Whilst standing at the door of the Inn of the Three Nations on the day following his arrival at Badajos, meditating upon the deplorable state of the country he had just entered, Borrow recognised in the face of one of two men who were about to pass him the unmistakable lineaments of Egypt. Uttering “a certain word,” he received the reply he expected and forthwith engaged in conversation with the two men, who both proved to be gypsies. These men spread the news abroad that staying at the Inn of the Three Nations was a man who spoke Romany. “In less than half an hour the street before the inn was filled with the men, women, and children of Egypt.” Borrow went out amongst them, and confesses that “so much vileness, dirt, and misery I had never seen among a similar number of human beings; but worst of all was the evil expression of their countenances.” { 164b} He soon discovered that their faces were an accurate index to their hearts, which were capable of every species of villainy. The gypsies clustered round him, fingering his hands, face and clothes, as if he were a holy man.
Gypsies had always held for Borrow a strange attraction, { 164c} and he determined to prolong his stay at Badajos in order that he might have an opportunity of becoming “better acquainted with their condition and manners, and above all to speak to them of Christ and His Word; for I was convinced, that should I travel to the end of the universe, I should meet with no people more in need of a little Christian exhortation.” { 165a}
Intimate though his acquaintance with the gypsies of other countries had been, Borrow was aghast at the depravity of those of Spain. The men were drunkards, brigands, and murderers; the women unchaste, and inveterate thieves. Their language was terrifying in its foulness. They seemed to have no religion save a misty glimmering of metempsychosis, which had come down to them through the centuries, and having been very wicked in this world they asked, with some show of reason, why they should live again. They were incorrigible heathens, keenly interested in the demonstration that their language was capable of being written and read, but untouched by the parables of Lazarus or the Prodigal Son, which Borrow read and expounded to them. “Brother,” exclaimed one woman, “you tell us strange things, though perhaps you do not lie; a month since I would sooner have believed these tales, than that this day I should see one who could read Romany.” { 165b}