Myself.—‘How became you possessed of that book?’
Stranger.—‘I was this morning in the Prado, where I met two women of our people, and amongst other things they told me that they had a gabicóte in our language. I did not believe them at first, but they pulled it out, and I found their words true. They then spoke to me of yourself, and told me where you live, so I took the book from them and am come to see you.’
Myself.—‘Are you able to understand this book?’
Stranger.—‘Perfectly, though it is written in very crabbed language: [235] but I learnt to read Caló when very young. My mother was a good Calli, and early taught me both to speak and read it. She too had a gabicóte, but not printed like this, and it treated of a different matter.’
Myself.—‘How came your mother, being a good Calli, to marry one of a different blood?’
Stranger.—‘It was no fault of hers; there was no remedy. In her infancy she lost her parents, who were executed; and she was abandoned by all, till my father, taking compassion on her, brought her up and educated her: at last he made her his wife, though three times her age. She, however, remembered her blood and hated my father, and taught me to hate him likewise, and avoid him. When a boy, I used to stroll about the plains, that I might not see my father; and my father would follow me and beg me to look upon him, and would ask me what I wanted; and I would reply, Father, the only thing I want is to see you dead.’
Myself.—‘That was strange language from a child to its parent.’
Stranger.—‘It was—but you know the couplet, [236a] which says, “I do not wish to be a lord—I am by birth a Gypsy—I do not wish to be a gentleman—I am content with being a Caló!”’
Myself.—‘I am anxious to hear more of your history—pray proceed.’
Stranger.—‘When I was about twelve years old my father became distracted, and died. I then continued with my mother for some years; she loved me much, and procured a teacher to instruct me in Latin. At last she died, and then there was a pléyto (law-suit). I took to the sierra and became a highwayman; but the wars broke out. My cousin Jara, of Valdepeñas, raised a troop of brigantes. [236b] I enlisted with him and distinguished myself very much; there is scarcely a man or woman in Spain but has heard of Jara and Chaléco. I am now captain in the service of Donna Isabel—I am covered with wounds—I am—ugh! ugh! ugh—!’