These little incidents,—simple enough in themselves,—throw a good deal of light on a particular aspect of the relations of Romany and gorgio. The gypsy has his inherited propensities and aversions, and traditional usages; as these have remained practically unchanged for centuries, it is, to say the least of it, unreasonable to expect him to change suddenly and conform to standards of thought and action set up by those whom he regards with antipathy. To the law of the land, he perforce submits, but all attempt to force him into the social or commercial moulds of modern civilization may be likened to the forcing of a highly elastic substance into a confined space, it will remain there only under pressure, the removal of which may result in its flying out into the face of its would-be moulder.
The gypsy, in common with all other subjects of the realm, has no choice but to submit to the law of the land, and so long as the laws which especially affect him are just, this is as it should be; unfortunately, however, it would appear that the administration of these laws,—perhaps I should say, the direct application of them to gypsy life, is in too many cases left to officials who detest the people, have an exaggerated idea of their office, and who therefore delight to enforce the letter of the law rather than to grant such grace as the law would permit, or, at least, such as humanity demands.
One terribly cold day in winter saw me at the camp of some of my gypsy friends, where I expected to hear the usual sounds of merriment, but on this occasion, a strange quietness which I did not understand seemed to be brooding over the place.
“Is there anything wrong?” I asked.
“Yes,” said one. “Mrs. S—— ’s little ‘un’s dyin’; she’s camped just over there in the lee o’ them bushes,—go over, I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.”
WINTER.
Acting upon the suggestion I went in the direction indicated, feeling, however, that under the circumstances the Missioner would be of more service. Having reached the tent, I was invited to enter as it was “more comfortable inside.”
It is true that under cover of the tent, in which a small fire was burning, the piercing wind was not quite so biting, but—“more comfortable!”—just think of it! What an elastic term “comfort” is if it may be applied to such conditions, while a bedroom in winter with a thermometer at 45° to 50° Fahrenheit will be described as “horribly cold and uncomfortable.” Truly, the world is what we make it. Try for a moment to imagine the scene:—