ruined posadas and ventas, or in ravines
amongst rocks and pines, as the proudest grandee in his palace at Seville
or Madrid." If he condemned superstition, he yet thought it possibly
"founded on a physical reality"; he regarded the moon as the true "evil
eye," and bade men "not sleep uncovered beneath the smile of the moon,
for her glance is poisonous, and produces insupportable itching in the
eye, and not infrequently blindness." If he believed in the immortality
of the soul, he did not disdain to know the vendor of poisons who was a
Gypsy. If he stayed three weeks in Badajoz because he knew he should
never meet any people "more in need of a little Christian exhortation"
than the Gypsies, he did not fill his pages with three weeks of Christian
exhortation, but told the story of the Gypsy soldier, Antonio--how he
recognised as a Gypsy the enemy who was about to kill him, and saved
himself from the uplifted bayonet by crying "Zincalo, Zincalo!" and then,
having been revived by him, sat for hours with his late enemy, who said:
"Let the dogs fight and tear each other's throats till they are all
destroyed, what matters it to the Zincali? they are not of our blood, and
shall that be shed for them?" This man who, if he had his way, would
have washed his face in the blood of the Busne (those who are not
Gypsies), this man called Borrow "brother!" If Borrow distributed
Testaments, he knew little more of the recipients than a bolt from the
blue, or if he did he cared to tell but little. That little is the story
of the Gypsy soldier, Chaleco, who came to him at Madrid in 1838 with a
copy of the Testament. He told his story from his cradle up; he imposed
himself on Borrow's hospitality, eating "like a wolf of the Sierra," and
drinking in proportion. Borrow could only escape from him by dining out.
When Borrow was imprisoned the fellow drew his sword at the news and
vowed to murder the Prime Minister "for having dared to imprison his
brother." In what follows, Borrow reveals in a consummate manner his
power of drawing into his vicinity extraordinary events:

"On my release, I did not revisit my lodgings for some days, but lived at
an hotel. I returned late one afternoon, with my servant Francisco, a
Basque of Hernani, who had served me with the utmost fidelity during my
imprisonment, which he had voluntarily shared with me. The first person
I saw on entering was the Gypsy soldier, seated by the table, whereon
were severa