“No, we’re not,” said one of the women; “we knew you was a-coming—your spirit’s been here.”
Upon another occasion I came upon a Romany woman, who, with several children and the inevitable lurcher, awaited at their caravan the return of her husband who had gone into the village near with a basket of goods. Neither of us had ever seen or heard anything of the other, and yet within five minutes of entering into conversation with her she told me she could tell that I was not a native of the district and that my ancestors had lived in quite another part of the country, which she described. This occurred as part of a friendly chat, no question of fortune telling or the handing over of money being thought of on either side,—the uncanny part of the affair being that her statements were quite correct.
Telepathy may account for much, but I believe the gypsy employs it unconsciously, and there is no reason why this faculty should not be much more fully developed among the true Romanies, who are of Indian origin, than among, say, the Anglo-Saxons. With the advance of civilization it would seem that the faculty of telepathic intercommunication decreases, for we find it highly developed among certain Indian races, and almost non-existent in the forefront of civilization. It is not contended that any one, gypsy or otherwise, can pierce the veil obscuring the future of every one of us, but it cannot be denied that the true gypsy seems to be able in some way to gain a more accurate idea of the probable, than the average non-gypsy. Moreover, the average gypsy has himself a belief that certain specially favoured individuals of his race have limited powers of seeing into the future, even I have been asked quite seriously at various times to “dukker the vast” of some gypsy or other, and have been considered unkind in refusing to do so.
“LIFE’S EVENTIDE.”
I asked my friend how she dressed at Boronashimescrutan, and was informed that she put a kerchief over her head, another upon her shoulders, and was then ready for business. She said further that she made a little money by talking Romany, as many of the Rawnies from the Boro Gav were willing to pay something just to satisfy their curiosity by hearing it spoken. To my remark that Romany was a very pleasant-sounding language, she heartily assented.
During our chat, the husband had been occupied with what is known as “chiving tulipen prey the chokkars.” He held a boot in one hand, turning it here and there to the fire to get it thoroughly warmed, then with the other hand he applied a large lump of suet which was stuck on a stick, repeatedly warming the boot and rubbing on the fat until the leather appeared saturated; after treating the other boot in like manner, he rubbed and kneaded the leather to work the grease thoroughly into it, so making it quite waterproof and supple. He politely handed over the fat for me to treat my boots, for all of us in that camp had worn wet boots for at least two days.
Later with a preliminary “did I ever show you this?” he produced for my inspection an extraordinarily massive and evidently old silver watch-chain of a curb pattern. He informed me that originally it belonged to, and was worn by, a gypsy—long since dead, for whom it had been made specially, and to his instructions,—certainly it was the largest and heaviest watch-chain I have ever seen, curiously so in fact, and I persuaded him to allow me to weigh it. I found that it turned the scale at one pound five ounces avoirdupois and I noticed it was stamped on every piece; it bore signs of having been worn, probably for many years, and I mentally pictured a man with the aldermanic stomach needed to display it properly. Altogether it seemed the kind of appendage one could not lose, for upon becoming detached from the person the loss of weight would be immediately noticed. I have often wondered if the original watch partook of the huge proportions of the chain.