The Zincali Part 18

O when I sit my courser bold, My bantling in my rear, And in my hand my musket hold, O how they quake with fear.

Pray, little baby, pray the Lord, Since guiltless still thou art, That peace and comfort he afford To this poor troubled heart.

The false Juanito, day and night, Had best with caution go, The Gypsy carles of Yeira height Have sworn to lay him low.

There runs a swine down yonder hill, As fast as e'er he can, And as he runs he crieth still, Come, steal me, Gypsy man.

I wash'd not in the limpid flood The s.h.i.+rt which binds my frame; But in Juanito Ralli's blood I bravely wash'd the same.

I sallied forth upon my grey, With him my hated foe, And when we reach'd the narrow way I dealt a dagger blow.

To blessed Jesus' holy feet I'd rush to kill and slay My plighted la.s.s so fair and sweet, Should she the wanton play.

I for a cup of water cried, But they refus'd my prayer, Then straight into the road I hied, And fell to robbing there.

I ask'd for fire to warm my frame, But they'd have scorn'd my prayer, If I, to pay them for the same, Had stripp'd my body bare.

Then came adown the village street, With little babes that cry, Because they have no crust to eat, A Gypsy company; And as no charity they meet, They curse the Lord on high.

I left my house and walk'd about, They seized me fast and bound; It is a Gypsy thief, they shout, The Spaniards here have found.

From out the prison me they led, Before the scribe they brought; It is no Gypsy thief, he said, The Spaniards here have caught.

Throughout the night, the dusky night, I prowl in silence round, And with my eyes look left and right, For him, the Spanish hound, That with my knife I him may smite, And to the vitals wound.

Will no one to the sister bear News of her brother's plight, How in this cell of dark despair, To cruel death he's dight?

The Lord, as e'en the Gentiles state, By Egypt's race was bred, And when he came to man's estate, His blood the Gentiles shed.

O never with the Gentiles wend, Nor deem their speeches true; Or else, be certain in the end Thy blood will lose its hue.

From out the prison me they bore, Upon an a.s.s they placed, And scourg'd me till I dripp'd with gore, As down the road it paced.

They bore me from the prison nook, They bade me rove at large; When out I'd come a gun I took, And scathed them with its charge.

My mule so bonny I bestrode, To Portugal I'd flee, And as I o'er the water rode A man came suddenly; And he his love and kindness show'd By setting his dog on me.

Unless within a fortnight's s.p.a.ce Thy face, O maid, I see; Flamenca, of Egyptian race, My lady love shall be.

Flamenca, of Egyptian race, If thou wert only mine, Within a bonny crystal case For life I'd thee enshrine.

Sire nor mother me caress, For I have none on earth; One little brother I possess, And he's a fool by birth.

Thy sire and mother wrath and hate Have vow'd against me, love!

The first, first night that from the gate We two together rove.

Come to the window, sweet love, do, And I will whisper there, In Rommany, a word or two, And thee far off will bear.

A Gypsy stripling's sparkling eye Has pierced my bosom's core, A feat no eye beneath the sky Could e'er effect before.

Dost bid me from the land begone, And thou with child by me?

Each time I come, the little one, I'll greet in Rommany.

With such an ugly, loathly wife The Lord has punish'd me; I dare not take her for my life Where'er the Spaniards be.

O, I am not of gentle clan, I'm sprung from Gypsy tree; And I will be no gentleman, But an Egyptian free.

On high arose the moon so fair, The Gypsy 'gan to sing: I see a Spaniard coming there, I must be on the wing.

This house of harlotry doth smell, I flee as from the pest; Your mother likes my sire too well; To hie me home is best.

The girl I love more dear than life, Should other gallant woo, I'd straight unsheath my dudgeon knife And cut his weasand through; Or he, the conqueror in the strife, The same to me should do.

Loud sang the Spanish cavalier, And thus his ditty ran: G.o.d send the Gypsy la.s.sie here, And not the Gypsy man.

At midnight, when the moon began To show her silver flame, There came to him no Gypsy man, The Gypsy la.s.sie came.

CHAPTER II

THE Gitanos, abject and vile as they have ever been, have nevertheless found admirers in Spain, individuals who have taken pleasure in their phraseology, p.r.o.nunciation, and way of life; but above all, in the songs and dances of the females. This desire for cultivating their acquaintance is chiefly prevalent in Andalusia, where, indeed, they most abound; and more especially in the town of Seville, the capital of the province, where, in the barrio or Faubourg of Triana, a large Gitano colon has long flourished, with the denizens of which it is at all times easy to have intercourse, especially to those who are free of their money, and are willing to purchase such a gratification at the expense of dollars and pesetas.

When we consider the character of the Andalusians in general, we shall find little to surprise us in this predilection for the Gitanos. They are an indolent frivolous people, fond of dancing and song, and sensual amus.e.m.e.nts. They live under the most glorious sun and benign heaven in Europe, and their country is by nature rich and fertile, yet in no province of Spain is there more beggary and misery; the greater part of the land being uncultivated, and producing nothing but thorns and brushwood, affording in itself a striking emblem of the moral state of its inhabitants.

Though not dest.i.tute of talent, the Andalusians are not much addicted to intellectual pursuits, at least in the present day.

The person in most esteem among them is invariably the greatest MAJO, and to acquire that character it is necessary to appear in the dress of a Merry Andrew, to bully, swagger, and smoke continually, to dance pa.s.sably, and to strum the guitar. They are fond of obscenity and what they term PICARDIAS. Amongst them learning is at a terrible discount, Greek, Latin, or any of the languages generally termed learned, being considered in any light but accomplishments, but not so the possession of thieves' slang or the dialect of the Gitanos, the knowledge of a few words of which invariably creates a certain degree of respect, as indicating that the individual is somewhat versed in that kind of life or TRATO for which alone the Andalusians have any kind of regard.

In Andalusia the Gitano has been studied by those who, for various reasons, have mingled with the Gitanos. It is tolerably well understood by the chalans, or jockeys, who have picked up many words in the fairs and market-places which the former frequent. It has, however, been cultivated to a greater degree by other individuals, who have sought the society of the Gitanos from a zest for their habits, their dances, and their songs; and such individuals have belonged to all cla.s.ses, amongst them have been n.o.blemen and members of the priestly order.

Perhaps no people in Andalusia have been more addicted in general to the acquaintance of the Gitanos than the friars, and pre- eminently amongst these the half-jockey half-religious personages of the Cartujan convent at Xeres. This community, now suppressed, was, as is well known, in possession of a celebrated breed of horses, which fed in the pastures of the convent, and from which they derived no inconsiderable part of their revenue. These reverend gentlemen seem to have been much better versed in the points of a horse than in points of theology, and to have understood thieves' slang and Gitano far better than the language of the Vulgate. A chalan, who had some knowledge of the Gitano, related to me the following singular anecdote in connection with this subject.

He had occasion to go to the convent, having been long in treaty with the friars for a steed which he had been commissioned by a n.o.bleman to buy at any reasonable price. The friars, however, were exorbitant in their demands. On arriving at the gate, he sang to the friar who opened it a couplet which he had composed in the Gypsy tongue, in which he stated the highest price which he was authorised to give for the animal in question; whereupon the friar instantly answered in the same tongue in an extemporary couplet full of abuse of him and his employer, and forthwith slammed the door in the face of the disconcerted jockey.

An Augustine friar of Seville, called, we believe, Father Manso, who lived some twenty years ago, is still remembered for his pa.s.sion for the Gitanos; he seemed to be under the influence of fascination, and pa.s.sed every moment that he could steal from his clerical occupations in their company. His conduct at last became so notorious that he fell under the censure of the Inquisition, before which he was summoned; whereupon he alleged, in his defence, that his sole motive for following the Gitanos was zeal for their spiritual conversion. Whether this plea availed him we know not; but it is probable that the Holy Office dealt mildly with him; such offenders, indeed, have never had much to fear from it. Had he been accused of liberalism, or searching into the Scriptures, instead of connection with the Gitanos, we should, doubtless, have heard either of his execution or imprisonment for life in the cells of the cathedral of Seville.

Such as are thus addicted to the Gitanos and their language, are called, in Andalusia, Los del' Aficion, or those of the predilection. These people have, during the last fifty years, composed a spurious kind of Gypsy literature: we call it spurious because it did not originate with the Gitanos, who are, moreover, utterly unacquainted with it, and to whom it would be for the most part unintelligible. It is somewhat difficult to conceive the reason which induced these individuals to attempt such compositions; the only probable one seems to have been a desire to display to each other their skill in the language of their predilection. It is right, however, to observe, that most of these compositions, with respect to language, are highly absurd, the greatest liberties being taken with the words picked up amongst the Gitanos, of the true meaning of which the writers, in many instances, seem to have been entirely ignorant. From what we can learn, the composers of this literature flourished chiefly at the commencement of the present century: Father Manso is said to have been one of the last. Many of their compositions, which are both in poetry and prose, exist in ma.n.u.script in a compilation made by one Luis Lobo. It has never been our fortune to see this compilation, which, indeed, we scarcely regret, as a rather curious circ.u.mstance has afforded us a perfect knowledge of its contents.

Whilst at Seville, chance made us acquainted with a highly extraordinary individual, a tall, bony, meagre figure, in a tattered Andalusian hat, ragged capote, and still more ragged pantaloons, and seemingly between forty and fifty years of age.

The only appellation to which he answered was Manuel. His occupation, at the time we knew him, was selling tickets for the lottery, by which he obtained a miserable livelihood in Seville and the neighbouring villages. His appearance was altogether wild and uncouth, and there was an insane expression in his eye. Observing us one day in conversation with a Gitana, he addressed us, and we soon found that the sound of the Gitano language had struck a chord which vibrated through the depths of his soul. His history was remarkable; in his early youth a ma.n.u.script copy of the compilation of Luis Lobo had fallen into his hands. This book had so taken hold of his imagination, that he studied it night and day until he had planted it in his memory from beginning to end; but in so doing, his brain, like that of the hero of Cervantes, had become dry and heated, so that he was unfitted for any serious or useful occupation. After the death of his parents he wandered about the streets in great distress, until at last he fell into the hands of certain toreros, or bull-fighters, who kept him about them, in order that he might repeat to them the songs of the AFICION. They subsequently carried him to Madrid, where, however, they soon deserted him after he had experienced much brutality from their hands. He returned to Seville, and soon became the inmate of a madhouse, where he continued several years. Having partially recovered from his malady, he was liberated, and wandered about as before. During the cholera at Seville, when nearly twenty thousand human beings perished, he was appointed conductor of one of the death-carts, which went through the streets for the purpose of picking up the dead bodies. His perfect inoffensiveness eventually procured him friends, and he obtained the situation of vendor of lottery tickets. He frequently visited us, and would then recite long pa.s.sages from the work of Lobo. He was wont to say that he was the only one in Seville, at the present day, acquainted with the language of the Aficion; for though there were many pretenders, their knowledge was confined to a few words.

From the recitation of this individual, we wrote down the Brijindope, or Deluge, and the poem on the plague which broke out in Seville in the year 1800. These and some songs of less consequence, const.i.tute the poetical part of the compilation in question; the rest, which is in prose, consisting chiefly of translations from the Spanish, of proverbs and religious pieces.

BRIJINDOPE. - THE DELUGE (65) A POEM: IN TWO PARTS PART THE FIRST