Though not destitute of talent, the Andalusians are not much addicted to intellectual pursuits, at least in the present day. The person in most esteem among them is invariably the greatest majo, and to acquire that character it is necessary to appear in the dress of a Merry Andrew, to bully, swagger, and smoke continually, to dance passably, and to strum the guitar. They are fond of obscenity and what they term picardías. Amongst them learning is at a terrible discount, Greek, Latin, or any of the languages generally termed learned, being considered in any light but accomplishments, but not so the possession of thieves’ slang or the dialect of the Gitános, the knowledge of a few words of which invariably creates a certain degree of respect, as indicating that the individual is somewhat versed in that kind of life or trato for which alone the Andalusians have any kind of regard.
In Andalusia the Gitáno has been studied by those who, for various reasons, have mingled with the Gitános. It is tolerably well understood by the chalans, or jockeys, who have picked up many words in the fairs and market-places which the former frequent. It has, however, been cultivated to a greater degree by other individuals, who have sought the society of the Gitános from a zest for their habits, their dances, and their songs; and such individuals have belonged to all classes, amongst them have been noblemen and members of the priestly order.
Perhaps no people in Andalusia have been more addicted in general to the acquaintance of the Gitános than the friars, and pre-eminently amongst these the half-jockey half-religious personages of the Cartujan convent at Xeres. This community, now suppressed, was, as is well known, in possession of a celebrated breed of horses, which fed in the pastures of the convent, and from which they derived no inconsiderable part of their revenue. These reverend gentlemen seem to have been much better versed in the points of a horse than in points of theology, and to have understood thieves’ slang and Gitáno far better than the language of the Vulgate. A chalan, who had some knowledge of the Gitáno, related to me the following singular anecdote in connection with this subject.
He had occasion to go to the convent, having been long in treaty with the friars for a steed which he had been commissioned by a nobleman to buy at any reasonable price. The friars, however, were exorbitant in their demands. On arriving at the gate, he sang to the friar who opened it a couplet which he had composed in the Gypsy tongue, in which he stated the highest price which he was authorised to give for the animal in question; whereupon the friar instantly answered in the same tongue in an extemporary couplet full of abuse of him and his employer, and forthwith slammed the door in the face of the disconcerted jockey.
An Augustine friar of Seville, called, we believe, Father Manso, who lived some twenty years ago, is still remembered for his passion for the Gitános; he seemed to be under the influence of fascination, and passed every moment that he could steal from his clerical occupations in their company. His conduct at last became so notorious that he fell under the censure of the Inquisition, before which he was summoned; whereupon he alleged, in his defence, that his sole motive for following the Gitános was zeal for their spiritual conversion. Whether this plea availed him we know not; but it is probable that the Holy Office dealt mildly with him; such offenders, indeed, have never had much to fear from it. Had he been accused of liberalism, or searching into the Scriptures, instead of connection with the Gitános, we should, doubtless, have heard either of his execution or imprisonment for life in the cells of the cathedral of Seville.
Such as are thus addicted to the Gitános and their language, are called, in Andalusia, Los del’ Aficion, or those of the predilection. These people have, during the last fifty years, composed a spurious kind of Gypsy literature: we call it spurious because it did not originate with the Gitános, who are, moreover, utterly unacquainted with it, and to whom it would be for the most part unintelligible. It is somewhat difficult to conceive the reason which induced these individuals to attempt such compositions; the only probable one seems to have been a desire to display to each other their skill in the language of their predilection. It is right, however, to observe, that most of these compositions, with respect to language, are highly absurd, the greatest liberties being taken with the words picked up amongst the Gitános, of the true meaning of which the writers, in many instances, seem to have been entirely ignorant. From what we can learn, the composers of this literature flourished chiefly at the commencement of the present century: Father Manso is said to have been one of the last. Many of their compositions, which are both in poetry and prose, exist in manuscript in a compilation made by one Luis Lobo. It has never been our fortune to see this compilation, which, indeed, we scarcely regret, as a rather curious circumstance has afforded us a perfect knowledge of its contents.
Whilst at Seville, chance made us acquainted with a highly extraordinary individual, a tall, bony, meagre figure, in a tattered Andalusian hat, ragged capote, and still more ragged pantaloons, and seemingly between forty and fifty years of age. The only appellation to which he answered was Manuel. His occupation, at the time we knew him, was selling tickets for the lottery, by which he obtained a miserable livelihood in Seville and the neighbouring villages. His appearance was altogether wild and uncouth, and there was an insane expression in his eye. Observing us one day in conversation with a Gitána, he addressed us, and we soon found that the sound of the Gitáno language had struck a chord which vibrated through the depths of his soul. His history was remarkable; in his early youth a manuscript copy of the compilation of Luis Lobo had fallen into his hands. This book had so taken hold of his imagination, that he studied it night and day until he had planted it in his memory from beginning to end; but in so doing, his brain, like that of the hero of Cervantes, had become dry and heated, so that he was unfitted for any serious or useful occupation. After the death of his parents he wandered about the streets in great distress, until at last he fell into the hands of certain toreros, or bull-fighters, who kept him about them, in order that he might repeat to them the songs of the Aficion. They subsequently carried him to Madrid, where, however, they soon deserted him after he had experienced much brutality from their hands. He returned to Seville, and soon became the inmate of a madhouse, where he continued several years. Having partially recovered from his malady, he was liberated, and wandered about as before. During the cholera at Seville, when nearly twenty thousand human beings perished, he was appointed conductor of one of the death-carts, which went through the streets for the purpose of picking up the dead bodies. His perfect inoffensiveness eventually procured him friends, and he obtained the situation of vendor of lottery tickets. He frequently visited us, and would then recite long passages from the work of Lobo. He was wont to say that he was the only one in Seville, at the present day, acquainted with the language of the Aficion; for though there were many pretenders, their knowledge was confined to a few words.
From the recitation of this individual, we wrote down the Brijindope, or Deluge, and the poem on the plague which broke out in Seville in the year 1800. These and some songs of less consequence, constitute the poetical part of the compilation in question; the rest, which is in prose, consisting chiefly of translations from the Spanish, of proverbs and religious pieces.
BRIJINDOPE.—THE DELUGE [304]
A POEM: IN TWO PARTS
PART THE FIRST