹²¹ Lovell.

¹²² Better pokonyes, ‘justice of the peace.’

¹²³ Bow Street runners — Gy. prastermengre.

¹²⁴ Better patrin; the use of this word in the proper sense of ‘leaf’ is not so rare among English gypsies.

¹²⁵ Gypsies nowadays are generally married in church. They like the pomp.

¹²⁶ Simpson, member of the firm of Simpson and Rackham, Norwich, where Borrow served his articles.

¹²⁷ See pp. 88, 147, 164, and Introduction; ‘Lavengro,’ ii. 44, et seq.

¹²⁸ Good.

¹²⁹ ‘Dictionarium novum Latino–Armenium.’ Fo., Romae, 1714.

¹³⁰ Borrow quotes this sentence, with an added expletive, in his ‘Romano Lavo–Lil,’ p. 110.

¹³¹ Borrow places these words on the title-page of the present book.

¹³² A right-handed blow. See ‘Lavengro,’ ii. 289.

¹³³ Rather late for an Easter vestry meeting!

¹³⁴ Properly sar ‘shan, ‘how art thou?’

¹³⁵ By God (Borrovian Romani).

¹³⁶ Wordsworth’s.

¹³⁷ ‘The Excursion.’

¹³⁸ The Swan Hotel at Stafford. In ‘Lavengro,’ ii. 386, the inn is described as upwards of thirty miles distant from the dingle, on the great North road.

¹³⁹ Louis Jeremiah Abershaw, hanged on Kennington Common, August 3, 1795. The Bald-faced Stag near Kingston was his headquarters.

¹⁴⁰ See Introduction.

¹⁴¹ See Camden Pelham’s ‘Life and Adventures of Galloping Dick.’ Philadelphia, 1863.

¹⁴² See p. 27, note.

¹⁴³ Gaol (cant).

¹⁴⁴ I.e., highwayman.

¹⁴⁵ John Broughton, pugilist (1705–1789).

¹⁴⁶ April 11, 1750.

¹⁴⁷ At Broughton’s funeral Johnson and Big Ben acted as his pall-bearers, with Humphries, Mendoza, Ward, and Ryan.

¹⁴⁸ His real name was Francis Arden (Kn.).

¹⁴⁹ Liverpool.

¹⁵⁰ Chester.

¹⁵¹ See ‘Lavengro,’ i. 399; ii. 57.

¹⁵² See Introduction.

¹⁵³ Sir James Brooke, Rajah of Sarawah, Borrow’s old school-fellow at Norwich (1816–1818).

¹⁵⁴ Probably meant for ‘gypsydom,’ but properly old cant for ‘London.’ Rome is here Shelta, or Gaelic back-slang for mor, ‘great.’

¹⁵⁵ ‘The girl she is black, She lies on her back.’

which looks like a translation of some English ditty.

¹⁵⁶ Sham sailors (old cant).

¹⁵⁷ Fair, straightforward (dialect).

¹⁵⁸ See after, in the jockey’s tale, p. 252.

¹⁵⁹ See Introduction.

¹⁶⁰ Donkey-boy.

¹⁶¹ Transported.

¹⁶² See Introduction.

¹⁶³ A witch hag. See Ralston’s ‘Russian Folk tales,’ pp. 137, 399.

¹⁶⁴ In Hungarian gypsy, properly gulo rai, ‘sweet sir.’

¹⁶⁵ German cant.

¹⁶⁶ The English rogue described in ‘The Life of Meriton Latroon,’ a witty extravagant [by Richard Head], 4 vols. London, 1665–80.

¹⁶⁷ Mistress (cant).

¹⁶⁸ I.e., mathematics.

¹⁶⁹ John Thurtell, Borrow’s old Norwich crony, 1817–20, hanged at Hertford, January 9, 1824, for the murder of William Weare.

¹⁷⁰ Hertford.

¹⁷¹ July 17, 1820, at North Walsham, Norfolk. See ‘Lavengro.’

¹⁷² Cf. the lines from a song which Borrow may have heard in Ireland:

¹⁷³ Thimble-rigger.

¹⁷⁴ Greenwich fair. See Introduction and ‘Lavengro,’ vol. ii., p. 22.

¹⁷⁵ Borrow really heard this tale in Cornwall, from the guide Cronan, in January, 1854.

¹⁷⁶ Tipperary.

¹⁷⁷ Civita Vecchia.

¹⁷⁸ The Duke d’Angouleme.

¹⁷⁹ South.

¹⁸⁰ Boston.

¹⁸¹ Spalding.

¹⁸² We first hear of this Appendix in a letter to Murray, dated Nov. 11, 1852, in which Borrow expresses his intention of ‘adding some notes’ to the present work. The result is this extraordinary ‘Malebolgia,’ as Professor Knapp terms it, into which Borrow has thrust all those who had incurred his ill-will, even for the most trivial of reasons. His enmity with Rome dates from his Spanish experiences as colporteur of the Bible Society in 1838 and 1839. ‘Mr. Flamson’ is placed in the pillory, because he had offended Borrow by carrying a railway line through his Oulton grounds; and Scott, apparently for no better reason than his neglect to acknowledge a presentation copy of the ‘Romantic Ballads.’ The ‘Lord–Lieutenant’ experiences Borrow’s resentment because he did not see his way to making ‘Lavengro’ a magistrate; and the ‘Old Radical’ is gibbeted because he obtained an official position which Borrow desired for himself.

¹⁸³ Twenty. George Borrow was born July, 1803, and his father died February, 1824.

¹⁸⁴ Borrovian for ‘gypsydom.’

¹⁸⁵ ‘Canning (1827),’ (Kn.).

¹⁸⁶ Ibid.

¹⁸⁷ ‘Viscount Goderich’ (Kn.).

¹⁸⁸ Little Father (Russian).

¹⁸⁹ The full text and translation of this pointless little song are given in the ‘Romano Lavo-lil,’ pp. 200, 201.

¹⁹⁰ This was written in 1854. (G.B.)

¹⁹¹ An obscene oath. (G.B.)

¹⁹² See ‘Muses’ Library,’ pp. 86, 87. London, 1738 (G. B.). Reprinted from the original edition in the Early English Text Society (1870).

¹⁹³ Genteel with them seems to be synonymous with Gentile and Gentoo; if so, the manner in which it has been applied for ages ceases to surprise, for genteel is heathenish. Ideas of barbaric pearl and gold, glittering armour, plumes, tortures, blood-shedding, and lust, should always be connected with it. Wace, in his grand Norman poem, calls the Baron genteel:

And he certainly could not have applied the word better than to the strong Norman thief, aimed cap-a-pie, without one particle of ruth or generosity; for a person to be a pink of gentility, that is heathenism, should have no such feelings; and, indeed, the admirers of gentility seldom or never associate any such feelings with it. It was from the Norman, the worst of all robbers and miscreants, who built strong castles, garrisoned them with devils, and tore out poor wretches’ eyes, as the Saxon Chronicle says, that the English got their detestable word genteel. What could ever have made the English such admirers of gentility, it would be difficult to say; for, during three hundred years, they suffered enough by it. Their genteel Norman landlords were their scourgers, their torturers, the plunderers of their homes, the dishonourers of their wives, and the deflowerers of their daughters. Perhaps, after all, fear is at the root of the English veneration for gentility. (G.B.)

¹⁹⁴ Sir Samuel Morton Peto (1809–89), M.P. for Norwich, 1847–54.

¹⁹⁵ Gentle and gentlemanly may be derived from the same root as genteel; but nothing can be more distinct from the mere genteel, than the ideas which enlightened minds associate with these words. Gentle and gentlemanly mean something kind and genial; genteel, that which is glittering or gaudy. A person can be a gentleman in rags, but nobody can be genteel. (G.B.)

¹⁹⁶ A favourite figure of Carlyle’s, but both he and Borrow took the mot from a report of Thurtell’s trial: Q. ‘What do you mean by respectable?’ A. ‘He kept a gig.’

¹⁹⁷ Perry. (Kn.)

¹⁹⁸ Gorgiko, ‘gentile,’ used here as a nickname.

¹⁹⁹ The writer has been checked in print by the Scotch with being a Norfolk man. Surely, surely, these latter times have not been exactly the ones in which it was expedient for Scotchmen to check the children of any county in England with the place of their birth, more especially those who have had the honour of being born in Norfolk — times in which British fleets, commanded by Scotchmen, have returned laden with anything but laurels from foreign shores. It would have been well for Britain had she had the old Norfolk man to dispatch to the Baltic or the Black Sea, lately, instead of Scotch admirals. (G. B.)

²⁰⁰ The ‘whiffler’ was the official sword-flourisher of the Corporation.

²⁰¹ Tom Cribb (1781–1848), champion pugilist.

²⁰² Thomas Winter (1795–1851), pugilist.

²⁰³ See Introduction.

²⁰⁴ Harman-beck, ‘constable’ (old cant); modern slang, beak.

²⁰⁵ As the present work will come out in the midst of a vehement political contest, people may be led to suppose that the above was written expressly for the time. The writer, therefore, begs to state that it was written in the year 1854. He cannot help adding that he is neither Whig, Tory, nor Radical, and cares not a straw what party governs England, provided it is governed well. But he has no hopes of good government from the Whigs. It is true that amongst them there is one very great man, Lord Palmerston, who is indeed the sword and buckler, the chariots and the horses of the party; but it is impossible for his lordship to govern well with such colleagues as he has — colleagues which have been forced upon him by family influence, and who are continually pestering him into measures anything but conducive to the country’s honour and interest. If Palmerston would govern well, he must get rid of them; but from that step, with all his courage and all his greatness, he will shrink. Yet how proper and easy a step it would be! He could easily get better, but scarcely worse, associates. They appear to have one object in view, and only one — jobbery. It was chiefly owing to a most flagitious piece of jobbery, which one of his lordship’s principal colleagues sanctioned and promoted, that his lordship experienced his late parliamentary disasters (G. B.).

²⁰⁶ The Cato Street conspirators, a reminiscence of Borrow’s ‘Celebrated Trials.’

²⁰⁷ Sir John Bowring.

²⁰⁸ William Taylor of Norwich.

²⁰⁹ ‘Specimens of the Russian Poets,’ translated by John Bowring. 12mo., London, 1821.

²¹⁰ A fact (G. B.).

²¹¹ Southey.

²¹² Aberdeen.

²¹³ China.

²¹⁴ Manchu New Testament.