Romano Lavo-Lil Part 41

"A churi is a knife," said the woman, in a tone of defiance; "a churi is a knife."

"Oh, it is," said I; "and yet you tried to persuade me that you had no peculiar language of your own, and only knew English and Scotch: churi is a word of the language in which I spoke to you at first, Zingarrijib, or Gypsy language; and since you know that word, I make no doubt that you know others, and in fact can speak Gypsy. Come; let us have a little confidential discourse together."

The woman stood for some time, as if in reflection, and at length said: "Sir, before having any particular discourse with you, I wish to put a few questions to you, in order to gather from your answers whether it is safe to talk to you on Gypsy matters. You pretend to understand the Gypsy language: if I find you do not, I will hold no further discourse with you; and the sooner you take yourself off the better. If I find you do, I will talk with you as long as you like.

What do you call that?"--and she pointed to the fire.

"Speaking Gyptianly?" said I.

The woman nodded.

"Whoy, I calls that yog."

"Hm," said the woman: "and the dog out there?"

"Gyptian-loike?" said I.

"Yes."

"Whoy, I calls that a juggal."

"And the hat on your head?"

"Well, I have two words for that: a staury and a stadge."

"Stadge," said the woman, "we call it here. Now what's a gun?"

"There is no Gypsy in England," said I, "can tell you the word for a gun; at least the proper word, which is lost. They have a word--yag- engro--but that is a made-up word signifying a fire-thing."

"Then you don't know the word for a gun," said the Gypsy.

"Oh dear me! Yes," said I; "the genuine Gypsy word for a gun is puschca. But I did not pick up that word in England, but in Hungary, where the Gypsies retain their language better than in England: puschca is the proper word for a gun, and not yag-engro, which may mean a fire-shovel, tongs, poker, or anything connected with fire, quite as well as a gun."

"Puschca is the word, sure enough," said the Gypsy. "I thought I should have caught you there; and now I have but one more question to ask you, and when I have done so, you may as well go; for I am quite sure you cannot answer it. What is Nokk.u.m?"

"Nokk.u.m," said I; "nokk.u.m?"

"Aye," said the Gypsy; "what is Nokk.u.m? Our people here, besides their common name of Romany, have a private name for themselves, which is Nokk.u.m or Nokk.u.ms. Why do the children of the Caungri Foros call themselves Nokk.u.ms?"

"Nokk.u.m," said I; "nokk.u.m? The root of nokk.u.m must be nok, which signifieth a nose."

"A-h!" said the Gypsy, slowly drawing out the monosyllable, as if in astonishment.

"Yes," said I; "the root of nokk.u.m is a.s.suredly nok, and I have no doubt that your people call themselves Nokk.u.m because they are in the habit of nosing the Gorgios. Nokk.u.ms means Nosems."

"Sit down, sir," said the Gypsy, handing me a chair. "I am now ready to talk to you as much as you please about Nokk.u.m words and matters, for I see there is no danger. But I tell you frankly that had I not found that you knew as much as, or a great deal more than, myself, not a hundred pounds, nor indeed all the money in Berwick, should have induced me to hold discourse with you about the words and matters of the Brown children of Kirk Yetholm."

I sat down in the chair which she handed me; she sat down in another, and we were presently in deep discourse about matters Nokk.u.m. We first began to talk about words, and I soon found that her knowledge of Romany was anything but extensive; far less so, indeed, than that of the commonest English Gypsy woman, for whenever I addressed her in regular Gypsy sentences, and not in poggado jib, or broken language, she would giggle and say I was too deep for her. I should say that the sum total of her vocabulary barely amounted to three hundred words. Even of these there were several which were not pure Gypsy words--that is, belonging to the speech which the ancient Zingary brought with them to Britain. Some of her b.a.s.t.a.r.d Gypsy words belonged to the cant or allegorical jargon of thieves, who, in order to disguise their real meaning, call one thing by the name of another. For example, she called a s.h.i.+lling a 'hog,' a word belonging to the old English cant dialect, instead of calling it by the genuine Gypsy term tringurus.h.i.+, the literal meaning of which is three groats. Then she called a donkey 'asal,' and a stone 'cloch,'

which words are neither cant nor Gypsy, but Irish or Gaelic. I incurred her vehement indignation by saying they were Gaelic. She contradicted me flatly, and said that whatever else I might know I was quite wrong there; for that neither she nor any one of her people would condescend to speak anything so low as Gaelic, or indeed, if they possibly could avoid it, to have anything to do with the poverty-stricken creatures who used it. It is a singular fact that, though princ.i.p.ally owing to the magic writings of Walter Scott, the Highland Gael and Gaelic have obtained the highest reputation in every other part of the world, they are held in the Lowlands in very considerable contempt. There the Highlander, elsewhere "the bold Gael with sword and buckler," is the type of poverty and wretchedness; and his language, elsewhere "the fine old Gaelic, the speech of Adam and Eve in Paradise," is the designation of every unintelligible jargon. But not to digress. On my expressing to the Gypsy queen my regret that she was unable to hold with me a regular conversation in Romany, she said that no one regretted it more than herself, but that there was no help for it; and that slight as I might consider her knowledge of Romany to be, it was far greater than that of any other Gypsy on the Border, or indeed in the whole of Scotland; and that as for the Nokk.u.ms, there was not one on the Green who was acquainted with half a dozen words of Romany, though the few words they had they prized high enough, and would rather part with their heart's blood than communicate them to a stranger.

"Unless," said I, "they found the stranger knew more than themselves."

"That would make no difference with them," said the queen, "though it has made a great deal of difference with me. They would merely turn up their noses, and say they had no Gaelic. You would not find them so communicative as me; the Nokk.u.ms, in general, are a dour set, sir."

Before quitting the subject of language it is but right to say that though she did not know much Gypsy, and used cant and Gaelic terms, she possessed several words unknown to the English Romany, but which are of the true Gypsy order. Amongst them was the word tirrehi, or tirrehai, signifying shoes or boots, which I had heard in Spain and in the east of Europe. Another was calches, a Wallachian word signifying trousers. Moreover, she gave the right p.r.o.nunciation to the word which denotes a man not of Gypsy blood, saying gajo, and not gorgio, as the English Gypsies do. After all, her knowledge of Gentle Romany was not altogether to be sneezed at.

Ceasing to talk to her about words, I began to question her about the Faas. She said that a great number of the Faas had come in the old time to Yetholm, and settled down there, and that her own forefathers had always been the princ.i.p.al people among them. I asked her if she remembered her grandfather, old Will Faa, and received for answer that she remembered him very well, and that I put her very much in mind of him, being a tall, l.u.s.ty man, like himself, and having a skellying look with the left eye, just like him. I asked her if she had not seen queer folks at Yetholm in her grandfather's time.

"Dosta dosta," said she; "plenty, plenty of queer folk I saw at Yetholm in my grandfather's time, and plenty I have seen since, and not the least queer is he who is now asking me questions." "Did you ever see Piper Allen?" said I; "he was a great friend of your grandfather's." "I never saw him," she replied; "but I have often heard of him. He married one of our people." "He did so," said I, "and the marriage-feast was held on the Green just behind us. He got a good, clever wife, and she got a bad, rascally husband. One night, after taking an affectionate farewell of her, he left her on an expedition, with plenty of money in his pocket, which he had obtained from her, and which she had procured by her dexterity. After going about four miles he bethought himself that she had still some money, and returning crept up to the room in which she lay asleep, and stole her pocket, in which were eight guineas; then slunk away, and never returned, leaving her in poverty, from which she never recovered." I then mentioned Madge Gordon, at one time the Gypsy queen of the Border, who used, magnificently dressed, to ride about on a pony shod with silver, inquiring if she had ever seen her. She said she had frequently seen Madge Faa, for that was her name, and not Gordon; but that when she knew her, all her magnificence, beauty, and royalty had left her; for she was then a poor, poverty-stricken old woman, just able with a pipkin in her hand to totter to the well on the Green for water. Then with much nodding, winking, and skellying, I began to talk about Drabbing bawlor, dooking gryes, cauring, and hokking, and asked if them 'ere things were ever done by the Nokk.u.ms: and received for answer that she believed such things were occasionally done, not by the Nokk.u.ms, but by other Gypsies, with whom her people had no connection.

Observing her eyeing me rather suspiciously, I changed the subject; asking her if she had travelled much about. She told me she had, and that she had visited most parts of Scotland, and seen a good bit of the northern part of England.

"Did you travel alone?" said I.

"No," said she; "when I travelled in Scotland I was with some of my own people, and in England with the Lees and Bosvils."

"Old acquaintances of mine," said I; "why only the other day I was with them at Fairlop Fair, in the Wesh."

"I frequently heard them talk of Epping Forest," said the Gypsy; "a nice place, is it not?"

"The loveliest forest in the world!" said I. "Not equal to what it was, but still the loveliest forest in the world, and the pleasantest, especially in summer; for then it is thronged with grand company, and the nightingales, and cuckoos, and Romany chals and chies. As for Romany-chals there is not such a place for them in the whole world as the Forest. Them that wants to see Romany-chals should go to the Forest, especially to the Bald-faced Hind on the hill above Fairlop, on the day of Fairlop Fair. It is their trysting-place, as you would say, and there they musters from all parts of England, and there they whoops, dances, and plays; keeping some order nevertheless, because the Rye of all the Romans is in the house, seated behind the door:-

Romany Chalor Anglo the wuddur Mistos are bos.h.i.+ng; Mande besh.e.l.lo Innar the wuddur Shooning the bos.h.i.+pen."

Roman lads Before the door Bravely fiddle; Here I sit Within the door And hear them fiddle.

"I wish I knew as much Romany as you, sir," said the Gypsy. "Why, I never heard so much Romany before in all my life."

She was rather a small woman, apparently between sixty and seventy, with intelligent and rather delicate features. Her complexion was darker than that of the other female; but she had the same kind of blue eyes. The room in which we were seated was rather long, and tolerably high. In the wall, on the side which fronted the windows which looked out upon the Green, were oblong holes for beds, like those seen in the sides of a cabin. There was nothing of squalor or poverty about the place.

Wis.h.i.+ng to know her age, I inquired of her what it was. She looked angry, and said she did not know.

"Are you forty-nine?" said I, with a terrible voice, and a yet more terrible look.

"More," said she, with a smile; "I am sixty-eight."

There was something of the gentlewoman in her: on my offering her money she refused to take it, saying that she did not want it, and it was with the utmost difficulty that I persuaded her to accept a trifle, with which, she said, she would buy herself some tea.

But withal there was hukni in her, and by that she proved her Gypsy blood. I asked her if she would be at home on the following day, for in that case I would call and have some more talk with her, and received for answer that she would be at home and delighted to see me. On going, however, on the following day, which was Sunday, I found the garden-gate locked and the window-shutters up, plainly denoting that there was n.o.body at home.

Seeing some men lying on the hill, a little way above, who appeared to be observing me, I went up to them for the purpose of making inquiries. They were all young men, and decently though coa.r.s.ely dressed. None wore the Scottish cap or bonnet, but all the hat of England. Their countenances were rather dark, but had nothing of the vivacious expression observable in the Gypsy face, but much of the dogged, sullen look which makes the countenances of the generality of the Irish who inhabit London and some other of the large English towns so disagreeable. They were lying on their bellies, occasionally kicking their heels into the air. I greeted them civilly, but received no salutation in return.

"Is So-and-so at home?" said I.

"No," said one, who, though seemingly the eldest of the party, could not have been more than three-and-twenty years of age; "she is gone out."

"Is she gone far?" said I.