"Poor fellow,"
said he to me, "he has scarcely been gone an hour, and she is
jealous already.
said he to me, "he has scarcely been gone an hour, and she is
jealous already.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v04 - Bes to Bro
For out of the elements, through
the power of light, reconciling the contrariety of elements in
things mixed, are generated and produced whatever things are
generated and produced by the operation of natural power. Gen-
erated are the bodies composed of the elements, as minerals,
vegetables, sensible things, and human bodies. Directing both
these and those are the spiritual substances: whether altogether
conjunct, like the souls of the brutes; or separably conjunct, like
rational souls; or altogether separate, like the celestial spirits;
-
―――
## p. 2172 (#370) ###########################################
SAINT BONAVENTURA
2172
which the philosophers call Intelligences, we Angels. On these,
according to the philosophers, it devolves to move the heavenly
bodies; and for this reason the administration of the universe is
ascribed to them, as receiving from the First Cause - that is,
God—that inflow of virtue which they pour forth again in rela-
tion to the work of government, which has reference to the
natural consistence of things. But according to the theologians
the direction of the universe is ascribed to these same beings, as
regards the works of redemption, with respect to which they are
called "ministering spirits, sent forth to do service for the sake
of them that shall inherit salvation. "
Man, therefore, who is called the lesser world, has five senses,
like five gates, through which the knowledge of all the things
that are in the sensible world enters into his soul. For through
sight there enter the sublime and luminous bodies and all other
colored things; through touch, solid and terrestrial bodies; through
the three intermediate senses, the intermediate bodies; through
taste, the aqueous; through hearing, the aërial; through smell, the
vaporable, which have something of the humid, something of the
aërial, and something of the fiery or hot, as is clear from the
fumes that are liberated from spices. There enter, therefore,
through these doors not only the simple bodies, but also the
mixed bodies compounded of these. Seeing then that with sense
we perceive not only these particular sensibles-light, sound,
odor, savor, and the four primary qualities which touch appre-
hends but also the common sensibles-number, magnitude,
figure, rest, and motion; and seeing that everything which moves
is moved by something else, and certain things move and rest of
themselves, as do the animals; in apprehending through these
five senses the motions of bodies, we are guided to the knowl-
edge of spiritual motions, as by an effect to the knowledge of
-
causes.
In the three classes of things, therefore, the whole of this
sensible world enters the human soul through apprehension.
These external sensible things are those which first enter into
the soul through the gates of the five senses. They enter, I say,
not through their substances, but through their similitudes, gen-
erated first in the medium, and from the medium in the external
organ, and from the external organ in the internal organ, and
from this in the apprehensive power; and thus generation in the
medium, and from the medium in the organ, and the direction of
## p. 2173 (#371) ###########################################
SAINT BONAVENTURA
2173
the apprehensive power upon it, produce the apprehension of all
those things which the soul apprehends externally.
This apprehension, if it is directed to a proper object, is fol-
lowed by delight. The sense delights in the object perceived
through its abstract similitude, either by reason of its beauty, as
in vision, or by reason of its sweetness, as in smell and hearing,
or by reason of its healthfulness, as in taste and touch, properly
speaking. But all delight is by reason of proportion. But since
species is the ground of form, power, and action, according as it
has reference to the principle from which it emanates, the medium
into which it passes, or the term upon which it acts, therefore
proportion is observed in three things. It is observed in simili-
tude, inasmuch as it forms the ground of species or form, and so
is called speciosity, because beauty is nothing but numerical
equality, or a certain disposition of parts accompanied with sweet-
ness of color. It is observed in so far as it forms the ground of
power or virtue, and thus is called sweetness, when the active
virtue does not disproportionally exceed the recipient virtue, be-
cause the sense is depressed by extremes, and delighted by means.
It is observed in so far as it forms the ground of efficacy and
impression, which is proportional when the agent, in impressing,
satisfies the need of the patient, and this is to preserve and
nourish it, as appears chiefly in taste and touch. And thus we
see how, by pleasure, external delightful things enter through
similitude into the soul, according to the threefold method of
delectation.
After this apprehension and delight there comes discernment,
by which we not only discern whether this thing be white or
black (because this alone belongs to the outer sense), and whether
this thing be wholesome or hurtful (because this belongs to the
inner sense), but also discern why this delights and give a reason
therefor. And in this act we inquire into the reason of the
delight which is derived by the sense from the object. This hap-
pens when we inquire into the reason of the beautiful, the sweet,
and the wholesome, and discover that it is a proportion of equality.
But a ratio of equality is the same in great things and in small.
It is not extended by dimensions; it does not enter into succes-
sion, or pass with passing things; it is not altered by motions.
It abstracts therefore from place, time, and motion; and for this
reason it is immutable, uncircumscribable, interminable, and
altogether spiritual. Discernment, then, is an action which, by
## p. 2174 (#372) ###########################################
2174
SAINT BONAVENTURA
purifying and abstracting, makes the sensible species, sensibly re-
ceived through the senses, enter into the intellective power. And
thus the whole of this world enters into the human soul by the
gates of the five senses, according to the three aforesaid activities.
All these things are footprints, in which we may behold our
God. For, since an apprehended species is a similitude generated
in a medium and then impressed upon the organ, and through
that impression leads to the knowledge of its principle,- that is,
of its object,-it manifestly implies that that eternal light gener-
ates from itself a similitude or splendor co-equal, consubstantial,
and co-eternal; and that He who is the image and similitude of
the invisible God, and the splendor of the glory, and the figure
of the substance which is everywhere, generates by his first gen-
eration of himself his own similitude in the form of an object in
the entire medium, unites himself by the grace of union to the
individual of rational nature, as a species to a bodily organ, so
that by this union he may lead us back to the Father as the
fontal principle and object. If therefore all cognizable things
generate species of themselves, they clearly proclaim that in
them, as in mirrors, may be seen the eternal generation of the
Word, the Image, and the Son, eternally emanating from God the
Father.
Since therefore all things are beautiful, and in a certain way
delightful, and since beauty and delight are inseparable from
proportion, and proportion is primarily in numbers, all things
must of necessity be full of number. For this reason, number
is the chief exemplar in the mind of the artificer, and in things
the chief footprint leading to wisdom. Since this is most mani-
fest to all and most close to God, it leads us most closely and by
seven differences to God, and makes him known in all things,
corporeal and sensible. And while we apprehend numerical
things, we delight in numerical proportions, and judge irrefraga-
bly by the laws of these.
For every creature is by nature an effigy and similitude of
that eternal Wisdom: but especially so is that creature which in
the book of Scriptures was assumed by the spirit of prophecy
for the prefiguration of spiritual things; more especially those
creatures in whose effigy God was willing to appear for the an-
gelic ministry; and most especially that creature which he was
willing to set forth as a sign, and which plays the part not only
of a sign, as that word is commonly used, but also of a sacrament.
## p. 2175 (#373) ###########################################
2175
GEORGE BORROW
(1803-1881)
BY JULIAN HAWTHORNE
EORGE BORROW lived eight-and-seventy years and published
ten books. In his veins was mingled the blood of Cornwall
and of Normandy; but though proud of this strain, he
valued still more that personal independence which, together with
his love of strange tongues and his passion for outdoor life, molded
his career. His nature was mystical and eccentric, and he sometimes
approached-though he never crossed the confines of insanity; yet
his instincts were robust and plain, he was an apostle of English ale
and a master of the art of self-defense, he
was an uncompromising champion of the
Church of England and the savage foe of
Papistry, he despised "kid-glove gentility"
in life and literature, and delighted to
make his spear ring against the hollow
shield of social convention. A nature so
complicated and individual, so outspoken
and aggressive, could not slip smoothly
along the grooves of civilized existence; he
was soundly loved and hated, but seldom
or never understood. And the obstinate
pride which gave projection to most of his
virtues was also at the bottom of his
faults: he better liked to perplex than to
open himself to his associates; he willfully repelled where he might
have captivated. Some human element was wanting in him: he was
strong, masculine, subtle, persistent; of a lofty and austere spirit;
too proud even to be personally ambitious; gifted with humor and
insight; fearless and faithful; - but no tenderness, no gentleness, no
inviting human warmth ever appears in him; and though he could
reverence women, and admire them, and appreciate them also from
the standpoint of the senses, they had no determining sway over his
life or thought. If there be any man in English history whom such
a summary of traits as this recalls, it is Dean Swift. Nevertheless
Borrow's differences from him are far greater than the resemblances
between them. Giant force was in both of them; both were enig-
mas; but the deeper we penetrate into Borrow, the more
we like
GEORGE BORROW
—
## p. 2176 (#374) ###########################################
2176
GEORGE BORROW
him; not so with the blue-eyed Dean. Borrow's depths are dark and
tortuous, but never miasmic; and as we grope our way through them,
we may stumble upon treasures, but never upon rottenness.
A man who can be assigned to no recognized type-who flocks
by himself, as the saying is-cannot easily be portrayed: we lose
the main design in our struggle with the details. Indeed, no two
portraits of such a man can be alike: they will vary according to
the temperament and limitations of the painter. It is safe to assert,
however, that insatiable curiosity was at the base both of his char-
acter and of his achievements. Instincts he doubtless had in plenty,
but no intuitions; everything must be construed to him categorically.
But his capacity keeps pace with his curiosity; he promptly assim-
ilates all he learns, and he can forget nothing. Probably this inves-
tigating passion had its cause in his own unlikeness to the rest of
us: he was as a visitor from another planet, pledged to send home
reports of all he saw here. His success in finding strange things is
prodigious: his strange eye detects oddities and beauties to which
we to the manner born were strange. Adventures attend him every-
where, as the powers of earth and air on Prospero. Here comes the
King of the Vipers, the dry stubble crackling beneath his outrageous
belly; yonder the foredoomed sailor promptly fulfills his own predic-
tion, falling from the yard-arm into the Bay of Biscay; anon the
ghastly visage of Mrs. Herne, of the Hairy Ones, glares for a moment
out of the midnight hedge; again, a mysterious infatuation drives.
the wealthy idler from his bed out into the inclement darkness, and
up to the topmost bough of the tree, which he must "touch" ere he
can rest; and now, in the gloom of the memorable dingle, the horror
of fear falls upon the amateur tinker, the Evil One grapples terribly
with his soul, blots of foam fly from his lips, and he is dashed
against the trees and stones. An adventure, truly, fit to stand with
any of mediæval legend, and compared with which the tremendous
combat with Blazing Bosville, the Flaming Tinman, is almost a
relief. But in what perilous Faery Land forlorn do all these and a
thousand more strange and moving incidents take place? — Why, in
the quiet lanes and byways of nineteenth-century England, or per-
chance in priest-ridden Spain, where the ordinary traveler can for
the life of him discover nothing more startling than beef and beer,
garlic and crucifixes. Adventures are in the adventurer.
Man and nature were Borrow's study, but England was his love.
In him exalted patriotism touches its apogee. How nobly and un-
compromisingly is he jealous of her honor, her glory, and her inde-
pendence! In what eloquent apostrophes does he urge her to be true
to her lofty traditions, to trample on base expediency and cleave to the
brave and true! In what resounding jeremiads does he denounce woe
## p. 2177 (#375) ###########################################
GEORGE BORROW
2177
upon her traitors and seducers! With what savage sarcasm and scorn
does he dissect the soul of the "man in black"! No other writing
more powerful, picturesque, and idiomatic has been done in this cen-
tury. He will advocate no policy less austere than purity, courage,
and truth. There is in his zeal a narrowness that augments its
strength, yet lessens its effect so far as practical issues are con-
cerned. He is an idealist: but surely no young man can read his
stern, throbbing pages without a kindling of the soul, and a resolve
to be high in deed and aim; and there is no gauging the final in-
fluence of such spiritual stimulus. England and mankind must be
better for this lonely, indignant voice.
England, and England's religion, and the Bible in its integrity,-
these are the controlling strings of Borrow's harp. Yet he had his
youthful period of religious doubt and philosophic sophism: has he
not told how walls and ceilings rang with the "Hey! " of the man
with the face of a lion, when the gray-haired boy intimated his skep-
ticism? But vicissitudes of soul and body, aided by the itinerant
Welsh preacher, cleansed him of these errors, and he undertook
and carried through the famous crusade recorded in The Bible in
Spain,' a narrative of adventure and devotion which fascinated and
astonished England, and sets its author abreast of the great writers
of his time. It is as irresistible to-day as it was fifty years ago: it
stands alone; only Trelawny's Adventures of a Younger Son' can
be compared with it as narrative, and Trelawny's book lacks the
grand central feature which gives dignity and unity to Borrow's.
Being a story of fact, 'The Bible in Spain' lacks much of the liter-
ary art and felicity, as well as the imaginative charm, of 'Lavengro';
but within its own scope it is great, and nothing can supersede it.
Gipsydom in all its aspects, though logically a side-issue with
Borrow, was nevertheless the most noticeable thing relating to him:
it engaged and colored him on the side of his temperament; and in
the picture we form of a man, temperament tells far more than
intellect because it is more individual. Later pundits have called
in question the academic accuracy of Borrow's researches in the
Romany language: but such frettings are beside the mark; Borrow is
the only genuine expounder of Gipsyness that ever lived. He laid
hold of their vitals, and they of his; his act of brotherhood with Mr.
Jasper Petulengro is but a symbol of his mystical alliance with the
race. This is not to say that he fathomed the heart of their mys-
tery; the gipsies themselves cannot do that: but he comprehended
whatever in them is open to comprehension, and his undying interest
in them is due not only to his sympathy with their way of life, but
to the fact that his curiosity about them could never be quite satis-
fied. Other mysteries come and go, but the gipsy mystery stays with
IV-137
## p. 2178 (#376) ###########################################
2178
GEORGE BORROW
us, and was to Borrow a source of endless content. For after sharp-
ening his wits on the ethnological riddle, he could refresh himself
with the psychical aspect of the matter, discovering in them the incar-
nation of one essential human quality, incompletely present in all
men. They are the perfect vagabonds; but the germ of vagabondage
inheres in mankind at large, and is the source of the changes that
have resulted in what we call civilization. Borrow's nature comprised
the gipsy, but the gipsy by no means comprised him; he wandered
like them, but the object of his wanderings was something more than
to tell dukkeripens, poison pigs, mend kettles, or deal in horseflesh.
Therefore he puzzled them more than they did him.
'The Gipsies of Spain' (1841) was his first book about them;
'Lavengro' came ten years later, and 'Romany Rye' six years after
that. In 1874 he returns to the subject in 'Roman Lavo-lil,' a sort
of dictionary and phrase-book of the language, but unlike any other
dictionary and phrase-book ever conceived: it is well worth reading
as a piece of entertaining literature. His other books are translations
of Norse and Welsh poetry, and a book of travels in 'Wild Wales,'
published in 1862. All these works are more than readable: the
translations, though rugged and unmusical, have about them a frank.
sensuousness and a primitive force that are amusing and attractive.
But after all, Borrow is never thoroughly himself in literature unless
the gipsies are close at hand; and of all his gipsy books Laven-
gro' is by far the best. Indeed, it is so much the best and broadest
thing that he produced, that the reader who would know Borrow
need never go beyond these pages. In 'Lavengro' we get the cul-
mination of both the author and the man; it is his book in the full
sense, and may afford profitable study to any competent reader for a
lifetime.
'Lavengro, in fact, is like nothing else in either biography or
fiction and it is both fictitious and biographical. It is the gradual
revelation of a strange, unique being. But the revelation does not
proceed in an orderly and chronological fashion: it is not begun in
the first chapter, and still less is it completed in the last. After a
careful perusal of the book, you will admit that though it has fasci-
nated and impressed you, you have quite failed to understand it.
Why is the author so whimsical? Wherefore these hinted but uncon-
fessed secrets? Why does he stop short on the brink of an important
disclosure, and diverge under cover of a line of asterisks into another
subject? But Borrow in 'Lavengro' is not constructing a book, he
is creating one. He has the reserves of a man who respects his own
nature, yet he treats the reader fairly. If you are worthy to be his
friend, by-and-by you will see his heart,—look again, and yet again!
That passage in a former chapter was incomplete; but look ahead a
-
---
## p. 2179 (#377) ###########################################
GEORGE BORROW
2179
hundred pages and consider a paragraph there: by itself it seems to
say little; but gradually you recognize in it a part of the inwoven
strand which disappears in one part of the knot and emerges in
another. Though you cannot solve the genial riddle to-day, you may
to-morrow. The only clue is sympathy. This man hides his heart
for him who has the mate to it; and beneath the whimsical, indiffer-
ent, proud, and cold exterior, how it heaves and fears and loves and
wonders! This is a wild, unprecedented, eloquent, mysterious, artistic
yet artless book; it is alive; it tells of an existence apart, yet in con-
tact with the deep things of all human experience. No other man
ever lived as Borrow did, and yet his book is an epitome of life.
The magic of his personal quality beguiles us on every page; but
deeper still lie the large, immutable traits that make all men men,
and avouch the unity of mankind.
'Romany Rye' is the continuation of 'Lavengro,' but scarcely
repeats its charm; its most remarkable feature is an 'Appendix,' in
which Borrow expounds his views upon things in general, including
critics and politics. It is a marvelously trenchant piece of writing,
and from the literary point of view delightful; but it must have hurt
a good many people's feelings at the time it was published, and even
now shows the author on his harsh side only. We may agree with
all he says, and yet wish he had uttered it in a less rasping tone.
Like nearly all great writers, Borrow, in order to get his best
effects, must have room for his imagination. Mere fact would not
rouse him fully, and abstract argument still less. In 'Lavengro' he
hit upon his right vein, and he worked it in the fresh maturity of
his power.
The style is Borrow's own, peculiar to him: eloquent,
rugged, full of liturgical repetitions, shunning all soft assonances and
refinements, and yet with remote sea-like cadences, and unhackneyed
felicities that rejoice the jaded soul. Writing with him was spon-
taneous, but never heedless or unconsidered; it was always the out-
come of deep thought and vehement feeling. Other writers and
their books may be twain, but Borrow and his books are one. Per-
haps they might be improved in art, or arrangement, or subject; but
we should no longer care for them then, because they would cease
to be Borrow. Borrow may not have been a beauty or a saint; but
a man he was; and good or bad, we would not alter a hair of him.
Nothing like an adequate biography of Borrow has ever been pub-
lished: a few dates, and some more or less intelligent opinions about
his character and work, are the sum of what we know of him-out-
side his own books. Some of the dates are probably guess-work;
most of the opinions are incompetent: it is time that some adequate
mind assembled all available materials and digested them into a sat-
isfactory book. It is hardly worth while to review the few meagre
## p. 2180 (#378) ###########################################
2180
GEORGE BORROW
details. Borrow was born in 1803 and died in 1881; his father, a sol-
dier, failed to make a solicitor of him, and the youth, at his father's
death, came up to London to live or die by literature. After much
hardship (of which the chapters in 'Lavengro' describing the produc-
tion of 'Joseph Sell' convey a hint), he set out on a wandering pil-
grimage over England, Europe, and the East. As agent for the
British and Foreign Bible Society he traversed Spain and Portugal,
sending to the Morning Herald letters descriptive of his adventures,
which afterwards were made the substance of his books.
He mar-
ried at thirty-seven, and lived at Outton Broad nearly all his life
after. His wife died a dozen years before him, in 1869. She left no
children.
His first book, a translation of Klinger's 'Faust,' appeared in 1825;
his last, The Gipsy Dictionary,' in 1874; a volume called 'Penquite
and Pentyre,' on Cornwall, was announced in 1857, but seems never
to have been published. Targum,' a collection of translations from
thirty languages and dialects, was a tour de force belonging to the
year 1835. On the whole, Borrow was not a voluminous writer; but
what he wrote tells.
Durian Hanthome
AT THE HORSE-FAIR
From Lavengro
"W
HAT horse is that? " said I to a very old fellow, the
counterpart of the old man on the pony, save that the
last wore a faded suit of velveteen, and this one was
dressed in a white frock.
"The best in mother England," said the very old man, taking
a knobbed stick from his mouth, and looking me in the face, at
first carelessly, but presently with something like interest; "he is
old like myself, but can still trot his twenty miles an hour. You
won't live long, my swain; tall and overgrown ones like thee
never do: yet, if you should chance to reach my years, you
may boast to thy great-grand-boys, thou hast seen Marshland
Shales. "
Amain I did for the horse what I would neither do for earl
or baron, doffed my hat; yes! I doffed my hat to the wondrous
horse, the fast trotter, the best in mother England; and I too
## p. 2181 (#379) ###########################################
GEORGE BORROW
2181
drew a deep ah! and repeated the words of the old fellows
around. "Such a horse as this we shall never see again; a pity
that he is so old. "
Now, during all this time I had a kind of consciousness that I
had been the object of some person's observation; that eyes were
fastened upon me from somewhere in the crowd. Sometimes I
thought myself watched from before, sometimes from behind; and
occasionally methought that if I just turned my head to the right
or left, I should meet a peering and inquiring glance; and indeed,
once or twice I did turn, expecting to see somebody whom I
knew, yet always without success; though it appeared to me that
I was but a moment too late, and that some one had just slipped
away from the direction to which I turned, like the figure in a
magic lantern. Once I was quite sure that there were a pair of
eyes glaring over my right shoulder; my attention, however, was
so fully occupied with the objects which I have attempted to
describe, that I thought very little of this coming and going, this
flitting and dodging of I knew not whom or what. It was after
all a matter of sheer indifference to me who was looking at me.
I could only wish whomsoever it might be to be more profitably
employed, so I continued enjoying what I saw; and now there
was a change in the scene: the wondrous old horse departed with
his aged guardian; other objects of interest are at hand. Two or
three men on horseback are hurrying through the crowd; they are
widely different in their appearance from the other people of the
fair-not so much in dress, for they are clad something after
the fashion of rustic jockeys, but in their look: no light-brown
hair have they, no ruddy cheeks, no blue quiet glances belong to
them; their features are dark, the locks long, black, and shining,
and their eyes are wild; they are admirable horsemen, but they
do not sit the saddle in the manner of common jockeys, they
seem to float or hover upon it like gulls upon the waves; two
of them are mere striplings, but the third is a very tall man
with a countenance heroically beautiful, but wild, wild, wild. As
they rush along, the crowd give way on all sides, and now a
kind of ring or circus is formed, within which the strange men
exhibit their horsemanship, rushing past each other, in and out,
after the manner of a reel, the tall man occasionally balancing
himself upon the saddle, and standing erect on one foot. He had
just regained his seat after the latter feat, and was about to push
his horse to a gallop, when a figure started forward close from.
## p. 2182 (#380) ###########################################
2182
GEORGE BORROW
beside me, and laying his hand on his neck, and pulling him
gently downward, appeared to whisper something into his ear;
presently the tall man raised his head, and scanning the crowd
for a moment in the direction in which I was standing, fixed his
eyes full upon me; and anon the countenance of the whisperer
was turned, but only in part, and the side-glance of another pair
of wild eyes was directed towards my face; but the entire visage
of the big black man, half-stooping as he was, was turned full
upon mine.
But now, with a nod to the figure who had stopped him, and
with another inquiring glance at myself, the big man once more
put his steed into motion, and after riding round the ring a few
more times, darted through a lane in the crowd, and followed
by his two companions, disappeared; whereupon the figure who
had whispered to him, and had subsequently remained in the
middle of the space, came towards me, and cracking a whip
which he held in his hand so loudly that the report was nearly
equal to that of a pocket-pistol, he cried in a strange tone:—
"What! the sap-engro? Lor! the sap-engro upon the hill! »
"I remember that word," said I, "and I almost think I
remember you. You can't be - "
"Jasper, your pal!
Truth, and no lie, brother. "
"It is strange that you should have known me," said I. "I
am certain, but for the word you used, I should never have rec-
ognized you. "
"Not so strange as you may think, brother: there is some-
thing in your face which would prevent people from forgetting
you, even though they might wish it; and your face is not much
altered since the time you wot of, though you are so much
grown.
I thought it was you, but to make sure I dodged about,
inspecting you. I believe you felt me, though I never touched
you; a sign, brother, that we are akin, that we are dui palor-
two relations. Your blood beat when mine was near, as mine
always does at the coming of a brother; and we became brothers
in that lane. "
"And where are you staying? " said I: "in this town? "
"Not in the town; the like of us don't find it exactly whole-
some to stay in towns: we keep abroad. But I have little to do
here- come with me, and I'll show you where we stay. "
We descended the hill in the direction of the north, and pass-
ing along the suburb reached the old Norman bridge, which we
## p. 2183 (#381) ###########################################
GEORGE BORROW
2183
crossed; the chalk precipice, with the ruin on its top, was now
before us; but turning to the left we walked swiftly along, and
presently came to some rising ground, which ascending, we
found ourselves upon a wild moor or heath.
"You are one of them," said I, "whom people call- »
"Just so," said Jasper; "but never mind what people call us. "
"And that tall handsome man on the hill, whom you whis-
pered: I suppose he's one of ye. What is his name? "
"Tawno Chikno," said Jasper, "which means the small one;
we call him such because he is the biggest man of all our
nation. You say he is handsome- that is not the word, brother;
he's the beauty of the world. Women run wild at the sight of
Tawno. An earl's daughter, near London a fine young lady
with diamonds round her neck- fell in love with Tawno. I
have seen that lass on a heath, as this may be, kneel down to
Tawno, clasp his feet, begging to be his wife or anything
else if she might go with him. But Tawno would have noth-
ing to do with her: 'I have a wife of my own,' said he, 'a law-
ful Romany wife, whom I love better than the whole world, jeal-
ous though she sometimes be. >»
"And is she very beautiful? " said I.
"Why, you know, brother, beauty is frequently a matter of
taste; however, as you ask my opinion, I should say not quite so
beautiful as himself. "
____________________
――――――――
――
――――――
We had now arrived at a small valley between two hills, or
downs, the sides of which were covered with furze; in the midst
of this valley were various carts and low tents forming a rude
kind of encampment; several dark children were playing about,
who took no manner of notice of us. As we passed one of the
tents, however, a canvas screen was lifted up, and a woman sup-
ported upon a crutch hobbled out. She was about the middle
age, and besides being lame, was bitterly ugly; she was very
slovenly dressed, and on her swarthy features ill-nature was most
visibly stamped. She did not deign me a look, but addressing
Jasper in a tongue which I did not understand, appeared to put
some eager questions to him.
"He's coming," said Jasper, and passed on.
"Poor fellow,"
said he to me, "he has scarcely been gone an hour, and she is
jealous already. Well," he continued, "what do you think of
her? you have seen her now, and can judge for yourself — that
'ere woman is Tawno Chikno's wife! "
## p. 2184 (#382) ###########################################
2184
GEORGE BORROW
We went to the farthest of the tents, which stood at a slight
distance from the rest, and which exactly resembled the one
which I have described on a former occasion; we went in and
sat down, one on each side of a small fire which was smoldering
on the ground; there was no one else in the tent but a tall
tawny woman of middle age, who was busily knitting.
"Brother,"
said Jasper, "I wish to hold some pleasant discourse with you. "
"As much as you please," said I, "provided you can find
anything pleasant to talk about. ”
"Never fear," said Jasper; "and first of all we will talk of
yourself. Where have you been all this long time? "
"Here and there," said I, "and far and near, going about
with the soldiers; but there is no soldiering now, so we have sat
down, father and family, in the town there. "
"And do you still hunt snakes? " said Jasper.
"No," said I, "I have given up that long ago; I do better
now: read books and learn languages. "
"Well, I am sorry you have given up your snake-hunting;
many's the strange talk I have had with our people about your
snake and yourself, and how you frightened my father and
mother in the lane. "
"And where are your father and mother? "
"Where I shall never see them, brother; at least, I hope so. "
"Not dead? "
"No, not dead; they are bitchadey pawdel. "
"What's that? '
"Sent across - banished. "
―――――
"Ah! I understand; I am sorry for them.
here alone? "
And so you are
"Not quite alone, brother. "
"No, not alone; but with the rest-Tawno Chikno takes care
of you. "
"Takes care of me, brother! "
"Yes, stands to you in the place of a father-keeps you out
of harm's way. >>>
"What do you take me for, brother? "
"For about three years older than myself. "
"Perhaps; but you are of the gorgios, and I am a Romany
Chal. Tawno Chikno take care of Jasper Petulengro! "
"Is that your name? "
"Don't you like it? "
## p. 2185 (#383) ###########################################
GEORGE BORROW
2185
"Very much, I never heard a sweeter; it is something like
what you call me. "
"The horseshoe master and the snake-fellow-I am the first. "
"Who gave you that name ? »
"Ask Pharaoh. "
"I would if he were here, but I do not see him. "
"I am Pharaoh. "
"Then you are a king. "
"Chachipen Pal. "
"I do not understand you. "
"Where are your languages? you want two things, brother:
mother-sense, and gentle Romany.
>>
"What makes you think that I want sense? "
"That being so old, you can't yet guide yourself! "
"I can read Dante, Jasper. "
<< Anan, brother. "
"I can charm snakes, Jasper. "
"I know you can, brother. "
"Yes, and horses too; bring me the most vicious in the land,
if I whisper he'll be tame. "
"Then the more shame for you- a snake-fellow -
-
a horse-
witch and a lil-reader - yet you can't shift for yourself. I
laugh at you, brother! "
"Then you can shift for yourself? »
"For myself and for others, brother. "
"And what does Chikno? "
"Sells me horses, when I bid him.
chong were mine.
>>>
"And has he none of his own? "
-
―――
Those horses on the
"Sometimes he has; but he is not so well off as myself.
When my father and mother were bitchadey pawdel, which, to
tell you the truth, they were for chiving wafodo dloovu, they left
me all they had, which was not a little, and I became the head
of our family, which was not a small one. I was not older than
you when that happened; yet our people said they had never a
better krallis to contrive and plan for them, and to keep them
in order. And this is so well known, that many Romany
Chals, not of our family, come and join themselves to us, living
with us for a time, in order to better themselves, more espe-
cially those of the poorer sort, who have little of their own.
Tawno is one of these. "
## p. 2186 (#384) ###########################################
2186
GEORGE BORROW
"Is that fine fellow poor? "
"One of the poorest, brother. Handsome as he is, he has
not a horse of his own to ride on. Perhaps we may put it
down to his wife, who cannot move about, being a cripple, as
you saw. "
"And you are what is called a Gipsy King? "
"Ay, ay; a Romany Chal. "
"Are there other kings? "
"Those who call themselves so; but the true Pharaoh is Petu-
lengro. »
"Did Pharaoh make horse-shoes?
"The first who ever did, brother. "
"Pharaoh lived in Egypt. "
"So did we once, brother. "
"And you left it? "
"My fathers did, brother. "
"And why did they come here? »
"They had their reasons, brother. "
"And you are not English? "
"We are not gorgios. "
"And you have a language of your own? "
"Avali. "
"This is wonderful. "
“Ha, ha! ” cried the woman who had hitherto sat knitting at
the farther end of the tent without saying a word, though not
inattentive to our conversation, as I could perceive by certain
glances which she occasionally cast upon us both. "Ha, ha! "
she screamed, fixing upon me two eyes which shone like burning
coals, and which were filled with an expression both of scorn
and malignity, "it is wonderful, is it, that we should have a
language of our own? What, you grudge the poor people the
speech they talk among themselves? That's just like you gor-
gios: you would have everybody stupid single-tongued idiots
like yourselves. We are taken before the Poknees of the gav,
myself and sister, to give an account of ourselves. So I says to
my sister's little boy, speaking Romany, I says to the little boy
who is with us, 'Run to my son Jasper and the rest, and tell
them to be off: there are hawks abroad. ' So the Poknees ques-
tions us, and lets us go, not being able to make anything of us;
but as we are going, he calls us back.
'Good woman,' says
the Poknees, 'what was that I heard you say just now to the
-
## p. 2187 (#385) ###########################################
GEORGE BORROW
2187
little boy? ' 'I was telling him, your worship, to go and see
the time of day, and to save trouble I said it in our language. '
'Where did you get that language? ' says the Poknees. Tis
our own language, sir,' I tells him: 'we did not steal it. ' 'Shall
I tell you what it is, my good woman? ' says the Poknees.
would thank you, sir,' says I, 'for 'tis often we are asked about
it. ' 'Well, then,' says the Poknees, it is no language at all,
merely a made-up gibberish. ' 'Oh, bless your wisdom,' says I
with a curtsey, 'you can tell us what our language is without
understanding it! ' Another time. we meet a parson. Good
woman,' says he, 'what's that you are talking? Is it broken
language? ' 'Of course, your reverence,' says I, 'we are broken
people; give a shilling, your reverence, to the poor broken wo-
man. ' Oh, these gorgios! they grudge us our very language! "
"She called you her son, Jasper? "
"I am her son, brother. "
"I thought you said your parents were
"Bitchadey pawdel; you thought right, brother.
wife's mother. "
"Then you are married, Jasper? "
"Ay, truly; I am husband and father. You will see wife and
chabó anon. "
"Where are they now? "
"In the gav, penning dukkerin. "
"We were talking of languages, Jasper.
"True, brother. "
"Yours must be a rum one. "
'Tis called Romany. "
"I would gladly know it. "
"You need it sorely. "
"Would you teach it me? »
"None sooner. "
«<
>>
This is my
"Suppose we begin now? "
Suppose we do, brother. "
"Not whilst I am here," said the woman, flinging her knitting
down, and starting upon her feet; "not whilst I am here shall
this gorgio learn Romany. A pretty manoeuvre, truly; and
what would be the end of it? I goes to the farming ker with
my sister, to tell a fortune, and earn a few sixpences for the
chabés. I sees a jolly pig in the yard, and I says to my sister,
speaking Romany, 'Do so and so,' says I; which the farming
## p. 2188 (#386) ###########################################
2188
GEORGE BORROW
man hearing, asks what we are talking about. Nothing at all,
master,' says I; 'something about the weather,'-when who
should start up from behind a pale, where he has been listening,
but this ugly gorgio, crying out, "They are after poisoning your
pigs, neighbor,' so that we are glad to run, I and my sister,
with perhaps the farm-engro shouting after us. Says my sister
to me, when we have got fairly off, 'How came that ugly one
to know what you said to me? Whereupon I answers, 'It all
comes of my son Jasper, who brings the gorgio to our fire,
and must needs be teaching him. ' 'Who was fool there? ' says
my sister. Who indeed but my son Jasper,' I answers. And
here should I be a greater fool to sit still and suffer it; which I
will not do. I do not like the look of him; he looks over-gor-
geous. An ill day to the Romans when he masters Romany;
and when I says that, I pens a true dukkerin. "
"What do you call God, Jasper ? "
"You had better be jawing," said the woman, raising her
voice to a terrible scream; "you had better be moving off, my
gorgio; hang you for a keen one, sitting there by the fire, and
stealing my language before my face. Do you know whom you
have to deal with? Do you know that I am dangerous? My
name is Herne, and I comes of the Hairy Ones! "
And a hairy one she looked! She wore her hair clubbed
upon her head, fastened with many strings and ligatures; but
now, tearing these off, her locks, originally jet black, but now
partially grizzled with age, fell down on every side of her, cover-
ing her face and back as far down as her knees. No she-bear of
Lapland ever looked more fierce and hairy than did that woman,
as standing in the open part of the tent, with her head bent
down and her shoulders drawn up, seemingly about to precipi-
tate herself upon me, she repeated again and again-
"My name is Herne, and I comes of the Hairy Ones! ".
"I call God Duvel, brother. "
"It sounds very like Devil. ”
"It doth, brother, it doth. "
"And what do you call divine, I mean godly? "
"Oh! I call that duvelskoe. "
"I am thinking of something, Jasper. "
"What are you thinking of, brother? "
"Would it not be a rum thing if divine and devilish were
originally one and the same word? »
## p. 2189 (#387) ###########################################
GEORGE BORROW
2189
"It would, brother, it would. "
From this time I had frequent interviews with Jasper, some-
times in his tent, sometimes on the heath, about which we would
roam for hours, discoursing on various matters. Sometimes
mounted on one of his horses, of which he had several, I would
accompany him to various fairs and markets in the neighbor-
hood, to which he went on his own affairs, or those of his tribe.
I soon found that I had become acquainted with a most singular
people, whose habits and pursuits awakened within me the high-
est interest. Of all connected with them, however, their language
was doubtless that which exercised the greatest influence over
my imagination. I had at first some suspicion that it would
prove a mere made-up gibberish; but I was soon undeceived.
Broken, corrupted, and half in ruins as it was, it was not long
before I found that it was an original speech; far more SO
indeed than one or two others of high name and celebrity, which
up to that time I had been in the habit of regarding with
respect and veneration. Indeed, many obscure points connected
with the vocabulary of these languages, and to which neither
classic nor modern lore afforded any clue, I thought I could now
clear up by means of this strange broken tongue, spoken by
people who dwelt amongst thickets and furze bushes, in tents as
tawny as their faces, and whom the generality of mankind desig-
nated, and with much semblance of justice, as thieves and vaga-
bonds. But where did this speech come from, and who were
they who spoke it? These were questions which I could not
solve, and which Jasper himself, when pressed, confessed his
inability to answer. "But whoever we be, brother," said he,
"we are an old people, and not what folks in general imagine,
broken gorgios; and if we are not Egyptians, we are at any rate
Romany Chals! "
A MEETING
From The Bible in Spain'
IT
WAS at this town of Badajoz, the capital of Estremadura,
that I first fell in with those singular people, the Zincali,
Gitanos, or Spanish gipsies. It was here I met with the
wild Paco, the man with the withered arm, who wielded the
cachas with his left hand; his shrewd wife, Antonia, skilled in
hokkano baro, or the great trick; the fierce gipsy, Antonio
## p. 2190 (#388) ###########################################
2190
GEORGE BORROW
Lopez, their father-in-law; and many other almost equally singu-
lar individuals of the Errate, or gipsy blood. It was here that
I first preached the gospel to the gipsy people, and commenced
that translation of the New Testament in the Spanish gipsy
tongue, a portion of which I subsequently printed at Madrid.
After a stay of three weeks at Badajoz, I prepared to depart
for Madrid. Late one afternoon, as I was arranging my scanty
baggage, the gipsy Antonio entered my apartment, dressed in
his zamarra and high-peaked Andalusian hat.
Antonio-Good evening, brother; they tell me that on the
callicaste you intend to set out for Madrilati.
Myself- Such is my intention; I can stay here no longer.
Antonio-The way is far to Madrilati; there are, moreover,
wars in the land, and many chories walk about; are you not
afraid to journey?
Myself— I have no fears; every man must accomplish his
destiny: what befalls my body or soul was written in a gabicote
a thousand years before the foundation of the world.
Antonio I have no fears myself, brother: the dark night is
the same to me as the fair day, and the wild carrascal as the
market-place or the chardi; I have got the bar lachi in my
bosom, the precious stone to which sticks the needle.
Myself-You mean the loadstone, I suppose. Do you believe
that a lifeless stone can preserve you from the dangers which
occasionally threaten your life?
Antonio-Brother, I am fifty years old, and you see me
standing before you in life and strength; how could that be
unless the bar lachi had power? I have been soldier and con-
trabandista, and I have likewise slain and robbed the Busné.
The bullets of the Gabiné and of the jara canallis have hissed
about my ears without injuring me, for I carried the bar lachi.
I have twenty times done that which by Busné law should have
brought me to the filimicha, yet my neck has never yet been
squeezed by the cold garrote. Brother, I trust in the bar lachi
like the Caloré of old: were I in the midst of the gulf of Bom-
bardó without a plank to float upon, I should feel no fear; for if
I carried the precious stone, it would bring me safe to shore.
The bar lachi has power, brother.
Myself I shall not dispute the matter with you, more espe
cially as I am about to depart from Badajoz: I must speedily bid
you farewell, and we shall see each other no more.
Antonio Brother, do you know what brings me hither?
## p. 2191 (#389) ###########################################
GEORGE BORROW
2191
Myself I cannot tell, unless it be to wish me a happy jour-
ney: I am not gipsy enough to interpret the thoughts of other
people.
Antonio - All last night I lay awake, thinking of the affairs
of Egypt; and when I arose in the morning I took the bar
lachi from my bosom, and scraping it with a knife, swallowed
some of the dust in aguardiente, as I am in the habit of doing
when I have made up my mind; and I said to myself, I am
wanted on the frontiers of Castumba on a certain matter.
the power of light, reconciling the contrariety of elements in
things mixed, are generated and produced whatever things are
generated and produced by the operation of natural power. Gen-
erated are the bodies composed of the elements, as minerals,
vegetables, sensible things, and human bodies. Directing both
these and those are the spiritual substances: whether altogether
conjunct, like the souls of the brutes; or separably conjunct, like
rational souls; or altogether separate, like the celestial spirits;
-
―――
## p. 2172 (#370) ###########################################
SAINT BONAVENTURA
2172
which the philosophers call Intelligences, we Angels. On these,
according to the philosophers, it devolves to move the heavenly
bodies; and for this reason the administration of the universe is
ascribed to them, as receiving from the First Cause - that is,
God—that inflow of virtue which they pour forth again in rela-
tion to the work of government, which has reference to the
natural consistence of things. But according to the theologians
the direction of the universe is ascribed to these same beings, as
regards the works of redemption, with respect to which they are
called "ministering spirits, sent forth to do service for the sake
of them that shall inherit salvation. "
Man, therefore, who is called the lesser world, has five senses,
like five gates, through which the knowledge of all the things
that are in the sensible world enters into his soul. For through
sight there enter the sublime and luminous bodies and all other
colored things; through touch, solid and terrestrial bodies; through
the three intermediate senses, the intermediate bodies; through
taste, the aqueous; through hearing, the aërial; through smell, the
vaporable, which have something of the humid, something of the
aërial, and something of the fiery or hot, as is clear from the
fumes that are liberated from spices. There enter, therefore,
through these doors not only the simple bodies, but also the
mixed bodies compounded of these. Seeing then that with sense
we perceive not only these particular sensibles-light, sound,
odor, savor, and the four primary qualities which touch appre-
hends but also the common sensibles-number, magnitude,
figure, rest, and motion; and seeing that everything which moves
is moved by something else, and certain things move and rest of
themselves, as do the animals; in apprehending through these
five senses the motions of bodies, we are guided to the knowl-
edge of spiritual motions, as by an effect to the knowledge of
-
causes.
In the three classes of things, therefore, the whole of this
sensible world enters the human soul through apprehension.
These external sensible things are those which first enter into
the soul through the gates of the five senses. They enter, I say,
not through their substances, but through their similitudes, gen-
erated first in the medium, and from the medium in the external
organ, and from the external organ in the internal organ, and
from this in the apprehensive power; and thus generation in the
medium, and from the medium in the organ, and the direction of
## p. 2173 (#371) ###########################################
SAINT BONAVENTURA
2173
the apprehensive power upon it, produce the apprehension of all
those things which the soul apprehends externally.
This apprehension, if it is directed to a proper object, is fol-
lowed by delight. The sense delights in the object perceived
through its abstract similitude, either by reason of its beauty, as
in vision, or by reason of its sweetness, as in smell and hearing,
or by reason of its healthfulness, as in taste and touch, properly
speaking. But all delight is by reason of proportion. But since
species is the ground of form, power, and action, according as it
has reference to the principle from which it emanates, the medium
into which it passes, or the term upon which it acts, therefore
proportion is observed in three things. It is observed in simili-
tude, inasmuch as it forms the ground of species or form, and so
is called speciosity, because beauty is nothing but numerical
equality, or a certain disposition of parts accompanied with sweet-
ness of color. It is observed in so far as it forms the ground of
power or virtue, and thus is called sweetness, when the active
virtue does not disproportionally exceed the recipient virtue, be-
cause the sense is depressed by extremes, and delighted by means.
It is observed in so far as it forms the ground of efficacy and
impression, which is proportional when the agent, in impressing,
satisfies the need of the patient, and this is to preserve and
nourish it, as appears chiefly in taste and touch. And thus we
see how, by pleasure, external delightful things enter through
similitude into the soul, according to the threefold method of
delectation.
After this apprehension and delight there comes discernment,
by which we not only discern whether this thing be white or
black (because this alone belongs to the outer sense), and whether
this thing be wholesome or hurtful (because this belongs to the
inner sense), but also discern why this delights and give a reason
therefor. And in this act we inquire into the reason of the
delight which is derived by the sense from the object. This hap-
pens when we inquire into the reason of the beautiful, the sweet,
and the wholesome, and discover that it is a proportion of equality.
But a ratio of equality is the same in great things and in small.
It is not extended by dimensions; it does not enter into succes-
sion, or pass with passing things; it is not altered by motions.
It abstracts therefore from place, time, and motion; and for this
reason it is immutable, uncircumscribable, interminable, and
altogether spiritual. Discernment, then, is an action which, by
## p. 2174 (#372) ###########################################
2174
SAINT BONAVENTURA
purifying and abstracting, makes the sensible species, sensibly re-
ceived through the senses, enter into the intellective power. And
thus the whole of this world enters into the human soul by the
gates of the five senses, according to the three aforesaid activities.
All these things are footprints, in which we may behold our
God. For, since an apprehended species is a similitude generated
in a medium and then impressed upon the organ, and through
that impression leads to the knowledge of its principle,- that is,
of its object,-it manifestly implies that that eternal light gener-
ates from itself a similitude or splendor co-equal, consubstantial,
and co-eternal; and that He who is the image and similitude of
the invisible God, and the splendor of the glory, and the figure
of the substance which is everywhere, generates by his first gen-
eration of himself his own similitude in the form of an object in
the entire medium, unites himself by the grace of union to the
individual of rational nature, as a species to a bodily organ, so
that by this union he may lead us back to the Father as the
fontal principle and object. If therefore all cognizable things
generate species of themselves, they clearly proclaim that in
them, as in mirrors, may be seen the eternal generation of the
Word, the Image, and the Son, eternally emanating from God the
Father.
Since therefore all things are beautiful, and in a certain way
delightful, and since beauty and delight are inseparable from
proportion, and proportion is primarily in numbers, all things
must of necessity be full of number. For this reason, number
is the chief exemplar in the mind of the artificer, and in things
the chief footprint leading to wisdom. Since this is most mani-
fest to all and most close to God, it leads us most closely and by
seven differences to God, and makes him known in all things,
corporeal and sensible. And while we apprehend numerical
things, we delight in numerical proportions, and judge irrefraga-
bly by the laws of these.
For every creature is by nature an effigy and similitude of
that eternal Wisdom: but especially so is that creature which in
the book of Scriptures was assumed by the spirit of prophecy
for the prefiguration of spiritual things; more especially those
creatures in whose effigy God was willing to appear for the an-
gelic ministry; and most especially that creature which he was
willing to set forth as a sign, and which plays the part not only
of a sign, as that word is commonly used, but also of a sacrament.
## p. 2175 (#373) ###########################################
2175
GEORGE BORROW
(1803-1881)
BY JULIAN HAWTHORNE
EORGE BORROW lived eight-and-seventy years and published
ten books. In his veins was mingled the blood of Cornwall
and of Normandy; but though proud of this strain, he
valued still more that personal independence which, together with
his love of strange tongues and his passion for outdoor life, molded
his career. His nature was mystical and eccentric, and he sometimes
approached-though he never crossed the confines of insanity; yet
his instincts were robust and plain, he was an apostle of English ale
and a master of the art of self-defense, he
was an uncompromising champion of the
Church of England and the savage foe of
Papistry, he despised "kid-glove gentility"
in life and literature, and delighted to
make his spear ring against the hollow
shield of social convention. A nature so
complicated and individual, so outspoken
and aggressive, could not slip smoothly
along the grooves of civilized existence; he
was soundly loved and hated, but seldom
or never understood. And the obstinate
pride which gave projection to most of his
virtues was also at the bottom of his
faults: he better liked to perplex than to
open himself to his associates; he willfully repelled where he might
have captivated. Some human element was wanting in him: he was
strong, masculine, subtle, persistent; of a lofty and austere spirit;
too proud even to be personally ambitious; gifted with humor and
insight; fearless and faithful; - but no tenderness, no gentleness, no
inviting human warmth ever appears in him; and though he could
reverence women, and admire them, and appreciate them also from
the standpoint of the senses, they had no determining sway over his
life or thought. If there be any man in English history whom such
a summary of traits as this recalls, it is Dean Swift. Nevertheless
Borrow's differences from him are far greater than the resemblances
between them. Giant force was in both of them; both were enig-
mas; but the deeper we penetrate into Borrow, the more
we like
GEORGE BORROW
—
## p. 2176 (#374) ###########################################
2176
GEORGE BORROW
him; not so with the blue-eyed Dean. Borrow's depths are dark and
tortuous, but never miasmic; and as we grope our way through them,
we may stumble upon treasures, but never upon rottenness.
A man who can be assigned to no recognized type-who flocks
by himself, as the saying is-cannot easily be portrayed: we lose
the main design in our struggle with the details. Indeed, no two
portraits of such a man can be alike: they will vary according to
the temperament and limitations of the painter. It is safe to assert,
however, that insatiable curiosity was at the base both of his char-
acter and of his achievements. Instincts he doubtless had in plenty,
but no intuitions; everything must be construed to him categorically.
But his capacity keeps pace with his curiosity; he promptly assim-
ilates all he learns, and he can forget nothing. Probably this inves-
tigating passion had its cause in his own unlikeness to the rest of
us: he was as a visitor from another planet, pledged to send home
reports of all he saw here. His success in finding strange things is
prodigious: his strange eye detects oddities and beauties to which
we to the manner born were strange. Adventures attend him every-
where, as the powers of earth and air on Prospero. Here comes the
King of the Vipers, the dry stubble crackling beneath his outrageous
belly; yonder the foredoomed sailor promptly fulfills his own predic-
tion, falling from the yard-arm into the Bay of Biscay; anon the
ghastly visage of Mrs. Herne, of the Hairy Ones, glares for a moment
out of the midnight hedge; again, a mysterious infatuation drives.
the wealthy idler from his bed out into the inclement darkness, and
up to the topmost bough of the tree, which he must "touch" ere he
can rest; and now, in the gloom of the memorable dingle, the horror
of fear falls upon the amateur tinker, the Evil One grapples terribly
with his soul, blots of foam fly from his lips, and he is dashed
against the trees and stones. An adventure, truly, fit to stand with
any of mediæval legend, and compared with which the tremendous
combat with Blazing Bosville, the Flaming Tinman, is almost a
relief. But in what perilous Faery Land forlorn do all these and a
thousand more strange and moving incidents take place? — Why, in
the quiet lanes and byways of nineteenth-century England, or per-
chance in priest-ridden Spain, where the ordinary traveler can for
the life of him discover nothing more startling than beef and beer,
garlic and crucifixes. Adventures are in the adventurer.
Man and nature were Borrow's study, but England was his love.
In him exalted patriotism touches its apogee. How nobly and un-
compromisingly is he jealous of her honor, her glory, and her inde-
pendence! In what eloquent apostrophes does he urge her to be true
to her lofty traditions, to trample on base expediency and cleave to the
brave and true! In what resounding jeremiads does he denounce woe
## p. 2177 (#375) ###########################################
GEORGE BORROW
2177
upon her traitors and seducers! With what savage sarcasm and scorn
does he dissect the soul of the "man in black"! No other writing
more powerful, picturesque, and idiomatic has been done in this cen-
tury. He will advocate no policy less austere than purity, courage,
and truth. There is in his zeal a narrowness that augments its
strength, yet lessens its effect so far as practical issues are con-
cerned. He is an idealist: but surely no young man can read his
stern, throbbing pages without a kindling of the soul, and a resolve
to be high in deed and aim; and there is no gauging the final in-
fluence of such spiritual stimulus. England and mankind must be
better for this lonely, indignant voice.
England, and England's religion, and the Bible in its integrity,-
these are the controlling strings of Borrow's harp. Yet he had his
youthful period of religious doubt and philosophic sophism: has he
not told how walls and ceilings rang with the "Hey! " of the man
with the face of a lion, when the gray-haired boy intimated his skep-
ticism? But vicissitudes of soul and body, aided by the itinerant
Welsh preacher, cleansed him of these errors, and he undertook
and carried through the famous crusade recorded in The Bible in
Spain,' a narrative of adventure and devotion which fascinated and
astonished England, and sets its author abreast of the great writers
of his time. It is as irresistible to-day as it was fifty years ago: it
stands alone; only Trelawny's Adventures of a Younger Son' can
be compared with it as narrative, and Trelawny's book lacks the
grand central feature which gives dignity and unity to Borrow's.
Being a story of fact, 'The Bible in Spain' lacks much of the liter-
ary art and felicity, as well as the imaginative charm, of 'Lavengro';
but within its own scope it is great, and nothing can supersede it.
Gipsydom in all its aspects, though logically a side-issue with
Borrow, was nevertheless the most noticeable thing relating to him:
it engaged and colored him on the side of his temperament; and in
the picture we form of a man, temperament tells far more than
intellect because it is more individual. Later pundits have called
in question the academic accuracy of Borrow's researches in the
Romany language: but such frettings are beside the mark; Borrow is
the only genuine expounder of Gipsyness that ever lived. He laid
hold of their vitals, and they of his; his act of brotherhood with Mr.
Jasper Petulengro is but a symbol of his mystical alliance with the
race. This is not to say that he fathomed the heart of their mys-
tery; the gipsies themselves cannot do that: but he comprehended
whatever in them is open to comprehension, and his undying interest
in them is due not only to his sympathy with their way of life, but
to the fact that his curiosity about them could never be quite satis-
fied. Other mysteries come and go, but the gipsy mystery stays with
IV-137
## p. 2178 (#376) ###########################################
2178
GEORGE BORROW
us, and was to Borrow a source of endless content. For after sharp-
ening his wits on the ethnological riddle, he could refresh himself
with the psychical aspect of the matter, discovering in them the incar-
nation of one essential human quality, incompletely present in all
men. They are the perfect vagabonds; but the germ of vagabondage
inheres in mankind at large, and is the source of the changes that
have resulted in what we call civilization. Borrow's nature comprised
the gipsy, but the gipsy by no means comprised him; he wandered
like them, but the object of his wanderings was something more than
to tell dukkeripens, poison pigs, mend kettles, or deal in horseflesh.
Therefore he puzzled them more than they did him.
'The Gipsies of Spain' (1841) was his first book about them;
'Lavengro' came ten years later, and 'Romany Rye' six years after
that. In 1874 he returns to the subject in 'Roman Lavo-lil,' a sort
of dictionary and phrase-book of the language, but unlike any other
dictionary and phrase-book ever conceived: it is well worth reading
as a piece of entertaining literature. His other books are translations
of Norse and Welsh poetry, and a book of travels in 'Wild Wales,'
published in 1862. All these works are more than readable: the
translations, though rugged and unmusical, have about them a frank.
sensuousness and a primitive force that are amusing and attractive.
But after all, Borrow is never thoroughly himself in literature unless
the gipsies are close at hand; and of all his gipsy books Laven-
gro' is by far the best. Indeed, it is so much the best and broadest
thing that he produced, that the reader who would know Borrow
need never go beyond these pages. In 'Lavengro' we get the cul-
mination of both the author and the man; it is his book in the full
sense, and may afford profitable study to any competent reader for a
lifetime.
'Lavengro, in fact, is like nothing else in either biography or
fiction and it is both fictitious and biographical. It is the gradual
revelation of a strange, unique being. But the revelation does not
proceed in an orderly and chronological fashion: it is not begun in
the first chapter, and still less is it completed in the last. After a
careful perusal of the book, you will admit that though it has fasci-
nated and impressed you, you have quite failed to understand it.
Why is the author so whimsical? Wherefore these hinted but uncon-
fessed secrets? Why does he stop short on the brink of an important
disclosure, and diverge under cover of a line of asterisks into another
subject? But Borrow in 'Lavengro' is not constructing a book, he
is creating one. He has the reserves of a man who respects his own
nature, yet he treats the reader fairly. If you are worthy to be his
friend, by-and-by you will see his heart,—look again, and yet again!
That passage in a former chapter was incomplete; but look ahead a
-
---
## p. 2179 (#377) ###########################################
GEORGE BORROW
2179
hundred pages and consider a paragraph there: by itself it seems to
say little; but gradually you recognize in it a part of the inwoven
strand which disappears in one part of the knot and emerges in
another. Though you cannot solve the genial riddle to-day, you may
to-morrow. The only clue is sympathy. This man hides his heart
for him who has the mate to it; and beneath the whimsical, indiffer-
ent, proud, and cold exterior, how it heaves and fears and loves and
wonders! This is a wild, unprecedented, eloquent, mysterious, artistic
yet artless book; it is alive; it tells of an existence apart, yet in con-
tact with the deep things of all human experience. No other man
ever lived as Borrow did, and yet his book is an epitome of life.
The magic of his personal quality beguiles us on every page; but
deeper still lie the large, immutable traits that make all men men,
and avouch the unity of mankind.
'Romany Rye' is the continuation of 'Lavengro,' but scarcely
repeats its charm; its most remarkable feature is an 'Appendix,' in
which Borrow expounds his views upon things in general, including
critics and politics. It is a marvelously trenchant piece of writing,
and from the literary point of view delightful; but it must have hurt
a good many people's feelings at the time it was published, and even
now shows the author on his harsh side only. We may agree with
all he says, and yet wish he had uttered it in a less rasping tone.
Like nearly all great writers, Borrow, in order to get his best
effects, must have room for his imagination. Mere fact would not
rouse him fully, and abstract argument still less. In 'Lavengro' he
hit upon his right vein, and he worked it in the fresh maturity of
his power.
The style is Borrow's own, peculiar to him: eloquent,
rugged, full of liturgical repetitions, shunning all soft assonances and
refinements, and yet with remote sea-like cadences, and unhackneyed
felicities that rejoice the jaded soul. Writing with him was spon-
taneous, but never heedless or unconsidered; it was always the out-
come of deep thought and vehement feeling. Other writers and
their books may be twain, but Borrow and his books are one. Per-
haps they might be improved in art, or arrangement, or subject; but
we should no longer care for them then, because they would cease
to be Borrow. Borrow may not have been a beauty or a saint; but
a man he was; and good or bad, we would not alter a hair of him.
Nothing like an adequate biography of Borrow has ever been pub-
lished: a few dates, and some more or less intelligent opinions about
his character and work, are the sum of what we know of him-out-
side his own books. Some of the dates are probably guess-work;
most of the opinions are incompetent: it is time that some adequate
mind assembled all available materials and digested them into a sat-
isfactory book. It is hardly worth while to review the few meagre
## p. 2180 (#378) ###########################################
2180
GEORGE BORROW
details. Borrow was born in 1803 and died in 1881; his father, a sol-
dier, failed to make a solicitor of him, and the youth, at his father's
death, came up to London to live or die by literature. After much
hardship (of which the chapters in 'Lavengro' describing the produc-
tion of 'Joseph Sell' convey a hint), he set out on a wandering pil-
grimage over England, Europe, and the East. As agent for the
British and Foreign Bible Society he traversed Spain and Portugal,
sending to the Morning Herald letters descriptive of his adventures,
which afterwards were made the substance of his books.
He mar-
ried at thirty-seven, and lived at Outton Broad nearly all his life
after. His wife died a dozen years before him, in 1869. She left no
children.
His first book, a translation of Klinger's 'Faust,' appeared in 1825;
his last, The Gipsy Dictionary,' in 1874; a volume called 'Penquite
and Pentyre,' on Cornwall, was announced in 1857, but seems never
to have been published. Targum,' a collection of translations from
thirty languages and dialects, was a tour de force belonging to the
year 1835. On the whole, Borrow was not a voluminous writer; but
what he wrote tells.
Durian Hanthome
AT THE HORSE-FAIR
From Lavengro
"W
HAT horse is that? " said I to a very old fellow, the
counterpart of the old man on the pony, save that the
last wore a faded suit of velveteen, and this one was
dressed in a white frock.
"The best in mother England," said the very old man, taking
a knobbed stick from his mouth, and looking me in the face, at
first carelessly, but presently with something like interest; "he is
old like myself, but can still trot his twenty miles an hour. You
won't live long, my swain; tall and overgrown ones like thee
never do: yet, if you should chance to reach my years, you
may boast to thy great-grand-boys, thou hast seen Marshland
Shales. "
Amain I did for the horse what I would neither do for earl
or baron, doffed my hat; yes! I doffed my hat to the wondrous
horse, the fast trotter, the best in mother England; and I too
## p. 2181 (#379) ###########################################
GEORGE BORROW
2181
drew a deep ah! and repeated the words of the old fellows
around. "Such a horse as this we shall never see again; a pity
that he is so old. "
Now, during all this time I had a kind of consciousness that I
had been the object of some person's observation; that eyes were
fastened upon me from somewhere in the crowd. Sometimes I
thought myself watched from before, sometimes from behind; and
occasionally methought that if I just turned my head to the right
or left, I should meet a peering and inquiring glance; and indeed,
once or twice I did turn, expecting to see somebody whom I
knew, yet always without success; though it appeared to me that
I was but a moment too late, and that some one had just slipped
away from the direction to which I turned, like the figure in a
magic lantern. Once I was quite sure that there were a pair of
eyes glaring over my right shoulder; my attention, however, was
so fully occupied with the objects which I have attempted to
describe, that I thought very little of this coming and going, this
flitting and dodging of I knew not whom or what. It was after
all a matter of sheer indifference to me who was looking at me.
I could only wish whomsoever it might be to be more profitably
employed, so I continued enjoying what I saw; and now there
was a change in the scene: the wondrous old horse departed with
his aged guardian; other objects of interest are at hand. Two or
three men on horseback are hurrying through the crowd; they are
widely different in their appearance from the other people of the
fair-not so much in dress, for they are clad something after
the fashion of rustic jockeys, but in their look: no light-brown
hair have they, no ruddy cheeks, no blue quiet glances belong to
them; their features are dark, the locks long, black, and shining,
and their eyes are wild; they are admirable horsemen, but they
do not sit the saddle in the manner of common jockeys, they
seem to float or hover upon it like gulls upon the waves; two
of them are mere striplings, but the third is a very tall man
with a countenance heroically beautiful, but wild, wild, wild. As
they rush along, the crowd give way on all sides, and now a
kind of ring or circus is formed, within which the strange men
exhibit their horsemanship, rushing past each other, in and out,
after the manner of a reel, the tall man occasionally balancing
himself upon the saddle, and standing erect on one foot. He had
just regained his seat after the latter feat, and was about to push
his horse to a gallop, when a figure started forward close from.
## p. 2182 (#380) ###########################################
2182
GEORGE BORROW
beside me, and laying his hand on his neck, and pulling him
gently downward, appeared to whisper something into his ear;
presently the tall man raised his head, and scanning the crowd
for a moment in the direction in which I was standing, fixed his
eyes full upon me; and anon the countenance of the whisperer
was turned, but only in part, and the side-glance of another pair
of wild eyes was directed towards my face; but the entire visage
of the big black man, half-stooping as he was, was turned full
upon mine.
But now, with a nod to the figure who had stopped him, and
with another inquiring glance at myself, the big man once more
put his steed into motion, and after riding round the ring a few
more times, darted through a lane in the crowd, and followed
by his two companions, disappeared; whereupon the figure who
had whispered to him, and had subsequently remained in the
middle of the space, came towards me, and cracking a whip
which he held in his hand so loudly that the report was nearly
equal to that of a pocket-pistol, he cried in a strange tone:—
"What! the sap-engro? Lor! the sap-engro upon the hill! »
"I remember that word," said I, "and I almost think I
remember you. You can't be - "
"Jasper, your pal!
Truth, and no lie, brother. "
"It is strange that you should have known me," said I. "I
am certain, but for the word you used, I should never have rec-
ognized you. "
"Not so strange as you may think, brother: there is some-
thing in your face which would prevent people from forgetting
you, even though they might wish it; and your face is not much
altered since the time you wot of, though you are so much
grown.
I thought it was you, but to make sure I dodged about,
inspecting you. I believe you felt me, though I never touched
you; a sign, brother, that we are akin, that we are dui palor-
two relations. Your blood beat when mine was near, as mine
always does at the coming of a brother; and we became brothers
in that lane. "
"And where are you staying? " said I: "in this town? "
"Not in the town; the like of us don't find it exactly whole-
some to stay in towns: we keep abroad. But I have little to do
here- come with me, and I'll show you where we stay. "
We descended the hill in the direction of the north, and pass-
ing along the suburb reached the old Norman bridge, which we
## p. 2183 (#381) ###########################################
GEORGE BORROW
2183
crossed; the chalk precipice, with the ruin on its top, was now
before us; but turning to the left we walked swiftly along, and
presently came to some rising ground, which ascending, we
found ourselves upon a wild moor or heath.
"You are one of them," said I, "whom people call- »
"Just so," said Jasper; "but never mind what people call us. "
"And that tall handsome man on the hill, whom you whis-
pered: I suppose he's one of ye. What is his name? "
"Tawno Chikno," said Jasper, "which means the small one;
we call him such because he is the biggest man of all our
nation. You say he is handsome- that is not the word, brother;
he's the beauty of the world. Women run wild at the sight of
Tawno. An earl's daughter, near London a fine young lady
with diamonds round her neck- fell in love with Tawno. I
have seen that lass on a heath, as this may be, kneel down to
Tawno, clasp his feet, begging to be his wife or anything
else if she might go with him. But Tawno would have noth-
ing to do with her: 'I have a wife of my own,' said he, 'a law-
ful Romany wife, whom I love better than the whole world, jeal-
ous though she sometimes be. >»
"And is she very beautiful? " said I.
"Why, you know, brother, beauty is frequently a matter of
taste; however, as you ask my opinion, I should say not quite so
beautiful as himself. "
____________________
――――――――
――
――――――
We had now arrived at a small valley between two hills, or
downs, the sides of which were covered with furze; in the midst
of this valley were various carts and low tents forming a rude
kind of encampment; several dark children were playing about,
who took no manner of notice of us. As we passed one of the
tents, however, a canvas screen was lifted up, and a woman sup-
ported upon a crutch hobbled out. She was about the middle
age, and besides being lame, was bitterly ugly; she was very
slovenly dressed, and on her swarthy features ill-nature was most
visibly stamped. She did not deign me a look, but addressing
Jasper in a tongue which I did not understand, appeared to put
some eager questions to him.
"He's coming," said Jasper, and passed on.
"Poor fellow,"
said he to me, "he has scarcely been gone an hour, and she is
jealous already. Well," he continued, "what do you think of
her? you have seen her now, and can judge for yourself — that
'ere woman is Tawno Chikno's wife! "
## p. 2184 (#382) ###########################################
2184
GEORGE BORROW
We went to the farthest of the tents, which stood at a slight
distance from the rest, and which exactly resembled the one
which I have described on a former occasion; we went in and
sat down, one on each side of a small fire which was smoldering
on the ground; there was no one else in the tent but a tall
tawny woman of middle age, who was busily knitting.
"Brother,"
said Jasper, "I wish to hold some pleasant discourse with you. "
"As much as you please," said I, "provided you can find
anything pleasant to talk about. ”
"Never fear," said Jasper; "and first of all we will talk of
yourself. Where have you been all this long time? "
"Here and there," said I, "and far and near, going about
with the soldiers; but there is no soldiering now, so we have sat
down, father and family, in the town there. "
"And do you still hunt snakes? " said Jasper.
"No," said I, "I have given up that long ago; I do better
now: read books and learn languages. "
"Well, I am sorry you have given up your snake-hunting;
many's the strange talk I have had with our people about your
snake and yourself, and how you frightened my father and
mother in the lane. "
"And where are your father and mother? "
"Where I shall never see them, brother; at least, I hope so. "
"Not dead? "
"No, not dead; they are bitchadey pawdel. "
"What's that? '
"Sent across - banished. "
―――――
"Ah! I understand; I am sorry for them.
here alone? "
And so you are
"Not quite alone, brother. "
"No, not alone; but with the rest-Tawno Chikno takes care
of you. "
"Takes care of me, brother! "
"Yes, stands to you in the place of a father-keeps you out
of harm's way. >>>
"What do you take me for, brother? "
"For about three years older than myself. "
"Perhaps; but you are of the gorgios, and I am a Romany
Chal. Tawno Chikno take care of Jasper Petulengro! "
"Is that your name? "
"Don't you like it? "
## p. 2185 (#383) ###########################################
GEORGE BORROW
2185
"Very much, I never heard a sweeter; it is something like
what you call me. "
"The horseshoe master and the snake-fellow-I am the first. "
"Who gave you that name ? »
"Ask Pharaoh. "
"I would if he were here, but I do not see him. "
"I am Pharaoh. "
"Then you are a king. "
"Chachipen Pal. "
"I do not understand you. "
"Where are your languages? you want two things, brother:
mother-sense, and gentle Romany.
>>
"What makes you think that I want sense? "
"That being so old, you can't yet guide yourself! "
"I can read Dante, Jasper. "
<< Anan, brother. "
"I can charm snakes, Jasper. "
"I know you can, brother. "
"Yes, and horses too; bring me the most vicious in the land,
if I whisper he'll be tame. "
"Then the more shame for you- a snake-fellow -
-
a horse-
witch and a lil-reader - yet you can't shift for yourself. I
laugh at you, brother! "
"Then you can shift for yourself? »
"For myself and for others, brother. "
"And what does Chikno? "
"Sells me horses, when I bid him.
chong were mine.
>>>
"And has he none of his own? "
-
―――
Those horses on the
"Sometimes he has; but he is not so well off as myself.
When my father and mother were bitchadey pawdel, which, to
tell you the truth, they were for chiving wafodo dloovu, they left
me all they had, which was not a little, and I became the head
of our family, which was not a small one. I was not older than
you when that happened; yet our people said they had never a
better krallis to contrive and plan for them, and to keep them
in order. And this is so well known, that many Romany
Chals, not of our family, come and join themselves to us, living
with us for a time, in order to better themselves, more espe-
cially those of the poorer sort, who have little of their own.
Tawno is one of these. "
## p. 2186 (#384) ###########################################
2186
GEORGE BORROW
"Is that fine fellow poor? "
"One of the poorest, brother. Handsome as he is, he has
not a horse of his own to ride on. Perhaps we may put it
down to his wife, who cannot move about, being a cripple, as
you saw. "
"And you are what is called a Gipsy King? "
"Ay, ay; a Romany Chal. "
"Are there other kings? "
"Those who call themselves so; but the true Pharaoh is Petu-
lengro. »
"Did Pharaoh make horse-shoes?
"The first who ever did, brother. "
"Pharaoh lived in Egypt. "
"So did we once, brother. "
"And you left it? "
"My fathers did, brother. "
"And why did they come here? »
"They had their reasons, brother. "
"And you are not English? "
"We are not gorgios. "
"And you have a language of your own? "
"Avali. "
"This is wonderful. "
“Ha, ha! ” cried the woman who had hitherto sat knitting at
the farther end of the tent without saying a word, though not
inattentive to our conversation, as I could perceive by certain
glances which she occasionally cast upon us both. "Ha, ha! "
she screamed, fixing upon me two eyes which shone like burning
coals, and which were filled with an expression both of scorn
and malignity, "it is wonderful, is it, that we should have a
language of our own? What, you grudge the poor people the
speech they talk among themselves? That's just like you gor-
gios: you would have everybody stupid single-tongued idiots
like yourselves. We are taken before the Poknees of the gav,
myself and sister, to give an account of ourselves. So I says to
my sister's little boy, speaking Romany, I says to the little boy
who is with us, 'Run to my son Jasper and the rest, and tell
them to be off: there are hawks abroad. ' So the Poknees ques-
tions us, and lets us go, not being able to make anything of us;
but as we are going, he calls us back.
'Good woman,' says
the Poknees, 'what was that I heard you say just now to the
-
## p. 2187 (#385) ###########################################
GEORGE BORROW
2187
little boy? ' 'I was telling him, your worship, to go and see
the time of day, and to save trouble I said it in our language. '
'Where did you get that language? ' says the Poknees. Tis
our own language, sir,' I tells him: 'we did not steal it. ' 'Shall
I tell you what it is, my good woman? ' says the Poknees.
would thank you, sir,' says I, 'for 'tis often we are asked about
it. ' 'Well, then,' says the Poknees, it is no language at all,
merely a made-up gibberish. ' 'Oh, bless your wisdom,' says I
with a curtsey, 'you can tell us what our language is without
understanding it! ' Another time. we meet a parson. Good
woman,' says he, 'what's that you are talking? Is it broken
language? ' 'Of course, your reverence,' says I, 'we are broken
people; give a shilling, your reverence, to the poor broken wo-
man. ' Oh, these gorgios! they grudge us our very language! "
"She called you her son, Jasper? "
"I am her son, brother. "
"I thought you said your parents were
"Bitchadey pawdel; you thought right, brother.
wife's mother. "
"Then you are married, Jasper? "
"Ay, truly; I am husband and father. You will see wife and
chabó anon. "
"Where are they now? "
"In the gav, penning dukkerin. "
"We were talking of languages, Jasper.
"True, brother. "
"Yours must be a rum one. "
'Tis called Romany. "
"I would gladly know it. "
"You need it sorely. "
"Would you teach it me? »
"None sooner. "
«<
>>
This is my
"Suppose we begin now? "
Suppose we do, brother. "
"Not whilst I am here," said the woman, flinging her knitting
down, and starting upon her feet; "not whilst I am here shall
this gorgio learn Romany. A pretty manoeuvre, truly; and
what would be the end of it? I goes to the farming ker with
my sister, to tell a fortune, and earn a few sixpences for the
chabés. I sees a jolly pig in the yard, and I says to my sister,
speaking Romany, 'Do so and so,' says I; which the farming
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GEORGE BORROW
man hearing, asks what we are talking about. Nothing at all,
master,' says I; 'something about the weather,'-when who
should start up from behind a pale, where he has been listening,
but this ugly gorgio, crying out, "They are after poisoning your
pigs, neighbor,' so that we are glad to run, I and my sister,
with perhaps the farm-engro shouting after us. Says my sister
to me, when we have got fairly off, 'How came that ugly one
to know what you said to me? Whereupon I answers, 'It all
comes of my son Jasper, who brings the gorgio to our fire,
and must needs be teaching him. ' 'Who was fool there? ' says
my sister. Who indeed but my son Jasper,' I answers. And
here should I be a greater fool to sit still and suffer it; which I
will not do. I do not like the look of him; he looks over-gor-
geous. An ill day to the Romans when he masters Romany;
and when I says that, I pens a true dukkerin. "
"What do you call God, Jasper ? "
"You had better be jawing," said the woman, raising her
voice to a terrible scream; "you had better be moving off, my
gorgio; hang you for a keen one, sitting there by the fire, and
stealing my language before my face. Do you know whom you
have to deal with? Do you know that I am dangerous? My
name is Herne, and I comes of the Hairy Ones! "
And a hairy one she looked! She wore her hair clubbed
upon her head, fastened with many strings and ligatures; but
now, tearing these off, her locks, originally jet black, but now
partially grizzled with age, fell down on every side of her, cover-
ing her face and back as far down as her knees. No she-bear of
Lapland ever looked more fierce and hairy than did that woman,
as standing in the open part of the tent, with her head bent
down and her shoulders drawn up, seemingly about to precipi-
tate herself upon me, she repeated again and again-
"My name is Herne, and I comes of the Hairy Ones! ".
"I call God Duvel, brother. "
"It sounds very like Devil. ”
"It doth, brother, it doth. "
"And what do you call divine, I mean godly? "
"Oh! I call that duvelskoe. "
"I am thinking of something, Jasper. "
"What are you thinking of, brother? "
"Would it not be a rum thing if divine and devilish were
originally one and the same word? »
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GEORGE BORROW
2189
"It would, brother, it would. "
From this time I had frequent interviews with Jasper, some-
times in his tent, sometimes on the heath, about which we would
roam for hours, discoursing on various matters. Sometimes
mounted on one of his horses, of which he had several, I would
accompany him to various fairs and markets in the neighbor-
hood, to which he went on his own affairs, or those of his tribe.
I soon found that I had become acquainted with a most singular
people, whose habits and pursuits awakened within me the high-
est interest. Of all connected with them, however, their language
was doubtless that which exercised the greatest influence over
my imagination. I had at first some suspicion that it would
prove a mere made-up gibberish; but I was soon undeceived.
Broken, corrupted, and half in ruins as it was, it was not long
before I found that it was an original speech; far more SO
indeed than one or two others of high name and celebrity, which
up to that time I had been in the habit of regarding with
respect and veneration. Indeed, many obscure points connected
with the vocabulary of these languages, and to which neither
classic nor modern lore afforded any clue, I thought I could now
clear up by means of this strange broken tongue, spoken by
people who dwelt amongst thickets and furze bushes, in tents as
tawny as their faces, and whom the generality of mankind desig-
nated, and with much semblance of justice, as thieves and vaga-
bonds. But where did this speech come from, and who were
they who spoke it? These were questions which I could not
solve, and which Jasper himself, when pressed, confessed his
inability to answer. "But whoever we be, brother," said he,
"we are an old people, and not what folks in general imagine,
broken gorgios; and if we are not Egyptians, we are at any rate
Romany Chals! "
A MEETING
From The Bible in Spain'
IT
WAS at this town of Badajoz, the capital of Estremadura,
that I first fell in with those singular people, the Zincali,
Gitanos, or Spanish gipsies. It was here I met with the
wild Paco, the man with the withered arm, who wielded the
cachas with his left hand; his shrewd wife, Antonia, skilled in
hokkano baro, or the great trick; the fierce gipsy, Antonio
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GEORGE BORROW
Lopez, their father-in-law; and many other almost equally singu-
lar individuals of the Errate, or gipsy blood. It was here that
I first preached the gospel to the gipsy people, and commenced
that translation of the New Testament in the Spanish gipsy
tongue, a portion of which I subsequently printed at Madrid.
After a stay of three weeks at Badajoz, I prepared to depart
for Madrid. Late one afternoon, as I was arranging my scanty
baggage, the gipsy Antonio entered my apartment, dressed in
his zamarra and high-peaked Andalusian hat.
Antonio-Good evening, brother; they tell me that on the
callicaste you intend to set out for Madrilati.
Myself- Such is my intention; I can stay here no longer.
Antonio-The way is far to Madrilati; there are, moreover,
wars in the land, and many chories walk about; are you not
afraid to journey?
Myself— I have no fears; every man must accomplish his
destiny: what befalls my body or soul was written in a gabicote
a thousand years before the foundation of the world.
Antonio I have no fears myself, brother: the dark night is
the same to me as the fair day, and the wild carrascal as the
market-place or the chardi; I have got the bar lachi in my
bosom, the precious stone to which sticks the needle.
Myself-You mean the loadstone, I suppose. Do you believe
that a lifeless stone can preserve you from the dangers which
occasionally threaten your life?
Antonio-Brother, I am fifty years old, and you see me
standing before you in life and strength; how could that be
unless the bar lachi had power? I have been soldier and con-
trabandista, and I have likewise slain and robbed the Busné.
The bullets of the Gabiné and of the jara canallis have hissed
about my ears without injuring me, for I carried the bar lachi.
I have twenty times done that which by Busné law should have
brought me to the filimicha, yet my neck has never yet been
squeezed by the cold garrote. Brother, I trust in the bar lachi
like the Caloré of old: were I in the midst of the gulf of Bom-
bardó without a plank to float upon, I should feel no fear; for if
I carried the precious stone, it would bring me safe to shore.
The bar lachi has power, brother.
Myself I shall not dispute the matter with you, more espe
cially as I am about to depart from Badajoz: I must speedily bid
you farewell, and we shall see each other no more.
Antonio Brother, do you know what brings me hither?
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2191
Myself I cannot tell, unless it be to wish me a happy jour-
ney: I am not gipsy enough to interpret the thoughts of other
people.
Antonio - All last night I lay awake, thinking of the affairs
of Egypt; and when I arose in the morning I took the bar
lachi from my bosom, and scraping it with a knife, swallowed
some of the dust in aguardiente, as I am in the habit of doing
when I have made up my mind; and I said to myself, I am
wanted on the frontiers of Castumba on a certain matter.
