As soon as the leading men of the band who were then present—the chief himself had gone into town with two of his followers—understood that one of their visitors was a fellow-countryman, representing their patron, they thronged around him with a hundred questions, gesticulating violently the while; and the burden of their complaint was: ‘How long must we remain here?’ ‘Why should we be detained when our journey is half over?’ ‘Why will the Americans not let us come?’ Their case was really a hard one. Three hundred napoleons had they spent on their journey from Greece—on the clear understanding that they were to obtain a passage across the Atlantic from Liverpool, the money for which they had in their possession. Then came the word that they would not be allowed to land; when immediately the steamship companies unanimously refused to take them as passengers. Nor was Canada a bit more friendly than the States; so that only South America remained open to them. This, indeed, was where they specially wished to go—among the Southern Europeans and their fellow-gypsies. But a voyage to Brazil means a great deal more money than the short passage to New York. The other alternative held up to them—to return to their native country—they indignantly repelled. They had left it for want of employment, and in the hopes of making more money in the New World; for the reasons, in short, which induce other people to emigrate; and they had no wish to waste their substance on a fruitless journey to and from Liverpool.
Although nomadic gypsies, not very clean in their appearance and ways, it must be remembered that these people were, like many other gypsies, honest craftsmen. Some English gypsies who visited them came away with the impression that they were extremely well skilled in metal-working; and the account given by one of their ‘interviewers,’ a Roumanian gentleman, quite bears this out. ‘Mr —— asked the chief why the tribe thought of going to America, and was answered that they wished to make a living. In Roumania they could “use the lead” [solder], and they could make and clean pans [the pans being presumably of copper, since they were noted for their skill in copper-working]. They were also builders, and carried bricks and mortar. They also tilled the soil.... From his [Mr ——’s] knowledge of their habits in Roumania, he did not think the Americans need fear their advent, as they would strive to earn an honest living.’ To all this favourable testimony may be added the statement made by the proprietor of the Gardens, that, so far as he could judge, they were absolutely free from the vice of drunkenness, which was more than he could say of many of the ‘roughs’ who came to look at them.
The passports which they produced from their pocket-books were seen to be bi-lingual—French and Greek in several instances, French and Roumanian, apparently, in others. One ran in the name of King Milan I. of Servia. The French designation given to them was that of chaudronnier (tinker). Their Christian names, detailed in their respective passports, were various—such as Michael (the name of their chief), Constantin, Stefano, and Janka; among the female names were Maria and Ghuri (pron. Gew′ri). The passports, which had been duly visé’d by the various consuls, frequently included a considerable number of individuals in each, thus covering one or more families. As already stated, these people came from all parts of Greece and European Turkey—from Corfu on the west, and Smyrna on the east, and also from the principalities of Servia, Bulgaria, and Roumania. Many of them, no doubt, are among the people particularly treated of in Dr Paspati’s well-known work on the Turkish Gypsies.
After their first expressions of indignation and annoyance at their mysterious detention had passed off, these men fell into a pleasanter humour, and accepted with gratitude a few cigars which their visitors offered them. They seemed great smokers, both men and women, their favourite pipe being about a foot in length, with a pendulous, elastic tube. On learning that the present writer had come all the way from ‘Scozia’ (Scotland) to see them, they showed much gratification, to which their chief spokesman at once gave expression in modern Greek through the medium of our interpreter; and, pointing to the freshly-lit cigar at which he was now puffing vigorously, he said with emphasis, ‘Bōn’, bōn’;’ in this case employing his Italian dialect as likely to be the most intelligible form of speech. This man was quite an accomplished linguist, and could speak Greek, Russian, Roumanian, and two or three other dialects of South-eastern Europe. The curious thing was, that while he seemed rather proud of his attainments, he never once included in his list his own mother-tongue, the speech of the gypsy race. Neither would he admit that he was a ‘ziganka,’ not for a long time, at anyrate; but subsequently, both he and his comrades answered to the name of Roum,[1] and the cigar was no longer bōn’, but lâsho.[2]
The Greek gentleman and the visitor from Scozia had by this time made a sufficient investigation of the camp. The general effect of the people and their surroundings was undoubtedly disappointing. There was an almost total absence of colour in their attire, which—among the men, at least—was very plain, and had little of a distinctive character about it. One, however, wore a broad leathern belt studded with brass-headed nails, which had something about it suggesting the picturesque; while the fingers of most of the men and women were adorned with many rings. The men wore their hair short, and some had moustaches and beards. There was more that was characteristic about the women. The general hue of their attire was ‘sad-coloured,’ like that of the men; but one had a red, white-spotted kerchief wound round her head, gypsy fashion; and most of them had necklaces of coral or beads, and large silver coins disposed in strings around their neck and shoulders. Their raven tresses were braided in long plaits, which hung down on either side. But none of these gypsy women could be called handsome, and, indeed, were much inferior to the men in this respect. Among the children, however, there were one or two really pretty faces; one, a little girl of five or six, had quite a refined and sweet expression, as well as regular delicate features. In her case, an exception was made to the stern decree against almsgiving; and it was amusing to see her shy hesitation as, with hanging head, and a side-glance at the gypsy man beside her—who, with many cuffs to right and left, had repressed all attempts at begging—she held out a tiny hand for the offered ‘pena,’ while her neat little mouth parted smilingly over a row of shining ‘ivories.’ The children, in fact, who numbered more than fifty, constituted the most attractive feature of the scene; and queer, impish little creatures they were. Even where they had no claims to beauty, they were still inexpressibly droll. Some possessed very little clothing wherewith to hide their small brown bodies. One marched gravely about with nothing on but a dilapidated shirt; while, in the distance, a nurse about eight years old was seen to pursue and capture a wholly naked little savage of half her age. Something in their serio-comic air and the tumbled-together look of their garments, frequently reminded one of the odd little Bohemians in Callot’s etchings.
In one tent lay an old and very dark-skinned, white-bearded man. Through some accident, he had lost the use of his legs; but he lay stolidly on the ground, smoking a cigar, indifferent, apparently, to the inquisitive looks of a dozen curious spectators. A baby was lying very still in a heap of swaddling-clothes beside him—‘dying,’ said some of the onlookers, though the mother herself pronounced the illness to be nothing serious.
On leaving the camp, another incident in the checkered life of the sojourners presented itself. Two of their young women—girls, rather—had gone into the streets to do a little ‘shopping,’ and had attempted to enter a butcher’s shop, with intent to purchase; but from the recesses of this booth, suddenly evoked by their appearance, there issued forth what Mr Skimpole would have described as ‘the absurd figure of an angry butcher,’ who, with furious mien and uplifted arm, drove the poor girls back into the street. Followed by a small crowd of street-children, the two young Romany maidens strode along, one with a splendid scowl on her face, as she flashed her angry glances on the jeering gaújoes.[3] But a friend and compatriot was at hand. The irate butcher, being questioned, explained that he did not drive them away for any attempted dishonesty, but because he knew, from the previous days’ experience, that they had only copper to offer him for meat that was fairly worth some silver. To do him justice, the good butcher began to abate his wrath as soon as he perceived that there was money to be made after all. The girls were recalled, and—a perfect mob of children looking in at door and windows—their aprons were filled with a goodly store of meat, with which they departed in happiness, blessing their kindly benefactor.
This mid-day visit had not been enough for the gentleman from Scozia, who returned the same evening to the camp with a small party, one of the number being a famous ‘word-master’ of Rómanes.[4] And now it became apparent that the correctly behaved people of the forenoon, freed from the check of their patron’s influence, had dropped the mask, and stood boldly forth in their true colours. Not that they were very bad, even then; their only vice was that of begging. But how to describe that! From entrance to exit it was incessant, clamorous, piteous, and beyond all satisfying. Men, women, children, even babies begged! From every side came the grazia formula; and the nearer petitioners would lift and kiss the hem of one’s garments. Coppers vanished like smoke. Cigars and cigarettes were eagerly accepted on all sides, even by mere children. Nay, so free from shame were the supplicants, that, perceiving whence one of the ladies drew her store of cigarettes—thoughtfully laid in for their benefit—one of the young gypsies quietly thrust his hand into the folds of the dress and drew out the remaining two or three! There was not the slightest attempt at violence or furtive theft; only an incessant, plaintive begging by voice and manner—of the most artistic order, evolved out of the practice of many generations. Although our own gypsies had long ago the reputation of practising this art, it is now quite dissociated from them—in this direct form.
Those English gypsies who had visited them had a good deal to say of their begging propensities. From one they had demanded tobacco to an unlimited extent, from others they had asked for sugar and soap. And while it was amusing to hear our own gypsies express their righteous indignation at the ways of their ‘kin beyond sea,’ it was very interesting to listen to their remarks upon their common language; for, although very imperfectly indeed, and only in occasional-words and phrases, they could understand each other a little—only a little, however, so great are the differences of intonation, inflexion, and vocabulary. Nevertheless, now that those Greeks had revealed themselves in their true character as gypsies, it became clearly evident to their visitors that—unlike their brethren in Montenegro—they still retained the language of their race. In the midst of the tumult and crowd—not only of gypsies but of indiscriminate gaújoes—it was impossible even for a báro lávengro[5] to do more than exchange a few brief sentences with them. But, in that imperfect way, it became clear that this was a camp of true Romané. Roum, or rather Erroum is the form they give to the more common Rom, in which peculiarity they resemble the Erroumans of the Basque countries. Various words were thus obtained from them, corresponding generally with those which one finds in Dr Paspati’s collection.
But patience has its limits, and a steady and persistent demand for largesse cannot be as steadily complied with; so, with words of farewell to the older members of the tribe, who had throughout restrained themselves—and indeed some of the youthful mendicants, who were void of shame—the gypsy camp was left to become an interesting memory.