The Old Fortune-Teller and her Brother.--The Patteran, or Gipsies' Road-
Mark .--The Christian Cross, named by Continental Gipsies Trushul, after
the Trident of Siva.--Curious English-Gipsy term for the Cross.--Ashwood
Fires on Christmas Day.--Our Saviour regarded with affection by the
Rommany because he was like themselves and poor.--Strange ideas of the
Bible.--The Oak.--Lizards renew their lives.--Snails.--Slugs.--Tobacco
Pipes as old as the world.
"Duveleste; Avo. Mandy's kaired my patteran adusta chairuses where a
drum jals atut the waver," which means in English--"God bless you, yes.
Many a time I have marked my sign where the roads cross."
I was seated in the cottage of an old Gipsy mother, one of the most noted
fortune-tellers in England, when I heard this from her brother, himself
an ancient wanderer, who loves far better to hear the lark sing than the
mouse cheep when he wakes of a morning.
It was a very small but clean cottage, of the kind quite peculiar to the
English labourer, and therefore attractive to every one who has felt the
true spirit of the most original poetry and art which this country has
produced. For look high or low, dear reader, you will find that nothing
has ever been better done in England than the pictures of rural life, and
over nothing have its gifted minds cast a deeper charm.
There were the little rough porcelain figures of which the English
peasantry are so fond, and which, cheap as they are, indicate that the
taste of your friends Lady --- for Worcester "porcelain," or the Duchess
of --- for Majolica, has its roots among far humbler folk. In fact there
were perhaps twenty things which no English reader would have supposed
were peculiar, yet which were something more than peculiar to me. The
master of the house was an Anglo-Saxon--a Gorgio--and his wife, by some
magic or other, the oracle before-mentioned.
And I, answering said--
"So you all call it _patteran_?" {24}
"No; very few of us know that name. We do it without calling it
anything."
Then I took my stick and marked on the floor the following sign--
[Sign: ill24.jpg]
"There," I said, "is the oldest patteran--first of all--which the Gipsies
use to-day in foreign lands. In Germany, when one band of Gipsies goes
by a cross road, they draw that deep in the dust, with the end of the
longest line pointing in the direction in which they have gone. Then,
the next who come by see the mark, and, if they choose, follow it."
"We make it differently," said the Gipsy. "This is our sign--the _trin
bongo drums_, or cross." And he drew his patteran thus--
[Cross: ill25.jpg]
"The long end points the way," he added; "just as in your sign."
"You call a cross," I remarked, "_trin bongo drums_, or the three crooked
roads. Do you know any such word as _trushul_ for it?"
"No; _trushilo_ is thirsty, and _trushni_ means a faggot, and also a
basket."
"I shouldn't wonder if a faggot once got the old Rommany word for cross,"
I said, "because in it every stick is crossed by the wooden _withy_ which
binds it; and in a basket, every wooden strip crosses the other."
I did not, however, think it worth while to explain to the Gipsies that
when their ancestors, centuries ago, left India, it was with the memory
that Shiva, the Destroyer, bore a trident, the tri-cula in Sanscrit, the
_trisul_ of Mahadeva in Hindustani, and that in coming to Europe the
resemblance of its shape to that of the Cross impressed them, so that
they gave to the Christian symbol the name of the sacred triple spear.
{26} For if you turn up a little the two arms of a cross, you change the
emblem of suffering and innocence at once into one of murder--just as
ever so little a deviation from goodness will lead you, my dear boy, into
any amount of devilry.
And that the unfailing lucid flash of humour may not be wanting, there
lightens on my mind the memory of _The Mysterious Pitchfork_--a German
satirical play which made a sensation in its time--and Herlossohn in his
romance of _Der Letzte Taborit_ (which helped George Sand amazingly in
Consuelo), makes a Gipsy chieftain appear in a wonderfully puzzling light
by brandishing, in fierce midnight dignity, this agricultural parody on
Neptune's weapon, which brings me nicely around to my Gipsies again.
If I said nothing to the inmates of the cottage of all that the _trushul_
or cross trident suggested, still less did I vex their souls with the
mystic possible meaning of the antique _patteran_ or sign which I had
drawn. For it has, I opine, a deep meaning, which as one who knew
Creuzer of old, I have a right to set forth. Briefly, then, and without
encumbering my book with masses of authority, let me state that in all
early lore, the _road_ is a symbol of life; Christ himself having used it
in this sense. Cross roads were peculiarly meaning-full as indicating
the meet-of life with life, of good with evil, a faith of which abundant
traces are preserved in the fact that until the present generation
suicides were buried at them, and magical rites and diabolic incantations
are supposed to be most successful when practised in such places. The
English _path_, the Gipsy patteran, the Rommany-Hindu _pat_, a foot, and
the Hindu _panth_, a road, all meet in the Sanscrit _path_, which was the
original parting of the ways. Now the _patteran_ which I have drawn,
like the Koua of the Chinese or the mystical _Swastika_ of the Buddhists,
embraces the long line of life, or of the infinite and the short, or
broken lines of the finite, and, therefore, as an ancient magical Eastern
sign, would be most appropriately inscribed as a _sikker-paskero
dromescro_--or hand post--to show the wandering Rommany how to proceed on
their way of life.
[Svastika: ill27.jpg]
That the ordinary Christian Cross should be called by the English Gipsies
a _trin bongo drum_--or the three cross roads--is not remarkable when we
consider that their only association with it is that of a "wayshower," as
Germans would call it. To you, reader, it may be that it points the way
of eternal life; to the benighted Rommany-English-Hindoo, it indicates
nothing more than the same old weary track of daily travel; of wayfare
and warfare with the world, seeking food and too often finding none;
living for petty joys and driven by dire need; lying down with poverty
and rising with hunger, ignorant in his very wretchedness of a thousand
things which he _ought_ to want, and not knowing enough to miss them.
Just as the reader a thousand, or perhaps only a hundred, years
hence--should a copy of this work be then extant--may pity the writer of
these lines for his ignorance of the charming comforts, as yet unborn,
which will render _his_ physical condition so delightful. To thee, oh,
future reader, I am what the Gipsy is to me! Wait, my dear boy of the
Future--wait--till _you_ get to heaven!
Which is a long way off from the Gipsies. Let us return. We had spoken
_of patteran_, or of crosses by the way-side, and this led naturally
enough to speaking of Him who died on the Cross, and of wandering. And I
must confess that it was with great interest I learned that the Gipsies,
from a very singular and Rommany point of view, respect, and even pay
him, in common with the peasantry in some parts of England, a peculiar
honour. For this reason I bade the Gipsy carefully repeat his words, and
wrote them down accurately. I give them in the original, with a
translation. Let me first state that my informant was not quite clear in
his mind as to whether the Boro Divvus, or Great Day, was Christmas or
New Year's, nor was he by any means certain on which Christ was born. But
he knew very well that when it came, the Gipsies took great pains to burn
an ash-wood fire.
"Avali--adusta cheirus I've had to jal dui or trin mees of a Boro Divvus
sig' in the sala, to lel ash-wood for the yag. That was when I was a
bitti chavo, for my dadas always would keravit.
"An' we kairs it because foki pens our Saviour, the tikno Duvel was born
apre the Boro Divvus, 'pre the puv, avree in the temm, like we Rommanis,
and he was brought 'pre pash an ash yag--(_Why you can dick dovo adree
the Scriptures_!).
"The ivy and holly an' pine rukks never pookered a lav when our Saviour
was gaverin' of his kokero, an' so they tools their jivaben saw (sar) the
wen, and dicks selno saw the besh; but the ash, like the surrelo rukk,
pukkered atut him, where he was gaverin, so they have to hatch mullo
adree the wen. And so we Rommany chals always hatchers an ash yag saw
the Boro Divvuses. For the tickno duvel was chivved a wadras 'pre the
puvius like a Rommany chal, and kistered apre a myla like a Rommany, an'
jalled pale the tem a mangin his moro like a Rom. An' he was always a
pauveri choro mush, like we, till he was nashered by the Gorgios.
"An' he kistered apre a myla? Avali. Yeckorus he putchered the pash-
grai if he might kister her, but she pookered him _kek_. So because the
pash-grai wouldn't rikker him, she was sovahalled againsus never to be a
dye or lel tiknos. So she never lelled kek, nor any cross either.
"Then he putchered the myla to rikker him, and she penned: 'Avali!' so he
pet a cross apre laki's dumo. And to the divvus the myla has a trin
bongo drum and latchers tiknos, but the pash-grai has kek. So the mylas
'longs of the Rommanis."
(TRANSLATION.)--"Yes--many a time I've had to go two or three miles of a
Great Day (Christmas), early in the morning, to get ash-wood for the
fire. That was when I was a small boy, for my father always would do it.
"And we do it because people say our Saviour, the small God, was born on
the Great Day, in the field, out in the country, like we Rommanis, and he
was brought up by an ash-fire."
Here a sudden sensation of doubt or astonishment at my ignorance seemed
to occur to my informant, for he said,--
"Why, you can see that in the Scriptures!"
To which I answered, "But the Gipsies have Scripture stories different
from those of the Gorgios, and different ideas about religion. Go on
with your story. Why do you burn ash-wood?"
"The ivy, and holly, and pine trees, never told a word where our Saviour
was hiding himself, and so they keep alive all the winter, and look green
all the year. But the ash, like the oak (_lit_. strong tree), told of
him (_lit_. across, against him), where he was hiding, so they have to
remain dead through the winter. And so we Gipsies always burn an ash-
fire every Great Day. For the Saviour was born in the open field like a
Gipsy, and rode on an ass like one, and went round the land a begging his
bread like a Rom. And he was always a poor wretched man like us, till he
was destroyed by the Gentiles.
"And He rode on an ass? Yes. Once he asked the mule if he might ride
her, but she told him no. So because the mule would not carry him, she
was cursed never to be a mother or have children. So she never had any,
nor any cross either.
"Then he asked the ass to carry him, and she said 'Yes;' so he put a
cross upon her back. And to this day the ass has a cross and bears
young, but the mule has none. So the asses belong to (are peculiar to)
the Gipsies."
There was a pause, when I remarked--
"That is a _fino gudlo_--a fine story; and all of it about an ash tree.
Can you tell me anything about the _surrelo rukk_--the strong tree--the
oak?"
"Only what I've often heard our people say about its life."
"And what is that?"
"Dui hundred besh a hatchin, dui hundred besh nasherin his chuckko, dui
hundred besh 'pre he mullers, and then he nashers sar his ratt and he's
kekoomi kushto." {30}
"That is good, too. There are a great many men who would like to live as
long."
"_Tacho_, true. But an old coat can hold out better than a man. If a
man gets a hole in him he dies, but his _chukko_ (coat) can be _toofered_
and _sivved apre_ (mended and sewed up) for ever. So, unless a man could
get a new life every year, as they say the _hepputs_, the little lizards
do, he needn't hope to live like an oak."
"Do the lizards get a new life every year?"
"_Avali_. A _hepput_ only lives one year, and then he begins life over
again."
"Do snails live as long as lizards?"
"Not when I find 'em rya--if I am hungry. Snails are good eating. {32}
You can find plenty on the hedges. When they're going about in the
fields or (are found) under wood, they are not good eating. The best are
those which are kept, or live through (literally _sleep_) the winter.
Take 'em and wash 'em and throw 'em into the kettle, with water and a
little salt. The broth's good for the yellow jaundice."
"So you call a snail"--
"A bawris," said the old fortune-teller.
"Bawris! The Hungarian Gipsies call it a _bouro_. But in Germany the
Rommanis say stargoli. I wonder why a snail should be a stargoli."
"I know," cried the brother, eagerly. "When you put a snail on the fire
it cries out and squeaks just like a little child. Stargoli means 'four
cries.'"
I had my doubts as to the accuracy of this startling derivation, but said
nothing. The same Gipsy on a subsequent occasion, being asked what he
would call a _roan_ horse in Rommany, replied promptly--
"A matchno grai"--a fish-horse.
"Why a matchno grai?"
"Because a fish has a roan (_i.e_., roe), hasn't it? Leastways I can't
come no nearer to it, if it ain't that."
But he did better when I was puzzling my brain, as the learned Pott and
Zippel had done before me, over the possible origin of churro or tchurro,
"a ball, or anything round," when he suggested--
"Rya--I should say that as a _churro_ is round, and a _curro_ or cup is
round, and they both sound alike and look alike, it must be all werry
much the same thing." {33}
"Can you tell me anything more about snails?" I asked, reverting to a
topic which, by the way, I have observed is like that of the hedgehog, a
favourite one with Gipsies.
"Yes; you can cure warts with the big black kind that have no shells."
"You mean slugs. I never knew they were fit to cure anything."
"Why, that's one of the things that everybody knows. When you get a wart
on your hands, you go on to the road or into the field till you find a
slug, one of the large kind with no shell (literally, with no house upon
him), and stick it on the thorn of a blackthorn in a hedge, and as the
snail dies, one day after the other, for four or five days, the wart will
die away. Many a time I've told that to Gorgios, and Gorgios have done
it, and the warts have gone away (literally, cleaned away) from their
hands." {34}
Here the Gipsy began to inquire very politely if smoking were offensive
to me; and as I assured him that it was not, he took out his pipe. And
knowing by experience that nothing is more conducive to sociability, be
it among Chippeways or Gipsies, than that smoking which is among our
Indians, literally a burnt-offering, {35} I produced a small clay pipe of
the time of Charles the Second, given to me by a gentleman who has the
amiable taste to collect such curiosities, and give them to his friends
under the express condition that they shall be smoked, and not laid away
as relics of the past. If you move in _etching_ circles, dear readers,
you will at once know to whom I refer.
The quick eye of the Gipsy at once observed my pipe.
"That is a _crow-swagler_--a crow-pipe," he remarked.
"Why a crow-pipe?"
"I don't know. Some Gipsies call 'em _mullos' swaglers_, or dead men's
pipes, because those who made 'em were dead long ago. There are places
in England where you can find 'em by dozens in the fields. I never
dicked (saw) one with so long a stem to it as yours. And they're old,
very old. What is it you call it before everything" (here he seemed
puzzled for a word) "when the world was a-making?"
"The Creation."
"Avali--that's it, the Creation. Well, them crow-swaglers was kaired at
the same time; they're hundreds--avali--thousands of beshes (years) old.
And sometimes we call the beng (devil) a swagler, or we calls a swagler
the beng."
"Why?"
"Because the devil lives in smoke."