The Romany Rye

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I continued dozing over the fire, until rousing myself I perceived
that the brands were nearly consumed, and I thought of retiring for
the night. I arose, and was about to enter my tent, when a thought
struck me. "Suppose," thought I, "that Isopel Berners should
return in the midst of the night, how dark and dreary would the
dingle appear without a fire! truly, I will keep up the fire, and I
will do more; I have no board to spread for her, but I will fill
the kettle, and heat it, so that, if she comes, I may be able to
welcome her with a cup of tea, for I know she loves tea."
Thereupon, I piled more wood upon the fire, and soon succeeded in
procuring a better blaze than before; then, taking the kettle, I
set out for the spring. On arriving at the mouth of the dingle,
which fronted the east, I perceived that Charles's wain was nearly
opposite to it, high above in the heavens, by which I knew that the
night was tolerably well advanced. The gypsy encampment lay before
me; all was hushed and still within it, and its inmates appeared to
be locked in slumber; as I advanced, however, the dogs, which were
fastened outside the tents, growled and barked; but presently
recognising me, they were again silent, some of them wagging their
tails. As I drew near a particular tent, I heard a female voice
say--"Some one is coming!" and, as I was about to pass it, the
cloth which formed the door was suddenly lifted up, and a black
head and part of a huge naked body protruded. It was the head and
upper part of the giant Tawno, who, according to the fashion of
gypsy men, lay next the door wrapped in his blanket; the blanket
had, however, fallen off, and the starlight shone clear on his
athletic tawny body, and was reflected from his large staring eyes.

"It is only I, Tawno," said I, "going to fill the kettle, as it is
possible that Miss Berners may arrive this night." "Kos-ko,"
drawled out Tawno, and replaced the curtain. "Good, do you call
it?" said the sharp voice of his wife; "there is no good in the
matter! if that young chap were not living with the rawnee in the
illegal and uncertificated line, he would not be getting up in the
middle of the night to fill her kettles." Passing on, I proceeded
to the spring, where I filled the kettle, and then returned to the
dingle.

Placing the kettle upon the fire, I watched it till it began to
boil; then removing it from the top of the brands, I placed it
close beside the fire, and leaving it simmering, I retired to my
tent; where, having taken off my shoes, and a few of my garments, I
lay down on my palliasse, and was not long in falling asleep. I
believe I slept soundly for some time, thinking and dreaming of
nothing; suddenly, however, my sleep became disturbed, and the
subject of the patterans began to occupy my brain. I imagined that
I saw Ursula tracing her husband, Launcelot Lovel, by means of his
patterans; I imagined that she had considerable difficulty in doing
so; that she was occasionally interrupted by parish beadles and
constables, who asked her whither she was travelling, to whom she
gave various answers. Presently methought that, as she was passing
by a farm-yard, two fierce and savage dogs flew at her; I was in
great trouble, I remember, and wished to assist her, but could not,
for though I seemed to see her, I was still at a distance: and now
it appeared that she had escaped from the dogs, and was proceeding
with her cart along a gravelly path which traversed a wild moor; I
could hear the wheels grating amidst sand and gravel. The next
moment I was awake, and found myself sitting up in my tent; there
was a glimmer of light through the canvas caused by the fire; a
feeling of dread came over me, which was perhaps natural, on
starting suddenly from one's sleep in that wild lone place; I half
imagined that some one was nigh the tent; the idea made me rather
uncomfortable, and, to dissipate it, I lifted up the canvas of the
door and peeped out, and, lo! I had a distinct view of a tall
figure standing by the tent. "Who is that?" said I, whilst I felt
my blood rush to my heart. "It is I," said the voice of Isopel
Berners; "you little expected me, I dare say; well, sleep on, I do
not wish to disturb you." "But I was expecting you," said I,
recovering myself, "as you may see by the fire and kettle. I will
be with you in a moment."

Putting on in haste the articles of dress which I had flung off, I
came out of the tent, and addressing myself to Isopel, who was
standing beside her cart, I said--"just as I was about to retire to
rest I thought it possible that you might come to-night, and got
everything in readiness for you. Now, sit down by the fire whilst
I lead the donkey and cart to the place where you stay; I will
unharness the animal, and presently come and join you." "I need
not trouble you," said Isopel; "I will go myself and see after my
things." "We will go together," said I, "and then return and have
some tea." Isopel made no objection, and in about half-an-hour we
had arranged everything at her quarters, I then hastened and
prepared tea. Presently Isopel rejoined me, bringing her stool;
she had divested herself of her bonnet, and her hair fell over her
shoulders; she sat down, and I poured out the beverage, handing her
a cup. "Have you made a long journey to-night?" said I. "A very
long one," replied Belle. "I have come nearly twenty miles since
six o'clock." "I believe I heard you coming in my sleep," said I;
"did the dogs above bark at you?" "Yes," said Isopel, "very
violently; did you think of me in your sleep?" "No," said I, "I
was thinking of Ursula and something she had told me." "When and
where was that?" said Isopel. "Yesterday evening," said I,
"beneath the dingle hedge." "Then you were talking with her
beneath the hedge?" "I was," said I, "but only upon gypsy matters.
Do you know, Belle, that she has just been married to Sylvester, so
that you need not think that she and I--" "She and you are quite
at liberty to sit where you please," said Isopel. "However, young
man," she continued, dropping her tone, which she had slightly
raised, "I believe what you said, that you were merely talking
about gypsy matters, and also what you were going to say, if it
was, as I suppose, that she and you had no particular
acquaintance." Isopel was now silent for some time. "What are you
thinking of?" said I. "I was thinking," said Belle, "how
exceedingly kind it was of you to get everything in readiness for
me, though you did not know that I should come." "I had a
presentiment that you would come," said I; "but you forget that I
have prepared the kettle for you before, though it was true that I
was then certain that you would come." "I had not forgotten your
doing so, young man," said Belle; "but I was beginning to think
that you were utterly selfish, caring for nothing but the
gratification of your own selfish whims." "I am very fond of
having my own way," said I, "but utterly selfish I am not, as I
dare say I shall frequently prove to you. You will often find the
kettle boiling when you come home." "Not heated by you," said
Isopel, with a sigh. "By whom else?" said I; "surely you are not
thinking of driving me away?" "You have as much right here as
myself," said Isopel, "as I have told you before; but I must be
going myself." "Well," said I, "we can go together; to tell you
the truth, I am rather tired of this place." "Our paths must be
separate," said Belle. "Separate," said I, "what do you mean? I
shan't let you go alone, I shall go with you; and you know the road
is as free to me as to you; besides, you can't think of parting
company with me, considering how much you would lose by doing so;
remember that you know scarcely anything of the Armenian language;
now, to learn Armenian from me would take you twenty years."

Belle faintly smiled. "Come," said I, "take another cup of tea."
Belle took another cup of tea, and yet another; we had some
indifferent conversation, after which I arose and gave her donkey a
considerable feed of corn. Belle thanked me, shook me by the hand,
and then went to her own tabernacle, and I returned to mine.

CHAPTER XIII

Visit to the Landlord--His Mortifications--Hunter and his Clan--
Resolution.

On the following morning, after breakfasting with Belle, who was
silent and melancholy, I left her in the dingle, and took a stroll
amongst the neighbouring lanes. After some time I thought I would
pay a visit to the landlord of the public-house, whom I had not
seen since the day when he communicated to me his intention of
changing his religion. I therefore directed my steps to the house,
and on entering it found the landlord standing in the kitchen.
Just then two mean-looking fellows, who had been drinking at one of
the tables, and who appeared to be the only customers in the house,
got up, brushed past the landlord, and saying in a surly tone, we
shall pay you some time or other, took their departure. "That's
the way they serve me now," said the landlord, with a sigh. "Do
you know those fellows," I demanded, "since you let them go away in
your debt?" "I know nothing about them," said the landlord, "save
that they are a couple of scamps." "Then why did you let them go
away without paying you?" said I. "I had not the heart to stop
them," said the landlord; "and, to tell you the truth, everybody
serves me so now, and I suppose they are right, for a child could
flog me." "Nonsense," said I, "behave more like a man, and with
respect to those two fellows run after them, I will go with you,
and if they refuse to pay the reckoning I will help you to shake
some money out of their clothes." "Thank you," said the landlord;
"but as they are gone, let them go on. What they have drank is not
of much consequence." "What is the matter with you?" said I,
staring at the landlord, who appeared strangely altered; his
features were wild and haggard, his formerly bluff cheeks were
considerably sunken in, and his figure had lost much of its
plumpness. "Have you changed your religion already, and has the
fellow in black commanded you to fast?" "I have not changed my
religion yet," said the landlord, with a kind of shudder; "I am to
change it publicly this day fortnight, and the idea of doing so--I
do not mind telling you--preys much upon my mind; moreover, the
noise of the thing has got abroad, and everybody is laughing at me,
and what's more, coming and drinking my beer, and going away
without paying for it, whilst I feel myself like one bewitched,
wishing but not daring to take my own part. Confound the fellow in
black, I wish I had never seen him! yet what can I do without him?
The brewer swears that unless I pay him fifty pounds within a
fortnight he'll send a distress warrant into the house, and take
all I have. My poor niece is crying in the room above; and I am
thinking of going into the stable and hanging myself; and perhaps
it's the best thing I can do, for it's better to hang myself before
selling my soul than afterwards, as I'm sure I should, like Judas
Iscariot, whom my poor niece, who is somewhat religiously inclined,
has been talking to me about." "I wish I could assist you," said
I, "with money, but that is quite out of my power. However, I can
give you a piece of advice. Don't change your religion by any
means; you can't hope to prosper if you do; and if the brewer
chooses to deal hardly with you, let him. Everybody would respect
you ten times more provided you allowed yourself to be turned into
the roads rather than change your religion, than if you got fifty
pounds for renouncing it." "I am half inclined to take your
advice," said the landlord, "only, to tell you the truth, I feel
quite low, without any heart in me." "Come into the bar," said I,
"and let us have something together--you need not be afraid of my
not paying for what I order."

We went into the bar-room, where the landlord and I discussed
between us two bottles of strong ale, which he said were part of
the last six which he had in his possession. At first he wished to
drink sherry, but I begged him to do no such thing, telling him
that sherry would do him no good under the present circumstances;
nor, indeed, to the best of my belief, under any, it being of all
wines the one for which I entertained the most contempt. The
landlord allowed himself to be dissuaded, and, after a glass or two
of ale, confessed that sherry was a sickly, disagreeable drink, and
that he had merely been in the habit of taking it from an idea he
had that it was genteel. Whilst quaffing our beverage, he gave me
an account of the various mortifications to which he had of late
been subject, dwelling with particular bitterness on the conduct of
Hunter, who he said came every night and mouthed him, and
afterwards went away without paying for what he had drank or
smoked, in which conduct he was closely imitated by a clan of
fellows who constantly attended him. After spending several hours
at the public-house I departed, not forgetting to pay for the two
bottles of ale. The landlord, before I went, shaking me by the
hand, declared that he had now made up his mind to stick to his
religion at all hazards, the more especially as he was convinced he
should derive no good by giving it up.

CHAPTER XIV

Preparations for the Fair--The Last Lesson--The Verb Siriel.

It might be about five in the evening, when I reached the gypsy
encampment. Here I found Mr. Petulengro, Tawno Chikno, Sylvester,
and others in a great bustle, clipping and trimming certain ponies
and old horses which they had brought with them. On inquiring of
Jasper the reason of their being so engaged, he informed me that
they were getting the horses ready for a fair, which was to be held
on the morrow, at a place some miles distant, at which they should
endeavour to dispose of them, adding--"Perhaps, brother, you will
go with us, provided you have nothing better to do?" Not having
any particular engagement, I assured him that I should have great
pleasure in being of the party. It was agreed that we should start
early on the following morning. Thereupon I descended into the
dingle. Belle was sitting before the fire, at which the kettle was
boiling. "Were you waiting for me?" I inquired. "Yes," said
Belle, "I thought that you would come, and I waited for you."
"That was very kind," said I. "Not half so kind," said she, "as it
was of you to get everything ready for me in the dead of last
night, when there was scarcely a chance of my coming." The tea-
things were brought forward, and we sat down. "Have you been far?"
said Belle. "Merely to that public-house," said I, "to which you
directed me on the second day of our acquaintance." "Young men
should not make a habit of visiting public-houses," said Belle,
"they are bad places." "They may be so to some people," said I,
"but I do not think the worst public-house in England could do me
any harm." "Perhaps you are so bad already," said Belle, with a
smile, "that it would be impossible to spoil you." "How dare you
catch at my words?" said I; "come, I will make you pay for doing
so--you shall have this evening the longest lesson in Armenian
which I have yet inflicted upon you." "You may well say
inflicted," said Belle, "but pray spare me. I do not wish to hear
anything about Armenian, especially this evening." "Why this
evening?" said I. Belle made no answer. "I will not spare you,"
said I; "this evening I intend to make you conjugate an Armenian
verb." "Well, be it so," said Belle; "for this evening you shall
command." "To command is hramahyel," said I. "Ram her ill,
indeed," said Belle; "I do not wish to begin with that." "No,"
said I, "as we have come to the verbs, we will begin regularly;
hramahyel is a verb of the second conjugation. We will begin with
the first." "First of all tell me," said Belle, "what a verb is?"
"A part of speech," said I, "which, according to the dictionary,
signifies some action or passion; for example, I command you, or I
hate you." "I have given you no cause to hate me," said Belle,
looking me sorrowfully in the face.

"I was merely giving two examples," said I, "and neither was
directed at you. In those examples, to command and hate are verbs.
Belle, in Armenian there are four conjugations of verbs; the first
ends in al, the second in yel, the third in oul, and the fourth in
il. Now, have you understood me?"

"I am afraid, indeed, it will all end ill," said Belle.

"Hold your tongue," said I, "or you will make me lose my patience."
"You have already made me nearly lose mine," said Belle. "Let us
have no unprofitable interruptions," said I; "the conjugations of
the Armenian verbs are neither so numerous nor so difficult as the
declensions of the nouns; hear that, and rejoice. Come, we will
begin with the verb hntal, a verb of the first conjugation, which
signifies to rejoice. Come along; hntam, I rejoice; hntas, thou
rejoicest; why don't you follow, Belle?"

"I am sure I don't rejoice, whatever you may do," said Belle. "The
chief difficulty, Belle," said I, "that I find in teaching you the
Armenian grammar, proceeds from your applying to yourself and me
every example I give. Rejoice, in this instance, is merely an
example of an Armenian verb of the first conjugation, and has no
more to do with your rejoicing than lal, which is, also a verb of
the first conjugation, and which signifies to weep, would have to
do with your weeping, provided I made you conjugate it. Come
along; hntam, I rejoice; hntas, thou rejoicest; hnta, he rejoices;
hntamk we rejoice: now, repeat those words."

"I can't," said Belle, "they sound more like the language of horses
than human beings. Do you take me for--?" "For what?" said I.
Belle was silent. "Were you going to say mare?" said I. "Mare!
mare! by the bye, do you know, Belle, that mare in old English
stands for woman; and that when we call a female an evil mare, the
strict meaning of the term is merely a bad woman. So if I were to
call you a mare without prefixing bad, you must not be offended."
"But I should though," said Belle. "I was merely attempting to
make you acquainted with a philological fact," said I. "If mare,
which in old English, and likewise in vulgar English, signifies a
woman, sounds the same as mare, which in modern and polite English
signifies a female horse, I can't help it. There is no such
confusion of sounds in Armenian, not, at least, in the same
instance. Belle, in Armenian, woman is ghin, the same word, by the
by, as our queen, whereas mare is madagh tzi, which signifies a
female horse; and perhaps you will permit me to add, that a hard-
mouthed jade is, in Armenian, madagh tzi hsdierah."

"I can't bear this much longer," said Belle. "Keep yourself
quiet," said I; "I wish to be gentle with you; and to convince you,
we will skip hntal, and also for the present verbs of the first
conjugation and proceed to the second. Belle, I will now select
for you to conjugate the prettiest verb in Armenian; not only of
the second, but also of all the four conjugations; that verb is
siriel. Here is the present tense:- siriem, siries, sire, siriemk,
sirek, sirien. You observe that it runs on just in the same manner
as hntal, save and except that the e is substituted for a; and it
will be as well to tell you that almost the only difference between
the second, third, and fourth conjugation, and the first, is the
substituting in the present, preterite and other tenses e or ou, or
i for a; so you see that the Armenian verbs are by no means
difficult. Come on, Belle, and say siriem." Belle hesitated.
"Pray oblige me, Belle, by saying siriem!" Belle still appeared to
hesitate. "You must admit, Belle, that it is much softer than
hntam." "It is so," said Belle; "and to oblige you I will say
siriem." "Very well indeed, Belle," said I. "No vartabied, or
doctor, could have pronounced it better; and now, to show you how
verbs act upon pronouns in Armenian, I will say siriem zkiez.
Please to repeat siriem zkiez!" "Siriem zkiez!" said Belle; "that
last word is very hard to say." "Sorry that you think so, Belle,"
said I. "Now please to say siria zis." Belle did so.
"Exceedingly well," said I. "Now say, yerani the sireir zis."
"Yerani the sireir zis," said Belle. "Capital!" said I; "you have
now said, I love you--love me--ah! would that you would love me!"

"And I have said all these things?" said Belle. "Yes," said I;
"you have said them in Armenian." "I would have said them in no
language that I understood," said Belle; "and it was very wrong of
you to take advantage of my ignorance, and make me say such
things." "Why so?" said I; "if you said them, I said them too."
"You did so," said Belle; "but I believe you were merely bantering
and jeering." "As I told you before, Belle," said I, "the chief
difficulty which I find in teaching you Armenian proceeds from your
persisting in applying to yourself and me every example I give."
"Then you meant nothing after all," said Belle, raising her voice.
"Let us proceed," said I; "sirietsi, I loved." "You never loved
any one but yourself," said Belle; "and what's more--"
"Sirietsits, I will love," said I; "sirietsies, thou wilt love."
"Never one so thoroughly heartless," said Belle. "I tell you what,
Belle, you are becoming intolerable, but we will change the verb;
or rather I will now proceed to tell you here, that some of the
Armenian conjugations have their anomalies; one species of these I
wish to bring before your notice. As old Villotte says--from whose
work I first contrived to pick up the rudiments of Armenian--'Est
verborum transitivorum, quorum infinitivus--' but I forgot, you
don't understand Latin. He says there are certain transitive
verbs, whose infinitive is in outsaniel; the preterite in outsi;
the imperative in one; for example--parghatsout-saniem, I irritate-
-"

"You do, you do," said Belle; "and it will be better for both of
us, if you leave off doing so."

"You would hardly believe, Belle," said I, "that the Armenian is in
some respects closely connected with the Irish, but so it is; for
example, that word parghatsout-saniem is evidently derived from the
same root as feargaim, which, in Irish, is as much as to say I
vex."

"You do, indeed," said Belle, sobbing.

"But how do you account for it?"

"O man, man!" said Belle, bursting into tears, "for what purpose do
you ask a poor ignorant girl such a question, unless it be to vex
and irritate her? If you wish to display your learning, do so to
the wise and instructed, and not to me, who can scarcely read or
write. Oh, leave off your nonsense; yet I know you will not do so,
for it is the breath of your nostrils! I could have wished we
should have parted in kindness, but you will not permit it. I have
deserved better at your hands than such treatment. The whole time
we have kept company together in this place, I have scarcely had
one kind word from you, but the strangest--" and here the voice of
Belle was drowned in her sobs.

"I am sorry to see you take on so, dear Belle," said I. "I really
have given you no cause to be so unhappy; surely teaching you a
little Armenian was a very innocent kind of diversion."

"Yes, but you went on so long, and in such a strange way, and made
me repeat such strange examples, as you call them, that I could not
bear it."

"Why, to tell you the truth, Belle, it's just my way; and I have
dealt with you just as I would with--"

"A hard-mouthed jade," said Belle, "and you practising your horse-
witchery upon her. I have been of an unsubdued spirit, I
acknowledge, but I was always kind to you; and if you have made me
cry, it's a poor thing to boast of."

"Boast of!" said I; "a pretty thing indeed to boast of; I had no
idea of making you cry. Come, I beg your pardon; what more can I
do? Come, cheer up, Belle. You were talking of parting; don't let
us part, but depart, and that together."

"Our ways lie different," said Belle.

"I don't see why they should," said I. "Come, let us he off to
America together."

"To America together?" said Belle, looking full at me.

"Yes," said I; "where we will settle down in some forest, and
conjugate the verb siriel conjugally."

"Conjugally?" said Belle.

"Yes," said I; "as man and wife in America, air yew ghin."

"You are jesting, as usual," said Belle.

"Not I, indeed. Come, Belle, make up your mind, and let us be off
to America; and leave priests, humbug, learning, and languages
behind us."

"I don't think you are jesting," said Belle; "but I can hardly
entertain your offers; however, young man, I thank you."

"You had better make up your mind at once," said I, "and let us be
off. I shan't make a bad husband, I assure you. Perhaps you think
I am not worthy of you? To convince you, Belle, that I am, I am
ready to try a fall with you this moment upon the grass.
Brynhilda, the valkyrie, swore that no one should ever marry her
who could not fling her down. Perhaps you have done the same. The
man who eventually married her, got a friend of his, who was called
Sygurd, the serpent-killer, to wrestle with her, disguising him in
his own armour. Sygurd flung her down, and won her for his friend,
though he loved her himself. I shall not use a similar deceit, nor
employ Jasper Petulengro to personate me--so get up, Belle, and I
will do my best to fling you down."

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