ALMOST a year after the arrival of the coppersmiths, old Grantsha, his
sons Fardi, Yantshi and Yishwan, and his son-in-law Yono, with their
wives and children reappeared in Liverpool, meaning to take ship and
follow Kola, who had already gone to Monte Video. But no boat could be
found to convey them, and after waiting a week in an emigrants’
lodging-house in Duke Street, they were obliged to go by rail to Dover
and embark there. It was a gloomy, undecorated dwelling in which they
stayed, a warren of scantily-furnished rooms, in each of which one family
camped like bears in an overcrowded menagerie. Since there was nothing
else to do, their idle misery found expression in begging. At home and
abroad, in season and out of season, whenever there was anybody to beg
from, they begged immoderately—all except Fardi. He and his family were
exceptional, cultivating little courtly airs and holding themselves
somewhat aloof from the rest of the tribe; and in the matter of
respectability the chief himself could hardly hold a candle to his
brother, though they had this in common, that neither ever begged.
I spent the afternoon of the day of their departure with the
coppersmiths. It was a naturally dispiriting afternoon of steady,
drizzling rain, and the conduct of the Gypsies made it almost
insufferably unpleasant. Throughout a long wet promenade Milanko begged
dismally for a silk scarf. A smaller boy, inspired by a well-founded
conviction that I would give him a cap, accompanied me and a friend when
we went home for afternoon tea. He begged in the streets and at table as
continuously and mechanically as a Chinese praying wheel, refused food
and drink in order that his mouth might be free to exercise its main
function, and afterwards, drenched but undaunted, droned petitions during
half our walk to the station. Yono enticed me into an apartment on the
first floor where he and his family lived, in order that we might debate
at tiresome length a proposed supplementary payment for tinning the
cauldron. Even Fardi’s wife and daughter forgot their manners. He
himself was out, but his women locked the door and removed the key in
order that I might not escape from their room at the top of the house
until Lotka had made a last desperate effort to become possessor of my
carpet. They were interrupted by a loud knock, and hope rose within me
that Fardi had returned and would exercise parental authority to stop the
persecution. But it was only patient Yono wishing to resume the
discussion about the cauldron. As he came in I went out—against
resistance, precipitately. Downstairs Grantsha and burly Yishwan sat in
a larger room surrounded by children, while a group of women stitched
industriously at the opposite end. Every one of them begged. The lads
demanded watches, cigarette-holders and silver match-boxes; even the
dotard Grantsha asked for money; Yishwan’s smallest request was for the
coat from off my back; and the girls pleaded singly and in chorus:
“Brother, why have you given me nothing?” The attack was irresistible: I
was outnumbered, and the only alternative to surrender was flight. So I
rose to take my leave, assisted to my feet by two impish boys who, with
apparent politeness, seized my hands and unnoticed by me cleverly stole
my silver Zodiac ring.
[Picture: Children. Photo, by Newspaper Illustrations, Ltd.]
The Gypsies had told me that they would go to Lime Street Station at
seven o’clock, and that their train would leave at half-past eight.
Twice before under similar circumstances they had tried to hoodwink me,
and it seemed that they had tricked me again, for when at half-past seven
I reached Lime Street there was never a gay red skirt to be seen, nor
even a braided coat. Moreover, on inquiry, I learned that no train for
Dover left that or any other Liverpool Station at eight-thirty. Almost
glad to escape a renewal of the afternoon’s hostilities I began to
retrace my steps. I had not walked a couple of hundred yards when, from
afar, I spied a flash of colour so brilliant that it could have been
nothing except a Gypsy girl’s dress. She was standing outside the
Central Station, where the tribe had assembled to wait two hours, for
their train was scheduled to start at half-past nine. A microcosm
within, yet untouched by, the greater world, these outlandish people sat
perfectly self-possessed and completely isolated amid a throng of
inquisitive strangers whose presence imported to them as little as the
presence of the vulgar sparrows. They were adventuring on a journey
longer than that which their ancestors undertook centuries ago when they
emigrated from India, yet they exhibited no greater emotion than if they
were changing parishes. On the platform they had grouped themselves by
families, and behind each group was a hillock of trunks, utensils,
bedding, carpets and tents; but before I reached them Vasili and another
lad met me and, postponing my farewell interview with the elders, I
turned back with the boys to buy them cigarettes. In the street we found
Fardi, and he accompanied us to a tobacconist.
To my surprise Fardi encouraged the boys not only to choose the most
expensive Russian cigarettes, but also to demand meerschaum holders.
That very afternoon, to distinguish him above his brethren and mark my
approval of the admirable Fardi who never begged, I had given him as
parting present a splendid guinea pipe; and now he must needs demonstrate
that he had gulled me, that though he had played a long and cunning game
of respectability he was no whit less a Gypsy than the others, and could,
when he chose, beg with the best. My paragon produced three leather
purses which, he said most falsely, contained all the money he possessed.
Two were empty, and in the third a half-sovereign lurked among some
coppers. He begged for a loan, and, when I refused to entertain the
idea, entreated me to buy a dress for his wife. In the window of a shop
which was preparing to close he saw a gloriously green silk underskirt
marked “six and eleven” which was exactly what she would like; and I was
the more ready to surrender to his unexpected attack because I had given
Lotka nothing. But when we entered the shop he saw and preferred a long
silk scarf which was attractively festooned upon a rail. I bought it,
congratulating myself secretly that Fardi, being illiterate, would not
notice that its cost was two shillings less than that of the petticoat.
But Fardi’s sharp eyes discerned the price I paid, and immediately he
claimed the dress as well, becoming almost abusive, and telling me
plainly that I ought to be ashamed to refuse so small a favour. It was
the revelation of a new and unsuspected Fardi—a much less comfortable
character than the Fardi who never begged.
He begged desperately and without a moment’s pause until the train left
Liverpool, ably abetted by every member of his family. Had I yielded
Fardi would have won a barren victory, because the shop was closed and
the dress beyond our reach: but higher principles were at stake—it was a
trial of strength, and the respect in which the Gypsies held me was
threatened. There were flank attacks by Yishwan, who wanted my watch,
and rear attacks from battalions of boys, whose demands a universal
provider would have been hard pushed to satisfy: but Lotka’s skirt was
the main objective, and, meeting all arguments, talking with marvellous
if ungrammatical fluency, and shouting as loudly as anybody, I held my
position without budging a hair’s-breadth.
Even when, with their samovars and eiderdown beds, the whole party had
been packed in the carriages, Fardi stood at a door and mischievously
continued his persecution. But he and the others bade me a warm
farewell, wishing me brilliantly overwhelming blessings, all except Yono,
who angrily rejected my proffered hand; and as the train steamed out of
the station an impudent little boy waved from a window a grubby fist, on
one finger of which shone my stolen silver ring.