CHAPTER XII

CARLOS TERCERO, or Charles the Third, ascended the throne of Spain in the

year 1759, and died in 1788. No Spanish monarch has left behind a more

favourable impression on the minds of the generality of his countrymen;

indeed, he is the only one who is remembered at all by all ranks and

conditions;—perhaps he took the surest means for preventing his name

being forgotten, by erecting a durable monument in every large town,—we

do not mean a pillar surmounted by a statue, or a colossal figure on

horseback, but some useful and stately public edifice. All the

magnificent modern buildings which attract the eye of the traveller in

Spain, sprang up during the reign of Carlos Tercero,—for example, the

museum at Madrid, the gigantic tobacco fabric at Seville,—half fortress,

half manufactory,—and the Farol, at Coruña. We suspect that these

erections, which speak to the eye, have gained him far greater credit

amongst Spaniards than the support which he afforded to liberal opinions,

which served to fan the flame of insurrection in the new world, and

eventually lost for Spain her transatlantic empire.

We have said that he left behind him a favourable impression amongst the

generality of his countrymen; by which we mean the great body found in

every nation, who neither think nor reason,—for there are amongst the

Spaniards not a few who deny that any of his actions entitle him to the

gratitude of the nation. ‘All his thoughts,’ say they, ‘were directed to

hunting—and hunting alone; and all the days of the year he employed

himself either in hunting or in preparation for the sport. In one

expedition, in the parks of the Pardo, he spent several millions of

reals. The noble edifices which adorn Spain, though built by his orders,

are less due to his reign than to the anterior one,—to the reign of

Ferdinand the Sixth, who left immense treasures, a small portion of which

Carlos Tercero devoted to these purposes, squandering away the remainder.

It is said that Carlos Tercero was no friend to superstition; yet how

little did Spain during his time gain in religious liberty! The great

part of the nation remained intolerant and theocratic as before, the

other and smaller section turned philosophic, but after the insane manner

of the French revolutionists, intolerant in its incredulity, and

believing more in the _Encyclopédie_ than in the Gospel of the Nazarene.’

{167}

We should not have said thus much of Carlos Tercero, whose character has

been extravagantly praised by the multitude, and severely criticised by

the discerning few who look deeper than the surface of things, if a law

passed during his reign did not connect him intimately with the history

of the Gitános, whose condition to a certain extent it has already

altered, and over whose future destinies there can be no doubt that it

will exert considerable influence. Whether Carlos Tercero had anything

farther to do with its enactment than subscribing it with his own hand,

is a point difficult to determine; the chances are that he had not; there

is damning evidence to prove that in many respects he was a mere Nimrod,

and it is not probable that such a character would occupy his thoughts

much with plans for the welfare of his people, especially such a class as

the Gitános, however willing to build public edifices, gratifying to his

vanity, with the money which a provident predecessor had amassed.

The law in question is dated 19th September 1783. It is entitled, ‘Rules

for repressing and chastising the vagrant mode of life, and other

excesses, of those who are called Gitános.’ It is in many respects

widely different from all the preceding laws, and on that account we have

separated it from them, deeming it worthy of particular notice. It is

evidently the production of a comparatively enlightened spirit, for Spain

had already begun to emerge from the dreary night of monachism and

bigotry, though the light which beamed upon her was not that of the

Gospel, but of modern philosophy. The spirit, however, of the writers of

the _Encyclopédie_ is to be preferred to that of _Torquemada and

Moncada_, and however deeply we may lament the many grievous omissions in

the law of Carlos Tercero (for no provision was made for the spiritual

instruction of the Gitános), we prefer it in all points to that of Philip

the Third, and to the law passed during the reign of that unhappy victim

of monkish fraud, perfidy, and poison, Charles the Second.

Whoever framed the law of Carlos Tercero with respect to the Gitános, had

sense enough to see that it would be impossible to reclaim and bring them

within the pale of civilised society by pursuing the course invariably

adopted on former occasions—to see that all the menacing edicts for the

last three hundred years, breathing a spirit of blood and persecution,

had been unable to eradicate Gitanismo from Spain; but on the contrary,

had rather served to extend it. Whoever framed this law was, moreover,

well acquainted with the manner of administering justice in Spain, and

saw the folly of making statutes which were never put into effect.

Instead, therefore, of relying on corregidors and alguazils for the

extinction of the Gypsy sect, the statute addresses itself more

particularly to the Gitános themselves, and endeavours to convince them

that it would be for their interest to renounce their much cherished

Gitanismo. Those who framed the former laws had invariably done their

best to brand this race with infamy, and had marked out for its members,

in the event of abandoning their Gypsy habits, a life to which death

itself must have been preferable in every respect. They were not to

speak to each other, nor to intermarry, though, as they were considered

of an impure caste, it was scarcely to be expected that the other

Spaniards would form with them relations of love or amity, and they were

debarred the exercise of any trade or occupation but hard labour, for

which neither by nature nor habit they were at all adapted. The law of

Carlos Tercero, on the contrary, flung open to them the whole career of

arts and sciences, and declared them capable of following any trade or

profession to which they might please to addict themselves. Here follow

extracts from the above-mentioned law:—

‘Art. 1. I declare that those who go by the name of Gitános are not so

by origin or nature, nor do they proceed from any infected root.

‘2. I therefore command that neither they, nor any one of them shall use

the language, dress, or vagrant kind of life which they have followed

unto the present time, under the penalties here below contained.

‘3. I forbid all my vassals, of whatever state, class, and condition

they may be, to call or name the above-mentioned people by the names of

Gitános, or new Castilians, under the same penalties to which those are

subject who injure others by word or writing.

‘5. It is my will that those who abandon the said mode of life, dress,

language, or jargon, be admitted to whatever offices or employments to

which they may apply themselves, and likewise to any guilds or

communities, without any obstacle or contradiction being offered to them,

or admitted under this pretext within or without courts of law.

‘6. Those who shall oppose and refuse the admission of this class of

reclaimed people to their trades and guilds shall be mulcted ten ducats

for the first time, twenty for the second, and a double quantity for the

third; and during the time they continue in their opposition they shall

be prohibited from exercising the same trade, for a certain period, to be

determined by the judge, and proportioned to the opposition which they

display.

‘7. I grant the term of ninety days, to be reckoned from the publication

of this law in the principal town of every district, in order that all

the vagabonds of this and any other class may retire to the towns and

villages where they may choose to locate themselves, with the exception,

for the present, of the capital and the royal residences, in order that,

abandoning the dress, language, and behaviour of those who are called

Gitános, they may devote themselves to some honest office, trade, or

occupation, it being a matter of indifference whether the same be

connected with labour or the arts.

‘8. It will not be sufficient for those who have been formerly known to

follow this manner of life to devote themselves solely to the occupation

of shearing and clipping animals, nor to the traffic of markets and

fairs, nor still less to the occupation of keepers of inns and ventas in

uninhabited places, although they may be innkeepers within towns, which

employment shall be considered as sufficient, provided always there be no

well-founded indications of their being delinquents themselves, or

harbourers of such people.

‘9. At the expiration of ninety days, the justices shall proceed against

the disobedient in the following manner:—Those who, having abandoned the

dress, name, language or jargon, association, and manners of Gitános, and

shall have moreover chosen and established a domicile, but shall not have

devoted themselves to any office or employment, though it be only that of

day-labourers, shall be considered as vagrants, and be apprehended and

punished according to the laws in force against such people without any

distinction being made between them and the other vassals.

‘10. Those who henceforth shall commit any crimes, having abandoned the

language, dress, and manners of Gitános, chosen a domicile, and applied

themselves to any office, shall be prosecuted and chastised like others

guilty of the same crimes, without any difference being made between

them.

‘11. But those who shall have abandoned the aforesaid dress, language

and behaviour, and those who, pretending to speak and dress like the

other vassals, and even to choose a domiciliary residence, shall continue

to go forth, wandering about the roads and uninhabited places, although

it be with the pretext of visiting markets and fairs, such people shall

be pursued and taken by the justices, and a list of them formed, with

their names and appellations, age, description, with the places where

they say they reside and were born.

‘16. I, however, except from punishment the children and young people

of both sexes who are not above sixteen years of age.

‘17. Such, although they may belong to a family, shall be separated from

their parents who wander about and have no employment, and shall be

destined to learn something, or shall be placed out in hospices or houses

of instruction.

‘20. When the register of the Gitános who have proved disobedient shall

have taken place, it shall be notified and made known to them, that in

case of another relapse, the punishment of death shall be executed upon

them without remission, on the examination of the register, and proof

being adduced that they have returned to their former life.’

What effect was produced by this law, and whether its results at all

corresponded to the views of those who enacted it, will be gathered from

the following chapters of this work, in which an attempt will be made to

delineate briefly the present condition of the Gypsies in Spain.

THE ZINCALI

PART II

CHAPTER I

ABOUT twelve in the afternoon of the 6th of January 1836, I crossed the

bridge of the Guadiana, a boundary river between Portugal and Spain, and

entered Badajoz, a strong town in the latter kingdom, containing about

eight thousand inhabitants, supposed to have been founded by the Romans.

I instantly returned thanks to God for having preserved me in a journey

of five days through the wilds of the Alemtejo, the province of Portugal

the most infested by robbers and desperate characters, which I had

traversed with no other human companion than a lad, almost an idiot, who

was to convey back the mules which had brought me from Aldea Gallega. I

intended to make but a short stay, and as a diligence would set out for

Madrid the day next but one to my arrival, I purposed departing therein

for the capital of Spain.

I was standing at the door of the inn where I had taken up my temporary

abode; the weather was gloomy, and rain seemed to be at hand; I was

thinking on the state of the country I had just entered, which was

involved in bloody anarchy and confusion, and where the ministers of a

religion falsely styled Catholic and Christian were blowing the trump of

war, instead of preaching the love-engendering words of the blessed

Gospel.

Suddenly two men, wrapped in long cloaks, came down the narrow and almost

deserted street; they were about to pass, and the face of the nearest was

turned full towards me; I knew to whom the countenance which he displayed

must belong, and I touched him on the arm. The man stopped, and likewise

his companion; I said a certain word, to which, after an exclamation of

surprise, he responded in the manner I expected. The men were Gitános or

Gypsies, members of that singular family or race which has diffused

itself over the face of the civilised globe, and which, in all lands, has

preserved more or less its original customs and its own peculiar

language.

We instantly commenced discoursing in the Spanish dialect of this

language, with which I was tolerably well acquainted. I asked my two

newly-made acquaintances whether there were many of their race in Badajoz

and the vicinity: they informed me that there were eight or ten families

in the town, and that there were others at Merida, a town about six

leagues distant. I inquired by what means they lived, and they replied

that they and their brethren principally gained a livelihood by

trafficking in mules and asses, but that all those in Badajoz were very

poor, with the exception of one man, who was exceedingly _balbalo_, or

rich, as he was in possession of many mules and other cattle. They

removed their cloaks for a moment, and I found that their under-garments

were rags.

They left me in haste, and went about the town informing the rest that a

stranger had arrived who spoke Rommany as well as themselves, who had the

face of a Gitáno, and seemed to be of the ‘erráte,’ or blood. In less

than half an hour the street before the inn was filled with the men,

women, and children of Egypt. I went out amongst them, and my heart sank

within me as I surveyed them: so much vileness, dirt, and misery I had

never seen amongst a similar number of human beings; but worst of all was

the evil expression of their countenances, which spoke plainly that they

were conversant with every species of crime, and it was not long before I

found that their countenances did not belie them. After they had asked

me an infinity of questions, and felt my hands, face, and clothes, they

retired to their own homes.

That same night the two men of whom I have already particularly spoken

came to see me. They sat down by the brasero in the middle of the

apartment, and began to smoke small paper cigars. We continued for a

considerable time in silence surveying each other. Of the two Gitános

one was an elderly man, tall and bony, with lean, skinny, and whimsical

features, though perfectly those of a Gypsy; he spoke little, and his

expressions were generally singular and grotesque. His companion, who

was the man whom I had first noticed in the street, differed from him in

many respects; he could be scarcely thirty, and his figure, which was

about the middle height, was of Herculean proportions; shaggy black hair,

like that of a wild beast, covered the greatest part of his immense head;

his face was frightfully seamed with the small-pox, and his eyes, which

glared like those of ferrets, peered from beneath bushy eyebrows; he wore

immense moustaches, and his wide mouth was garnished with teeth

exceedingly large and white. There was one peculiarity about him which

must not be forgotten: his right arm was withered, and hung down from his

shoulder a thin sapless stick, which contrasted strangely with the huge

brawn of the left. A figure so perfectly wild and uncouth I had scarcely

ever before seen. He had now flung aside his cloak, and sat before me

gaunt in his rags and nakedness. In spite of his appearance, however, he

seemed to be much the most sensible of the two; and the conversation

which ensued was carried on chiefly between him and myself. This man,

whom I shall call the first Gypsy, was the first to break silence; and he

thus addressed me, speaking in Spanish, broken with words of the Gypsy

tongue:—

_First Gypsy_.—‘Arromáli (in truth), I little thought when I saw the

erraño standing by the door of the posada that I was about to meet a

brother—one too who, though well dressed, was not ashamed to speak to a

poor Gitáno; but tell me, I beg you, brother, from whence you come; I

have heard that you have just arrived from Laloró, but I am sure you are

no Portuguese; the Portuguese are very different from you; I know it, for

I have been in Laloró; I rather take you to be one of the Corahai, for I

have heard say that there is much of our blood there. You are a

Corahano, are you not?’

_Myself_.—‘I am no Moor, though I have been in the country. I was born

in an island in the West Sea, called England, which I suppose you have

heard spoken of.’

_First Gypsy_.—‘Yes, yes, I have a right to know something of the

English. I was born in this foros, and remember the day when the English

hundunares clambered over the walls, and took the town from the Gabiné:

well do I remember that day, though I was but a child; the streets ran

red with blood and wine! Are there Gitános then amongst the English?’

_Myself_.—‘There are numbers, and so there are amongst most nations of

the world.’

_Second Gypsy_.—‘Vaya! And do the English Caloré gain their bread in the

same way as those of Spain? Do they shear and trim? Do they buy and

change beasts, and (lowering his voice) do they now and then chore a

gras?’ {181}

_Myself_.—‘They do most of these things: the men frequent fairs and

markets with horses, many of which they steal; and the women tell

fortunes and perform all kinds of tricks, by which they gain more money

than their husbands.’

_First Gypsy_.—‘They would not be callees if they did not: I have known a

Gitána gain twenty ounces of gold, by means of the hokkano baro, in a few

hours, whilst the silly Gypsy, her husband, would be toiling with his

shears for a fortnight, trimming the horses of the Busné, and yet not be

a dollar richer at the end of the time.’

_Myself_.—‘You seem wretchedly poor. Are you married?’

_First Gypsy_.—‘I am, and to the best-looking and cleverest callee in

Badajoz; nevertheless we have never thriven since the day of our

marriage, and a curse seems to rest upon us both. Perhaps I have only to

thank myself; I was once rich, and had never less than six borricos to

sell or exchange, but the day before my marriage I sold all I possessed,

in order to have a grand fiesta. For three days we were merry enough; I

entertained every one who chose to come in, and flung away my money by

handfuls, so that when the affair was over I had not a cuarto in the

world; and the very people who had feasted at my expense refused me a

dollar to begin again, so we were soon reduced to the greatest misery.

True it is, that I now and then shear a mule, and my wife tells the bahi

(fortune) to the servant-girls, but these things stand us in little

stead: the people are now very much on the alert, and my wife, with all

her knowledge, has been unable to perform any grand trick which would set

us up at once. She wished to come to see you, brother, this night, but

was ashamed, as she has no more clothes than myself. Last summer our

distress was so great that we crossed the frontier into Portugal: my wife

sung, and I played the guitar, for though I have but one arm, and that a

left one, I have never felt the want of the other. At Estremoz I was

cast into prison as a thief and vagabond, and there I might have remained

till I starved with hunger. My wife, however, soon got me out: she went

to the lady of the corregidor, to whom she told a most wonderful bahi,

promising treasures and titles, and I wot not what; so I was set at

liberty, and returned to Spain as quick as I could.’

_Myself_.—‘Is it not the custom of the Gypsies of Spain to relieve each

other in distress?—it is the rule in other countries.’

_First Gypsy_.—‘El krallis ha nicobado la liri de los Calés—(The king has

destroyed the law of the Gypsies); we are no longer the people we were

once, when we lived amongst the sierras and deserts, and kept aloof from

the Busné; we have lived amongst the Busné till we are become almost like

them, and we are no longer united, ready to assist each other at all

times and seasons, and very frequently the Gitáno is the worst enemy of

his brother.’

_Myself_.—‘The Gitános, then, no longer wander about, but have fixed

residences in the towns and villages?’

_First Gypsy_.—‘In the summer time a few of us assemble together, and

live about amongst the plains and hills, and by doing so we frequently

contrive to pick up a horse or a mule for nothing, and sometimes we knock

down a Busné, and strip him, but it is seldom we venture so far. We are

much looked after by the Busné, who hold us in great dread, and abhor us.

Sometimes, when wandering about, we are attacked by the labourers, and

then we defend ourselves as well as we can. There is no better weapon in

the hands of a Gitáno than his “cachas,” or shears, with which he trims

the mules. I once snipped off the nose of a Busné, and opened the

greater part of his cheek in an affray up the country near Trujillo.’

_Myself_.—‘Have you travelled much about Spain?’

_First Gypsy_.—‘Very little; I have never been out of this province of

Estremadura, except last year, as I told you, into Portugal. When we

wander we do not go far, and it is very rare that we are visited by our

brethren of other parts. I have never been in Andalusia, but I have

heard say that the Gitános are many in Andalusia, and are more wealthy

than those here, and that they follow better the Gypsy law.’

_Myself_.—‘What do you mean by the Gypsy law?’

_First Gypsy_.—‘Wherefore do you ask, brother? You know what is meant by

the law of the Calés better even than ourselves.’

_Myself_.—‘I know what it is in England and in Hungary, but I can only

give a guess as to what it is in Spain.’

_Both Gypsies_.—‘What do you consider it to be in Spain?’

_Myself_.—‘Cheating and choring the Busné on all occasions, and being

true to the erráte in life and in death.’

At these words both the Gitános sprang simultaneously from their seats,

and exclaimed with a boisterous shout—‘Chachipé.’

This meeting with the Gitános was the occasion of my remaining at Badajoz

a much longer time than I originally intended. I wished to become 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, and I accordingly continued at Badajoz for

nearly three weeks.

During this time I was almost constantly amongst them, and as I spoke

their language, and was considered by them as one of themselves, I had

better opportunity of arriving at a fair conclusion respecting their

character than any other person could have had, whether Spanish or

foreigner, without such an advantage. I found that their ways and

pursuits were in almost every respect similar to those of their brethren

in other countries. By cheating and swindling they gained their daily

bread; the men principally by the arts of the jockey,—by buying, selling,

and exchanging animals, at which they are wonderfully expert; and the

women by telling fortunes, selling goods smuggled from Portugal, and

dealing in love-draughts and diablerie. The most innocent occupation

which I observed amongst them was trimming and shearing horses and mules,

which in their language is called ‘monrabar,’ and in Spanish ‘esquilar’;

and even whilst exercising this art, they not unfrequently have recourse

to foul play, doing the animal some covert injury, in hope that the

proprietor will dispose of it to themselves at an inconsiderable price,

in which event they soon restore it to health; for knowing how to inflict

the harm, they know likewise how to remove it.

Religion they have none; they never attend mass, nor did I ever hear them

employ the names of God, Christ, and the Virgin, but in execration and

blasphemy. From what I could learn, it appeared that their fathers had

entertained some belief in metempsychosis; but they themselves laughed at

the idea, and were of opinion that the soul perished when the body ceased

to breathe; and the argument which they used was rational enough, so far

as it impugned metempsychosis: ‘We have been wicked and miserable enough

in this life,’ they said; ‘why should we live again?’

I translated certain portions of Scripture into their dialect, which I

frequently read to them; especially the parable of Lazarus and the

Prodigal Son, and told them that the latter had been as wicked as

themselves, and both had suffered as much or more; but that the

sufferings of the former, who always looked forward to a blessed

resurrection, were recompensed by admission, in the life to come, to the

society of Abraham and the Prophets, and that the latter, when he

repented of his sins, was forgiven, and received into as much favour as

the just son.

They listened with admiration; but, alas! not of the truths, the eternal

truths, I was telling them, but to find that their broken jargon could be

written and read. The only words denoting anything like assent to my

doctrine which I ever obtained, were the following from the mouth of a

woman: ‘Brother, 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 write Rommany.’

Two or three days after my arrival, I was again visited by the Gypsy of

the withered arm, who I found was generally termed Paco, which is the

diminutive of Francisco; he was accompanied by his wife, a rather

good-looking young woman with sharp intelligent features, and who

appeared in every respect to be what her husband had represented her on

the former visit. She was very poorly clad, and notwithstanding the

extreme sharpness of the weather, carried no mantle to protect herself

from its inclemency,—her raven black hair depended behind as far down as

her hips. Another Gypsy came with them, but not the old fellow whom I

had before seen. This was a man about forty-five, dressed in a zamarra

of sheep-skin, with a high-crowned Andalusian hat; his complexion was

dark as pepper, and his eyes were full of sullen fire. In his appearance

he exhibited a goodly compound of Gypsy and bandit.

_Paco_.—‘Laches chibeses te diñele Undebel (May God grant you good days,

brother). This is my wife, and this is my wife’s father.’

_Myself_.—‘I am glad to see them. What are their names?’

_Paco_.—‘Maria and Antonio; their other name is Lopez.’

_Myself_.—‘Have they no Gypsy names?’

_Paco_.—‘They have no other names than these.’

_Myself_.—‘Then in this respect the Gitános of Spain are unlike those of

my country. Every family there has two names; one by which they are

known to the Busné, and another which they use amongst themselves.’

_Antonio_.—‘Give me your hand, brother! I should have come to see you

before, but I have been to Olivenzas in search of a horse. What I have

heard of you has filled me with much desire to know you, and I now see

that you can tell me many things which I am ignorant of. I am Zíncalo by

the four sides—I love our blood, and I hate that of the Busné. Had I my

will I would wash my face every day in the blood of the Busné, for the

Busné are made only to be robbed and to be slaughtered; but I love the

Caloré, and I love to hear of things of the Caloré, especially from those

of foreign lands; for the Caloré of foreign lands know more than we of

Spain, and more resemble our fathers of old.’

_Myself_.—‘Have you ever met before with Caloré who were not Spaniards?’

_Antonio_.—‘I will tell you, brother. I served as a soldier in the war

of the independence against the French. War, it is true, is not the

proper occupation of a Gitáno, but those were strange times, and all

those who could bear arms were compelled to go forth to fight: so I went

with the English armies, and we chased the Gabiné unto the frontier of

France; and it happened once that we joined in desperate battle, and

there was a confusion, and the two parties became intermingled and fought

sword to sword and bayonet to bayonet, and a French soldier singled me

out, and we fought for a long time, cutting, goring, and cursing each

other, till at last we flung down our arms and grappled; long we

wrestled, body to body, but I found that I was the weaker, and I fell.

The French soldier’s knee was on my breast, and his grasp was on my

throat, and he seized his bayonet, and he raised it to thrust me through

the jaws; and his cap had fallen off, and I lifted up my eyes wildly to

his face, and our eyes met, and I gave a loud shriek, and cried Zíncalo,

Zíncalo! and I felt him shudder, and he relaxed his grasp and started up,

and he smote his forehead and wept, and then he came to me and knelt down

by my side, for I was almost dead, and he took my hand and called me

Brother and Zíncalo, and he produced his flask and poured wine into my

mouth, and I revived, and he raised me up, and led me from the concourse,

and we sat down on a knoll, and the two parties were fighting all around,

and he said, “Let the dogs fight, and tear each others’ throats till they

are all destroyed, what matters it to the Zíncali? they are not of our

blood, and shall that be shed for them?” So we sat for hours on the

knoll and discoursed on matters pertaining to our people; and I could

have listened for years, for he told me secrets which made my ears

tingle, and I soon found that I knew nothing, though I had before

considered myself quite Zíncalo; but as for him, he knew the whole

cuenta; the Bengui Lango {189} himself could have told him nothing but

what he knew. So we sat till the sun went down and the battle was over,

and he proposed that we should both flee to his own country and live

there with the Zíncali; but my heart failed me; so we embraced, and he

departed to the Gabiné, whilst I returned to our own battalions.’

_Myself_.—‘Do you know from what country he came?’

_Antonio_.—‘He told me that he was a Mayoro.’

_Myself_.—‘You mean a Magyar or Hungarian.’

_Antonio_.—‘Just so; and I have repented ever since that I did not follow

him.’

_Myself_.—‘Why so?’

_Antonio_.—‘I will tell you: the king has destroyed the law of the Calés,

and has put disunion amongst us. There was a time when the house of

every Zíncalo, however rich, was open to his brother, though he came to

him naked; and it was then the custom to boast of the “erráte.” It is no

longer so now: those who are rich keep aloof from the rest, will not

speak in Calo, and will have no dealings but with the Busné. Is there

not a false brother in this foros, the only rich man among us, the swine,

the balichow? he is married to a Busnee and he would fain appear as a

Busno! Tell me one thing, has he been to see you? The white blood, I

know he has not; he was afraid to see you, for he knew that by Gypsy law

he was bound to take you to his house and feast you, whilst you remained,

like a prince, like a crallis of the Calés, as I believe you are, even

though he sold the last gras from the stall. Who have come to see you,

brother? Have they not been such as Paco and his wife, wretches without

a house, or, at best, one filled with cold and poverty; so that you have

had to stay at a mesuna, at a posada of the Busné; and, moreover, what

have the Calés given you since you have been residing here? Nothing, I

trow, better than this rubbish, which is all I can offer you, this

Meligrána de los Bengues.’

Here he produced a pomegranate from the pocket of his zamarra, and flung

it on the table with such force that the fruit burst, and the red grains

were scattered on the floor.

The Gitános of Estremadura call themselves in general Chai or Chabos, and

say that their original country was Chal or Egypt. I frequently asked

them what reason they could assign for calling themselves Egyptians, and

whether they could remember the names of any places in their supposed

fatherland; but I soon found that, like their brethren in other parts of

the world, they were unable to give any rational account of themselves,

and preserved no recollection of the places where their forefathers had

wandered; their language, however, to a considerable extent, solved the

riddle, the bulk of which being Hindui, pointed out India as the

birthplace of their race, whilst the number of Persian, Sclavonian, and

modern Greek words with which it is checkered, spoke plainly as to the

countries through which these singular people had wandered before they

arrived in Spain.

They said that they believed themselves to be Egyptians, because their

fathers before them believed so, who must know much better than

themselves. They were fond of talking of Egypt and its former greatness,

though it was evident that they knew nothing farther of the country and

its history than what they derived from spurious biblical legends current

amongst the Spaniards; only from such materials could they have composed

the following account of the manner of their expulsion from their native

land.

‘There was a great king in Egypt, and his name was Pharaoh. He had

numerous armies, with which he made war on all countries, and conquered

them all. And when he had conquered the entire world, he became sad and

sorrowful; for as he delighted in war, he no longer knew on what to

employ himself. At last he bethought him on making war on God; so he

sent a defiance to God, daring him to descend from the sky with his

angels, and contend with Pharaoh and his armies; but God said, I will not

measure my strength with that of a man. But God was incensed against

Pharaoh, and resolved to punish him; and he opened a hole in the side of

an enormous mountain, and he raised a raging wind, and drove before it

Pharaoh and his armies to that hole, and the abyss received them, and the

mountain closed upon them; but whosoever goes to that mountain on the

night of St. John can hear Pharaoh and his armies singing and yelling

therein. And it came to pass, that when Pharaoh and his armies had

disappeared, all the kings and the nations which had become subject to

Egypt revolted against Egypt, which, having lost her king and her armies,

was left utterly without defence; and they made war against her, and

prevailed against her, and took her people and drove them forth,

dispersing them over all the world.’

So that now, say the Chai, ‘Our horses drink the water of the

Guadiana’—(Apilyela gras Chai la panee Lucalee).

‘THE STEEDS OF THE EGYPTIANS DRINK THE WATERS OF THE GUADIANA

‘The region of Chal was our dear native soil,

Where in fulness of pleasure we lived without toil;

Till dispersed through all lands, ’twas our fortune to be—

Our steeds, Guadiana, must now drink of thee.

‘Once kings came from far to kneel down at our gate,

And princes rejoic’d on our meanest to wait;

But now who so mean but would scorn our degree—

Our steeds, Guadiana, must now drink of thee.

‘For the Undebel saw, from his throne in the cloud,

That our deeds they were foolish, our hearts they were proud;

And in anger he bade us his presence to flee—

Our steeds, Guadiana, must now drink of thee.

‘Our horses should drink of no river but one;

It sparkles through Chal, ’neath the smile of the sun,

But they taste of all streams save that only, and see—

Apilyela gras Chai la panee Lucalee.’

CHAPTER II

IN Madrid the Gitános chiefly reside in the neighbourhood of the

‘mercado,’ or the place where horses and other animals are sold,—in two

narrow and dirty lanes, called the Calle de la Comadre and the Callejon

de Lavapies. It is said that at the beginning of last century Madrid

abounded with these people, who, by their lawless behaviour and dissolute

lives, gave occasion to great scandal; if such were the case, their

numbers must have considerably diminished since that period, as it would

be difficult at any time to collect fifty throughout Madrid. These

Gitános seem, for the most part, to be either Valencians or of Valencian

origin, as they in general either speak or understand the dialect of

Valencia; and whilst speaking their own peculiar jargon, the Rommany, are

in the habit of making use of many Valencian words and terms.

[Picture: Seville]

The manner of life of the Gitános of Madrid differs in no material

respect from that of their brethren in other places. The men, every

market-day, are to be seen on the skirts of the mercado, generally with

some miserable animal—for example, a foundered mule or galled borrico, by

means of which they seldom fail to gain a dollar or two, either by sale

or exchange. It must not, however, be supposed that they content

themselves with such paltry earnings. Provided they have any valuable

animal, which is not unfrequently the case, they invariably keep such at

home snug in the stall, conducting thither the chapman, should they find

any, and concluding the bargain with the greatest secrecy. Their general

reason for this conduct is an unwillingness to exhibit anything

calculated to excite the jealousy of the chalans, or jockeys of Spanish

blood, who on the slightest umbrage are in the habit of ejecting them

from the fair by force of palos or cudgels, in which violence the chalans

are to a certain extent countenanced by law; for though by the edict of

Carlos the Third the Gitános were in other respects placed upon an

equality with the rest of the Spaniards, they were still forbidden to

obtain their livelihood by the traffic of markets and fairs.

They have occasionally however another excellent reason for not exposing

the animal in the public mercado—having obtained him by dishonest means.

The stealing, concealing, and receiving animals when stolen, are

inveterate Gypsy habits, and are perhaps the last from which the Gitáno

will be reclaimed, or will only cease when the race has become extinct.

In the prisons of Madrid, either in that of the Saladero or De la Corte,

there are never less than a dozen Gitános immured for stolen horses or

mules being found in their possession, which themselves or their

connections have spirited away from the neighbouring villages, or

sometimes from a considerable distance. I say spirited away, for so well

do the thieves take their measures, and watch their opportunity, that

they are seldom or never taken in the fact.

The Madrilenian Gypsy women are indefatigable in the pursuit of prey,

prowling about the town and the suburbs from morning till night, entering

houses of all descriptions, from the highest to the lowest; telling

fortunes, or attempting to play off various kinds of Gypsy tricks, from

which they derive much greater profit, and of which we shall presently

have occasion to make particular mention.

From Madrid let us proceed to Andalusia, casting a cursory glance on the

Gitános of that country. I found them very numerous at Granada, which in

the Gitáno language is termed Meligrana. Their general condition in this

place is truly miserable, far exceeding in wretchedness the state of the

tribes of Estremadura. It is right to state that Granada itself is the

poorest city in Spain; the greatest part of the population, which exceeds

sixty thousand, living in beggary and nakedness, and the Gitános share in

the general distress.

[Picture: The Gypsy Smith of Granada]

Many of them reside in caves scooped in the sides of the ravines which

lead to the higher regions of the Alpujarras, on a skirt of which stands

Granada. A common occupation of the Gitános of Granada is working in

iron, and it is not unfrequent to find these caves tenanted by Gypsy

smiths and their families, who ply the hammer and forge in the bowels of

the earth. To one standing at the mouth of the cave, especially at

night, they afford a picturesque spectacle. Gathered round the forge,

their bronzed and naked bodies, illuminated by the flame, appear like

figures of demons; while the cave, with its flinty sides and uneven roof,

blackened by the charcoal vapours which hover about it in festoons, seems

to offer no inadequate representation of fabled purgatory. Working in

iron was an occupation strictly forbidden to the Gitános by the ancient

laws, on what account does not exactly appear; though, perhaps, the trade

of the smith was considered as too much akin to that of the chalan to be

permitted to them. The Gypsy smith of Granada is still a chalan, even as

his brother in England is a jockey and tinker alternately.

Whilst speaking of the Gitános of Granada, we cannot pass by in silence a

tragedy which occurred in this town amongst them, some fifteen years ago,

and the details of which are known to every Gitáno in Spain, from

Catalonia to Estremadura. We allude to the murder of Pindamonas by Pepe

Conde. Both these individuals were Gitános; the latter was a celebrated

contrabandista, of whom many remarkable tales are told. On one occasion,

having committed some enormous crime, he fled over to Barbary and turned

Moor, and was employed by the Moorish emperor in his wars, in company

with the other renegade Spaniards, whose grand depôt or presidio is the

town of Agurey in the kingdom of Fez. After the lapse of some years,

when his crime was nearly forgotten, he returned to Granada, where he

followed his old occupations of contrabandista and chalan. Pindamonas

was a Gitáno of considerable wealth, and was considered as the most

respectable of the race at Granada, amongst whom he possessed

considerable influence. Between this man and Pepe Conde there existed a

jealousy, especially on the part of the latter, who, being a man of proud

untamable spirit, could not well brook a superior amongst his own people.

It chanced one day that Pindamonas and other Gitános, amongst whom was

Pepe Conde, were in a coffee-house. After they had all partaken of some

refreshment, they called for the reckoning, the amount of which

Pindamonas insisted on discharging. It will be necessary here to

observe, that on such occasions in Spain it is considered as a species of

privilege to be allowed to pay, which is an honour generally claimed by

the principal man of the party. Pepe Conde did not fail to take umbrage

at the attempt of Pindamonas, which he considered as an undue assumption

of superiority, and put in his own claim; but Pindamonas insisted, and at

last flung down the money on the table, whereupon Pepe Conde instantly

unclasped one of those terrible Manchegan knives which are generally

carried by the contrabandistas, and with a frightful gash opened the

abdomen of Pindamonas, who presently expired.

[Picture: The Murder of Pindamonas by Pepe Conde]

After this exploit, Pepe Conde fled, and was not seen for some time. The

cave, however, in which he had been in the habit of residing was watched,

as a belief was entertained that sooner or later he would return to it,

in the hope of being able to remove some of the property contained in it.

This belief was well founded. Early one morning he was observed to enter

it, and a band of soldiers was instantly despatched to seize him. This

circumstance is alluded to in a Gypsy stanza:—

‘Fly, Pepe Conde, seek the hill;

To flee’s thy only chance;

With bayonets fixed, thy blood to spill,

See soldiers four advance.’

And before the soldiers could arrive at the cave, Pepe Conde had

discovered their approach and fled, endeavouring to make his escape

amongst the rocks and barrancos of the Alpujarras. The soldiers

instantly pursued, and the chase continued a considerable time. The

fugitive was repeatedly summoned to surrender himself, but refusing, the

soldiers at last fired, and four balls entered the heart of the Gypsy

contrabandista and murderer.

Once at Madrid I received a letter from the sister’s son of Pindamonas,

dated from the prison of the Saladero. In this letter the writer, who it

appears was in durance for stealing a pair of mules, craved my charitable

assistance and advice; and possibly in the hope of securing my favour,

forwarded some uncouth lines commemorative of the death of his relation,

and commencing thus:—

‘The death of Pindamonas fill’d all the world with pain;

At the coffee-house’s portal, by Pepe he was slain.’

The faubourg of Triana, in Seville, has from time immemorial been noted

as a favourite residence of the Gitános; and here, at the present day,

they are to be found in greater number than in any other town in Spain.

This faubourg is indeed chiefly inhabited by desperate characters, as,

besides the Gitános, the principal part of the robber population of

Seville is here congregated. Perhaps there is no part even of Naples

where crime so much abounds, and the law is so little respected, as at

Triana, the character of whose inmates was so graphically delineated two

centuries and a half back by Cervantes, in one of the most amusing of his

tales. {199}

In the vilest lanes of this suburb, amidst dilapidated walls and ruined

convents, exists the grand colony of Spanish Gitános. Here they may be

seen wielding the hammer; here they may be seen trimming the fetlocks of

horses, or shearing the backs of mules and borricos with their cachas;

and from hence they emerge to ply the same trade in the town, or to

officiate as terceros, or to buy, sell, or exchange animals in the

mercado, and the women to tell the bahi through the streets, even as in

other parts of Spain, generally attended by one or two tawny bantlings in

their arms or by their sides; whilst others, with baskets and

chafing-pans, proceed to the delightful banks of the Len Baro, {200} by

the Golden Tower, where, squatting on the ground and kindling their

charcoal, they roast the chestnuts which, when well prepared, are the

favourite bonne bouche of the Sevillians; whilst not a few, in league

with the contrabandistas, go from door to door offering for sale

prohibited goods brought from the English at Gibraltar. Such is Gitáno

life at Seville; such it is in the capital of Andalusia.

[Picture: Roasting Chestnuts by the side of the Guadalquiver]

It is the common belief of the Gitános of other provinces that in

Andalusia the language, customs, habits, and practices peculiar to their

race are best preserved. This opinion, which probably originated from

the fact of their being found in greater numbers in this province than in

any other, may hold good in some instances, but certainly not in all. In

various parts of Spain I have found the Gitános retaining their primitive

language and customs better than in Seville, where they most abound:

indeed, it is not plain that their number has operated at all favourably

in this respect. At Cordova, a town at the distance of twenty leagues

from Seville, which scarcely contains a dozen Gitáno families, I found

them living in much more brotherly amity, and cherishing in a greater

degree the observances of their forefathers.

I shall long remember these Cordovese Gitános, by whom I was very well

received, but always on the supposition that I was one of their own race.

They said that they never admitted strangers to their houses save at

their marriage festivals, when they flung their doors open to all, and

save occasionally people of influence and distinction, who wished to hear

their songs and converse with their women; but they assured me, at the

same time, that these they invariably deceived, and merely made use of as

instruments to serve their own purposes. As for myself, I was admitted

without scruple to their private meetings, and was made a participator of

their most secret thoughts. During our intercourse some remarkable

scenes occurred. One night more than twenty of us, men and women, were

assembled in a long low room on the ground floor, in a dark alley or

court in the old gloomy town of Cordova. After the Gitános had discussed

several jockey plans, and settled some private bargains amongst

themselves, we all gathered round a huge brasero of flaming charcoal, and

began conversing _sobre las cosas de Egypto_, when I proposed that, as we

had no better means of amusing ourselves, we should endeavour to turn

into the Calo language some pieces of devotion, that we might see whether

this language, the gradual decay of which I had frequently heard them

lament, was capable of expressing any other matters than those which

related to horses, mules, and Gypsy traffic. It was in this cautious

manner that I first endeavoured to divert the attention of these singular

people to matters of eternal importance. My suggestion was received with

acclamations, and we forthwith proceeded to the translation of the

Apostles’ creed. I first recited in Spanish, in the usual manner and

without pausing, this noble confession, and then repeated it again,

sentence by sentence, the Gitános translating as I proceeded. They

exhibited the greatest eagerness and interest in their unwonted

occupation, and frequently broke into loud disputes as to the best

rendering—many being offered at the same time. In the meanwhile, I wrote

down from their dictation; and at the conclusion I read aloud the

translation, the result of the united wisdom of the assembly, whereupon

they all raised a shout of exultation, and appeared not a little proud of

the composition.

The Cordovese Gitános are celebrated esquiladors. Connected with them

and the exercise of the _arte de esquilar_, in Gypsy monrabar, I have a

curious anecdote to relate. In the first place, however, it may not be

amiss to say something about the art itself, of all relating to which it

is possible that the reader may be quite ignorant.

Nothing is more deserving of remark in Spanish grooming than the care

exhibited in clipping and trimming various parts of the horse, where the

growth of hair is considered as prejudicial to the perfect health and

cleanliness of the animal, particular attention being always paid to the

pastern, that part of the foot which lies between the fetlock and the

hoof, to guard against the arestin—that cutaneous disorder which is the

dread of the Spanish groom, on which account the services of a skilful

esquilador are continually in requisition.

The esquilador, when proceeding to the exercise of his vocation,

generally carries under his arm a small box containing the instruments

necessary, and which consist principally of various pairs of scissors,

and the _aciál_, two short sticks tied together with whipcord at the end,

by means of which the lower lip of the horse, should he prove restive, is

twisted, and the animal reduced to speedy subjection. In the girdle of

the esquilador are stuck the large scissors called in Spanish _tijeras_,

and in the Gypsy tongue _cachas_, with which he principally works. He

operates upon the backs, ears, and tails of mules and borricos, which are

invariably sheared quite bare, that if the animals are galled, either by

their harness or the loads which they carry, the wounds may be less

liable to fester, and be more easy to cure. Whilst engaged with horses,

he confines himself to the feet and ears. The esquiladores in the two

Castiles, and in those provinces where the Gitános do not abound, are for

the most part Aragonese; but in the others, and especially in Andalusia,

they are of the Gypsy race. The Gitános are in general very expert in

the use of the cachas, which they handle in a manner practised nowhere

but in Spain; and with this instrument the poorer class principally

obtain their bread.

In one of their couplets allusion is made to this occupation in the

following manner:—

‘I’ll rise to-morrow bread to earn,

For hunger’s worn me grim;

Of all I meet I’ll ask in turn,

If they’ve no beasts to trim.’

Sometimes, whilst shearing the foot of a horse, exceedingly small

scissors are necessary for the purpose of removing fine solitary hairs;

for a Spanish groom will tell you that a horse’s foot behind ought to be

kept as clean and smooth as the hand of a señora: such scissors can only

be procured at Madrid. My sending two pair of this kind to a Cordovese

Gypsy, from whom I had experienced much attention whilst in that city,

was the occasion of my receiving a singular epistle from another whom I

scarcely knew, and which I shall insert as being an original Gypsy

composition, and in some points not a little characteristic of the people

of whom I am now writing.

‘Cordova, 20th day of January, 1837.

‘SEÑOR DON JORGE,

‘After saluting you and hoping that you are well, I proceed to tell

you that the two pair of scissors arrived at this town of Cordova

with him whom you sent them by; but, unfortunately, they were given

to another Gypsy, whom you neither knew nor spoke to nor saw in your

life; for it chanced that he who brought them was a friend of mine,

and he told me that he had brought two pair of scissors which an

Englishman had given him for the Gypsies; whereupon I, understanding

it was yourself, instantly said to him, “Those scissors are for me”;

he told me, however, that he had already given them to another, and

he is a Gypsy who was not even in Cordova during the time you were.

Nevertheless, Don Jorge, I am very grateful for your thus remembering

me, although I did not receive your present, and in order that you

may know who I am, my name is Antonio Salazar, a man pitted with the

small-pox, and the very first who spoke to you in Cordova in the

posada where you were; and you told me to come and see you next day

at eleven, and I went, and we conversed together alone. Therefore I

should wish you to do me the favour to send me scissors for trimming

beasts,—good scissors, mind you,—such would be a very great favour,

and I should be ever grateful, for here in Cordova there are none, or

if there be, they are good for nothing. Señor Don Jorge, you

remember I told you that I was an esquilador by trade, and only by

that I got bread for my babes. Señor Don Jorge, if you do send me

the scissors for trimming, pray write and direct to the alley De la

Londiga, No. 28, to Antonio Salazar, in Cordova. This is what I have

to tell you, and do you ever command your trusty servant, who kisses

your hand and is eager to serve you.

‘ANTONIO SALAZAR.’

FIRST COUPLET

‘That I may clip and trim the beasts, a pair of cachas grant,

If not, I fear my luckless babes will perish all of want.’

SECOND COUPLET

‘If thou a pair of cachas grant, that I my babes may feed,

I’ll pray to the Almighty God, that thee he ever speed.’

It is by no means my intention to describe the exact state and condition

of the Gitános in every town and province where they are to be found;

perhaps, indeed, it will be considered that I have already been more

circumstantial and particular than the case required. The other

districts which they inhabit are principally those of Catalonia, Murcia,

and Valencia; and they are likewise to be met with in the Basque

provinces, where they are called Egipcioac, or Egyptians. What I next

purpose to occupy myself with are some general observations on the

habits, and the physical and moral state of the Gitános throughout Spain,

and of the position which they hold in society.

CHAPTER III

ALREADY, from the two preceding chapters, it will have been perceived

that the condition of the Gitános in Spain has been subjected of late to

considerable modification. The words of the Gypsy of Badajoz are indeed,

in some respects, true; they are no longer the people that they were; the

roads and ‘despoblados’ have ceased to be infested by them, and the

traveller is no longer exposed to much danger on their account; they at

present confine themselves, for the most part, to towns and villages, and

if they occasionally wander abroad, it is no longer in armed bands,

formidable for their numbers, and carrying terror and devastation in all

directions, bivouacking near solitary villages, and devouring the

substance of the unfortunate inhabitants, or occasionally threatening

even large towns, as in the singular case of Logroño, mentioned by

Francisco de Cordova. As the reader will probably wish to know the cause

of this change in the lives and habits of these people, we shall, as

briefly as possible, afford as much information on the subject as the

amount of our knowledge will permit.

One fact has always struck us with particular force in the history of

these people, namely, that Gitanismo—which means Gypsy villainy of every

description—flourished and knew nothing of decay so long as the laws

recommended and enjoined measures the most harsh and severe for the

suppression of the Gypsy sect; the palmy days of Gitanismo were those in

which the caste was proscribed, and its members, in the event of

renouncing their Gypsy habits, had nothing farther to expect than the

occupation of tilling the earth, a dull hopeless toil; then it was that

the Gitános paid tribute to the inferior ministers of justice, and were

engaged in illicit connection with those of higher station, and by such

means baffled the law, whose vengeance rarely fell upon their heads; and

then it was that they bid it open defiance, retiring to the deserts and

mountains, and living in wild independence by rapine and shedding of

blood; for as the law then stood they would lose all by resigning their

Gitanismo, whereas by clinging to it they lived either in the

independence so dear to them, or beneath the protection of their

confederates. It would appear that in proportion as the law was harsh

and severe, so was the Gitáno bold and secure. The fiercest of these

laws was the one of Philip the Fifth, passed in the year 1745, which

commands that the refractory Gitános be hunted down with fire and sword;

that it was quite inefficient is satisfactorily proved by its being twice

reiterated, once in the year ‘46, and again in ‘49, which would scarcely

have been deemed necessary had it quelled the Gitános. This law, with

some unimportant modifications, continued in force till the year ‘83,

when the famous edict of Carlos Tercero superseded it. Will any feel

disposed to doubt that the preceding laws had served to foster what they

were intended to suppress, when we state the remarkable fact, that since

the enactment of that law, as humane as the others were unjust, _we have

heard nothing more of the Gitános from official quarters_; _they have

ceased to play a distinct part in the history of Spain_; _and the law no

longer speaks of them as a distinct people_? The caste of the Gitáno

still exists, but it is neither so extensive nor so formidable as a

century ago, when the law in denouncing Gitanismo proposed to the Gitános

the alternatives of death for persisting in their profession, or slavery

for abandoning it.

There are fierce and discontented spirits amongst them, who regret such

times, and say that Gypsy law is now no more, that the Gypsy no longer

assists his brother, and that union has ceased among them. If this be

true, can better proof be adduced of the beneficial working of the later

law? A blessing has been conferred on society, and in a manner highly

creditable to the spirit of modern times; reform has been accomplished,

not by persecution, not by the gibbet and the rack, but by justice and

tolerance. The traveller has flung aside his cloak, not compelled by the

angry buffeting of the north wind, but because the mild, benignant

weather makes such a defence no longer necessary. The law no longer

compels the Gitános to stand back to back, on the principal of mutual

defence, and to cling to Gitanismo to escape from servitude and thraldom.

Taking everything into consideration, and viewing the subject in all its

bearings with an impartial glance, we are compelled to come to the

conclusion that the law of Carlos Tercero, the provisions of which were

distinguished by justice and clemency, has been the principal if not the

only cause of the decline of Gitanismo in Spain. Some importance ought

to be attached to the opinion of the Gitános themselves on this point.

‘El Crallis ha nicobado la liri de los Cales,’ is a proverbial saying

among them. By Crallis, or King, they mean Carlos Tercero, so that the

saying, the proverbial saying, may be thus translated: _The Law of Carlos

Tercero has superseded Gypsy Law_.

By the law the schools are open to them, and there is no art or science

which they may not pursue, if they are willing. Have they availed

themselves of the rights which the law has conferred upon them?

Up to the present period but little—they still continue jockeys and

blacksmiths; but some of these Gypsy chalans, these bronzed smiths, these

wild-looking esquiladors, can read or write in the proportion of one man

in three or four; what more can be expected? Would you have the Gypsy

bantling, born in filth and misery, ‘midst mules and borricos, amidst the

mud of a choza or the sand of a barranco, grasp with its swarthy hands

the crayon and easel, the compass, or the microscope, or the tube which

renders more distinct the heavenly orbs, and essay to become a Murillo,

or a Feijoo, or a Lorenzo de Hervas, as soon as the legal disabilities

are removed which doomed him to be a thievish jockey or a sullen

husbandman? Much will have been accomplished, if, after the lapse of a

hundred years, one hundred human beings shall have been evolved from the

Gypsy stock, who shall prove sober, honest, and useful members of

society,—that stock so degraded, so inveterate in wickedness and evil

customs, and so hardened by brutalising laws. Should so many beings,

should so many souls be rescued from temporal misery and eternal woe;

should only the half of that number, should only the tenth, nay, should

only one poor wretched sheep be saved, there will be joy in heaven, for

much will have been accomplished on earth, and those lines will have been

in part falsified which filled the stout heart of Mahmoud with dismay:—

‘For the root that’s unclean, hope if you can;

No washing e’er whitens the black Zigan:

The tree that’s bitter by birth and race,

If in paradise garden to grow you place,

And water it free with nectar and wine,

From streams in paradise meads that shine,

At the end its nature it still declares,

For bitter is all the fruit it bears.

If the egg of the raven of noxious breed

You place ‘neath the paradise bird, and feed

The splendid fowl upon its nest,

With immortal figs, the food of the blest,

And give it to drink from Silisbél, {211}

Whilst life in the egg breathes Gabriél,

A raven, a raven, the egg shall bear,

And the fostering bird shall waste its care.’—

FERDOUSI.

The principal evidence which the Gitános have hitherto given that a

partial reformation has been effected in their habits, is the

relinquishment, in a great degree, of that wandering life of which the

ancient laws were continually complaining, and which was the cause of

infinite evils, and tended not a little to make the roads insecure.

Doubtless there are those who will find some difficulty in believing that

the mild and conciliatory clauses of the law in question could have much

effect in weaning the Gitános from this inveterate habit, and will be

more disposed to think that this relinquishment was effected by energetic

measures resorted to by the government, to compel them to remain in their

places of location. It does not appear, however, that such measures were

ever resorted to. Energy, indeed, in the removal of a nuisance, is

scarcely to be expected from Spaniards under any circumstances. All we

can say on the subject, with certainty, is, that since the repeal of the

tyrannical laws, wandering has considerably decreased among the Gitános.

Since the law has ceased to brand them, they have come nearer to the

common standard of humanity, and their general condition has been

ameliorated. At present, only the very poorest, the parias of the race,

are to be found wandering about the heaths and mountains, and this only

in the summer time, and their principal motive, according to their own

confession, is to avoid the expense of house rent; the rest remain at

home, following their avocations, unless some immediate prospect of gain,

lawful or unlawful, calls them forth; and such is frequently the case.

They attend most fairs, women and men, and on the way frequently bivouac

in the fields, but this practice must not be confounded with systematic

wandering.

Gitanismo, therefore, has not been extinguished, only modified; but that

modification has been effected within the memory of man, whilst

previously near four centuries elapsed, during which no reform had been

produced amongst them by the various measures devised, all of which were

distinguished by an absence not only of true policy, but of common-sense;

it is therefore to be hoped, that if the Gitános are abandoned to

themselves, by which we mean no arbitrary laws are again enacted for

their extinction, the sect will eventually cease to be, and its members

become confounded with the residue of the population; for certainly no

Christian nor merely philanthropic heart can desire the continuance of

any sect or association of people whose fundamental principle seems to be

to hate all the rest of mankind, and to live by deceiving them; and such

is the practice of the Gitános.

During the last five years, owing to the civil wars, the ties which unite

society have been considerably relaxed; the law has been trampled under

foot, and the greatest part of Spain overrun with robbers and miscreants,

who, under pretence of carrying on partisan warfare, and not unfrequently

under no pretence at all, have committed the most frightful excesses,

plundering and murdering the defenceless. Such a state of things would

have afforded the Gitános a favourable opportunity to resume their former

kind of life, and to levy contributions as formerly, wandering about in

bands. Certain it is, however, that they have not sought to repeat their

ancient excesses, taking advantage of the troubles of the country; they

have gone on, with a few exceptions, quietly pursuing that part of their

system to which they still cling, their jockeyism, which, though based on

fraud and robbery, is far preferable to wandering brigandage, which

necessarily involves the frequent shedding of blood. Can better proof be

adduced, that Gitanismo owes its decline, in Spain, not to force, not to

persecution, not to any want of opportunity of exercising it, but to some

other cause?—and we repeat that we consider the principal if not the only

cause of the decline of Gitanismo to be the conferring on the Gitános the

rights and privileges of other subjects.

We have said that the Gitános have not much availed themselves of the

permission, which the law grants them, of embarking in various spheres of

life. They remain jockeys, but they have ceased to be wanderers; and the

grand object of the law is accomplished. The law forbids them to be

jockeys, or to follow the trade of trimming and shearing animals, without

some other visible mode of subsistence. This provision, except in a few

isolated instances, they evade; and the law seeks not, and perhaps

wisely, to disturb them, content with having achieved so much. The chief

evils of Gitanismo which still remain consist in the systematic frauds of

the Gypsy jockeys and the tricks of the women. It is incurring

considerable risk to purchase a horse or a mule, even from the most

respectable Gitáno, without a previous knowledge of the animal and his

former possessor, the chances being that it is either diseased or stolen

from a distance. Of the practices of the females, something will be said

in particular in a future chapter.

The Gitános in general are very poor, a pair of large cachas and various

scissors of a smaller description constituting their whole capital;

occasionally a good hit is made, as they call it, but the money does not

last long, being quickly squandered in feasting and revelry. He who has

habitually in his house a couple of donkeys is considered a thriving

Gitáno; there are some, however, who are wealthy in the strict sense of

the word, and carry on a very extensive trade in horses and mules.

These, occasionally, visit the most distant fairs, traversing the

greatest part of Spain. There is a celebrated cattle-fair held at Leon

on St. John’s or Midsummer Day, and on one of these occasions, being

present, I observed a small family of Gitános, consisting of a man of

about fifty, a female of the same age, and a handsome young Gypsy, who

was their son; they were richly dressed after the Gypsy fashion, the men

wearing zamarras with massy clasps and knobs of silver, and the woman a

species of riding-dress with much gold embroidery, and having immense

gold rings attached to her ears. They came from Murcia, a distance of

one hundred leagues and upwards. Some merchants, to whom I was

recommended, informed me that they had credit on their house to the

amount of twenty thousand dollars.

They experienced rough treatment in the fair, and on a very singular

account: immediately on their appearing on the ground, the horses in the

fair, which, perhaps, amounted to three thousand, were seized with a

sudden and universal panic; it was one of those strange incidents for

which it is difficult to assign a rational cause; but a panic there was

amongst the brutes, and a mighty one; the horses neighed, screamed, and

plunged, endeavouring to escape in all directions; some appeared

absolutely possessed, stamping and tearing, their manes and tails stiffly

erect, like the bristles of the wild boar—many a rider lost his seat.

When the panic had ceased, and it did cease almost as suddenly as it had

arisen, the Gitános were forthwith accused as the authors of it; it was

said that they intended to steal the best horses during the confusion,

and the keepers of the ground, assisted by a rabble of chalans, who had

their private reasons for hating the Gitános, drove them off the field

with sticks and cudgels. So much for having a bad name.

These wealthy Gitános, when they are not ashamed of their blood or

descent, and are not addicted to proud fancies, or ‘barbales,’ as they

are called, possess great influence with the rest of their brethren,

almost as much as the rabbins amongst the Jews; their bidding is

considered law, and the other Gitános are at their devotion. On the

contrary, when they prefer the society of the Busné to that of their own

race, and refuse to assist their less fortunate brethren in poverty or in

prison, they are regarded with unbounded contempt and abhorrence, as in

the case of the rich Gypsy of Badajoz, and are not unfrequently doomed to

destruction: such characters are mentioned in their couplets:—

‘The Gypsy fiend of Manga mead,

Who never gave a straw,

He would destroy, for very greed,

The good Egyptian law.

‘The false Juanito day and night

Had best with caution go;

The Gypsy carles of Yeira height

Have sworn to lay him low.’

However some of the Gitános may complain that there is no longer union to

be found amongst them, there is still much of that fellow-feeling which

springs from a consciousness of proceeding from one common origin, or, as

they love to term it, ‘blood.’ At present their system exhibits less of

a commonwealth than when they roamed in bands amongst the wilds, and

principally subsisted by foraging, each individual contributing to the

common stock, according to his success. The interests of individuals are

now more distinct, and that close connection is of course dissolved which

existed when they wandered about, and their dangers, gains, and losses

were felt in common; and it can never be too often repeated that they are

no longer a proscribed race, with no rights nor safety save what they

gained by a close and intimate union. Nevertheless, the Gitáno, though

he naturally prefers his own interest to that of his brother, and envies

him his gain when he does not expect to share in it, is at all times

ready to side with him against the Busno, because the latter is not a

Gitáno, but of a different blood, and for no other reason. When one

Gitáno confides his plans to another, he is in no fear that they will be

betrayed to the Busno, for whom there is no sympathy, and when a plan is

to be executed which requires co-operation, they seek not the fellowship

of the Busné, but of each other, and if successful, share the gain like

brothers.

As a proof of the fraternal feeling which is not unfrequently displayed

amongst the Gitános, I shall relate a circumstance which occurred at

Cordova a year or two before I first visited it. One of the poorest of

the Gitános murdered a Spaniard with the fatal Manchegan knife; for this

crime he was seized, tried, and found guilty. Blood-shedding in Spain is

not looked upon with much abhorrence, and the life of the culprit is

seldom taken, provided he can offer a bribe sufficient to induce the

notary public to report favourably upon his case; but in this instance

money was of no avail; the murdered individual left behind him powerful

friends and connections, who were determined that justice should take its

course. It was in vain that the Gitános exerted all their influence with

the authorities in behalf of their comrade, and such influence was not

slight; it was in vain that they offered extravagant sums that the

punishment of death might be commuted to perpetual slavery in the dreary

presidio of Ceuta; I was credibly informed that one of the richest

Gitános, by name Fruto, offered for his own share of the ransom the sum

of five thousand crowns, whilst there was not an individual but

contributed according to his means—nought availed, and the Gypsy was

executed in the Plaza. The day before the execution, the Gitános,

perceiving that the fate of their brother was sealed, one and all quitted

Cordova, shutting up their houses and carrying with them their horses,

their mules, their borricos, their wives and families, and the greatest

part of their household furniture. No one knew whither they directed

their course, nor were they seen in Cordova for some months, when they

again suddenly made their appearance; a few, however, never returned. So

great was the horror of the Gitános at what had occurred, that they were

in the habit of saying that the place was cursed for evermore; and when I

knew them, there were many amongst them who, on no account, would enter

the Plaza which had witnessed the disgraceful end of their unfortunate

brother.

The position which the Gitános hold in society in Spain is the lowest, as

might be expected; they are considered at best as thievish chalans, and

the women as half sorceresses, and in every respect thieves; there is not

a wretch, however vile, the outcast of the prison and the presidio, who

calls himself Spaniard, but would feel insulted by being termed Gitáno,

and would thank God that he is not; and yet, strange to say, there are

numbers, and those of the higher classes, who seek their company, and

endeavour to imitate their manners and way of speaking. The connections

which they form with the Spaniards are not many; occasionally some

wealthy Gitáno marries a Spanish female, but to find a Gitána united to a

Spaniard is a thing of the rarest occurrence, if it ever takes place. It

is, of course, by intermarriage alone that the two races will ever

commingle, and before that event is brought about, much modification must

take place amongst the Gitános, in their manners, in their habits, in

their affections, and their dislikes, and, perhaps, even in their

physical peculiarities; much must be forgotten on both sides, and

everything is forgotten in the course of time.

The number of the Gitáno population of Spain at the present day may be

estimated at about forty thousand. At the commencement of the present

century it was said to amount to sixty thousand. There can be no doubt

that the sect is by no means so numerous as it was at former periods;

witness those barrios in various towns still denominated Gitánerias, but

from whence the Gitános have disappeared even like the Moors from the

Morerias. Whether this diminution in number has been the result of a

partial change of habits, of pestilence or sickness, of war or famine, or

of all these causes combined, we have no means of determining, and shall

abstain from offering conjectures on the subject.

CHAPTER IV

IN the autumn of the year 1839, I landed at Tarifa, from the coast of

Barbary. I arrived in a small felouk laden with hides for Cadiz, to

which place I was myself going. We stopped at Tarifa in order to perform

quarantine, which, however, turned out a mere farce, as we were all

permitted to come on shore; the master of the felouk having bribed the

port captain with a few fowls. We formed a motley group. A rich Moor

and his son, a child, with their Jewish servant Yusouf, and myself with

my own man Hayim Ben Attar, a Jew. After passing through the gate, the

Moors and their domestics were conducted by the master to the house of

one of his acquaintance, where he intended they should lodge; whilst a

sailor was despatched with myself and Hayim to the only inn which the

place afforded. I stopped in the street to speak to a person whom I had

known at Seville. Before we had concluded our discourse, Hayim, who had

walked forward, returned, saying that the quarters were good, and that we

were in high luck, for that he knew the people of the inn were Jews.

‘Jews,’ said I, ‘here in Tarifa, and keeping an inn, I should be glad to

see them.’ So I left my acquaintance, and hastened to the house. We

first entered a stable, of which the ground floor of the building

consisted, and ascending a flight of stairs entered a very large room,

and from thence passed into a kitchen, in which were several people. One

of these was a stout, athletic, burly fellow of about fifty, dressed in a

buff jerkin, and dark cloth pantaloons. His hair was black as a coal and

exceedingly bushy, his face much marked from some disorder, and his skin

as dark as that of a toad. A very tall woman stood by the dresser, much

resembling him in feature, with the same hair and complexion, but with

more intelligence in her eyes than the man, who looked heavy and dogged.

A dark woman, whom I subsequently discovered to be lame, sat in a corner,

and two or three swarthy girls, from fifteen to eighteen years of age,

were flitting about the room. I also observed a wicked-looking boy, who

might have been called handsome, had not one of his eyes been injured.

‘Jews,’ said I, in Moorish, to Hayim, as I glanced at these people and

about the room; ‘these are not Jews, but children of the Dar-bushi-fal.’

[Picture: A Gypsy Family]

‘List to the Corahai,’ said the tall woman, in broken Gypsy slang, ‘hear

how they jabber (hunelad como chamulian), truly we will make them pay for

the noise they raise in the house.’ Then coming up to me, she demanded

with a shout, fearing otherwise that I should not understand, whether I

would not wish to see the room where I was to sleep. I nodded: whereupon

she led me out upon a back terrace, and opening the door of a small room,

of which there were three, asked me if it would suit. ‘Perfectly,’ said

I, and returned with her to the kitchen.

‘O, what a handsome face! what a royal person!’ exclaimed the whole

family as I returned, in Spanish, but in the whining, canting tones

peculiar to the Gypsies, when they are bent on victimising. ‘A more ugly

Busno it has never been our chance to see,’ said the same voices in the

next breath, speaking in the jargon of the tribe. ‘Won’t your Moorish

Royalty please to eat something?’ said the tall hag. ‘We have nothing in

the house; but I will run out and buy a fowl, which I hope may prove a

royal peacock to nourish and strengthen you.’ ‘I hope it may turn to

drow in your entrails,’ she muttered to the rest in Gypsy. She then ran

down, and in a minute returned with an old hen, which, on my arrival, I

had observed below in the stable. ‘See this beautiful fowl,’ said she,

‘I have been running over all Tarifa to procure it for your kingship;

trouble enough I have had to obtain it, and dear enough it has cost me.

I will now cut its throat.’ ‘Before you kill it,’ said I, ‘I should wish

to know what you paid for it, that there may be no dispute about it in

the account.’ ‘Two dollars I paid for it, most valorous and handsome

sir; two dollars it cost me, out of my own quisobi—out of my own little

purse.’ I saw it was high time to put an end to these zalamerias, and

therefore exclaimed in Gitáno, ‘You mean two brujis (reals), O mother of

all the witches, and that is twelve cuartos more than it is worth.’ ‘Ay

Dios mio, whom have we here?’ exclaimed the females. ‘One,’ I replied,

‘who knows you well and all your ways. Speak! am I to have the hen for

two reals? if not, I shall leave the house this moment.’ ‘O yes, to be

sure, brother, and for nothing if you wish it,’ said the tall woman, in

natural and quite altered tones; ‘but why did you enter the house

speaking in Corahai like a Bengui? We thought you a Busno, but we now

see that you are of our religion; pray sit down and tell us where you

have been.’ . .

_Myself_.—‘Now, my good people, since I have answered your questions, it

is but right that you should answer some of mine; pray who are you? and

how happens it that you are keeping this inn?’

_Gypsy Hag_.—‘Verily, brother, we can scarcely tell you who we are. All

we know of ourselves is, that we keep this inn, to our trouble and

sorrow, and that our parents kept it before us; we were all born in this

house, where I suppose we shall die.’

_Myself_.—‘Who is the master of the house, and whose are these children?’

_Gypsy Hag_.—‘The master of the house is the fool, my brother, who stands

before you without saying a word; to him belong these children, and the

cripple in the chair is his wife, and my cousin. He has also two sons

who are grown-up men; one is a chumajarri (shoemaker), and the other

serves a tanner.’

_Myself_.—‘Is it not contrary to the law of the Cales to follow such

trades?’

_Gypsy Hag_.—‘We know of no law, and little of the Cales themselves.

Ours is the only Calo family in Tarifa, and we never left it in our

lives, except occasionally to go on the smuggling lay to Gibraltar. True

it is that the Cales, when they visit Tarifa, put up at our house,

sometimes to our cost. There was one Rafael, son of the rich Fruto of

Cordova, here last summer, to buy up horses, and he departed a baria and

a half in our debt; however, I do not grudge it him, for he is a handsome

and clever Chabó—a fellow of many capacities. There was more than one

Busno had cause to rue his coming to Tarifa.’

_Myself_.—‘Do you live on good terms with the Busné of Tarifa?’

_Gypsy Hag_.—‘Brother, we live on the best terms with the Busné of

Tarifa; especially with the errays. The first people in Tarifa come to

this house, to have their baji told by the cripple in the chair and by

myself. I know not how it is, but we are more considered by the grandees

than the poor, who hate and loathe us. When my first and only infant

died, for I have been married, the child of one of the principal people

was put to me to nurse, but I hated it for its white blood, as you may

well believe. It never throve, for I did it a private mischief, and

though it grew up and is now a youth, it is—mad.’

_Myself_.—‘With whom will your brother’s children marry? You say there

are no Gypsies here.’

_Gypsy Hag_.—‘Ay de mi, hermano! It is that which grieves me. I would

rather see them sold to the Moors than married to the Busné. When Rafael

was here he wished to persuade the chumajarri to accompany him to

Cordova, and promised to provide for him, and to find him a wife among

the Callees of that town; but the faint heart would not, though I myself

begged him to comply. As for the curtidor (tanner), he goes every night

to the house of a Busnee; and once, when I reproached him with it, he

threatened to marry her. I intend to take my knife, and to wait behind

the door in the dark, and when she comes out to gash her over the eyes.

I trow he will have little desire to wed with her then.’

_Myself_.—‘Do many Busné from the country put up at this house?’

_Gypsy Hag_.—‘Not so many as formerly, brother; the labourers from the

Campo say that we are all thieves; and that it is impossible for any one

but a Calo to enter this house without having the shirt stripped from his

back. They go to the houses of their acquaintance in the town, for they

fear to enter these doors. I scarcely know why, for my brother is the

veriest fool in Tarifa. Were it not for his face, I should say that he

is no Chabó, for he cannot speak, and permits every chance to slip

through his fingers. Many a good mule and borrico have gone out of the

stable below, which he might have secured, had he but tongue enough to

have cozened the owners. But he is a fool, as I said before; he cannot

speak, and is no Chabó.’

How far the person in question, who sat all the while smoking his pipe,

with the most unperturbed tranquillity, deserved the character bestowed

upon him by his sister, will presently appear. It is not my intention to

describe here all the strange things I both saw and heard in this Gypsy

inn. Several Gypsies arrived from the country during the six days that I

spent within its walls; one of them, a man, from Moron, was received with

particular cordiality, he having a son, whom he was thinking of

betrothing to one of the Gypsy daughters. Some females of quality

likewise visited the house to gossip, like true Andalusians. It was

singular to observe the behaviour of the Gypsies to these people,

especially that of the remarkable woman, some of whose conversation I

have given above. She whined, she canted, she blessed, she talked of

beauty of colour, of eyes, of eyebrows, and pestañas (eyelids), and of

hearts which were aching for such and such a lady. Amongst others, came

a very fine woman, the widow of a colonel lately slain in battle; she

brought with her a beautiful innocent little girl, her daughter, between

three and four years of age. The Gypsy appeared to adore her; she

sobbed, she shed tears, she kissed the child, she blessed it, she fondled

it. I had my eye upon her countenance, and it brought to my recollection

that of a she-wolf, which I had once seen in Russia, playing with her

whelp beneath a birch-tree. ‘You seem to love that child very much, O my

mother,’ said I to her, as the lady was departing.

_Gypsy Hag_.—‘No lo camélo, hijo! I do not love it, O my son, I do not

love it; I love it so much, that I wish it may break its leg as it goes

downstairs, and its mother also.’

On the evening of the fourth day, I was seated on the stone bench at the

stable door, taking the fresco; the Gypsy innkeeper sat beside me,

smoking his pipe, and silent as usual; presently a man and woman with a

borrico, or donkey, entered the portal. I took little or no notice of a

circumstance so slight, but I was presently aroused by hearing the

Gypsy’s pipe drop upon the ground. I looked at him, and scarcely

recognised his face. It was no longer dull, black, and heavy, but was

lighted up with an expression so extremely villainous that I felt uneasy.

His eyes were scanning the recent comers, especially the beast of burden,

which was a beautiful female donkey. He was almost instantly at their

side, assisting to remove its housings, and the alforjas, or bags. His

tongue had become unloosed, as if by sorcery; and far from being unable

to speak, he proved that, when it suited his purpose, he could discourse

with wonderful volubility. The donkey was soon tied to the manger, and a

large measure of barley emptied before it, the greatest part of which the

Gypsy boy presently removed, his father having purposely omitted to mix

the barley with the straw, with which the Spanish mangers are always kept

filled. The guests were hurried upstairs as soon as possible. I

remained below, and subsequently strolled about the town and on the

beach. It was about nine o’clock when I returned to the inn to retire to

rest; strange things had evidently been going on during my absence. As I

passed through the large room on my way to my apartment, lo, the table

was set out with much wine, fruits, and viands. There sat the man from

the country, three parts intoxicated; the Gypsy, already provided with

another pipe, sat on his knee, with his right arm most affectionately

round his neck; on one side sat the chumajarri drinking and smoking, on

the other the tanner. Behold, poor humanity, thought I to myself, in the

hands of devils; in this manner are human souls ensnared to destruction

by the fiends of the pit. The females had already taken possession of

the woman at the other end of the table, embracing her, and displaying

every mark of friendship and affection. I passed on, but ere I reached

my apartment I heard the words mule and donkey. ‘Adios,’ said I, for I

but too well knew what was on the carpet.

In the back stable the Gypsy kept a mule, a most extraordinary animal,

which was employed in bringing water to the house, a task which it

effected with no slight difficulty; it was reported to be eighteen years

of age; one of its eyes had been removed by some accident, it was

foundered, and also lame, the result of a broken leg. This animal was

the laughing-stock of all Tarifa; the Gypsy grudged it the very straw on

while alone he fed it, and had repeatedly offered it for sale at a

dollar, which he could never obtain. During the night there was much

merriment going on, and I could frequently distinguish the voice of the

Gypsy raised to a boisterous pitch. In the morning the Gypsy hag entered

my apartment, bearing the breakfast of myself and Hayim. ‘What were you

about last night?’ said I.

‘We were bargaining with the Busno, evil overtake him, and he has

exchanged us the ass, for the mule and the reckoning,’ said the hag, in

whose countenance triumph was blended with anxiety.

‘Was he drunk when he saw the mule?’ I demanded.

‘He did not see her at all, O my son, but we told him we had a beautiful

mule, worth any money, which we were anxious to dispose of, as a donkey

suited our purpose better. We are afraid that when he sees her he will

repent his bargain, and if he calls off within four-and-twenty hours, the

exchange is null, and the justicia will cause us to restore the ass; we

have, however, already removed her to our huérta out of the town, where

we have hid her below the ground. Dios sabe (God knows) how it will turn

out.’

When the man and woman saw the lame, foundered, one-eyed creature, for

which and the reckoning they had exchanged their own beautiful borrico,

they stood confounded. It was about ten in the morning, and they had not

altogether recovered from the fumes of the wine of the preceding night;

at last the man, with a frightful oath, exclaimed to the innkeeper,

‘Restore my donkey, you Gypsy villain!’

‘It cannot be, brother,’ replied the latter, ‘your donkey is by this time

three leagues from here: I sold her this morning to a man I do not know,

and I am afraid I shall have a hard bargain with her, for he only gave

two dollars, as she was unsound. O, you have taken me in, I am a poor

fool as they call me here, and you understand much, very much, baribu.’

{230}

‘Her value was thirty-five dollars, thou demon,’ said the countryman,

‘and the justicia will make you pay that.’

‘Come, come, brother,’ said the Gypsy, ‘all this is mere conversation;

you have a capital bargain, to-day the mercado is held, and you shall

sell the mule; I will go with you myself. O, you understand baribu;

sister, bring the bottle of anise; the señor and the señora must drink a

copíta.’ After much persuasion, and many oaths, the man and woman were

weak enough to comply; when they had drunk several glasses, they departed

for the market, the Gypsy leading the mule. In about two hours they

returned with the wretched beast, but not exactly as they went; a

numerous crowd followed, laughing and hooting. The man was now frantic,

and the woman yet more so. They forced their way upstairs to collect

their baggage, which they soon effected, and were about to leave the

house, vowing revenge. Now ensued a truly terrific scene, there were no

more blandishments; the Gypsy men and women were in arms, uttering the

most frightful execrations; as the woman came downstairs, the females

assailed her like lunatics; the cripple poked at her with a stick, the

tall hag clawed at her hair, whilst the father Gypsy walked close beside

the man, his hand on his clasp-knife, looking like nothing in this world:

the man, however, on reaching the door, turned to him and said: ‘Gypsy

demon, my borrico by three o’clock—or you know the rest, the justicia.’

The Gypsies remained filled with rage and disappointment; the hag vented

her spite on her brother. ‘’Tis your fault,’ said she; ‘fool! you have

no tongue; you a Chabó, you can’t speak’; whereas, within a few hours, he

had perhaps talked more than an auctioneer during a three days’ sale: but

he reserved his words for fitting occasions, and now sat as usual, sullen

and silent, smoking his pipe.

The man and woman made their appearance at three o’clock, but they

came—intoxicated; the Gypsy’s eyes glistened—blandishment was again had

recourse to. ‘Come and sit down with the cavalier here,’ whined the

family; ‘he is a friend of ours, and will soon arrange matters to your

satisfaction.’ I arose, and went into the street; the hag followed me.

‘Will you not assist us, brother, or are you no Chabó?’ she muttered.

‘I will have nothing to do with your matters,’ said I.

‘I know who will,’ said the hag, and hurried down the street.

The man and woman, with much noise, demanded their donkey; the innkeeper

made no answer, and proceeded to fill up several glasses with the

_anisado_. In about a quarter of an hour, the Gypsy hag returned with a

young man, well dressed, and with a genteel air, but with something wild

and singular in his eyes. He seated himself by the table, smiled, took a

glass of liquor, drank part of it, smiled again, and handed it to the

countryman. The latter seeing himself treated in this friendly manner by

a caballero, was evidently much flattered, took off his hat to the

newcomer, and drank, as did the woman also. The glass was filled, and

refilled, till they became yet more intoxicated. I did not hear the

young man say a word: he appeared a passive automaton. The Gypsies,

however, spoke for him, and were profuse of compliments. It was now

proposed that the caballero should settle the dispute; a long and noisy

conversation ensued, the young man looking vacantly on: the strange

people had no money, and had already run up another bill at a wine-house

to which they had retired. At last it was proposed, as if by the young

man, that the Gypsy should purchase his own mule for two dollars, and

forgive the strangers the reckoning of the preceding night. To this they

agreed, being apparently stultified with the liquor, and the money being

paid to them in the presence of witnesses, they thanked the friendly

mediator, and reeled away.

Before they left the town that night, they had contrived to spend the

entire two dollars, and the woman, who first recovered her senses, was

bitterly lamenting that they had permitted themselves to be despoiled so

cheaply of a _prenda tan preciosa_, as was the donkey. Upon the whole,

however, I did not much pity them. The woman was certainly not the man’s

wife. The labourer had probably left his village with some strolling

harlot, bringing with him the animal which had previously served to

support himself and family.

I believe that the Gypsy read, at the first glance, their history, and

arranged matters accordingly. The donkey was soon once more in the

stable, and that night there was much rejoicing in the Gypsy inn.

Who was the singular mediator? He was neither more nor less than the

foster child of the Gypsy hag, the unfortunate being whom she had

privately injured in his infancy. After having thus served them as an

instrument in their villainy, he was told to go home. . . .

THE GYPSY SOLDIER OF VALDEPEÑAS

It was at Madrid one fine afternoon in the beginning of March 1838, that,

as I was sitting behind my table in a cabinete, as it is called, of the

third floor of No. 16, in the Calle de Santiágo, having just taken my

meal, my hostess entered and informed me that a military officer wished

to speak to me, adding, in an undertone, that he looked a _strange

guest_. I was acquainted with no military officer in the Spanish

service; but as at that time I expected daily to be arrested for having

distributed the Bible, I thought that very possibly this officer might

have been sent to perform that piece of duty. I instantly ordered him to

be admitted, whereupon a thin active figure, somewhat above the middle

height, dressed in a blue uniform, with a long sword hanging at his side,

tripped into the room. Depositing his regimental hat on the ground, he

drew a chair to the table, and seating himself, placed his elbows on the

board, and supporting his face with his hands, confronted me, gazing

steadfastly upon me, without uttering a word. I looked no less wistfully

at him, and was of the same opinion as my hostess, as to the strangeness

of my guest. He was about fifty, with thin flaxen hair covering the

sides of his head, which at the top was entirely bald. His eyes were

small, and, like ferrets’, red and fiery. His complexion like a brick, a

dull red, checkered with spots of purple. ‘May I inquire your name and

business, sir?’ I at length demanded.

_Stranger_.—‘My name is Chaléco of Valdepeñas; in the time of the French

I served as bragante, fighting for Ferdinand VII. I am now a captain on

half-pay in the service of Donna Isabel; as for my business here, it is

to speak with you. Do you know this book?’

_Myself_.—‘This book is Saint Luke’s Gospel in the Gypsy language; how

can this book concern you?’

_Stranger_.—‘No one more. It is in the language of my people.’

_Myself_.—‘You do not pretend to say that you are a Caló?’

_Stranger_.—‘I do! I am Zíncalo, by the mother’s side. My father, it is

true, was one of the Busné; but I glory in being a Caló, and care not to

acknowledge other blood.’

_Myself_.—‘How became you possessed of that book?’

_Stranger_.—‘I was this morning in the Prado, where I met two women of

our people, and amongst other things they told me that they had a

gabicóte in our language. I did not believe them at first, but they

pulled it out, and I found their words true. They then spoke to me of

yourself, and told me where you live, so I took the book from them and am

come to see you.’

_Myself_.—‘Are you able to understand this book?’

_Stranger_.—‘Perfectly, though it is written in very crabbed language:

{235} but I learnt to read Caló when very young. My mother was a good

Calli, and early taught me both to speak and read it. She too had a

gabicóte, but not printed like this, and it treated of a different

matter.’

_Myself_.—‘How came your mother, being a good Calli, to marry one of a

different blood?’

_Stranger_.—‘It was no fault of hers; there was no remedy. In her

infancy she lost her parents, who were executed; and she was abandoned by

all, till my father, taking compassion on her, brought her up and

educated her: at last he made her his wife, though three times her age.

She, however, remembered her blood and hated my father, and taught me to

hate him likewise, and avoid him. When a boy, I used to stroll about the

plains, that I might not see my father; and my father would follow me and

beg me to look upon him, and would ask me what I wanted; and I would

reply, Father, the only thing I want is to see you dead.’

_Myself_.—‘That was strange language from a child to its parent.’

_Stranger_.—‘It was—but you know the couplet, {236a} which says, “I do

not wish to be a lord—I am by birth a Gypsy—I do not wish to be a

gentleman—I am content with being a Caló!”’

_Myself_.—‘I am anxious to hear more of your history—pray proceed.’

_Stranger_.—‘When I was about twelve years old my father became

distracted, and died. I then continued with my mother for some years;

she loved me much, and procured a teacher to instruct me in Latin. At

last she died, and then there was a pléyto (law-suit). I took to the

sierra and became a highwayman; but the wars broke out. My cousin Jara,

of Valdepeñas, raised a troop of brigantes. {236b} I enlisted with him

and distinguished myself very much; there is scarcely a man or woman in

Spain but has heard of Jara and Chaléco. I am now captain in the service

of Donna Isabel—I am covered with wounds—I am—ugh! ugh! ugh—!’

He had commenced coughing, and in a manner which perfectly astounded me.

I had heard hooping coughs, consumptive coughs, coughs caused by colds,

and other accidents, but a cough so horrible and unnatural as that of the

Gypsy soldier, I had never witnessed in the course of my travels. In a

moment he was bent double, his frame writhed and laboured, the veins of

his forehead were frightfully swollen, and his complexion became black as

the blackest blood; he screamed, he snorted, he barked, and appeared to

be on the point of suffocation—yet more explosive became the cough; and

the people of the house, frightened, came running into the apartment. I

cries, ‘The man is perishing, run instantly for a surgeon!’ He heard me,

and with a quick movement raised his left hand as if to countermand the

order; another struggle, then one mighty throe, which seemed to search

his deepest intestines; and he remained motionless, his head on his knee.

The cough had left him, and within a minute or two he again looked up.

‘That is a dreadful cough, friend,’ said I, when he was somewhat

recovered. ‘How did you get it?’

_Gypsy Soldier_.—‘I am—shot through the lungs—brother! Let me but take

breath, and I will show you the hole—the agujéro.’

He continued with me a considerable time, and showed not the slightest

disposition to depart; the cough returned twice, but not so violently;—at

length, having an engagement, I arose, and apologising, told him I must

leave him. The next day he came again at the same hour, but he found me

not, as I was abroad dining with a friend. On the third day, however, as

I was sitting down to dinner, in he walked, unannounced. I am rather

hospitable than otherwise, so I cordially welcomed him, and requested him

to partake of my meal. ‘Con múcho gusto,’ he replied, and instantly took

his place at the table. I was again astonished, for if his cough was

frightful, his appetite was yet more so. He ate like a wolf of the

sierra;—soup, puchero, fowl and bacon disappeared before him in a

twinkling. I ordered in cold meat, which he presently despatched; a

large piece of cheese was then produced. We had been drinking water.

‘Where is the wine?’ said he.

‘I never use it,’ I replied.

He looked blank. The hostess, however, who was present waiting, said,

‘If the gentleman wish for wine, I have a bota nearly full, which I will

instantly fetch.’

The skin bottle, when full, might contain about four quarts. She filled

him a very large glass, and was removing the skin, but he prevented her,

saying, ‘Leave it, my good woman; my brother here will settle with you

for the little I shall use.’

He now lighted his cigar, and it was evident that he had made good his

quarters. On the former occasion I thought his behaviour sufficiently

strange, but I liked it still less on the present. Every fifteen minutes

he emptied his glass, which contained at least a pint; his conversation

became horrible. He related the atrocities which he had committed when a

robber and bragante in La Mancha. ‘It was our custom,’ said he, ‘to tie

our prisoners to the olive-trees, and then, putting our horses to full

speed, to tilt at them with our spears.’ As he continued to drink he

became waspish and quarrelsome: he had hitherto talked Castilian, but he

would now only converse in Gypsy and in Latin, the last of which

languages he spoke with great fluency, though ungrammatically. He told

me that he had killed six men in duels; and, drawing his sword, fenced

about the room. I saw by the manner in which he handled it, that he was

master of his weapon. His cough did not return, and he said it seldom

afflicted him when he dined well. He gave me to understand that he had

received no pay for two years. ‘Therefore you visit me,’ thought I. At

the end of three hours, perceiving that he exhibited no signs of taking

his departure, I arose, and said I must again leave him. ‘As you please,

brother,’ said he; ‘use no ceremony with me, I am fatigued, and will wait

a little while.’ I did not return till eleven at night, when my hostess

informed me that he had just departed, promising to return next day. He

had emptied the bota to the last drop, and the cheese produced being

insufficient for him, he sent for an entire Dutch cheese on my account;

part of which he had eaten and the rest carried away. I now saw that I

had formed a most troublesome acquaintance, of whom it was highly

necessary to rid myself, if possible; I therefore dined out for the next

nine days.

For a week he came regularly at the usual hour, at the end of which time

he desisted; the hostess was afraid of him, as she said that he was a

brujo or wizard, and only spoke to him through the wicket.

On the tenth day I was cast into prison, where I continued several weeks.

Once, during my confinement, he called at the house, and being informed

of my mishap, drew his sword, and vowed with horrible imprecations to

murder the prime minister of Ofalia, for having dared to imprison his

brother. On my release, I did not revisit my lodgings for some days, but

lived at an hotel. I returned late one afternoon, with my servant

Francisco, a Basque of Hernáni, who had served me with the utmost

fidelity during my imprisonment, which he had voluntarily shared with me.

The first person I saw on entering was the Gypsy soldier, seated by the

table, whereon were several bottles of wine which he had ordered from the

tavern, of course on my account. He was smoking, and looked savage and

sullen; perhaps he was not much pleased with the reception he had

experienced. He had forced himself in, and the woman of the house sat in

a corner looking upon him with dread. I addressed him, but he would

scarcely return an answer. At last he commenced discoursing with great

volubility in Gypsy and Latin. I did not understand much of what he

said. His words were wild and incoherent, but he repeatedly threatened

some person. The last bottle was now exhausted: he demanded more. I

told him in a gentle manner that he had drunk enough. He looked on the

ground for some time, then slowly, and somewhat hesitatingly, drew his

sword and laid it on the table. It was become dark. I was not afraid of

the fellow, but I wished to avoid anything unpleasant. I called to

Francisco to bring lights, and obeying a sign which I made him, he sat

down at the table. The Gypsy glared fiercely upon him—Francisco laughed,

and began with great glee to talk in Basque, of which the Gypsy

understood not a word. The Basques, like all Tartars, {241a} and such

they are, are paragons of fidelity and good nature; they are only

dangerous when outraged, when they are terrible indeed. Francisco, to

the strength of a giant joined the disposition of a lamb. He was beloved

even in the patio of the prison, where he used to pitch the bar and

wrestle with the murderers and felons, always coming off victor. He

continued speaking Basque. The Gypsy was incensed; and, forgetting the

languages in which, for the last hour, he had been speaking, complained

to Francisco of his rudeness in speaking any tongue but Castilian. The

Basque replied by a loud carcajáda, and slightly touched the Gypsy on the

knee. The latter sprang up like a mine discharged, seized his sword,

and, retreating a few steps, made a desperate lunge at Francisco.

The Basques, next to the Pasiegos, {241b} are the best cudgel-players in

Spain, and in the world. Francisco held in his hand part of a

broomstick, which he had broken in the stable, whence he had just

ascended. With the swiftness of lightning he foiled the stroke of

Chaléco, and, in another moment, with a dexterous blow, struck the sword

out of his hand, sending it ringing against the wall.

The Gypsy resumed his seat and his cigar. He occasionally looked at the

Basque. His glances were at first atrocious, but presently changed their

expression, and appeared to me to become prying and eagerly curious. He

at last arose, picked up his sword, sheathed it, and walked slowly to the

door; when there he stopped, turned round, advanced close to Francisco,

and looked him steadfastly in the face. ‘My good fellow,’ said he, ‘I am

a Gypsy, and can read baji. Do you know where you will be at this time

to-morrow?’ {242} Then, laughing like a hyena, he departed, and I never

saw him again.

At that time on the morrow, Francisco was on his death-bed. He had

caught the jail fever, which had long raged in the Carcel de la Corte,

where I was imprisoned. In a few days he was buried, a mass of

corruption, in the Campo Santo of Madrid.

CHAPTER V

THE Gitános, in their habits and manner of life, are much less cleanly

than the Spaniards. The hovels in which they reside exhibit none of the

neatness which is observable in the habitations of even the poorest of

the other race. The floors are unswept, and abound with filth and mud,

and in their persons they are scarcely less vile. Inattention to

cleanliness is a characteristic of the Gypsies, in all parts of the

world.

The Bishop of Forli, as far back as 1422, gives evidence upon this point,

and insinuates that they carried the plague with them; as he observes

that it raged with peculiar violence the year of their appearance at

Forli. {243}

At the present day they are almost equally disgusting, in this respect,

in Hungary, England, and Spain. Amongst the richer Gitános, habits of

greater cleanliness of course exist than amongst the poorer. An air of

sluttishness, however, pervades their dwellings, which, to an experienced

eye, would sufficiently attest that the inmates were Gitános, in the

event of their absence.

What can be said of the Gypsy dress, of which such frequent mention is

made in the Spanish laws, and which is prohibited together with the Gypsy

language and manner of life? Of whatever it might consist in former

days, it is so little to be distinguished from the dress of some classes

amongst the Spaniards, that it is almost impossible to describe the

difference. They generally wear a high-peaked, narrow-brimmed hat, a

zamarra of sheep-skin in winter, and, during summer, a jacket of brown

cloth; and beneath this they are fond of exhibiting a red plush

waistcoat, something after the fashion of the English jockeys, with

numerous buttons and clasps. A faja, or girdle of crimson silk,

surrounds the waist, where, not unfrequently, are stuck the cachas which

we have already described. Pantaloons of coarse cloth or leather descend

to the knee; the legs are protected by woollen stockings, and sometimes

by a species of spatterdash, either of cloth or leather; stout high-lows

complete the equipment.

Such is the dress of the Gitános of most parts of Spain. But it is

necessary to remark that such also is the dress of the chalans, and of

the muleteers, except that the latter are in the habit of wearing broad

sombreros as preservatives from the sun. This dress appears to be rather

Andalusian than Gitáno; and yet it certainly beseems the Gitáno better

than the chalan or muleteer. He wears it with more easy negligence or

jauntiness, by which he may be recognised at some distance, even from

behind.