CHAPTER XI.

THE OLD RADICAL.

“This very dirty man, with his very dirty face, Would do any dirty act, which would get him a place.”

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

The writer had just entered into his eighteenth year, when he met at the table of a certain Anglo-Germanist an individual, apparently somewhat under thirty, of middle stature, a thin and weaselly figure, a sallow complexion, a certain obliquity of vision, and a large pair of spectacles. This person, who had lately come from abroad, and had published a volume of translations, had attracted some slight notice in the literary world, and was looked upon as a kind of lion in a small provincial capital. After dinner he argued a great deal, spoke vehemently against the Church, and uttered the most desperate Radicalism that was perhaps ever heard, saying, he hoped that in a short time there would not be a king or queen in Europe, and inveighing bitterly against the English aristocracy, and against the Duke of Wellington in particular, whom he said, if he himself was ever president of an English republic—an event which he seemed to think by no means improbable—he would hang for certain infamous acts of profligacy and bloodshed which he had perpetrated in Spain. Being informed that the writer was something of a philologist, to which character the individual in question laid great pretensions, he came and sat down by him, and talked about languages and literature. The writer, who was only a boy, was a little frightened at first, but, not wishing to appear a child of absolute ignorance, he summoned what little learning he had, and began to blunder out something about the Celtic languages and their literature, and asked the Lion who he conceived Finn Ma Coul to be? and whether he did not consider the “Ode to the Fox,” by Red Rhys of Eryry, to be a masterpiece of pleasantry? Receiving no answer to these questions from the Lion, who, singular enough, would frequently, when the writer put a question to him, look across the table, and flatly contradict some one who was talking to some other person, the writer dropped the Celtic languages and literature, and asked him whether he did not think it a funny thing that Temugin, generally called Genghis Khan, should have married the daughter of Prester John? {369} The Lion, after giving a side-glance at the writer through his left spectacle glass, seemed about to reply, but was unfortunately prevented, being seized with an irresistible impulse to contradict a respectable doctor of medicine, who was engaged in conversation with the master of the house at the upper and farther end of the table, the writer being a poor ignorant lad, sitting of course at the bottom. The doctor, who had served in the Peninsula, having observed that Ferdinand the Seventh was not quite so bad as had been represented, the Lion vociferated that he was ten times worse, and that he hoped to see him and the Duke of Wellington hanged together. The doctor, who, being a Welshman, was somewhat of a warm temper, growing rather red, said that at any rate he had been informed that Ferdinand the Seventh knew sometimes how to behave himself like a gentleman—this brought on a long dispute, which terminated rather abruptly. The Lion having observed that the doctor must not talk about Spanish matters with one who had visited every part of Spain, the doctor bowed, and said he was right, for that he believed no people in general possessed such accurate information about countries as those who had travelled them as bagmen. On the Lion asking the doctor what he meant, the Welshman, whose under jaw began to move violently, replied, that he meant what he said. Here the matter ended, for the Lion turning from him, looked at the writer. The writer, imagining that his own conversation hitherto had been too trivial and common-place for the Lion to consider it worth his while to take much notice of it, determined to assume a little higher ground, and after repeating a few verses of the Koran, and gabbling a little Arabic, asked the Lion what he considered to be the difference between the Hegira and the Christian era, adding, that he thought the general computation was in error by about one year; and being a particularly modest person, chiefly, he believes, owing to his having been at school in Ireland, absolutely blushed at finding that the Lion returned not a word in answer. “What a wonderful individual I am seated by,” thought he, “to whom Arabic seems a vulgar speech, and a question about the Hegira not worthy of an answer!” not reflecting that as lions come from the Sahara, they have quite enough of Arabic at home, and that the question about the Hegira was rather _mal à propos_ to one used to prey on the flesh of hadjis. “Now I only wish he would vouchsafe me a little of his learning,” thought the boy to himself, and in this wish he was at last gratified; for the Lion, after asking him whether he was acquainted at all with the Sclavonian languages, and being informed that he was not, absolutely dumb-foundered him by a display of Sclavonian erudition.

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

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

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

And, in fact, it would appear that the honest and friendly patriot put his threat into execution. “I have spoken,” said he, “more than once to this and that individual in Parliament, and everybody seems to think that the appointment should be given to you. Nay, that you should be forced to accept it. I intend next to speak to Lord A—.” {372a} And so he did, at least it would appear so. On the writer calling upon him one evening, about a week afterwards, in order to take leave of him, as the writer was about to take a long journey for the sake of his health, his friend no sooner saw him than he started up in a violent fit of agitation, and glancing about the room, in which there were several people, amongst others two Whig members of Parliament, said: “I am glad you are come, I was just speaking about you. This,” said he, addressing the two members, “is so-and-so, the author of so-and-so, the well-known philologist; as I was telling you, I spoke to Lord A— {372b} this day about him, and said that he ought forthwith to have the head appointment in —; and what did the fellow say? Why, that there was no necessity for such an appointment at all, and if there were, why—and then he hummed and ha’d. Yes,” said he, looking at the writer, “he did indeed. What a scandal! what an infamy! But I see how it will be, it will be a job. The place will be given to some son of a steward or to some quack, as I said before. Oh, these Tories! Well, if this does not make one—” Here he stopped short, crunched his teeth, and looked the image of desperation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All this with indignation I have hurl’d At the pretending part of this proud world, Who, swollen with selfish vanity, devise False freedoms, formal cheats, and holy lies, Over their fellow fools to tyrannise.”

—ROCHESTER.

* * * * *

THE END.

* * * * *

NOTES TO _THE ROMANY RYE_, WITH CORRECTIONS, IDENTIFICATIONS AND TRANSLATIONS.

Page 5. The man in black: The Rev. Fraser. See pp. 24–25, and “Arbuthnot” in _Bibliog._—Barbarini, read Barberini: Urban VIII., pope 1623–44.—6. Nipotismo di Roma: See “Leti” in _Bibliog._—Ganganelli: Clement XIV., pope, 1769–74.—10. Mezzofanti: So here and elsewhere in _Romany Rye_; Mezzofante in _Lavengro_—Cardinal Giuseppe, 1774–1849, the celebrated linguist.—Leon the Isaurian: Reigned at Constantinople from 717–741.—11. Ignacio: Spanish form of Ignatius.—14. Omani batsikhom: Manchu Tartar form of prayer given elsewhere by Borrow as _Oum-ma-ni-bat-mi-houm_. See _Life_, i., p. 176.—15. Bellissima Biondina (It.): Fairest of blondes.—16. Sono un Prete, etc. (It): I am a Roman Catholic Priest.—19. Zamarra (Sp.): A sheep-skin jacket with the wool outside.—Carajo: An oath fit neither to be written nor pronounced, but common to the lower classes of Spaniards, or to ambitious foreign Hispanophiles who cannot know its meaning. See Oudin’s _Tesoro_, Paris, 1607.—20. Scotch blood: He was, then, a Fraser of Lovat, of whom Simon Lord F. was a supporter of the last Pretender, Charles Edward Stuart, 1746.—Puta (Sp.): The most offensive word for harlot.—Alcoran des Cordeliers, _i.e._, “the Franciscans’ Coran”: A blasphemous work written in 1399 in Latin by Bartolommeo Albizzi (Albitius); first published in printed form at Milan in 1510, then by Luther in 1542 with his peculiar comments, and finally in French at Geneva, 1556. See “Albizzi” in the _Bibliog._—22. Bible: The price of the old apple-woman’s Bible was, it will be remembered, one half-crown (_Lavengro_, p. 264).—23. Alexander VI.: Pope 1492–1503. He was a Spaniard of Valencia, and his family name was Rodrigo Borja, in It. Borgia.—24. L’opere sue, etc.: His deeds were not those of lions, but of foxes—a slight alteration of Dante’s _L’opere mie_, etc. See _L’inf._, xxvii., st. 25.—25. Oimè (It.): Alas!—To . . ., read Rome.—Sir John D., read Sir _Thomas_ Dereham: A follower of the Stuarts; he died in 1739, and his monument stands in the English College at Rome.—There is at . . ., read Rome.—Yes, per Dio (It.): By Heaven!

Page 25. Parsons and Garnet: Two English Jesuits—Robert Parsons (1547–1610), superior to the Catholic Missions in England, and Henry Garnet (1555–1606), hanged because he refused to reveal the secrets of the confessional in connection with the Gunpowder Plot.—No hay remedio (Sp.): There is no help for it.—26. Inserted it: In vol. iv., p. 330.—32. Calañés: A Spanish hat worn by the lower classes, having the rim turned up against the crown.—There’s a chovahanee, etc.: The full ditty runs thus in one of Borrow’s _MSS._:—

“THE PETULENGRES.

“There’s a chovahanee and a chovahanó, The nav se lendè Petulengro; Sore the chavès ’dré their ten Are chories and labbenies—tatchipen,”

which reading corrects that of the text.—34. Flaming Bosville: Anselo Herne. See p. 67, and note to _Lavengro_, p. 363.—37. Gentleman Cooper and White-headed Bob: i.e., George Cooper and Ned Baldwin, who fought on the 5th of July, 1825, according to Pearce Egan’s _Boxiana_, v., pp. 61 and 80. Observe that the date harmonises perfectly with the chronology of the expedition.—38. Brynhilda the Valkyrie, or Amazon, was the wife of Gunnar and friend of Sigurd. See the Edda in _Bibliog._ Sigurd, called Fafnisbane or the Slayer of Fafnir, was a heroic character frequently mentioned in the Edda, the Wilkina Saga, Snorro’s Heimskringla, and Saxo-Grammaticus. In the Wilkina he is Sigurdr Sveinn, in the old Danish Heroic Ballads (Kiæmpeviser) he is Sigurd Snaresvend (Borrow’s “Snareswayne”), and Siegfrid in the Lay of the Nibelungs. Sivard or Sivord is a German variety of the same name.

Page 40. Feasting: This rustic banquet was offered to Sylvester and Ursula who were married that day, although our “rye” was not aware of the fact till later. The song was _built up_ by our author from a very slender prose draft, which I find in its earliest form given thus:—

1. “DRABBING THE BAULO,

“We jaws to the drab-engro and lels dui or trin hors-worth of drab, and when we wels to the sweti we pens we can have a drab at a baulo. Then we kairs it opré, and jaws to a farm-ker to mang a bit of habben, and then we pens: ‘Chuva lis acai and dov-odoy baulo will lel it, and to-morrow sorlu we’ll wel apopli and mang it’. And so we kairs, and on the sorlu when we’ve got it, we toves it well; we kins levinor at the kitchema, and have a kosko habben. The boshom-engro plays (_kils_), and the tawni juva gils, a kosko puro Rommany guillie.” Then follows the _gillie_ nearly as in the text.

2. “DRABBING THE BAULO.

“To mande shoon ye Rommany Chals Who besh in the pus about the yag I’ll pen how we drab the baulo.

“We jaws to the drab-engro ker Trin horsworth there of drab we lels And when to the swety back we wels We pens we’ll drab the baulo.

“And then we kairs the drab opré, And then we jaws to the farming ker To mang a beti habben, A beti poggado habben.

“A rinkeno baulo there we dick, And then we pens in Rommany jib: ‘Chiv lis odoy oprey the chick, The baulo he will lel lis, The baulo he will lel lis.

“‘Apopli on the sorlo we Will wel and mang him mullo, Will wel and mang his truppo.’

“And so we kairs, and so we kairs, We mang him on the sorlo, And rig to the tan the baulo.

“And then we toves his wendror well Till sore the wendror iuziou sie, Till kekkeno drab’s adrey lis, Till drab there’s kek adrey lis.

“And then his truppo well we hatch, Kin levinor at the kitchema, And have a kosko habben, A kosko Rommano habben.

“The boshom-engro kils, he kils, The tawni juva gils, she gils, A puro Rommany gillie, Now shoon the Rommany gillie.”

3. The third and last _MS._ is complete, but varies considerably from the printed text. _Romany_ is written with two _m_’s, as in _Lavengro_ throughout; in the fourth verse it reads: “In Rommany _chib_:_ chiv_ lis _odoy_ opré _the chik_”; fourth line omits “_and_”; in the fifth and sixth verses it gives “_sorlo_” properly, instead of “saulo”; in seventh verse it reads “_his_ wendror,” and in the last, “_boshom-engro_” and “_tawni_”.

From all these variants it results that _MS._ No. 3 furnishes a better reading than the printed text.

Page 42. Ursula’s Song: By the aid of the Gypsy list at the end of this volume, the translation can be easily made out by the curious reader.—46. Piramus: In _MS._ also _Priamus_.—Sanpriel: Corrupt form of _Sanspareil_, unrivalled.—Synfye: Slavonic form of _Cynthia_—_th_ in Russian is pronounced _ph_ or _f_; Thomas, _Fómas_.—47. Life of Charles: Add _XIIth_.—48. The church: Mentioned as three miles from the dingle, and on pp. 53, 110, as at _M._, has not yet been discovered.—58. The Edda: Early Icelandic literary monuments, consisting of the Elder or Poetic Edda collected by Sæmund, and the later or Prose Edda collected by Snorro Sturleson. See Mallet’s _Northern Antiquities_, Bohn’s Edition.—Sagas: Early historical tales handed down by oral tradition. See _Bibliog._—67. Anselo Herne: His clan-name. See note to p. 363 of _Lavengro_. 68. Pulci: Luigi Pulci (1432–87). See _Bibliog._—69. Ingravidata (It.): With child.—E nacquene, etc.: “And of her a son was born, says story, who subsequently gave great victory to Charlemagne”.—71. Fortiguerra: Niccolò Fortiguerra (1674–1735). He did not live to print his voluminous poem entitled _Ricciardetto_, having died in 1735, just “ninety years” from the date 1825, as our text declares.—76. Slammocks, etc.: Norwich worthies, I suppose; at least I do not find them in the _Boxiana_ at my command.—89. The Armenian in this (xivth) chapter I find correct. Hramahyel should have been given _hramaïyel_, hntal, etc., _khntal_ (χντάλ), and madagh, _madag_. See “Villotte” in the _Bibliog._—91. Hard-mouthed jade: This favourite expression of Mr. Borrow’s proceeds, I opine, from his readings in the quaint eighteenth century literature with which his library abounded. In Defoe’s _Moll Flanders_, p. 301, edition of 1722, we read: “The witnesses were the two wenches, a couple of _hard mouth’d jades_ indeed”. And on p. 323: “A _hard mouth’d man_”.—93. Brynhilda: See note to p. 38.—133–34. The “daffodil” poet: William Wordsworth (1770–1850).—141. Carlo Borromeo: The Cardinal saint, born 1538, died 1584.—143. Bricconi abbasso (It.): “Down with the rogues!”

Page 157. Friar Bacon: The celebrated scientist Roger Bacon (1214–94) was fated, like Virgil, to be popularly metamorphosed into a magician and conjuror. Hence the “Friar Bacon” series of chap-books, extending (so far as we know them) from the sixteenth century to the present. I will give the passage referred to by Mr. Borrow, so that it may be seen that the myth had no reference to the railway. No. 3 in _Bibliog._, leaf 8:—

“Chapter V. How Miles watched the Brazen-head, and in the end went away from his master.

“Fryer Bacon, having performed many wonderful things by his curious Art, was now sifting out _how he might wall England with brass_; wherefore he and Fryer Bungy, when they had raised the devil, bound him to a tree, for to make him tell them how it might be performed. He told them that they should make a _Brazen-head_, which (if they could watch it till it spoke) would tell them how it might be done. The head was made, and they watched till they could watch no longer. At last Fryer Bungey persuaded Fryer Bacon to let his man Miles watch while they slept; to which the Fryer agreed. Then Miles was called, who undertook to awake them when the Head would speak. So to sleep they went, and Miles expected some great speech to come from the Head. At last the Head cryed, ‘_TIME IS_’; at which Miles fell into a great laughter, and made his scoffs and jears thereat. Then it said, ‘_TIME WAS_’; but yet he would not awake his master, counting them but silly and frivolous words. Lastly, the Head said, ‘_TIME IS PAST_’; at which words down it fell, and in falling made such a noise that it awakened the two Fryers, and had almost affrighted poor Miles out of his senses,” etc.

Page 158. L . . ., read Liverpool; C . . ., read Chester.—162. Brooke of Borneo: Sir James Brooke, Rajah of Sarawak (1803–68), George Borrow’s school-mate at Norwich in 1816–17–18.—165. “Vails”: He means, of course, _vale_.—175–6–7. Romanvile: London. See “English Rogue” in _Bibl._—176. The chi she is kaulo (read _kauley_), etc.: “The lass she is black, she sleeps upon her back”.—177–78. Sivord: Or Sivard, the same as Sigurd, called the Snaresvend (“Snareswayne” on the next page). See note to p. 38, and _Romantic Ballads_, 1826, pp. 83 and 90. For the reason of Borrow’s changing the Danish _svend_ into “swayne,” see _Life_, ii., p. 269.—The horse Grayman: _i.e._, the “Skimming gray” of p. 96, _Romantic Ballads_.—183. The Maugrabin sorcerer: The “African Magician” in Lane’s translation. There is in this passage of _The Romany Rye_ evidently a confusion of two of the tales in the _Arabian Nights_—those of Aladdin and Sindbad, fifth voyage.—221. Isten (pron. _íshten_): Hung. for God.—222. Magyar (pron. _mädjr_): A Hungarian.—223. Tékéli (1658–1705).—L’Eau de la Reine d’Hongrie, read _de Hongrie_, _h_ being aspirate in this word.—Pigault Lebrun (Charles), 1753–1835; _Les Barons de Felsheim_, Paris, 1822.—Ersebet, read _Erszebet_, Elisabeth.—Florentius of Buda: Flourished 1790–1805. See “Budai Ferencz” in the _Bibliog._—224. Álmus, or Álmos (_älmosh_), died 889. The Hungarian scholar Vámbéri, has exploded the “dream” (or rather “sleep”) theory heretofore entertained with regard to the origin of the name Almos; he says it is an epithet, meaning the Great, the Sublime, the Noble, the Glorious (_Ursprung_, pp. 62, 156).—225 (228 and elsewhere), Dunau, read _Donau_, Germ. for Danube.—Király and Ház: The former comes from the Servian _Králj_ (_lj_ like Span. _ll_ or Port. _lh_), which the Hungarian lengthened into _kir-ály_, not finding it convenient to pronounce _kr_. {383} As for _haz_, from _haus_ (Austrian pop. pronunciation _hôs_), we are told by Vámbéri that the ancient form was not _ház_, but _hos_ (_Ursp._, p. 556).—226. Janos (pron. _Yánosh_): John.—226. Szava (Hung.): The Save.—229. Laszlo: Ladislaus.—Cilejia: The Roman _Claudia Celleia_, now Cilly, in Carinthia.—230. Matyas: In English Matthias.—Huz, read _husz_ (Hung.): Twenty. Vámbéri questions this etymology of “hussar” (p. 283), but unsatisfactorily, we think.—Ulazslo: Wladislaus.—Tché Drak: The Roumanian _cé dracŭ_, but pronounced as in the text, and equivalent to the exclamation _que diable_!—Mohacs Veszedelem, read Mohacsi Veszedelem: The Disaster of Mohács, the title of a poem by Baron Liszti.—231. Bátory: A mere epithet, the “valiant”.—232. Lajos (_laï-osh_), Louis or Lewis.—Mufti: The ulémas or Doctors of the (Mahomedan) law.—233. Coloscvar, read Koloszvár, in German, Klausenburg.—Budáï Ferencz: See _Bibliog._—235. Rysckie Tsar, read _Russki Tsar_: The Russian Emperor.—Plescova, now Pskov.—Iván Basilowitz, read _Vasiliévitch_, known as Iván the Terrible.—236. Izbushka (Russ.): Hut—Tyzza, read _Tisza_: The river Theiss.—Kopacs Teto, read _Kopász Tetö_.—Kassau, read _Kaschau_.—239. Eljen edes, etc. (pron. _elyen edesh tsigáñ oor_, _elyen gool eraï_): “Long live the sweet Gypsy gentleman, long live the gudlo Rye”.—241. Roth-Welsch: The German for Thieves’ Slang.—Tzernebock, read _Tchernobog_ (_g_ like Germ. _ch_): Black god, evil principle.—Bielebock, read _Bielbog_: White god, the good principle.—242. Saxo-Gramaticus, read _Grammaticus_, see _Bibliog._—Fekete (Hung.): Black.—246. Erik Bloodaxe (Danish _Blodöxe_): King of Norway, Snorro, 1633, p. 64.—256. Regner Lodbrok: “Regnar” in Icelandic; Borrow gives the Danish term of this king’s name. See his famous _Death Song_ in Mallet, pp. 383–85.—Halgerdr, read Halgerda, Mallet, pp. 340–41.—257. Biorn, read _Björn_ and Ivarr, _Ivar_.—258. Verdammt (Germ.): Confounded.

Page 262. “Wife selling”: A very common practice among a certain class, it seems, in England; and, as this will hardly be credited in America, I will append some extracts from the newspapers. The _Norfolk Chronicle_ of 5th May, 1894, says: “The belief formerly prevailed, especially among the rural population, that a man had a perfectly legal right to sell his wife to another, provided he observed two indispensable formalities. One was that he placed a _halter_ about her neck, and the other that he led her into the market and publicly transferred her to the purchaser. Numerous instances of these strange transactions have been recorded. Our columns, on the 9th of February, 1805, contained an account of the sale of a wife at Norwich. A Kentish tailor, the affections and person of whose amiable spouse had been jockeyed away by a neighbouring horse-dealer, caparisoned her neck with a halter and surrendered all right and title to his virtuous rib, in consideration of the sum of £5. On the 2nd of May, 1823, a similar sale was effected in this city. A man named Stebbings disposed of his wile to a person named Turner for the sum of £6 10s. The latter paid £4 on account, took the woman home, and brutally turned his lawful wife out of doors.”

The London _Daily Mail_ of 1st March, 1899, prints the following:—

“Very few people are aware that wives are literally sold to-day in England. A very common error of the vulgar is that a man by selling his wife releases himself from the marriage contract as surely as if he were legally divorced. In March, 1796, _The Times_ announced the sale of a wife at Sheffield for sixpence. A short time afterwards the same journal calmly stated that the price of wives has risen in Smithfield Market from half a guinea to three guineas and a half! In 1803 a man led his wife, by a halter round her neck, into the cattle market at Sheffield, and sold her for a guinea, the purchaser leading away the woman to his home. In 1820 a man named Brouchet hired a cattle-pen in the Canterbury market, placed his wife in it, and ultimately sold her for 5s. Then wives began to increase in value, for soon afterwards one was sold for £15. This was followed by a ‘slump’. In 1855 a man led his wife with a halter round her waist into Derby marketplace and offered her for sale, but all be could get for her was eighteen pence and a quart of ale. In 1873 a husband left his home and creditors in Belper for the liberty of America. The week after his flight all his goods were put up for auction to satisfy his debts. His wife claimed part of the money, and this being refused she insisted on being offered for sale as part of her husband’s assets. There was no sale, however, for ‘Lot 29’. In even more recent days wife sales were common, and are even being effected in this present year of grace. In 1882 John Wilson, a collier of Alfreton, Derbyshire, sold his wife in a public-house for fourpence. Sheffield knife-grinders have long been noted for their transactions in the wife trade. Within quite recent times many a Sheffield wife has been sold by her husband for a gallon of beer, which has been drunk on the spot. Sometimes these sales assume a more formal aspect. In 1887, in the Sheffield County Court, a man admitted that he had bought another man’s wife for 5s. Most of these discreditable ‘deals’ escape notice, but a case has come to light where a man agreed to sell his wife to a collier, and the trio, with the woman’s father and mother and two family friends, assembled to arrange terms. Thirty shillings was the price finally agreed on. Four years ago, at Leeds, a man charged with bigamy pleaded that, as he had sold his wife for 3s. 6d. to another man, he could marry again legally! Eighteen months’ imprisonment was what he got, and more than deserved. A police court case in 1896 at Doncaster revealed the fact that John Tart sold his wife to Enoch Childs, on the understanding that the latter reared the vendor’s four children. In a Durham court in 1894 it transpired that a man named Shaw sold his daughter, a girl of sixteen, to a collier called Cudman, for 1s. Many a wife is at present sold in the East End of London, as well as in Yorkshire, for a quart of beer or an ounce of thick twist. It is the poor man’s method of divorce, and such is popular ignorance that there are scores of people who imagine that selling a wife is as legal a separation as a _decree nisi_ pronounced by a bewigged and berobed judge.”

Page 265. Herodotus: The story is found in _Thalia III._, 84–88 (pp. 208–9 of Cary’s Eng. translation). The groom’s name was _Œbares_.—266. Deaghblasda, read _deaghbhlasda_ (Ir.): Sweet-tasted, dainty. This is the soothing word hinted at, but not given, in _Lavengro_, p. 83.—269. At H . . ., read _Hertford_, where John Thurtell was hanged, 9th January, 1824.—Ned Flatnose: Ed. Painter of Norwich.—270. Spring: His true name was Thomas _Winter_; see _Lavengro_, p. 168. He died 20th August, 1851.—276. . . . Fair, read Greenwich Fair, on Easter Monday. See Dickens’ _Sketches_.—279. Oilien (and p. 295, Oilein) nan Naomha, read _Oilean na Naomhtha_ (Ir.): Island of the Saints (Patrick and Columba).—Finn-ma-Coul: The tale of Finn was first learned by Borrow in January, 1854, from his Irish guide Cronan, while travelling in Cornwall (_Life_, ii., p. 86, and note). This fact shows that Murtagh and his tale are introduced here to exhibit the author’s discovery of the identity between the Finn of Ireland and the Eddaic tradition of Sigurd Fafnisbane (p. 281). For Sigurd in the Wilkina Saga is suckled by a hind (p. 120) and fostered by Mymmer Smed or Mimer the Smith (p. 121) whom he eventually slays (p. 124). In the Eddaic Lay of the serpent-killer we read: “Sigurd took the heart of Fafnir and broiled it on a spit. And when he judged that it was done, he touched it with his finger to ascertain if that were really the case. Having burned his finger in the act, he put it to his mouth, and no sooner had the heart’s blood of Fafnir come in contact with Sigurd’s tongue than he understood the speech of birds,” etc. Here we have the two sides verified, the Irish by Cronan, and the Scandian by the Edda. But Brooke’s _Reliques_, a favourite work of Borrow’s in his Norwich days, and which he cites in 1832 (_Life_, i., p. 146), give us certain other fragments of these Finnic fables, whereby we can trace the sources of the text before us. For example, after Jack Dale had stripped Murtagh of all his money he is observed to be sitting “in deep despondency, holding his thumb to his mouth” (p. 278). And a little farther on (p. 282) a verse is cited from “Conan the Bald”. Now all this is found in Miss Brooke, that is, the names and the ideas—Conan the Bald (p. 106), Lochlin (p. 46), and Darmod Odeen (minus Taffy) and the verse with this note (p. 109):—“This strange passage is explained by some lines in the Poem of Dubmac-Dighruibh, where Finn is reproached with deriving all his courage from _chewing his thumb_ for prophetic information.”—281. Siol Loughlin, read _Lochlin_ (Ir.): Literally “the seed of Norway,” _i.e._, the Danish or Norwegian race. Miss Brooke very properly says (p. 46): “Lochlin is the Gælic (and Irish) name for Scandinavia in general”; but Borrow limits it to Denmark—the Danish race. And a little below, “the Loughlin songs” are his _Danish Ballads_ which he published the following year.

Page 283. The story of Murtagh at the Irish College in Rome, and his subsequent wanderings in the South of France and in Spain, mask, as we have said elsewhere, the peregrinations of George Borrow in 1826–27.—286. M’anam on Dioul: Explained in _Lavengro_, note to p. 65.—291. Dungarvon times of old: See _Life_, i., p. 46, and ii., pp. 16–17. Cradock’s letter was dated, 18th August, 1849, and Mr. B.’s answer (i., p. 146) a little after.—Raparees: Irish marauders, _temp._ James II. See _Life_, i., p. 146, and Brooke’s _Reliques_, p. 205. The latter says that the word is from the Irish _Réubóir Ri_, plunderer, robber, freebooter of the king, from _reubaim_, I tear.—292. Chiviter Vik: Cività Vecchia, the modern seaport of Rome, fifty miles distant.—Army of the Faith: Spanish frontier corps of observation under Gen. Don Vicente Quesada, 1823–24.—Prince Hilt: The Duke d’Angoulême, nephew of Louis XVIII., and son of the Count d’Artois (afterwards Charles X.). D’Angoulême invaded Spain in 1823 with 100,000 Frenchmen, to restore Ferdinand VII. to his absolute throne, against the Liberals of 1820–23.—298. To . . ., read Rome.—At . . ., read Rome.—Educated at . . ., read Rome.—300. Direction of the east, read _south_. He could only have gone south from Horncastle to reach _Boston_ (the “large town on the arm of the sea”) that day. The next he came to Spalding, some fifteen miles farther, where he met the recruiting serjeant, thence on to Norwich by Lynn Regis.

We must not forget that before _Lavengro_ was begun, and fifteen years prior to the publication of _The Romany Rye_, that is, 26th December, 1842, Mr. Petulengro remarked to George Borrow at Oulton: “I suppose you have not forgot how, fifteen [seventeen] years ago, when you made horseshoes in the dingle by the side of the great north road, I lent you fifty guineas to purchase the wonderful trotting cob of the innkeeper with the green Newmarket coat, which _three days after_ you sold for two hundred”. {386a} Now, this is a very remarkable statement, and, taken in connection with the fact that so little is said about Horncastle in the book, it seems to me we are justified in proclaiming that Borrow was never in Horncastle at all. The interview with the Magyar and the syllabus of Hungarian history are clearly drawn from his experiences in Hungary and Transylvania in the year 1844, and hence are an anachronism here. It is a pity that the author did not adhere to the chronological facts of his life so strictly in _The Romany Rye_ as he did in _Lavengro_. Truth and literature would have gained by it. And then that valedictory pledge, {386b} confirmed in the appendix, drawing a veil over the period of his travails, if not his travels, was an error of judgment which, in an autobiography will, we fear, not easily be condoned.

APPENDIX.

Page 302. Age of nineteen, read _twenty_; he was twenty-one less four months at his father’s death.—303. Children of Roma: Borrovian for Gypsies.—305–6. Balm in Mary Flanders: See _Lavengro_, note to p. 423.—311. Canning: Premier from 24th April to his death, 8th August, 1827; succeeded by Viscount Goderich from September, 1827, to 25th January, 1828.—312. Vaya! qué demonio es este! (Sp.): Bless me! what demon have we here!—314. Sessions of Hariri: Arabic tales in prose interlarded with verse. The two languages: Chinese and Manchu.—315–6. Luigi Pulci: Io vo’ tagliar, etc.: I’ll sever the hands of them all and bring them to those holy monks. Tu sarai or perfetto, etc.: Now thou wilt be as true a friend to Christ as aforetime thou wert his foe (_M. M._, canto I, sts. 53 and 57).—318. Oberon: A poem by Wieland (1733–1813).—319. The father of Anglo-Germanism: Taylor of Norwich.—Andrew Borde: (see _Bibliog._). The text of the Bodleian copy (1547?) runs as follows—(A 3 verso):—

“I am an Englysh man, and naked I stand here, Musyng in my mynd what rayment I shall were; For now I wyll were thys, and now I wyl were that, Now I wvl were I cannot tel what. All new fashyons be plesaunt to me, I wyll haue them, whether I thryue or thee; Now I am a frysker, all men doth on me looke, What should I do but set cocke on the hoope; What do I care yf all the worlde me fayle, I wyl get a garment shal reche to my tayle; Than I am a minion, for I were the new gyse; The yere after this I trust to be wyse, Not only in wering my gorgious aray, For I wyl go to learnyng a hoole somers day; I wyll learne Latyne, Hebrew, Grecke and Frenche, And I wyl learne Douche sittyng on my benche; I do feare no man, all men fearyth me, I ouercome my aduersaries by land and by see; I had no peere yf to my selfe I were trew, Because I am not so diuers times I do rew; Yet I lake nothing, I haue all thyng at wyll If were wyse and wold holde my selfe styll, And medel wyth no matters not to me partayning; But I haue suche matters rolling in my pate, That I wyl speake and do I cannot tell what.” etc.

—321. Mr. Flamson: Samuel Morton Peto, M.P., later Sir Morton Peto of Somerleyton Hall, some five miles inland from Lowestoft. See _Life_, ii., p. 52.—327. Orcadian poet: “Ragnvald, Earl of the Orkney Islands, passed for a very able poet; he boasts himself, in a song of his which is still extant, that he knew how to compose verses on all subjects,” Mallet, p. 235. The original _Runic_ of the lines translated by Borrow is found in Olaus Wormius. Transliterated into Latin letters they read thus:—

_Tafl em eg or at efta_ _Idrottir kan eg niu_ _Tum eg tradla Runur_ _Tid er mer bog og smider_ _Skrid kann eg a gidum_ _Skot eg og re so nyter_ _Hvor tweggia kan ek hyggiu_ _Harpslatt og bragdattu_.

—329. Lieut. P. . ., read Perry. The item was taken from a newspaper (which, I know not) published in September, 1854. Mr. Borrow read it at Llangollen in Wales. I loaned the clipping and it was not returned.—330. Balaklava: The usual etymon of this famous name is the Italian _Bella chiave_, beautiful key.—331. Companion of Bligh: This was Thomas Hayward.—Once: See Bligh’s Narrative (_Bibliog._), p. 55.—336. “Malditas sean tus tripas,” etc.: This Borrovian Spanish must be rendered truthfully or not at all. The squeamish may excuse the _borracha_: “D— your g—s; we had enough of the stink of your g—s the day you ran away from the battle of the Boyne”.—338. Coronach (Gælic), read _Corránach_: The funeral wail, a dirge; in Irish, _coránach_.—342. Abencerages, read _Abencerrages_: Arab. _ibn-serradj_; son of the saddle.—349–50. Whiffler: See note to _Lavengro_, p. 225.—352. Francis Spira: Francesco Spiera, a lawyer of Cittadella (Venice), accepted the doctrines of the Reformation in 1548. Terrified by the menaces of the Church of Rome and the prospective ruin of his family, he went to Venice and solemnly abjured the Evangelical faith in the hands of the Legate, Giovan della Casa (see Dict. de Bayle) who required him to return home and repeat his abjuration before his fellow-townsmen and the local authorities. Having performed this act, he fell into the horrid state of remorse depicted in the Protestant accounts of the time. The report was first brought to Geneva by Pietro Paolo Vergerio, ex-bishop of Pola, who visited Spiera in his last moments at Padua, whence he himself bent his way to the Valtelina, as a fugitive from the Roman Church.—Duncan Campbell and Falconer: See _Bibliog._—John Randall: Here is a confusion of John Rolfe and John Randolph of Roanoke (1773–1833). Pocahontas, daughter of the Indian Chief Powhatan, saved the life of Captain John Smith in Virginia and married John Rolfe in 1614. John Randolph of Roanoke _claimed_ to be descended from Pocahontas, but Rolfe is evidently the one referred to in the text. See _Bibliog._ under “Pocahontas”.—354. Iriarte (1750–96): Spanish poet and writer of fables. See _Bibliog._—355. Autobiographical character of Lavengro denied: but see _Life_, ii., pp. 3–27 and 211.—357. Ginnúngagap: The “yawning abyss” of Northern Mythology. See Mallet, p. 402.—359. Horinger Bay: See note on _Lavengro_, p. 46.—360. Harum-beck, read _harmanbeck_, as in _Lavengro_, p. 158.—Holkham Estate: The seat of the Cokes of Norfolk and the Earl of Leicester. See White’s _Norfolk_, and the C . . . of _Lavengro_, p. 124.—363. He said in ’32: See _Life_, i., p. 143.—Son of Norfolk clergyman: Nelson (_nom de noms_!).—364–66. Thistlewood and Ings: See article in _Celebrated Lives and Trials_, vol. vi., p. 339.—368. The old Radical: John Bowring in 1821.—Vol. of translations: See “Bowring” in _Bibliog._—Red Rhys: Rhys Goch of Snowdon. See _Wild Wales_, p. 150, and “Gorchestion” in _Bibliog._—369. The Doctor of Medicine: Dr. Lewis Evans. See _Life_, i., p. 74.—370. S . . ., read _Southey_.—Literary project (1829–30): See _Life_, i., p. 129.—371. Astolfo: His journey to the moon mentioned in Pulci, ed. 1546,