The Romany Rye - Borrow George

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peace for a long time, and in order to get the subject changed, I said to Mikailia in Romany, ‘you have told the ladies their fortunes, now tell the gentlemen theirs, quick, quick—pen lende dukkerin. [49] Well, brother, the Scotchman, I suppose, thinking I was speaking ill of him, fell into a greater passion than before, and catching hold of the word dukkerin—“Dukkerin,” said he, “what’s dukkerin?” “Dukkerin,” said I, “is fortune—a man or woman’s destiny; don’t you like the word?” “Word! d’ye ca’ that a word? a bonnie word,” said he. “Perhaps you’ll tell us what it is in Scotch,” said I, “in order that we may improve our language by a Scotch word; a pal of mine has told me that we have taken a great many words from foreign lingos.” “Why, then, if that be the case, fellow, I will tell you; it is e’en ‘spaeing,’ ” said he very seriously. “Well, then,” said I, “I’ll keep my own word, which is much the prettiest—spaeing! spaeing! why, I should be ashamed to make use of the word, it sounds so much like a certain other word,” and then I made a face as if I were unwell. “Perhaps it’s Scotch also for that?” “What do ye mean by speaking in that guise to a gentleman?” said he, “you insolent vagabond, without a name or a country.” “There you are mistaken,” said I, “my country is Egypt, but we ’Gyptians, like you Scotch, are rather fond of travelling, and as for name—my name is Jasper Petulengro, perhaps you have a better; what is it?” “Sandy Macraw.” At that, brother, the gentlemen burst into a roar of laughter, and all the ladies tittered.’

      ‘You were rather severe on the Scotchman, Jasper.’

      ‘Not at all, brother, and suppose I were, he began first; I am the civilest man in the world, and never interfere with anybody who lets me and mine alone. He finds fault with Romany, forsooth! why L---d A’mighty, what’s Scotch? He doesn’t like our songs; what are his own? I understand them as little as he mine; I have heard one or two of them, and pretty rubbish they seemed. But the best of the joke is, the fellow’s finding fault with Piramus’s fiddle—a chap from the land of bagpipes finding fault with Piramus’s fiddle! Why, I’ll back that fiddle against all the bagpipes in Scotland, and Piramus against all the bagpipers; for though Piramus weighs but ten stone, he shall flog a Scotchman of twenty.’

      ‘Scotchmen are never so fat as that,’ said I, ‘unless indeed, they have been a long time pensioners of England. I say, Jasper, what remarkable names your people have!’

      ‘And what pretty names, brother; there’s my own, for example, Jasper; then there’s Ambrose [50] and Sylvester; then there’s Culvato, which signifies Claude; then there’s Piramus, that’s a nice name brother.’

      ‘Then there’s your wife’s name, Pakomovna, then there’s Ursula and Morella.’

      ‘Then, brother, there’s Ercilla.’

      ‘Ercilla! the name of the great poet of Spain, how wonderful; then Leviathan.’

      ‘The name of a ship, brother; Leviathan was named after a ship, so don’t make a wonder out of her. But there’s Sanpriel and Synfye.’

      ‘Ay, and Clementina and Lavinia, Camillia and Lydia, Curlanda, and Orlanda; wherever did they get those names?’

      ‘Where did my wife get her necklace, brother?’

      ‘She knows best, Jasper. I hope—’

      ‘Come, no hoping! She got it from her grandmother, who died at the age of a hundred and three, and sleeps in Coggeshall churchyard. She got it from her mother, who also died very old, and who could give no other account of it than that it had been in the family time out of mind.’

      ‘Whence could they have got it?’

      ‘Why, perhaps where they got their names, brother. A gentleman who had travelled much, once told me that he had seen the sister of it about the neck of an Indian queen.’

      ‘Some of your names, Jasper, appear to be church names—your own, for example, and Ambrose and Sylvester; perhaps you got them from the Papists, in the times of Popery, but where did you get such a name as Piramus, a name of Grecian romance. Then some of them appear to be Slavonian; for example Mikailia and Pakomovna. I don’t know much of Slavonian; but—’

      ‘What is Slavonian, brother?’

      ‘The family name of certain nations, the principal of which is the Russian, and from which the word slave is originally derived. You have heard of the Russians, Jasper?’

      ‘Yes, brother, and seen some. I saw their crallis at the time of the peace; he was not a bad-looking man for a Russian.’

      ‘By-the-bye, Jasper, I’m half inclined to think that crallis [51a] is a Slavish word. I saw something like it in a lil [51b] called “Voltaire’s Life of Charles.” How you should have come by such names and words is to me incomprehensible.’

      ‘You seem posed, brother.’

      ‘I really know very little about you, Jasper.’

      ‘Very little indeed, brother. We know very little about ourselves, and you know nothing, save what we have told you; and we have now and then told you things about us which are not exactly true, simply to make a fool of you brother. You will say that was wrong; perhaps it was. Well, Sunday will be here in a day or two, when we will go to church, where possibly we shall hear a sermon on the disastrous consequences of lying.’

       Table of Contents

      THE CHURCH—THE ARISTOCRATICAL PEW—DAYS OF YORE—THE CLERGYMAN—‘IN WHAT WOULD A MAN BE PROFITED?’

      When two days had passed, Sunday came; I breakfasted by myself in the solitary dingle; and then, having set things a little to rights, I ascended to Mr. Petulengro’s encampment. I could hear church-bells ringing around in the distance, appearing to say, ‘Come to church, come to church,’ as clearly as it was possible for church-bells to say. I found Mr. Petulengro seated by the door of his tent, smoking his pipe, in rather an ungenteel undress. ‘Well, Jasper,’ said I, ‘are you ready to go to church; for if you are, I am ready to accompany you?’ ‘I am not ready, brother,’ said Mr. Petulengro, ‘nor is my wife; the church, too, to which we shall go is three miles off [52]; so it is of no use to think of going there this morning, as the service would be three-quarters over before we got there; if, however, you are disposed to go in the afternoon, we are your people.’ Thereupon I returned to my dingle, where I passed several hours in conning the Welsh Bible, which the preacher, Peter Williams, had given me.

      At last I gave over reading, took a slight refreshment, and was about to emerge from the dingle, when I heard the voice of Mr. Petulengro calling me. I went up again to the encampment, where I found Mr. Petulengro, his wife, and Tawno Chikno, ready to proceed to church. Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro were dressed in Roman fashion, though not in the full-blown manner in which they had paid their visit to Isopel and myself. Tawno had on a clean white slop, with a nearly new black beaver, with very broad rims, and the nap exceedingly long. As for myself, I was dressed in much the same manner as that in which I departed from London, having on, in honour of the day, a shirt perfectly clean, having washed one on purpose for the occasion, with my own hands, the day before, in the pond of tepid water in which the newts and efts were in the habit of taking their pleasure. We proceeded for upwards of a mile, by footpaths through meadows and corn-fields; we crossed various stiles; at last, passing over one, we found ourselves in a road, wending along which for a considerable distance, we at last came in sight of a church, the bells of which had been tolling distinctly in our ears for some time; before, however, we reached the church-yard the bells had ceased their melody. It was surrounded by lofty beech-trees of brilliant green foliage. We entered the gate, Mrs. Petulengro leading the way, and proceeded to a small door near the east end of the church. As we advanced, the sound of singing within the church rose upon our ears. Arrived at the small door, Mrs. Petulengro opened it and entered, followed by Tawno Chikno. I myself went last of all, following Mr. Petulengro,

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