THE FESTIVAL--THE GYPSY SONG--PIRAMUS OF ROME--THE SCOTCHMAN--GYPSY
NAMES.
On the following day there was much feasting amongst the Romany chals of
Mr. Petulengro's party. Throughout the forenoon the Romany chies did
scarcely anything but cook flesh, and the flesh which they cooked was
swine's flesh. About two o'clock, the chals and chies dividing
themselves into various parties, sat down and partook of the fare, which
was partly roasted, partly sodden. I dined that day with Mr. Petulengro
and his wife and family, Ursula, Mr. and Mrs. Chikno, and Sylvester and
his two children. Sylvester, it will be as well to say, was a widower,
and had consequently no one to cook his victuals for him, supposing he
had any, which was not always the case, Sylvester's affairs being seldom
in a prosperous state. He was noted for his bad success in trafficking,
notwithstanding the many hints which he received from Jasper, under whose
protection he had placed himself, even as Tawno Chikno had done, who
himself, as the reader has heard on a former occasion, was anything but a
wealthy subject, though he was at all times better off than Sylvester,
the Lazarus of the Romany tribe.
All our party ate with a good appetite, except myself, who, feeling
rather melancholy that day, had little desire to eat. I did not, like
the others, partake of the pork, but got my dinner entirely off the body
of a squirrel which had been shot the day before by a chal of the name of
Piramus, who, besides being a good shot, was celebrated for his skill in
playing on the fiddle. During the dinner a horn filled with ale passed
frequently around, I drank of it more than once, and felt inspirited by
the draughts. The repast concluded, Sylvester and his children departed
to their tent, and Mr. Petulengro, Tawno, and myself getting up, went and
lay down under a shady hedge, where Mr. Petulengro, lighting his pipe,
began to smoke, and where Tawno presently fell asleep. I was about to
fall asleep also, when I heard the sound of music and song. Piramus was
playing on the fiddle, whilst Mrs. Chikno, who had a voice of her own,
was singing in tones sharp enough, but of great power, a gypsy song:--
POISONING THE PORKER.
BY MRS. CHIKNO.
To mande shoon ye Romany chals
Who besh in the pus about the yag,
I'll pen how we drab the baulo,
I'll pen how we drab the baulo.
We jaws to the drab-engro ker,
Trin horsworth there of drab we lels,
And when to the swety back we wels
We pens we'll drab the baulo,
We'll have a drab at a baulo.
And then we kairs the drab opre,
And then we jaws to the farming ker
To mang a beti habben,
A beti poggado habben.
A rinkeno baulo there we dick,
And then we pens in Romano jib;
Wust lis odoi opre ye chick,
And the baulo he will lel lis,
The baulo he will lel lis.
Coliko, coliko saulo we
Apopli to the farming ker
Will wel and mang him mullo,
Will wel and mang his truppo.
And so we kairs, and so we kairs;
The baulo in the rarde mers;
We mang him on the saulo,
And rig to the tan the baulo.
And then we toves the wendror well
Till sore the wendror iuziou se,
Till kekkeno drab's adrey lis,
Till drab there's kek adrey lis.
And then his truppo well we hatch,
Kin levinor at the kitchema,
And have a kosko habben,
A kosko Romano habben.
The boshom engro kils, he kils,
The tawnie juva gils, she gils
A puro Romano gillie,
Now shoon the Romano gillie.
Which song I had translated in the following manner, in my younger days,
for a lady's album.
Listen to me ye Roman lads, who are seated in the straw about the
fire, and I will tell how we poison the porker, I will tell how we
poison the porker.
We go to the house of the poison monger, {42} where we buy three
pennies' worth of bane, and when we return to our people we say, we
will poison the porker; we will try and poison the porker.
We then make up the poison, and then we take our way to the house of
the farmer, as if to beg a bit of victuals, a little broken victuals.
We see a jolly porker, and then we say in Roman language, "Fling the
bane yonder amongst the dirt, and the porker soon will find it, the
porker soon will find it."
Early on the morrow, we will return to the farm-house, and beg the
dead porker, the body of the dead porker.
And so we do, even so we do; the porker dieth during the night; on the
morrow we beg the porker, and carry to the tent the porker.
And then we wash the inside well, till all the inside is perfectly
clean, till there's no bane within it, not a poison grain within it.
And then we roast the body well, send for ale to the alehouse, and
have a merry banquet, a merry Roman banquet.
The fellow with the fiddle plays, he plays; the little lassie sings,
she sings an ancient Roman ditty; now hear the Roman ditty.
SONG OF THE BROKEN CHASTITY.
BY URSULA.
Penn'd the Romany chi ke laki dye
"Miry dearie dye mi shom cambri!"
"And savo kair'd tute cambri,
Miry dearie chi, miry Romany chi?"
"O miry dye a boro rye,
A bovalo rye, a gorgiko rye,
Sos kistur pre a pellengo grye,
'Twas yov sos kerdo man cambri."
"Tu tawnie vassavie lubbeny,
Tu chal from miry tan abri;
Had a Romany chal kair'd tute cambri,
Then I had penn'd ke tute chie,
But tu shan a vassavie lubbeny
With gorgikie rat to be cambri."
"There's some kernel in those songs, brother," said Mr. Petulengro, when
the songs and music were over.
"Yes," said I, "they are certainly very remarkable songs. I say, Jasper,
I hope you have not been drabbing baulor lately."
"And suppose we have, brother, what then?"
"Why, it is a very dangerous practice, to say nothing of the wickedness
of it."
"Necessity has no law, brother."
"That is true," said I, "I have always said so, but you are not
necessitous, and should not drab baulor."
"And who told you we had been drabbing baulor?"
"Why, you have had a banquet of pork, and after the banquet Mrs. Chikno
sang a song about drabbing baulor, so I naturally thought you might have
lately been engaged in such a thing."
"Brother, you occasionally utter a word or two of common sense. It was
natural for you to suppose, after seeing that dinner of pork, and hearing
that song, that we had been drabbing baulor; I will now tell you that we
have not been doing so. What have you to say to that?"
"That I am very glad of it."
"Had you tasted that pork, brother, you would have found that it was
sweet and tasty, which balluva that is drabbed can hardly be expected to
be. We have no reason to drab baulor at present, we have money and
credit; but necessity has no law. Our forefathers occasionally drabbed
baulor, some of our people may still do such a thing, but only from
compulsion."
"I see," said I; "and at your merry meetings you sing songs upon the
compulsatory deeds of your people, alias their villainous actions; and,
after all, what would the stirring poetry of any nation be, but for its
compulsatory deeds? Look at the poetry of Scotland, the heroic part,
founded almost entirely on the villainous deeds of the Scotch nation; cow-
stealing, for example, which is very little better than drabbing baulor;
whilst the softer part is mostly about the slips of its females among the
broom, so that no upholder of Scotch poetry could censure Ursula's song
as indelicate, even if he understood it. What do you think, Jasper?"
"I think, brother, as I before said, that occasionally you utter a word
of common sense; you were talking of the Scotch, brother; what do you
think of a Scotchman finding fault with Romany?"
"A Scotchman finding fault with Romany, Jasper! Oh dear, but you joke,
the thing could never be."
"Yes, and at Piramus's fiddle; what do you think of a Scotchman turning
up his nose at Piramus's fiddle?"
"A Scotchman turning up his nose at Piramus's fiddle! nonsense, Jasper."
"Do you know what I most dislike, brother?"
"I do not, unless it be the constable, Jasper."
"It is not the constable, it's a beggar on horseback, brother."
"What do you mean by a beggar on horseback?"
"Why, a scamp, brother, raised above his proper place, who takes every
opportunity of giving himself fine airs. About a week ago, my people and
myself camped on a green by a plantation in the neighbourhood of a great
house. In the evening we were making merry, the girls were dancing,
while Piramus was playing on the fiddle a tune of his own composing, to
which he has given his own name, Piramus of Rome, and which is much
celebrated amongst our people, and from which I have been told that one
of the grand gorgio composers, who once heard it, has taken several
hints. So, as we were making merry, a great many grand people, lords and
ladies, I believe, came from the great house and looked on, as the girls
danced to the tune of Piramus of Rome, and seemed much pleased; and when
the girls had left off dancing, and Piramus playing, the ladies wanted to
have their fortunes told; so I bade Mikailia Chikno, who can tell a
fortune when she pleases better than any one else, tell them a fortune,
and she, being in a good mind, told them a fortune which pleased them
very much. So, after they had heard their fortunes, one of them asked if
any of our women could sing; and I told them several could, more
particularly Leviathan--you know Leviathan, she is not here now, but some
miles distant, she is our best singer, Ursula coming next. So the lady
said she should like to hear Leviathan sing, whereupon Leviathan sang the
Gudlo pesham, and Piramus played the tune of the same name, which, as you
know, means the honeycomb, the song and the tune being well entitled to
the name, being wonderfully sweet. Well, everybody present seemed mighty
well pleased with the song and music, with the exception of one person, a
carroty-haired Scotch body; how he came there I don't know, but there he
was; and, coming forward, he began in Scotch as broad as a barn-door to
find fault with the music and the song, saying that he had never heard
viler stuff than either. Well, brother, out of consideration for the
civil gentry with whom the fellow had come, I held my peace for a long
time, and in order to get the subject changed, I said to Mikailia in
Romany, you have told the ladies their fortunes, now tell the gentlemen
theirs, quick, quick,--pen lende dukkerin. Well, brother, the Scotchman,
I suppose, thinking I was speaking ill of him, fell into a greater
passion than before, and catching hold of the word dukkerin--'Dukkerin,'
said he, 'what's dukkerin?' 'Dukkerin,' said I, 'is fortune, a man or
woman's destiny; don't you like the word?' 'Word! d'ye ca' that a word?
a bonnie word,' said he. 'Perhaps you'll tell us what it is in Scotch,'
said I, 'in order that we may improve our language by a Scotch word; a
pal of mine has told me that we have taken a great many words from
foreign lingos.' 'Why, then, if that be the case, fellow, I will tell
you; it is e'en "spaeing,"' said he, very seriously. 'Well, then,' said
I, 'I'll keep my own word, which is much the prettiest--spaeing! spaeing!
why, I should be ashamed to make use of the word, it sounds so much like
a certain other word;' and then I made a face as if I were unwell.
'Perhaps it's Scotch also for that?' 'What do you mean by speaking in
that guise to a gentleman?' said he, 'you insolent vagabond without a
name or a country.' 'There you are mistaken,' said I, 'my country is
Egypt, but we 'Gyptians, like you Scotch, are rather fond of travelling;
and as for name--my name is Jasper Petulengro, perhaps you have a better;
what is it?' 'Sandy Macraw.' At that, brother, the gentlemen burst into
a roar of laughter, and all the ladies tittered."
"You were rather severe on the Scotchman, Jasper."
"Not at all, brother, and suppose I were, he began first; I am the
civilest man in the world, and never interfere with anybody who lets me
and mine alone. He finds fault with Romany, forsooth! why, L---d
A'mighty, what's Scotch? He doesn't like our songs; what are his own? I
understand them as little as he mine; I have heard one or two of them,
and pretty rubbish they seemed. But the best of the joke is the fellow's
finding fault with Piramus's fiddle--a chap from the land of bagpipes
finding fault with Piramus's fiddle! Why, I'll back that fiddle against
all the bagpipes in Scotland, and Piramus against all the bagpipers; for
though Piramus weighs but ten stone, he shall flog a Scotchman of
twenty."
"Scotchmen are never so fat as that," said I, "unless, indeed, they have
been a long time pensioners of England. I say, Jasper, what remarkable
names your people have!"
"And what pretty names, brother; there's my own, for example, Jasper;
then there's Ambrose and Sylvester; then there's Culvato, which signifies
Claude; then there's Piramus, that's a nice name, brother."
"Then there's your wife's name, Pakomovna; then there's Ursula and
Morella."
"Then, brother, there's Ercilla."
"Ercilla! the name of the great poet of Spain, how wonderful; then
Leviathan."
"The name of a ship, brother; Leviathan was named after a ship, so don't
make a wonder out of her. But there's Sanpriel and Synfye."
"Ay, and Clementina and Lavinia, Camillia and Lydia, Curlanda and
Orlanda; wherever did they get those names?"
"Where did my wife get her necklace, brother?"
"She knows best, Jasper. I hope . . ."
"Come, no hoping! She got it from her grandmother, who died at the age
of a hundred and three, and sleeps in Coggeshall churchyard. She got it
from her mother, who also died very old, and who could give no other
account of it than that it had been in the family time out of mind."
"Whence could they have got it?"
"Why, perhaps where they got their names, brother. A gentleman, who had
travelled much, once told me that he had seen the sister of it about the
neck of an Indian queen."
"Some of your names, Jasper, appear to be church names; your own, for
example, and Ambrose, and Sylvester; perhaps you got them from the
Papists, in the times of Popery; but where did you get such a name as
Piramus, a name of Grecian romance? Then some of them appear to be
Slavonian; for example, Mikailia and Pakomovna. I don't know much of
Slavonian; but . . ."
"What is Slavonian, brother?"
"The family name of certain nations, the principal of which is the
Russian, and from which the word slave is originally derived. You have
heard of the Russians, Jasper?"
"Yes, brother; and seen some. I saw their crallis at the time of the
peace; he was not a bad-looking man for a Russian."
"By-the-bye, Jasper, I'm half inclined to think that crallis is a Slavish
word. I saw something like it in a lil called 'Voltaire's Life of
Charles.' How you should have come by such names and words is to me
incomprehensible."
"You seem posed, brother."
"I really know very little about you, Jasper."
"Very little indeed, brother. We know very little about ourselves; and
you know nothing, save what we have told you; and we have now and then
told you things about us which are not exactly true, simply to make a
fool of you, brother. You will say that was wrong, perhaps it was. Well,
Sunday will be here in a day or two, when we will go to church, where
possibly we shall hear a sermon on the disastrous consequences of lying."