G.P.R. James' 'The Gypsy' 1835

 

Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, Green, & Longman

First edition - 1835

It has been three weeks since I finished reading G.P.R. James's The Gipsy - thanks to a holiday in Greece and other pressing duties - so I am relying more than ever on memory. Once I had got over the rather boring rebinding (pre Great War?), I set to on another mammoth three-volume read. The novel displayed all of the author's strong points and his weaknesses.

To get rid of the latter first. The very first lines can be used as an example of James's pursuit of unnecessary padding and ruminating: At that time in the world's history when watches, in their decline from the fat comeliness of the turnip to the scanty meagreness of the half-crown, had arrived at the intermediate form of a biffin - when the last remnant of a chivalrous spirit instigated men to wear swords every day, and to take purses on horseback - when quadrupeds were preferred to steam, and sails were necessary to a ship -[there follows a list of ten names of individuals of the period] ...at that period of the dark ages, the events which are about to be related undoubtedly took place, in a county which shall be nameless. Why not just say '1770s'?

James also lived up to the popular conception that  "two cavaliers" always appear in the first chapter as, on page 2,  we read that two persons on horseback were seen riding through a part of the country, the aspect of which was one whereon we delight to dwell and, of course, he does just that. However, and it is a big 'however', the author can spin a compelling yarn with clearly delineated and interesting characters.

There are several 'heroes' and 'heroines' in the book and even Pharold, the Gipsy, himself is no cardboard cut-out 'baddie' but a well-rounded character of some depth. His fellow gipsies, both male and female, have both good and bad amongst their midst and are respected in their own right. Of the horseman, the younger 26 year-old, Edward de Vaux, may well have been the more handsome of the two, but his character and journey through the pages is less clear-cut and admirable than his older companion, who is the real hero.  The latter was older, taller, stronger. In age he might be thirty-two or three, in height he was fully six feet, and seldom was there ever a form which excelled his in all those points where great strength is afforded without any appearance of clumsiness. He is also a thoroughly good egg but he suffers from a singular misfortune: when he approached so as to allow his features to be seen, all one's prepossessions were dispelled, and one perceived that, not withstanding this fine person, he was, in some respects, as ugly a man as it was possible to conceive. Pre-Jenner, he had been attacked by small-pox, that horrible malady...we except his eyes and eyelashes, which had been spared...but they were like the beauty of Tadmor in the wilderness, for all was ugliness around them.  An antique female cousin, a card-playing belle, blurted out "Good God, Charles, you are perfectly frightful". Strong stuff; but never 'judge a book by its cover'. Colonel Charles Manners provides the upright 'steel' throughout the tale and deservedly gets his heart's desire at the end.

The ladies are a well drawn and believable bunch, with their strengths, weakness and foibles. Isadore Falkland has the good sense to see through Colonel Manners's 'ugliness'; whilst her mother not only provides the necessary historical background to past family disasters, but is stalwart in support of her daughter and niece; the young cousin of Edward, Marian de Vaux, after a shaky start, comes up trumps for her cousin and also ensures a happy ending. Lena, the Gipsy's 'wife' (it is not clear if he uses a term which is not strictly true), is drawn with compassion.

 Lord Dewry, Edward de Vaux's father, full of wrath and bitterness,  a violent and proud man, plays his part as the not-quite pantomime villain. He shares a dreadful secret with the Gipsy, which finally, and fortuitously, proves not to be quite accurate. James spends some time in describing his character and enables the reader to understand, if not sympathise with, the mental disquietude behind his unpleasant nature. There is an amusing cameo/walk-on part for Lady Barbara Simpson, who rapidly digs a hole at the dinner table discussing the Colonel's 'ugliness. James here proves he has a lightness of touch, amongst the occasional meandering verbosity. There are excellent scenes - the interplay between Lord Dewry and an old reprobate in arms, the beggared and threadbare Sir Roger Millington (who reminded me slightly of Sir Andrew Aguecheek); the  gipsies' attempt at deer-stealing; the trial of Pharold; and the 'unmasking' of 'Sir William Ryder'.

All's well that ends well. Edward de Vaux and his cousin Marion plight their troth; Pharold probably escapes to the green wood - or the scrubland - the true Lord Dewry claims his rightful inheritance, and Isadore Falkland can turn on Lady Simpson's recurring comment about the Colonel's ugliness to retort: Ugly! He is the handsomest man in all the world!" and she continued to think so to her dying day.

I must now save up to purchase another G.P.R James, although I do have  the single-volume Gowrie still to read.