Gipsy Life Part 6

"His Majesty now rose up, put some gold into the hands of the afflicted girls, promised them his protection, and bade them look to heaven. He then wiped the tears from his eyes and mounted his horse. His attendants, greatly affected, stood in silent admiration. Lord L--- was now going to speak, when his Majesty, turning to the Gipsies, and pointing to the breathless corpse, and to the weeping girls, said, with strong emotion, 'Who, my lord, who, thinkest thou, was neighbour unto these?'"

"Hark! Don't you hear the rumbling of its wheels?

Nearer it comes and nearer! Oh, what light!

The tent is full; 'tis glory everywhere!

Dear Jesus, I am coming! Then she fell- As falls a meteor when the skies are clear."

After this solemn but interesting event nothing further seems to have been done by either Christian or philanthropist towards wiping out this national disgrace, and the Gipsies were left to follow the bent of their evil propensities for several years, till Mr. Crabb's reading of Hoyland and witnessing the sentence of death pa.s.sed upon a Gipsy at Winchester, in 1827, for horse-stealing.

Mr. Crabb happened to enter just as the judge was pa.s.sing sentence of death on two unhappy men. To one he held out the hope of mercy; but to the other, a poor Gipsy, who was convicted of horse-stealing, he said, no hope could be given. The young man, for he was but a youth, immediately fell on his knees, and with uplifted hands and eyes, apparently unconscious of any persons being present but the judge and himself, addressed him as follows: "Oh, my Lord, save my life!" The judge replied, "No; you can have no mercy in this world: I and my brother judges have come to the determination to execute horse-stealers, especially Gipsies, because of the increase of the crime." The suppliant, still on his knees, entreated-"Do, my Lord Judge, save my life! do, for G.o.d's sake, for my wife's sake, for my baby's sake!" "No,"

replied the judge, "I cannot; you should have thought of your wife and children before." He then ordered him to be taken away, and the poor fellow was rudely dragged from his earthly judge. It is hoped, as a penitent sinner, he obtained the more needful mercy of G.o.d, through the abounding grace of Christ. After this scene Mr. Crabb could not remain in court. As he returned he found the mournful intelligence had been communicated to some Gipsies who had been waiting without, anxious to learn the fate of their companion. They seemed distracted.

On the outside of the court, seated on the ground, appeared an old woman and a very young one, and with them two children, the eldest three years and the other an infant but fourteen days old. The former sat by its mother's side, alike unconscious of her bitter agonies and of her father's despair. The old woman held the infant tenderly in her arms, and endeavoured to comfort its weeping mother, soon to be a widow under circ.u.mstances the most melancholy. "My dear, don't cry," said she; "remember you have this dear little baby." Impelled by the sympathies of pity and a sense of duty, Mr. Crabb spoke to them on the evil of sin, and expressed his hope that the melancholy event would prove a warning to them, and to all their people. The poor man was executed about a fortnight after his condemnation.

Mr. Crabb being full of fire and zeal, set to work in right good earnest, and succeeded in forming a committee at Southampton to bring about a reformation among the Gipsies. He also enlisted the sympathy of other earnest Christians in the work, and for a time, while the sun shone, received encouraging signs of success, in fact, according to his little work published in 1831, his labours were attended with blessed results among the adult portion of the Gipsies. Owing to the wandering habits of the Gipsies, discouragements, and his own death, the work, so far as any organisation was concerned, came to an end. No Elisha came forward to catch his mantle, the consequence was the Gipsies were left again to work out their own destruction according to their own inclinations and tastes, as they deemed best, plainly showing that voluntary efforts are very little better than a shadow, vanishing smoke, and spent steam, to illuminate, elevate, warm, cheer, and encourage the wandering, dark-eyed vagabonds roving about in our midst into paths of usefulness, honesty, and sobriety.

Thus far in this part I have feebly endeavoured to show that rigid, stern, inflexible law and justice on the one hand, and meek, quiet, mild, human love and mercy on the other hand, have separately failed in the object the promoters had in view. Justice tried to exterminate the Gipsy; mercy tried to win them over. Of the two processes I would much prefer that of mercy. It is more pleasant to human nature to be under its influence, and more in the character of an Englishman to deal out mercy. The next efforts put forth to reform these renegades was by means of fiction, romance, and poetry. Some writers, in their praiseworthy endeavours to make up a medicine to improve the condition of the Gipsies, have neutralised its effects by adding too much honey and spice to it.

Others, who have mistaken the emaciated condition of the Gipsy, have been dosing him with cordials entirely, to such a degree, that he-Romany _chal_-imagines he is right in everything he says and does, and he ought to have perfect liberty to go anywhere or do anything. Some have attempted to paint him white, and in doing so have worked up the blackness from underneath, and presented to us a character which excites a feeling in our notions-a kind of go-between, akin to sympathy and disgust. Not a few have thrown round the Gipsy an enchanting, bewitching halo, which an inspection has proved nothing less than a delusion and a snare. Others have tried to improve this field of thistles and sour docks by throwing a handful of daisy seeds among them. It requires something more than a phantom life-boat to rescue the Gipsy and bring him to land. Scents and perfumes in a death-bed chamber only last for a short time. A bottle of rose-water thrown into a room where decomposition is at work upon a body will not restore life. Scattering flowers upon a cesspool of iniquity will not purify it. A fict.i.tious rope composed of beautiful ideas is not the thing to save drowning Gipsy children. To put artificially-coloured feathers upon the head of a Gipsy child dressed in rags and shreds, with his body literally teeming with vermin and filth, will not make him presentable at court or a fit subject for a drawing-room. To dress the Satanic, demon-looking face of a Gipsy with the violet-powder of imagery only temporally hides from view the repulsive aspect of his features. The first storm of persecution brings him out again in his true colour. The forked light of imagination thrown across the heavens on a dark night is not the best to reveal the character of a Gipsy and set him upon the highways for usefulness and heaven. The dramatist has strutted the Gipsy across the stage in various characters in his endeavour to improve his condition. After the fine colours have been doffed, music finished, applause ceased, curtain dropped, and scene ended, he has been a black, swarthy, idle, thieving, lying, blackguard of a Gipsy still. Applause, fine colours, and dazzling lights have not altered his nature. Bad he is, and bad he will remain, unless we follow out the advice of the good old book, "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it."

Would to G.o.d the voice of the little Gipsy girl would begin to ring in our ears, when she spoke with finger pointed and tears in her eyes:-

"There is a cabin half-way down the cliff, You see it from this arch-stone; there we live, And there you'll find my mother. Poverty Weeps on the woven rushes, and long gra.s.s Rent from the hollows is our only bed.

I have no father here; he ran away; Perhaps he's dead, perhaps he's living yet, And may come back again and kiss his child; For every day, and morn, and even star, I pray for him with face upturned to heaven, 'O blessed Saviour, send my father home!'"

The word "Gipsy" seems to have a magic thread running through it, beginning at the tip end of "G" and ending with the tail end of "y."

Geese have tried to gobble it, ducks swallow it, hens scratched after it, peac.o.c.ks pecked it, dandy c.o.c.ks crowed over it, foxes have hid it, dogs have fought for it, cats have sworn and spit over it, pigs have tried to gulp it as the daintiest morsel, parrots have chatted about it, hawks, eagles, jackdaws, magpies, ravens, and crows have tried to carry it away as a precious jewel, and in the end all have put it down as a thing they could neither carry nor swallow; and after all, when it has been stripped of its dowdy colours, what has it been? Only a "scamp," in many cases, reared and fostered among thieves, pickpockets, and blackguards, in our back slums and sink gutters. Strip the 20,000 men, women, and children of the word "Gipsy," moving about our country under the artificial and unreal a.s.sociation connected with Gipsy life, so-called, of the "red cloaks," "silver b.u.t.tons," "pretty little feet," "small hands,"

"bewitching eyes," "long black hair," in nine cases out of ten in name only, and you, at a glance, see the cla.s.s of people you have been neglecting, consequently sending to ruin and misery through fear on the one hand and lavishing smiles on the other.

In all ages there have been people silly enough to be led away by sights, sounds, colours, and unrealities, to follow a course of life for which they are not suited, either by education, position, or tastes. No one acts the part of a b.u.t.terfly among school-boys better than the black-eyed Gipsy girl has done among "fast-goers," swells, and fops. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred she has trotted them out to perfection and then left them in the lurch, and those, when they have come to their senses, and had their eyes opened to the stern facts of a Gipsy's life, have said to themselves, "What fools we have been, to be sure," and they would have given any amount to have undone the past. The praise, flattery, and looks bestowed upon the "bewitching deceivers," when they have been labouring under the sense of infatuation and fascination instead of reason, has made them in the presence of friends hang down their heads like a willow, and to escape, if possible, the company of their "old chums" by all sorts of manuvres. Hubert Petalengro-a gentleman, and a rich member of a long family-conceived the idea, after falling madly in love with a dark-eyed beauty, so-called, of turning Gipsy and tasting for himself-not in fiction and romance-the charms of tent life, as he thought, in reality pa.s.sing through the "first," "second," and "third degrees." At first, it was ideal and fascinating enough in all conscience; it was a pity Brother Petalengro did not have a foretaste of it by spending a month in a Gipsy's tent in the depth of winter, with no balance at his banker's, and compelled to wear Gipsy clothing, and make pegs and skewers for his Sunday broth; gather sticks for the fire, and sleep on damp straw in the midst of slush and snow, and peeping through the ragged tent roof at the moon as he lay on his back, surrounded by Gipsies of both s.e.xes, of all ages and sizes, cursing each other under the maddening influence of brandy and disappointment. To make himself and his damsel comfortable on a Gipsy tour he fills his pocket with gold, flask with brandy, buys a quant.i.ty of rugs upon which are a number of foxes' heads-and I suppose tails too-waterproof covering for the tent, and waterproof sheets and a number of blankets to lay on the damp gra.s.s to prevent their tender bodies being overtaken with rheumatics, and he also lays in a stock of potted meats and other dainties; makes all "square" with Esmeralda and her two brothers and the donkeys; takes first and second-cla.s.s tickets for the whole of them to Hull-the Balaams excepted (it is not on record that they spoke to him on his journey); provides Esmeralda with dresses and petticoats-not too long to hide her pretty ankles, red stockings, and her lovely little foot-gold and diamond rings, violin, tambourine, the guitar, Wellington boots, and starts upon his trip to Norway in the midst of summer beauty. Many times he must have said to himself, "Oh! how delightful." "As we journeyed onward, how fragrant the wild flowers-those wild flowers can never be forgotten.

Gipsies like flowers, it is part of their nature. Esmeralda would pluck them, and forming a charming bouquet, interspersed with beautiful wild roses, her first thoughts are to pin them in the b.u.t.ton-hole of the Romany Rye (Gipsy gentleman). As we journeyed quietly through the forest, how delightful its scenes. Free from all care, we enjoy the antic.i.p.ation of a long and pleasant ramble in Norway's happy land. We felt contented with all things, and thankful that we should be so permitted to roam with our tents and wild children of nature in keeping the solitudes we sought. The rain had soon ceased, tinkle, tinkle went the hawk-bells on the collar of our Bura Rawnee as she led the way along the romantic Norwegian road.

[Picture: A Respectable Gipsy and his Family "on the Road"]

"'Give the snakes and toads a twist, And banish them for ever,'

sang Zachariah, ever and anon giving similar wild s.n.a.t.c.hes. Then Esmeralda would rocker about being the wife of the Romany Rye (Gipsy gentleman) and as she proudly paced along in her heavy boots, she pictured in imagery the pleasant life she should lead as her Romany Rye's joovel, monshi, or somi. She was full of fun, yet there was nothing in her fanciful delineations which could offend us. They were but the foam of a crested wave, soon dissipated in the air. They were the evanescent creations of a lively, open-hearted girl-wild notes trilled by the bird of the forest. We came again into the open valley. Down a meadow gushed a small streamlet which splashed from a wooden spout on to the roadside."

"The spot where we pitched our tents was near a sort of small natural terrace, at the summit of a steep slope above the road, backed by a mossy bank, shaded by brushwood and skirting the dense foliage of the dark forest of pine and fir, above our camp." "We gave two of the peasants some brandy and tobacco." "Then all our visitors left, except four interesting young peasant girls, who still lingered." "They had all pleasant voices." "We listened to them with much pleasure; there was so much sweetness and feeling in their melody. Zachariah made up for his brother's timidity. Full of fun, what dreadful faces the young Gipsy would pull, they were absolutely frightful; then he would twist and turn his body into all sorts of serpentine contortions. If spoken to he would suddenly, with a hop, skip, and a jump alight in his tent as if he had tumbled from the sky, and, sitting bolt upright, make a hideous face till his mouth nearly stretched from ear to ear, while his dark eyes sparkled with wild excitement, he would sing-

"'Dawdy! Dawdy! dit a kei Rockerony, fake your bosh!'

"At one time a woman brought an exceedingly fat child for us to look at, and she wanted Esmeralda to suckle it, which was, of course, hastily declined. We began to ask ourselves if this was forest seclusion. Still our visitors were kind, good-humoured people, and some drank our brandy, and some smoked our English tobacco. After our tea, at five o'clock, we had a pleasant stroll. Once more we were with Nature. There we lingered till the scenes round us, in their vivid beauty, seemed graven deep in our thought. How graphic are the lines of Moore:-

"'The turf shall be my fragrant shrine, My temple, Lord, that arch of Thine, My censor's breath the mountain airs, And silent thoughts my only prayers.

"'My choir shall be the moonlight waves, When murm'ring homeward to their caves, Or when the stillness of the sea Even more of music breathes of Thee!'

How appropriate were the words of the great poet to our feelings. We went and sat down." "As we were seated by our camp fire, a tall, old man, looking round our tents, came and stood contemplating us at our tea.

He looked as if he thought we were enjoying a life of happiness. Nor was he wrong. He viewed us with a pleased and kindly expression, as he seemed half lost in contemplation. We sent for the flask of brandy.

Returning to our tents we put on our Napoleon boots and made some additions to our toilette." Of course, kind Mr. Petalengro would a.s.sist lovely Esmeralda with hers. "Whilst we were engaged some women came to our tents. The curiosity of the s.e.x was exemplified, for they were dying to look behind the tent part.i.tion which screened us from observation. We did not know what they expected to see; one, bolder than the rest, could not resist the desire to look behind the scenes, and hastily drew back and dropped the curtain, when we said rather sharply, 'Nei! nei!'

Esmeralda shortly afterwards appeared in her blue dress and silver b.u.t.tons. Then we all seated ourselves on a mossy bank, on the side of the terrace, with a charming view across the valley of the Logan. At eight o'clock the music commenced. The sun shone beautifully, and the mosquitoes and midges bit right and left with hungry determination. We sat in a line on the soft mossy turf of the gra.s.sy slope, sheltered by foliage. Esmeralda and Noah with their tambourines, myself with the castanets, and Zachariah with his violin. Some peasant women and girls came up after we had played a short time. It was a curious scene. Our tents were pleasantly situated on an open patch of green sward, surrounded by border thickets, near the sunny bank and the small flat terrace. The rising hills and rugged ravines on the other side of the valley all gave a singular and romantic beauty to the lovely view.

Although our Gipsies played with much spirit until nine o'clock, none of the peasants would dance. At nine o'clock our music ceased, and we all retired to our tents with the intention of going to bed. When we were going into our tents, a peasant and several others with him, who had just arrived, asked us to play again. At length, observing several peasant girls were much disappointed, we decided to play once more. It was past nine o'clock when we again took up our position on the mossy bank; so we danced, and the peasant girls, until nearly ten o'clock. Once we nearly whirled ourself and Esmeralda over the slope into the road below.

Esmeralda's dark eyes flashed fire and sparkled with merriment and witchery."

"The bacon and fish at dinner were excellent; we hardly knew which was best. A peasant boy brought us a bundle of sticks for our fire. The sun became exceedingly hot. Esmeralda and myself went and sat in some shade near our tents." "Noah stood in the shade blacking his boots, and observed to Esmeralda, 'I shall not help my wife as Mr. Petalengro does you.' 'Well,' said Esmeralda, 'what is a wife for?' 'For!' retorted Noah, sharply, giving his boot an extra brush, 'why, to wait upon her husband.' 'And what,' said Esmeralda, 'is a husband for?' 'What's a husband for!' exclaimed Noah, with a look of profound pity for his sister's ignorance, 'why, to eat and drink, and look on.'" Mr.

Petalengro goes on to say: "It would seem to us that the more rude energy a man has in his composition the more a woman will be made to take her position as helpmate. It is always a mark of great civilisation and the effeminacy of a people when women obtain the undue mastery of men." And he farther goes on to say: "We were just having a romp with Esmeralda and her two brothers as we were packing up our things, and a merry laugh, when some men appeared at the fence near our camping-ground. We little think," says Mr. Petalengro, "how much we can do in this world to lighten a lonely wayfarer's heart."

[Picture: A Bachelor Gipsy's Bedroom]

Esmeralda and Mr. Petalengro tell each other their fortunes. "Esmeralda and myself were sitting in our tents. Then the thought occurred to her that we should tell her fortune. 'Your fortune must be a good one,' said we, laughing; 'let me see your hand and your lines of life.' We shall never forget Esmeralda. She looked so earnestly as we regarded attentively the line of her open hand." (Mr. Petalengro does not say that tears were to be seen trickling down those lovely cheeks of Esmeralda while this fortune-telling, nonsensical farce was being played out.) "Then we took her step by step through some scenes of her supposed future. We did not tell all. The rest was reserved for another day.

There was a serious look on her countenance as we ended; but, reader, such secrets should not be revealed. Esmeralda commenced to tell our fortunes. We were interested to know what she would say. We cast ourselves on the waves of fate. The Gipsy raised her dark eyes from our hand as she looked earnestly in the face. You are a young gentleman of good connections. Many lands you have seen. But, young man, something tells me you are of a wavering disposition.'" And then charming Esmeralda would strike up "The Little Gipsy"-

"My father's the King of the Gipsies, that's true, My mother she learned me some camping to do; With a packel on my back, and they all wish me well, I started up to London some fortunes for to tell.

"As I was a walking up fair London streets, Two handsome young squires I chanced for to meet, They viewed my brown cheeks, and they liked them so well, They said 'My little Gipsy girl, can you my fortune tell?'

"'Oh yes! kind Sir, give me hold of your hand, For you have got honours, both riches and land; Of all the pretty maidens you must lay aside, For it is the little Gipsy girl that is to be your bride.'

"He led me o'er the Mils, through valleys deep I'm sure, Where I'd servants for to wait on me, and open me the door; A rich bed of down to lay my head upon- In less than nine months after I could his fortune tell.

"Once I was a Gipsy girl, but now a squire's bride, I've servants for to wait on me, and in my carriage ride.

The bells shall ring so merrily, sweet music they shall play, And will crown the glad tidings of that lucky, lucky day."

The drawback to this evening's whirligig farce was that the mosquitoes determined to come in for a share. These little, nipping, biting creatures preferred settling upon young blood, full of life and activity, existing under artificial circ.u.mstances, to the carcase of a dead horse lying in the knacker's yard. To prevent these little stingers drawing the sap of life from the sweet bodies of these pretty, innocent, lovable creatures, the Gipsies acted a very cruel part in dressing their faces over with a brown liquid, called the "tincture of cedar." It is not stated whether the "tincture of cedar "was made in Shropshire or Lebanon, nor whether it was extracted from roses, or a decoction of thistles.

Alas, alas! how fickle human life is! How often we say and do things in jest and fun which turn out to be stern realities in another form.

"As we looked upon the church and parsonage, surrounded as they were by the modern park, with the broad silver lake near, the rising mountains on all sides, and the clear blue sky above, our senses seemed entranced with the pa.s.sing beauty of the scene. It was one of those glimpses of perfect nature which casts the anchor deep in memory, and leaves a lasting impression of bygone days." And then Esmeralda danced as she sang the words of her song; the words not in English are her own, for I cannot find them even in the slang Romany, and what she meant by her bosh is only known to herself.

"Shula gang shaugh gig a magala, I'll set me down on yonder hill; And there I'll cry my fill, And every tear shall turn a mill.

Shula gang shaugh gig a magala To my Uskadina slawn slawn.

"Shula gang shaugh gig a magala, I'll buy me a petticoat and dye it red, And round this world I'll beg my bread; The lad I love is far away.

Shula gang shaugh gig a magala To my Uskadina slawn slawn.

"Shul shul gang along with me, Gang along me, I'll gang along with you, I'll buy you a petticoat and dye it in the blue, Sweet William shall kiss you in the rue.

Shula gang shaugh gig a magala To my Uskadina slawn slawn."

"We were supremely happy," says Mr. Petalengro, "in our wandering existence. We contrasted in our semi-consciousness of mind our absence from a thousand anxious cares which crowd upon the social position of those who take part in an overwrought state of extreme civilisation. How long we should have continued our half-dormant reflections which might have added a few more notes upon the philosophy of life, we knew not, but we were roused by the rumble of a stolk-jaerre along the road."

"For the dance no music can be better than that of a Gipsy band; there is life and animation in it which carries you away. If you have danced to it yourself, especially in a _czardas,_ {176} then to hear the stirring tones without involuntarily springing up is, I a.s.sert, an absolute impossibility." Poor, deluded mortals, I am afraid they will find-

"Nothing but leaves!

Sad memory weaves No veil to hide the past; And as we trace our weary way, Counting each lost and misspent day, Sadly we find at last, Nothing but leaves!"

The converse of all this artificial and misleading Gipsy life is to be seen in hard fate and fact at our own doors-"Look on this picture and then on that."

"There is a land, a sunny land, Whose skies are ever bright; Where evening shadows never fall: The Saviour is its light."

"There's a land that is fairer than day, And by faith we can see it afar; For the Father waits over the way To prepare us a dwelling-place there In the sweet by-and-bye."

George Borrow, during his labours among the Gipsies of Spain forty years ago, did not find much occasion for rollicking fun, merriment, and boisterous laughter; his path was not one of roses, over mossy banks, among the honeysuckles and daisies, by the side of running rivulets warbling over the smooth pebbles; sitting among the primroses, listening to the enchanting voices of the thousand forest and valley songsters; gazing at the various and beautiful kinds of foliage on the hill-sides as the thrilling strains of music pealed forth from the sweet voice of Esmeralda and her tambourine. No, no, no! George Borrow had to face the hard lot of all those who start on the path of usefulness, honour, and heaven. Hard fare, disappointment, opposition, few friends, life in danger, his path was rough and covered with stones; his flowers were thistles, his songs attended with tears, and sorrow filled his heart.