The English Gipsies and Their Language Part 15

"But in the morning when the man came to take away the dog (for I had lost that too), I felt worse than when I lost all the other things. And my poor wife cried again, for she had no child. I had in those days as fine clothes as any young Gipsy in England--good coats, and shirts, and handkerchiefs.

"And that man hurt many a man after me, but he never had any luck. He'd steal from his own father; but he died miserably in East Kent."

It was characteristic of the venerable wanderer who had installed himself as my permanent professor of Rommany, that although almost every phrase which he employed to ill.u.s.trate words expressed some act at variance with law or the rights of property, he was never weary of descanting on the spotlessness, beauty, and integrity of his own life and character. These little essays on his moral perfection were expressed with a touching artlessness and child-like simplicity which would carry conviction to any one whose heart had not been utterly hardened, or whose eye-teeth had not been remarkably well cut, by contact with the world. In his delightful _naivete_ and simple earnestness, in his ready confidence in strangers and freedom from all suspicion--in fact, in his whole deportment, this Rommany elder reminded me continually of one--and of one man only--whom I had known of old in America. Need I say that I refer to the excellent --- ---?

It happened for many days that the professor, being a man of early habits, arrived at our rendezvous an hour in advance of the time appointed. As he resolutely resisted all invitation to occupy the room alone until my arrival, declaring that he had never been guilty of such a breach of etiquette, and as he was, moreover, according to his word, the most courteous man of the world in it, and I did not wish to "contrary"

him, he was obliged to pa.s.s the time in the street, which he did by planting himself on the front steps or expanding himself on the railings of an elderly and lonely dame, who could not endure that even a mechanic should linger at her door, and was in agony until the milkman and baker had removed their feet from her steps. Now, the appearance of the professor (who always affected the old Gipsy style), in striped corduroy coat, leather breeches and gaiters, red waistcoat, yellow neck-handkerchief, and a frightfully-dilapidated old white hat, was not, it must be admitted, entirely adapted to the exterior of a highly respectable mansion. "And he had such a vile way of looking, as if he were a-waitin' for some friend to come out o' the 'ouse." It is almost needless to say that this apparition attracted the police from afar off and all about, or that they gathered around him like buzzards near a departed lamb. I was told by a highly intelligent gentleman who witnessed the interviews, that the professor's kindly reception of these public characters--the infantile smile with which he courted their acquaintance, and the good old grandfatherly air with which he listened to their little tales--was indescribably delightful. "In a quarter of an hour any one of them would have lent him a shilling;" and it was soon apparent that the entire force found a charm in his society. The lone lady herself made a sortie against him once; but one glance at the amiable smile, "which was child-like and bland," disarmed her, and it was reported that she subsequently sent him out half-a-pint of beer.

It is needless to point out to the reader accustomed to good society that the professor's declining to sit in a room where valuable and small objects abounded, in the absence of the owner, was dictated by the most delicate feeling. Not less remarkable than his strict politeness was the mysterious charm which this antique nomad unquestionably exercised on the entire female s.e.x. Ladies of the highest respectability and culture, old or young, who had once seen him, invariably referred to him as "that charming old Gipsy."

Nor was his sorcery less potent on those of low degree. Never shall I forget one morning when the two prettiest young Italian model-girls in all London were poseeing to an artist friend while the professor sat and imparted to me the lore of the Rommany. The girls behaved like moral statues till he appeared, and like quicksilver imps and devilettes for the rest of the sitting. Something of the wild and weird in the mountain Italian life of these ex-contadine seemed to wake like unholy fire, and answer sympathetically to the Gipsy wizard-spell. Over mountain and sea, and through dark forests with legends of _streghe_ and Zingari, these semi-outlaws of society, the Neapolitan and Rommany, recognised each other intuitively. The handsomest young gentleman in England could not have interested these handsome young sinners as the dark-brown, grey-haired old vagabond did. Their eyes stole to him. Heaven knows what they talked, for the girls knew no English, but they whispered; they could not write little notes, so they kept pa.s.sing different objects, to which Gipsy and Italian promptly attached a meaning. Scolding them helped not. It was "a pensive sight."

To impress me with a due sense of his honesty and high character, the professor informed me one day that he was personally acquainted, as he verily believed, with every policeman in England. "You see, rya," he remarked, "any man as is so well known couldn't never do nothing wrong now,--could he?"

Innocent, unconscious, guileless air--and smile! I shall never see its equal. I replied--

"Yes; I think I can see you, Puro, walking down between two lines of hundreds of policemen--every one pointing after you and saying, 'There goes that good honest --- the honestest man in England!'"

"Avo, rya," he cried, eagerly turning to me, as if delighted and astonished that I had found out the truth. "That's just what they all pens of me, an' just what I seen 'em a-doin' every time."

"You know all the police," I remarked. "Do you know any turnkeys?"

He reflected an instant, and then replied, artlessly--

"I don't jin many o' them. But I can jist tell you a story. Once at Wimbledown, when the _kooroo-mengroes_ were _odoi_ (when the troopers were there), I used to get a pound a week carryin' things. One day, when I had well on to two stun on my _dumo_ (back), the chief of police sees me an' says, 'There's that old scoundrel again! that villain gives the police more trouble than any other man in the country!' 'Thank you, sir,' says I, wery respectable to him. 'I'm glad to see you're earnin' a 'onest livin' for once,' says he. 'How much do you get for carryin' that there bundle?' 'A sixpence, rya!' says I. 'It's twice as much as you ought to have,' says he; 'an' I'd be glad to carry it myself for the money.' 'All right, sir,' says I, touchin' my hat and goin' off, for he was a wery nice gentleman. Rya," he exclaimed, with an air of placid triumph, "do you think the head-police his selfus would a spoke in them wery words to me if he hadn't a thought I was a good man?"

"Well, let's get to work, old Honesty. What is the Rommanis for to hide?"

"To _gaverit_ is to hide anything, rya. _Gaverit_." And to ill.u.s.trate its application he continued--

"They penned mandy to gaver the gry, but I nashered to keravit, an' the mush who lelled the gry welled alangus an' d.i.c.ked it."

("They told me to hide the horse, but I forgot to do it, and the man who _owned_ the horse came by and saw it.")

It is only a few hours since I heard of a gentleman who took incredible pains to induce the Gipsies to teach him their language, but never succeeded. I must confess that I do not understand this. When I have met strange Gipsies, it has often greatly grieved me to find that they spoke their ancient tongue very imperfectly, and were ignorant of certain Rommany words which I myself, albeit a stranger, knew very well, and would fain teach them. But instead of accepting my instructions in a docile spirit of ignorant humility, I have invariably found that they were eagerly anxious to prove that they were not so ignorant as I a.s.sumed, and in vindication of their intelligence proceeded to pour forth dozens of words, of which I must admit many were really new to me, and which I did not fail to remember.

The scouting, slippery night-life of the Gipsy; his familiarity with deep ravine and lonely wood-path, moonlight and field-lairs; his use of a secret language, and his constant habit of concealing everything from everybody; his private superst.i.tions, and his inordinate love of humbugging and selling friend and foe, tend to produce in him that goblin, elfin, boyish-mischievous, out-of-the-age state of mind which is utterly indescribable to a prosaic modern-souled man, but which is delightfully piquant to others. Many a time among Gipsies I have felt, I confess with pleasure, all the subtlest spirit of fun combined with picture-memories of Hayraddin Maugrabin--witch-legends and the "Egyptians;" for in their ignorance they are still an unconscious race, and do not know what the world writes about them. They are not attractive from the outside to those who have no love for quaint scholarship, odd humours, and rare fancies. A lady who had been in a camp had nothing to say of them to me save that they were "dirty--dirty, and begged." But I ever think, when I see them, of Tieck's Elves, and of the Strange Valley, which was so grim and repulsive from without, but which, once entered, was the gay forecourt of goblin-land.

The very fact that they hide as much as they can of their Gipsy life and nature from the Gorgios would of itself indicate the depths of singularity concealed beneath their apparent life--and this reminds me of incidents in a Sunday which I once pa.s.sed beneath a Gipsy roof. I was, _en voyage_, at a little cathedral town, when learning that some Gipsies lived in a village eight miles distant, I hired a carriage and rode over to see them. I found my way to a neat cottage, and on entering it discovered that I was truly enough among the Rommany. By the fire sat a well-dressed young man; near him was a handsome, very dark young woman, and there presently entered a very old woman,--all gifted with the unmistakable and peculiar expression of real Gipsies.

The old woman overwhelmed me with compliments and greetings. She is a local celebrity, and is constantly visited by the most respectable ladies and gentlemen. This much I had learned from my coachman. But I kept a steady silence, and sat as serious as Odin when he visited the Vala, until the address ceased. Then I said in Rommany--

"Mother, you don't know me. I did not come here to listen to fortune- telling."

To which came the prompt reply, "I don't know what the gentleman is saying." I answered always in Rommany.

"You know well enough what I am saying. You needn't be afraid of me--I'm the nicest gentleman you ever saw in all your life, and I can talk Rommany as fast as ever you ran away from a policeman."

"What language is the gentleman talking?" cried the old dame, but laughing heartily as she spoke.

"Oh dye--miri dye, Don't tute jin a Rommany rye?

Can't tu rakker Rommany jib, Tachipen and kek fib?"

"Avo, my rye; I can understand you well enough, but I never saw a Gipsy gentleman before."

[Since I wrote that last line I went out for a walk, and on the other side of Walton Bridge, which legend says marks the spot where Julius Caesar crossed, I saw a tent and a waggon by the hedge, and knew by the curling blue smoke that a Gipsy was near. So I went over the bridge, and sure enough there on the ground lay a full-grown Petulamengro, while his brown _juva_ tended the pot. And when I spoke to her in Rommany she could only burst out into amazed laughter as each new sentence struck her ear, and exclaim, "Well! well! that ever I should live to hear this! Why, the gentleman talks just like one of _us_! '_Bien apropos_,' sayde ye ladye."]

"Dye," quoth I to the old Gipsy dame, "don't be afraid. I'm _tacho_. And shut that door if there are any Gorgios about, for I don't want them to hear our _rakkerben_. Let us take a drop of brandy--life is short, and here's my bottle. I'm not English--I'm a _waver temmeny mush_ (a foreigner). But I'm all right, and you can leave your spoons out.

Tacho."

"The boshno an' kani The rye an' the rani; Welled acai 'pre the boro lun pani.

Rinkeni juva hav acai!

Del a choomer to the rye!"

"_Duveleste_!" said the old fortune-teller, "that ever I should live to see a rye like you! A boro rye rakkerin' Rommanis! But you must have some tea now, my son--good tea."

"I don't pi muttermengri dye ('drink tea,' but an equivoque). It's muttermengri with you and with us of the German jib."

"Ha! ha! but you must have food. You won't go away like a Gorgio without tasting anything?"

"I'll eat bread with you, but tea I haven't tasted this five-and-twenty years."

"Bread you shall have, rya." And saying this, the daughter spread out a clean white napkin, and placed on it excellent bread and b.u.t.ter, with plate and knife. I never tasted better, even in Philadelphia. Everything in the cottage was scrupulously neat--there was even an approach to style. The furniture and ornaments were superior to those found in common peasant houses. There was a large and beautifully-bound photograph alb.u.m. I found that the family could read and write--the daughter received and read a note, and one of the sons knew who and what Mr Robert Browning was.

But behind it all, when the inner life came out, was the wild Rommany and the witch-_aura_--the fierce spirit of social exile from the world in which they lived (the true secret of all the witch-life of old), and the joyous consciousness of a secret tongue and hidden ways. To those who walk in the darkness of the dream, let them go as deep and as windingly as they will, and into the grimmest gloom of goblin-land, there will never be wanting flashes of light, though they be gleams diavoline, corpse-candlelights, elfin sparkles, and the unearthly blue lume of the eyes of silent night-hags wandering slow. In the forgotten grave of the sorcerer burns steadily through long centuries the Rosicrucian lamp, and even to him whose eyes are closed, sparkle, on pressure, phosph.o.r.escent rings. So there was Gipsy laughter; and the ancient _wicca_ and Vala flashed out into that sky-rocketty joyousness and Catherine-wheel gaiety, which at eighty or ninety, in a woman, vividly reminds one of the Sabbat on the Brocken, of the ointment, and all things terrible and unearthly and forbidden.

I do not suppose that there are many people who can feel or understand that among the fearfully dirty dwellers in tents and caravans, c.o.c.k-shysters and dealers in dogs of doubtful character, there can be anything strange, and quaint, and deeply tinged with the spirit of which I have spoken. As well might one attempt to persuade the twenty-stone half-illiterate and wholly old-fashioned rural magistrate of the last century that the poor devil of a hen-stealing Gipsy dragged before him knew that which would send thrills of joy through the most learned philologist in Europe, and cause the great band of scholars to sing for joy. Life, to most of us, is nothing without its humour; and to me a whilome German student ill.u.s.trating his military marauding by phrases from Fichte, or my friend Pauno the Rommany urging me with words to be found in the Mahabahrata and Hafiz to buy a terrier, is a charming experience.

I believe that my imagination has neither been led nor driven, when it has so invariably, in my conversing with Gipsy women, recalled Faust, and all I have ever read in Wierus, Bodinus, Bekker, Mather, or Glanvil, of the sorceress and _sortilega_. And certainly on this earth I never met with such a perfect _replica_ of Old Mother Baubo, the mother of all the witches, as I once encountered at a certain race. Swarthy, black-eyed, stout, half-centuried, fiercely cunning, and immoderately sensual, her first salutation was expressed in a phrase such as a Corinthian soul might be greeted with on entering that portion of the after-world devoted to the fastest of the fair. With her came a tall, lithe, younger sorceress; and verily the giant fat sow for her majesty, and the broom for the attendant, were all that was wanting.

To return to the cottage. Our mirth and fun grew fast and furious; the family were delighted with my anecdotes of the Rommany in other lands--German, Bohemian, and Spanish,--not to mention the _gili_. And we were just in the gayest centre of it all, "whin,--och, what a pity!--this fine tay-party was suddenly broken up," as Patrick O'Flanegan remarked when he was dancing with the chairs to the devil's fiddling, and his wife entered. For in rushed a Gipsy boy announcing that Gorgios (or, as I may say, "wite trash") were near at hand, and evidently bent on entering.

That this irruption of the enemy gave a taci-turn to our riotry and revelling will be believed. I tossed the brandy in the cup into the fire; it flashed up, and with it a quick memory of the spilt and blazing witch-brew in "Faust." I put the tourist-flask in my pocket, and in a trice had changed my seat and a.s.sumed the air of a chance intruder. In they came, two ladies--one decidedly pretty--and three gentlemen, all of the higher cla.s.s, as they indicated by their manner and language. They were almost immediately followed by a Gipsy, the son of my hostess, who had sent for him that he might see me.

He was a man of thirty, firmly set, and had a stern hard countenance, in which shone two glittering black eyes, which were serpent-like even among the Rommany. Nor have I ever seen among his people a face so expressive of self-control allied to wary suspicion. He was neatly dressed, but in a subdued Gipsy style, the princ.i.p.al indication being that of a pair of "cords," which, however, any gentleman might have worn--in the field. His English was excellent--in fact, that of an educated man; his sum total that of a very decided "character," and one who, if you wronged him, might be a dangerous one.

We entered into conversation, and the Rommany rollicking seemed all at once a vapoury thing of the dim past; it was the scene in a witch-revel suddenly shifted to a drawing-room in May Fair. We were all, and all at once, so polite and gentle, and so readily acquainted and cosmo-polite--quite beyond the average English standard; and not the least charming part of the whole performance was the skill with which the minor parts were filled up by the Gipsies, who with exquisite tact followed our lead, seeming to be at once hosts and guests. I have been at many a play, but never saw anything better acted.

But under it all burnt a lurid though hidden flame; and there was a delightful _diablerie_ of concealment kept up among the Rommany, which was the more exquisite because I shared in it. Reader, do you remember the scene in George Borrow's "Gipsies in Spain," in which the woman blesses the child in Spanish, and mutters curses on it meanwhile in Zincali? So it was that my dear old hostess blessed the sweet young lady, and "prodigalled" compliments on her; but there was one instant when her eye met mine, and a soft, quick-whispered, wicked Rommany phrase, unheard by the ladies, came to my ear, and in the glance and word there was a concentrated anathema.

The stern-eyed Gipsy conversed well, entertaining his guests with ease.

After he had spoken of the excellent behaviour and morals of his tribe--and I believe that they have a very high character in these respects--I put him a question.

"Can you tell me if there is really such a thing as a Gipsy language? one hears such differing accounts, you know."

With the amiable smile of one who pitied my credulity, but who was himself superior to all petty deception or vulgar mystery, he replied--

"That is another of the absurd tales which people have invented about Gipsies. As if we could have kept such a thing a secret!"