“‘A bloody fortune!’ said I. ‘And whom may it betide?’
“Down the way, dashing and splashing, and scattering man, horse, and cart to the left and right, came an open barouche, drawn by four smoking steeds, with postillions in scarlet jackets, and leather skull-caps. Two forms were conspicuous in it; that of the successful bruiser, and of his friend and backer, the sporting gentleman of my acquaintance.
“‘His!’ said the Gypsy, pointing to the latter, whose stern features wore a smile of triumph, as, probably recognizing me in the crowd, he nodded in the direction of where I stood, as the barouche hurried by.
“There went the barouche, dashing through the rain gushes’, and in it one whose boast it was that he was equal to ‘either fortune.’ Many have heard of that man—many may be desirous of knowing yet more of him. I have nothing to do with that man’s after life—he fulfilled his dukkeripen. ‘A bad, violent man!’ Softly, friend; when thou wouldst speak harshly of the dead, remember that thou hast not yet fulfilled thy own dukkeripen!”
As Borrow fits these pugilists into the texture of his autobiography, so he does men who appear not once but a dozen times. Take Jasper Petulengro out of the books and he does not amount to much. In them he is a figure of most masculine beauty, a king, a trickster, and thief, but simple, good with his fists, loving life, manly sport and fair play. He and Borrow meet and shake hands as “brothers” when they are little boys. They meet again, by chance, as big boys, and Jasper says: “Your blood beat when mine was near, as mine always does at the coming of a brother; and we became brothers in that lane.” Jasper laughs at the Sapengro and Lavengro and horse-witch because he lacks two things, “mother sense and gentle Rommany,” and he has something to do with teaching Borrow the Gypsy tongue and Gypsy ways, and the “mother sense” of shifting
for himself. The Gypsies approve him also as “a pure fist master.” In return he teaches Mrs. Chikno’s child to say his prayers in Rommany. They were willing—all but Mrs. Herne—that he should marry Mr. Petulengro’s sister, Ursula. It is always by chance that they meet, and chance is very favourable. They meet at significant times, as when Borrow has been troubled by the preacher and the state of his own soul, or when he is sick of London and hack-writing and poverty. In fact, the Gypsies, and his “brother” Jasper in particular, returning and returning, are the motive of the book. They connect Borrow with what is strange, with what is simple, and with what is free. The very last words of “The Romany Rye,” spoken as he is walking eastward, are “I shouldn’t wonder if Mr. Petulengro and Tawno Chikno came originally from India. I think I’ll go there.” They are not a device. The re-appearances of these wandering men are for the most part only pleasantly unexpected. Their mystery is the mystery of nature and life. They keep their language and their tents against the mass of civilization and length of time. They are foreigners but as native as the birds. It is Borrow’s triumph to make them as romantic as their reputation while yet satisfying Gypsy students as to his facts.
Jasper is almost like a second self, a kind of more simple, atavistic self, to Borrow, as in that characteristic picture, where he is drawing near to Wales with his friends, the Welsh preacher and his wife. A brook is the border and they point it out. There is a horseman entering it: “he stops in the middle of it as if to water his steed.” They ask Lavengro if he will come with them into Wales. They persuade him:
“‘I will not go with you,’ said I. ‘Dost thou see that man in the ford?’
“‘Who is staring at us so, and whose horse has not yet done drinking? Of course I see him.’