Part 6

The physical characteristics of the gypsy are easier to distinguish than to describe, and when you have seen a single one, you can readily pick out a person of that race from a thousand others. Features and expression--these above all else separate them from the natives of the countries where they are found. Their complexion is very dark, always darker than that of the peoples among whom they live. Hence the name _Cale_--black--by which they often refer to themselves. Their eyes, which are perceptibly oblique, well-shaped, and very black, are shaded by long, thick lashes. One can compare their look to nothing save that of a wild beast. Audacity and timidity are depicted therein at once, and in that respect their eyes express accurately enough the character of the race--crafty, insolent, but _naturally afraid of blows_, like Panurge. As a general rule, the men are well-knit, slender, and active; I believe that I have never seen a single one overburdened with flesh. In Germany, the gypsy women are often very pretty; beauty is very rare among the _gitanas_ of Spain. When they are very young, they may pass for rather attractive ugly women; but when they have once become mothers, they are repulsive. The uncleanliness of both sexes is beyond belief, and one who has never seen the hair of a gypsy matron would find it hard to form an idea of it, even by imagining it as like the coarsest, greasiest, dustiest horsehair. In some large cities of Andalusia, some of the girls who are a little more attractive than the rest take more care of their persons. They go about dancing for money--dances very like those which are forbidden at our (Parisian) public balls during the Carnival. M. Borrow, an English missionary, the author of two very interesting works on the gypsies of Spain, whom he had undertaken to convert at the expense of the Bible Society, asserts that there is no known instance of a _gitana_ having a weakness for a man not of her race. It seems to me that there is much exaggeration in the eulogium which he bestows on their chastity. In the first place, the great majority of them are in the plight of Ovid’s ugly woman: _Casta quam nemo rogavit_. As for the pretty ones, they are, like all Spanish women, exacting in the choice of their lovers. A man must please them and deserve them. M. Borrow cites as a proof of their virtue an instance which does honour to his own virtue, and above all to his innocence. An immoral man of his acquaintance, he says, offered several ounces of gold to a pretty _gitana_, to no purpose. An Andalusian to whom I told this anecdote declared that that same immoral man would have had better luck if he had shown only two or three piastres, and that to offer ounces of gold to a gypsy was as poor a way to persuade her as to promise a million or two to a servant girl at an inn. However that may be, it is certain that the _gitanas_ display a most extraordinary devotion to their husbands. There is no peril or privation which they will not defy, in order to assist them in their need. One of the names by which the gypsies call themselves--_romi_ or _spouses_--seems to me to bear witness to the respect of the race for the marriage state. In general, we may say that their principal virtue is patriotism, if we may call by that name the fidelity which they observe in their relations with persons of the same origin as themselves, the zeal with which they help one another, and the inviolable secrecy which they maintain in respect to compromising affairs. Indeed, we may remark something similar in all associations that are shrouded in mystery and are outside of the law.

A few months ago, I visited a tribe of gypsies settled in the Vosges. In the cabin of an old woman, the patriarch of the tribe, there was a gypsy unknown to her family, suffering from a fatal disease. That man had left a hospital, where he was well cared for, to die among his compatriots. For thirteen weeks he had been in bed in the cabin of his hosts, and much better treated than the sons and sons-in-law who lived in the same house. He had a comfortable bed of straw and moss, with reasonably white sheets, whereas the rest of the family, to the number of eleven, slept on boards three feet long. So much for their hospitality. The same woman who was so humane to her guest said in his presence: “_Singo, singo, homte hi mulo.”_ “Before long, before long, he must die.” After all, the life of those people is so wretched that the certainty of death has no terrors for them.

A remarkable feature of the gypsy character is their indifference in the matter of religion. Not that they are atheists or skeptics. They have never made profession of atheism. Far from that, they adopt the religion of the country in which they live; but they change when they change countries. The superstitions which among ignorant peoples replace religious sentiments are equally foreign to them. Indeed, how could superstition exist among people who, in most cases, live on the credulity of others! I have observed, however, among Spanish gypsies, a strange horror at the thought of touching a dead body. There are few of them whom money could hire to carry a corpse to the cemetery.

I have said that most gypsy women dabble in fortune-telling. They are very skillful at it. But another thing that is a source of very great profit to them is the sale of charms and love-philtres. Not only do they keep frogs’ feet to fix fickle hearts, or powdered lodestone to force the unfeeling to love; but at need they make potent conjurations which compel the devil to lend them his aid. Last year a Spanish woman told me the following story: She was passing one day along Rue d’Alcala, sad and distraught, when a gypsy sitting on the sidewalk called after her: “Your lover has been false to you, fair lady.”--It was the truth.--“Do you want me to bring him back?”--You will imagine how joyfully the offer was accepted, and what unbounded confidence was naturally inspired by a person who could thus divine at a glance the inmost secrets of the heart. As it would have been impossible to proceed to magic rites in the most frequented street in Madrid, they made an appointment for the morrow.--“Nothing easier than to bring the unfaithful one back to your feet,” said the _gitana_. “Have you a handkerchief, a scarf, or a mantilla that he has given you?”--The lady gave her a silk handkerchief.--“Now sew a piastre into a corner of it, with crimson silk; half a piastre into another; a _piecette_ here; a two real piece here. Then you must sew a gold piece in the centre; a doubloon would be best.”--The doubloon and the rest were duly sewn into the handkerchief.--“Now, give it to me; I will take it to the Campo-Santo when the clock strikes twelve. Come with me, if you want to see some fine deviltry. I promise you that you will see the man you love to-morrow.”--The gypsy started alone for the Campo-Santo, for the lady was too much afraid of the devils to accompany her. I leave you to guess whether the poor love-lorn creature saw her handkerchief or her faithless lover again.

Despite their poverty and the sort of aversion which they inspire, the gypsies enjoy a certain consideration none the less among unenlightened peoples, and they are very proud of it. They feel a haughty contempt for intelligence, and cordially despise the people who give them hospitality. “The Gentiles are such fools,” said a gypsy of the Vosges to me one day, “that there’s no merit in tricking them. The other day a peasant woman called to me on the street, and I went into her house. Her stove was smoking, and she asked me for a spell, to make it burn. I told her to give me first of all a big piece of pork. Then I mumbled a few words in _rommani_. ‘You are a fool,’ I said, ‘you were born a fool, a fool you will die.’--When I was at the door, I said to her in good German: ‘The infallible way to keep your stove from smoking is not to make any fire in it.’--And I ran off at full speed.”

The history of the gypsies is still a problem. To be sure, we know that the first bands of them, very small in numbers, showed themselves in the east of Europe early in the fifteenth century; but no one can say whence they came to Europe, or why; and, which is more extraordinary, we have no idea how they multiplied so prodigiously, in a short time, in several countries at a great distance from one another. The gypsies themselves have preserved no tradition concerning their origin, and, although most of them speak of Egypt as their original fatherland, it is because they have adopted a fable that was spread abroad concerning them many, many years ago.

Most Orientalists who have studied the gypsy language believe that they came originally from India. In fact, it seems that a great number of the roots of the _rommani_ tongue and many of its grammatical forms are found in phrases derived from the Sanskrit. We can understand that, in their long wanderings, the gypsies may have adopted many foreign words. In all the dialects of the _rommani_, we find many Greek words. For example: _cocal_, bone, from κόκκαλον; _petalli_, horseshoe, from πέταλον; _cafi_, nail, from καρφί, etc. To-day, the gypsies have almost as many different dialects as there are bands of their race living apart from one another. Everywhere they speak the language of the country in which they live more readily than their own, which they seldom use except as a means of speaking freely before strangers. If we compare the dialect of the gypsies of Germany with that of the Spaniards, who have had no communication with the former for centuries, we discover a very great number of words common to the two; but the original tongue has been noticeably modified everywhere, although in different degrees, by the contact with the more cultivated tongues, which these nomads have been constrained to employ. German on the one side, Spanish on the other, have so modified the substance of the _rommani_ that it would be impossible for a gypsy of the Black Forest to converse with one of his Andalusian brethren, although they need only exchange a few sentences to realise that each of them is speaking a dialect derived from the same parent tongue. A few words in very frequent use are common, I believe, to all dialects; for instance, in all the vocabularies which I have had an opportunity to see, _pani_ means water, _manro_, bread, _mas_, meat, and _lon_, salt.

The names of the numbers are almost the same everywhere. The German dialect seems to me much purer than the Spanish; for it has retained a number of the primitive grammatical forms, while the _gitanos_ have adopted those of the Castilian tongue. A few words, however, are exceptions to this rule and attest the former community of the dialects. The preterit tenses in the German dialect are formed by adding _ium_ to the imperative, which is always the root of the verb. The verbs in the Spanish _rommani_ are all conjugated like Castilian verbs of the first conjugation. From the infinitive _jamar_, to eat, they regularly make _jamé_, I have eaten; from _lillar_, to take, _lillé_, I have taken. But some old gypsies say, on the other hand, _jayon_, _lillon_. I know no other verbs which have retained this ancient form.

While I am thus parading my slight acquaintance with the _rommani_ tongue, I must note a few words of French argot, which our thieves have borrowed from the gypsies. The _Mystères de Paris_ has taught good society that _chourin_ means knife. The word is pure _rommani_; _tchouri_ is one of the words common to all the dialects. M. Vidocq calls a horse _grès_--that is another _rommani_ word--_gras_, _gre_, _graste_, _gris_. Add the word _romanichel_, which in Parisian slang means gypsies. It is a corruption of _rommane tchave_, gypsy youths. But an etymology of which I am proud is that of _frimousse_, expression, face--a word which all schoolboys use, or did use in my day. Observe first that Oudin, in his curious dictionary, wrote in 1640 _firlimouse_. Now, _firla_, _fila_, in _rommani_ means face; _mui_ has the same meaning, it exactly corresponds to the Latin _os_. The combination _firlamui_ was instantly understood by a gypsy purist, and I believe it to be in conformity with the genius of his language.

This is quite enough to give the readers of _Carmen_ a favourable idea of my studies in _rommani_. I will close with this proverb, which is quite apropos: _En retudi panda nasti abela macha_--“a fly cannot enter a closed mouth.”

1845.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The Andalusians aspirate the _s_, and in pronunciation confound it with _c_ soft and _z_, which the Spaniards pronounce like the English _th_. It is possible to recognise an Andalusian by the one word _señor_.

[2] That is, the _privileged provinces_, which enjoy special _fueros_, namely, Alava, Biscay, Guipuzcoa, and a part of Navarre. Basque is the language spoken in those provinces.

[3] A café provided with an ice-house, or rather with a store of snow. There is hardly a village in Spain which has not its _neveria_.

[4] In Spain every traveller who does not carry about with him specimens of calico or silk is taken for an Englishman, _Inglesito_. It is the same in the East; at Chalcis I had the honour of being announced as a Μιλὸρδος Φραντσέοος.

[5] Fortune.

[6] In 1830 the nobility alone enjoyed that privilege. To-day (1847) under the constitutional _régime_, the plebeians have obtained the privilege of the _garrote_.

[7] Ironshod staves carried by the Basques.

[8] The magistrate at the head of the police and municipal administration.

[9] The ordinary costume of the peasant women of Navarre and the Basque provinces.

[10] Yes, sir.

[11] Enclosure, garden.

[12] Bravoes, bullies.

[13] All the Spanish cavalry are armed with lances.

[14] Alcala de los Panaderos, a hamlet two leagues from Seville, where they make delicious small loaves. It is claimed that their excellence is due to the water of Alcala, and great quantities of them are taken to Seville daily.

[15] Good-day, comrade.

[16] Most of the houses in Seville have an interior courtyard surrounded by porticos. The inhabitants live there in summer. The courtyard is covered with canvas, which is kept wet during the day and removed at night. The gate into the street is almost always open, and the passage leading into the courtyard is closed by an iron gate of elaborate workmanship.

[17] _Mañana sera otro dia._--A Spanish proverb.

[18] A gypsy proverb.

[19] Sugared yolks of eggs.

[20] A kind of nougat.

[21] King Don Pedro, whom we call the _Cruel_, but whom Isabella the Catholic always called the _Justiciary_, loved to walk the streets of Seville at night in search of adventures, like the Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid. On a certain night he had a quarrel in an out-of-the-way street with a man who was giving a serenade. They fought and the king slew the love-lorn knight. Hearing the clash of swords, an old woman put her head out of a window and lighted up the scene with a small lamp (_candilejo_) which she held in her hand. You must know that King Don Pedro, who was very active and powerful, had one physical peculiarity: his knees cracked loudly when he walked. The old woman had no difficulty in recognising him by means of that cracking. The next day the Twenty-four who was on duty came to the king to make his report. “Sire, there was a duel last night on such a street. One of the combatants was killed.” “Have you discovered the murderer?” “Yes, sire.” “Why is he not punished before now?” “I await your orders, sire.” “Carry out the law.” Now the king had recently issued a decree providing that every duellist should be beheaded, and that his head should be exposed on the battle-field. The Twenty-four extricated himself from the dilemma like a man of wit. He caused the head of a statue of the king to be sawed off, and exposed it in a recess in the middle of the street where the murder had taken place. The king and all the good people of Seville thought it an excellent joke. The street took its name from the lamp of the old woman, who was the sole witness of the adventure. Such is the popular tradition. Zuñiga tells the story a little differently. (See _Anales de Sevilla_, vol. ii., p. 136.) However, there is still a Rue de Candilejo in Seville, and in that street a stone bust said to be a portrait of Don Pedro. Unfortunately the bust is a modern affair. The old one was sadly defaced in the seventeenth century, and the municipal government caused it to be replaced by the one we see to-day.

[22] _Rom_, husband; _romi_, wife.

[23] _Calo_; feminine _calli_; plural _cales_. Literally _black_--the name by which the gypsies call themselves in their own tongue.

[24] The Spanish dragoons wear a yellow uniform.

[25] A gypsy proverb.

[26] Saint--the Blessed Virgin.

[27] The gallows, supposed to be the widow of the last man hanged.

[28] The red (land).

[29] _Flamenço de Roma_--a slang term to designate a gypsy. _Roma_ does not mean here the Eternal City, but the race of _Romi_, or married folk, a name which the gypsies assume. The first that were seen in Spain probably came from the Low Countries, whence the designation _Flemings_.

[30] A bulbous root of which a very pleasant drink is made.

[31] The ordinary rations of the Spanish soldier.

[32] That is, with address, and without violence.

[33] A sort of unattached body of troops.

[34] The idiots, to take me for a swell!

[35] A name which the common people in Spain give to the English, on account of the colour of their uniform.

[36] That is to say, to the galleys, or to all the devils.

[37] My lover, or rather, my fancy.

[38] _La divisa_, a bow of ribbon, the colour of which indicates the place from which the bull comes. This bow is fastened in the bull’s hide by a hook, and it is the very climax of gallantry to tear it from the living animal and present it to a woman.

[39] Maria Padilla has been accused of having bewitched King Don Pedro. A popular tradition says that she presented to Queen Blanche de Bourbon a golden girdle, which seemed to the fascinated eyes of the king a living serpent. Hence the repugnance which he always displayed for the unfortunate princess.

The Taking of the Redoubt

A military friend of mine, who died of a fever in Greece a few years ago, told me one day about the first action in which he took part. His story made such an impression on me that I wrote it down from memory as soon as I had time. Here it is:

I joined the regiment on the fourth of September, in the evening. I found the colonel in camp. He received me rather roughly; but when he had read General B----’s recommendation, his manner changed and he said a few courteous words to me.

I was presented by him to my captain, who had just returned from a reconnaissance. This captain, with whom I hardly had time to become acquainted, was a tall, dark man, with a harsh, repellent face. He had been a private and had won his epaulets and his cross on the battle-field. His voice, which was hoarse and weak, contrasted strangely with his almost gigantic stature. I was told that he owed that peculiar voice to a bullet which had passed through his lungs at the battle of Jena.

When he learned that I was fresh from the school at Fontainebleau, he made a wry face and said:

“My lieutenant died yesterday.”

I understood that he meant to imply: “You ought to take his place, and you are not capable of it.”

A sharp retort came to my lips, but I restrained myself.

The moon rose behind the redoubt of Cheverino, about two gunshots from our bivouac. It was large and red, as it usually is when it rises. But on that evening it seemed to me of extraordinary size. For an instant the redoubt stood sharply out in black against the brilliant disk of the moon. It resembled the crater of a volcano at the instant of an eruption.

An old soldier beside whom I happened to be, remarked upon the colour of the moon.

“It is very red,” said he; “that’s a sign that it will cost us dear to take that famous redoubt!”

I have always been superstitious, and that prophecy, at that particular moment especially, affected me. I lay down, but I could not sleep. I rose and walked about for some time, watching the tremendously long line of camp-fires that covered the heights above the village of Cheverino.

When I thought that the fresh, sharp night air had cooled my blood sufficiently, I returned to the fire; I wrapped myself carefully in my cloak and closed my eyes, hoping not to open them before dawn. But sleep refused to come. Insensibly my thoughts took a gloomy turn. I said to myself that I had not a friend among the hundred thousand men who covered that plain. If I were wounded, I should be taken to a hospital and treated roughly by ignorant surgeons. All that I had heard of surgical operations came to my mind. My heart beat violently, and I instinctively arranged my handkerchief, and the wallet that I had in my breast pocket, as a sort of cuirass. I was worn out with fatigue, I nodded every moment, and every moment some sinister thought returned with renewed force and roused me with a start.

But weariness carried the day, and when they beat the reveille, I was sound asleep. We were drawn up in battle array, the roll was called, then we stacked arms, and everything indicated that we were to have a quiet day.

About three o’clock an aide-de-camp appeared, bringing an order. We were ordered under arms again; our skirmishers spread out over the plain; we followed them slowly, and after about twenty minutes, we saw all the advanced posts of the Russians fall back and return inside the redoubt.

A battery of artillery came into position at our right, another at our left, but both well in advance of us. They began a very hot fire at the enemy, who replied vigorously, and the redoubt of Cheverino soon disappeared beneath dense clouds of smoke.

Our regiment was almost protected from the Russian fire by a rise in the ground. Their balls, which, indeed, were rarely aimed at us, for they preferred to fire at our gunners, passed over our heads, or, at the worst, spattered us with dirt and small stones.

As soon as we received the order to advance, my captain looked at me with a close scrutiny which compelled me to run my hand over my budding moustache twice or thrice, as unconcernedly as I could. Indeed, I was not frightened, and the only fear I had was that he should believe that I was frightened. Those harmless cannon-balls helped to maintain me in my heroically calm frame of mind. My self-esteem told me that I was really in danger, as I was at last under the fire of a battery. I was overjoyed to be so entirely at my ease, and I thought of the pleasure I should take in telling of the capture of the redoubt of Cheverino in Madame de B----’s salon on Rue de Provence.

The colonel passed our company; he spoke to me:

“Well, you are going to see some sharp work for your début.”

I smiled with an altogether martial air as I brushed my coat sleeve, on which a shot that struck the ground thirty yards away had spattered a little dust.

It seems that the Russians observed the ill success of their cannon-balls; for they replaced them with shells, which could more easily be made to reach us in the hollow where we were posted. A large piece of one took off my shako and killed a man near me.

“I congratulate you,” said my captain, as I picked up my shako; “you’re safe now for to-day.”

I was acquainted with the military superstition which believes that the axiom, _Non bis in idem_, has the same application on a field of battle as in a court of justice. I proudly replaced my shako on my head.

“That is making a fellow salute rather unceremoniously,” I said as gaily as I could. That wretched joke was considered first-rate, in view of the circumstances.