The Bible in Spain

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Antonio.--Good evening, brother; they tell me that on the
callicaste (day after to-morrow) you intend to set out for
Madrilati.

Myself.--Such is my intention; I can stay here no longer.

Antonio.--The way is far to Madrilati: there are, moreover, wars
in the land and many chories (thieves) walk about; are you not
afraid to journey?

Myself.--I have no fears; every man must accomplish his destiny:
what befalls my body or soul was written in a gabicote (book) a
thousand years before the foundation of the world.

Antonio.--I have no fears myself, brother; the dark night is the
same to me as the fair day, and the wild carrascal as the market-
place or the chardy (fair); I have got the bar lachi in my bosom,
the precious stone to which sticks the needle.

Myself.--You mean the loadstone, I suppose. Do you believe that a
lifeless stone can preserve you from the dangers which occasionally
threaten your life?

Antonio.--Brother, I am fifty years old, and you see me standing
before you in life and strength; how could that be unless the bar
lachi had power? I have been soldier and contrabandista, and I
have likewise slain and robbed the Busne. The bullets of the
Gabine (French) and of the jara canallis (revenue officers) have
hissed about my ears without injuring me, for I carried the bar
lachi. I have twenty times done that which by Busnee law should
have brought me to the filimicha (gallows), yet my neck has never
yet been squeezed by the cold garrote. Brother, I trust in the bar
lachi, like the Calore of old: were I in the midst of the gulph of
Bombardo (Lyons), without a plank to float upon, I should feel no
fear; for if I carried the precious stone, it would bring me safe
to shore: the bar lachi has power, brother.

Myself.--I shall not dispute the matter with you, more especially
as I am about to depart from Badajoz: I must speedily bid you
farewell, and we shall see each other no more.

Antonio.--Brother, do you know what brings me hither?

Myself.--I cannot tell, unless it be to wish me a happy journey: I
am not gypsy enough to interpret the thoughts of other people.

Antonio.--All last night I lay awake, thinking of the affairs of
Egypt; and when I arose in the morning I took the bar lachi from my
bosom, and scraping it with a knife, swallowed some of the dust in
aguardiente, as I am in the habit of doing when I have made up my
mind; and I said to myself, I am wanted on the frontiers of
Castumba (Castile) on a certain matter. The strange Caloro is
about to proceed to Madrilati; the journey is long, and he may fall
into evil hands, peradventure into those of his own blood; for let
me tell you, brother, the Cales are leaving their towns and
villages, and forming themselves into troops to plunder the Busne,
for there is now but little law in the land, and now or never is
the time for the Calore to become once more what they were in
former times; so I said, the strange Caloro may fall into the hands
of his own blood and be ill-treated by them, which were shame: I
will therefore go with him through the Chim del Manro (Estremadura)
as far as the frontiers of Castumba, and upon the frontiers of
Castumba I will leave the London Caloro to find his own way to
Madrilati, for there is less danger in Castumba than in the Chim
del Manro, and I will then betake me to the affairs of Egypt which
call me from hence.

Myself.--This is a very hopeful plan of yours, my friend; and in
what manner do you propose that we shall travel?

Antonio.--I will tell you, brother; I have a gras in the stall,
even the one which I purchased at Olivencas, as I told you on a
former occasion; it is good and fleet, and cost me, who am a gypsy,
fifty chule (dollars); upon that gras you shall ride. As for
myself, I will journey upon the macho.

Myself.--Before I answer you, I shall wish you to inform me what
business it is which renders your presence necessary in Castumba;
your son-in-law, Paco, told me that it was no longer the custom of
the gypsies to wander.

Antonio.--It is an affair of Egypt, brother, and I shall not
acquaint you with it; peradventure it relates to a horse or an ass,
or peradventure it relates to a mule or a macho; it does not relate
to yourself, therefore I advise you not to inquire about it--Dosta
(enough). With respect to my offer, you are free to decline it;
there is a drungruje (royal road) between here and Madrilati, and
you can travel it in the birdoche (stage-coach) or with the dromale
(muleteers); but I tell you, as a brother, that there are chories
upon the drun, and some of them are of the Errate.

Certainly few people in my situation would have accepted the offer
of this singular gypsy. It was not, however, without its
allurements for me; I was fond of adventure, and what more ready
means of gratifying my love of it than by putting myself under the
hands of such a guide. There are many who would have been afraid
of treachery, but I had no fears on this point, as I did not
believe that the fellow harboured the slightest ill intention
towards me; I saw that he was fully convinced that I was one of the
Errate, and his affection for his own race, and his hatred for the
Busne, were his strongest characteristics. I wished, moreover, to
lay hold of every opportunity of making myself acquainted with the
ways of the Spanish gypsies, and an excellent one here presented
itself on my first entrance into Spain. In a word, I determined to
accompany the gypsy. "I will go with you," I exclaimed; "as for my
baggage, I will despatch it to Madrid by the birdoche." "Do so,
brother," he replied, "and the gras will go lighter. Baggage,
indeed!--what need of baggage have you? How the Busne on the road
would laugh if they saw two Cales with baggage behind them."

During my stay at Badajoz, I had but little intercourse with the
Spaniards, my time being chiefly devoted to the gypsies, with whom,
from long intercourse with various sections of their race in
different parts of the world, I felt myself much more at home than
with the silent, reserved men of Spain, with whom a foreigner might
mingle for half a century without having half a dozen words
addressed to him, unless he himself made the first advances to
intimacy, which, after all, might be rejected with a shrug and a no
intendo; for, among the many deeply rooted prejudices of these
people, is the strange idea that no foreigner can speak their
language; an idea to which they will still cling though they hear
him conversing with perfect ease; for in that case the utmost that
they will concede to his attainments is, Habla quatro palabras y
nada mas (he can speak four words, and no more).

Early one morning, before sunrise, I found myself at the house of
Antonio; it was a small mean building, situated in a dirty street.
The morning was quite dark; the street, however, was partially
illumined by a heap of lighted straw, round which two or three men
were busily engaged, apparently holding an object over the flames.
Presently the gypsy's door opened, and Antonio made his appearance;
and, casting his eye in the direction of the light, exclaimed, "The
swine have killed their brother; would that every Busno was served
as yonder hog is. Come in, brother, and we will eat the heart of
that hog." I scarcely understood his words, but, following him, he
led me into a low room in which was a brasero, or small pan full of
lighted charcoal; beside it was a rude table, spread with a coarse
linen cloth, upon which was bread and a large pipkin full of a mess
which emitted no disagreeable savour. "The heart of the balichow
is in that puchera," said Antonio; "eat, brother." We both sat
down and ate, Antonio voraciously. When we had concluded he
arose:- "Have you got your li?" he demanded. "Here it is," said I,
showing him my passport. "Good," said he, "you may want it; I want
none, my passport is the bar lachi. Now for a glass of repani, and
then for the road."

We left the room, the door of which he locked, hiding the key
beneath a loose brick in a corner of the passage. "Go into the
street, brother, whilst I fetch the caballerias from the stable."
I obeyed him. The sun had not yet risen, and the air was
piercingly cold; the grey light, however, of dawn enabled me to
distinguish objects with tolerable accuracy; I soon heard the
clattering of the animals' feet, and Antonio presently stepped
forth leading the horse by the bridle; the macho followed behind.
I looked at the horse and shrugged my shoulders: as far as I could
scan it, it appeared the most uncouth animal I had ever beheld. It
was of a spectral white, short in the body, but with remarkably
long legs. I observed that it was particularly high in the cruz or
withers. "You are looking at the grasti," said Antonio; "it is
eighteen years old, but it is the very best in the Chim del Manro;
I have long had my eye upon it; I bought it for my own use for the
affairs of Egypt. Mount, brother, mount and let us leave the
foros--the gate is about being opened."

He locked the door, and deposited the key in his faja. In less
than a quarter of an hour we had left the town behind us. "This
does not appear to be a very good horse," said I to Antonio, as we
proceeded over the plain. "It is with difficulty that I can make
him move."

"He is the swiftest horse in the Chim del Manro, brother," said
Antonio; "at the gallop and at the speedy trot there is no one to
match him; but he is eighteen years old, and his joints are stiff,
especially of a morning; but let him once become heated and the
genio del viejo (spirit of the old man) comes upon him and there is
no holding him in with bit or bridle. I bought that horse for the
affairs of Egypt, brother."

About noon we arrived at a small village in the neighbourhood of a
high lumpy hill. "There is no Calo house in this place," said
Antonio; "we will therefore go to the posada of the Busne, and
refresh ourselves, man and beast." We entered the kitchen and sat
down at the boards, calling for wine and bread. There were two
ill-looking fellows in the kitchen, smoking cigars; I said
something to Antonio in the Calo language.

"What is that I hear?" said one of the fellows, who was
distinguished by an immense pair of moustaches. "What is that I
hear? is it in Calo that you are speaking before me, and I a Chalan
and national? Accursed gypsy, how dare you enter this posada and
speak before me in that speech? Is it not forbidden by the law of
the land in which we are, even as it is forbidden for a gypsy to
enter the mercado? I tell you what, friend, if I hear another word
of Calo come from your mouth, I will cudgel your bones and send you
flying over the house-tops with a kick of my foot."

"You would do right," said his companion; "the insolence of these
gypsies is no longer to be borne. When I am at Merida or Badajoz I
go to the mercado, and there in a corner stand the accursed gypsies
jabbering to each other in a speech which I understand not. 'Gypsy
gentleman,' say I to one of them, 'what will you have for that
donkey?' 'I will have ten dollars for it, Caballero nacional,'
says the gypsy; 'it is the best donkey in all Spain.' 'I should
like to see its paces,' say I. 'That you shall, most valorous!'
says the gypsy, and jumping upon its back, he puts it to its paces,
first of all whispering something into its ears in Calo, and truly
the paces of the donkey are most wonderful, such as I have never
seen before. 'I think it will just suit me,' and after looking at
it awhile, I take out the money and pay for it. 'I shall go to my
house,' says the gypsy; and off he runs. 'I shall go to my
village,' say I, and I mount the donkey. 'Vamonos,' say I, but the
donkey won't move. I give him a switch, but I don't get on the
better for that. 'How is this?' say I, and I fall to spurring him.
What happens then, brother? The wizard no sooner feels the prick
than he bucks down, and flings me over his head into the mire. I
get up and look about me; there stands the donkey staring at me,
and there stand the whole gypsy canaille squinting at me with their
filmy eyes. 'Where is the scamp who has sold me this piece of
furniture?' I shout. 'He is gone to Granada, Valorous,' says one.
'He is gone to see his kindred among the Moors,' says another. 'I
just saw him running over the field, in the direction of -, with
the devil close behind him,' says a third. In a word, I am
tricked. I wish to dispose of the donkey; no one, however, will
buy him; he is a Calo donkey, and every person avoids him. At last
the gypsies offer thirty rials for him; and after much chaffering I
am glad to get rid of him at two dollars. It is all a trick,
however; he returns to his master, and the brotherhood share the
spoil amongst them. All which villainy would be prevented, in my
opinion, were the Calo language not spoken; for what but the word
of Calo could have induced the donkey to behave in such an
unaccountable manner?"

Both seemed perfectly satisfied with the justness of this
conclusion, and continued smoking till their cigars were burnt to
stumps, when they arose, twitched their whiskers, looked at us with
fierce disdain, and dashing the tobacco-ends to the ground, strode
out of the apartment.

"Those people seem no friends to the gypsies," said I to Antonio,
when the two bullies had departed, "nor to the Calo language
either."

"May evil glanders seize their nostrils," said Antonio; "they have
been jonjabadoed by our people. However, brother, you did wrong to
speak to me in Calo, in a posada like this; it is a forbidden
language; for, as I have often told you, the king has destroyed the
law of the Cales. Let us away, brother, or those juntunes
(sneaking scoundrels) may set the justicia upon us."

Towards evening we drew near to a large town or village. "That is
Merida," said Antonio, "formerly, as the Busne say, a mighty city
of the Corahai. We shall stay here to-night, and perhaps for a day
or two, for I have some business of Egypt to transact in this
place. Now, brother, step aside with the horse, and wait for me
beneath yonder wall. I must go before and see in what condition
matters stand."

I dismounted from the horse, and sat down on a stone beneath the
ruined wall to which Antonio had motioned me; the sun went down,
and the air was exceedingly keen; I drew close around me an old
tattered gypsy cloak with which my companion had provided me, and
being somewhat fatigued, fell into a doze which lasted for nearly
an hour.

"Is your worship the London Caloro?" said a strange voice close
beside me.

I started and beheld the face of a woman peering under my hat.
Notwithstanding the dusk, I could see that the features were
hideously ugly and almost black; they belonged, in fact, to a gypsy
crone, at least seventy years of age, leaning upon a staff.

"Is your worship the London Caloro?" repeated she.

"I am he whom you seek," said I; "where is Antonio?"

"Curelando, curelando, baribustres curelos terela," {1} said the
crone: "come with me, Caloro of my garlochin, come with me to my
little ker, he will be there anon."

I followed the crone, who led the way into the town, which was
ruinous and seemingly half deserted; we went up the street, from
which she turned into a narrow and dark lane, and presently opened
the gate of a large dilapidated house; "Come in," said she.

"And the gras?" I demanded.

"Bring the gras in too, my chabo, bring the gras in too; there is
room for the gras in my little stable." We entered a large court,
across which we proceeded till we came to a wide doorway. "Go in,
my child of Egypt," said the hag; "go in, that is my little
stable."

"The place is as dark as pitch," said I, "and may be a well for
what I know; bring a light or I will not enter."

"Give me the solabarri (bridle)," said the hag, "and I will lead
your horse in, my chabo of Egypt, yes, and tether him to my little
manger." She led the horse through the doorway, and I heard her
busy in the darkness; presently the horse shook himself: "Grasti
terelamos," said the hag, who now made her appearance with the
bridle in her hand; "the horse has shaken himself, he is not harmed
by his day's journey; now let us go in, my Caloro, into my little
room."

We entered the house and found ourselves in a vast room, which
would have been quite dark but for a faint glow which appeared at
the farther end; it proceeded from a brasero, beside which were
squatted two dusky figures.

"These are Callees," said the hag; "one is my daughter and the
other is her chabi; sit down, my London Caloro, and let us hear you
speak."

I looked about for a chair, but could see none; at a short
distance, however, I perceived the end of a broken pillar lying on
the floor; this I rolled to the brasero and sat down upon it.

"This is a fine house, mother of the gypsies," said I to the hag,
willing to gratify the desire she had expressed of hearing me
speak; "a fine house is this of yours, rather cold and damp,
though; it appears large enough to be a barrack for hundunares."

"Plenty of houses in this foros, plenty of houses in Merida, my
London Caloro, some of them just as they were left by the
Corahanoes; ah, a fine people are the Corahanoes; I often wish
myself in their chim once more."

"How is this, mother," said I, "have you been in the land of the
Moors?"

"Twice have I been in their country, my Caloro,--twice have I been
in the land of the Corahai; the first time is more than fifty years
ago, I was then with the Sese (Spaniards), for my husband was a
soldier of the Crallis of Spain, and Oran at that time belonged to
Spain."

"You were not then with the real Moors," said I, "but only with the
Spaniards who occupied part of their country."

"I have been with the real Moors, my London Caloro. Who knows more
of the real Moors than myself? About forty years ago I was with my
ro in Ceuta, for he was still a soldier of the king, and he said to
me one day, 'I am tired of this place where there is no bread and
less water, I will escape and turn Corahano; this night I will kill
my sergeant and flee to the camp of the Moor.' 'Do so,' said I,
'my chabo, and as soon as may be I will follow you and become a
Corahani.' That same night he killed his sergeant, who five years
before had called him Calo and cursed him, then running to the wall
he dropped from it, and amidst many shots he escaped to the land of
the Corahai, as for myself, I remained in the presidio of Ceuta as
a suttler, selling wine and repani to the soldiers. Two years
passed by and I neither saw nor heard from my ro; one day there
came a strange man to my cachimani (wine-shop), he was dressed like
a Corahano, and yet he did not look like one, he looked like more a
callardo (black), and yet he was not a callardo either, though he
was almost black, and as I looked upon him I thought he looked
something like the Errate, and he said to me, 'Zincali; chachipe!'
and then he whispered to me in queer language, which I could
scarcely understand, 'Your ro is waiting, come with me, my little
sister, and I will take you unto him.' 'Where is he?' said I, and
he pointed to the west, to the land of the Corahai, and said, 'He
is yonder away; come with me, little sister, the ro is waiting.'
For a moment I was afraid, but I bethought me of my husband and I
wished to be amongst the Corahai; so I took the little parne
(money) I had, and locking up the cachimani went with the strange
man; the sentinel challenged us at the gate, but I gave him repani
(brandy) and he let us pass; in a moment we were in the land of the
Corahai. About a league from the town beneath a hill we found four
people, men and women, all very black like the strange man, and we
joined ourselves with them and they all saluted me and called me
little sister. That was all I understood of their discourse, which
was very crabbed; and they took away my dress and gave me other
clothes, and I looked like a Corahani, and away we marched for many
days amidst deserts and small villages, and more than once it
seemed to me that I was amongst the Errate, for their ways were the
same: the men would hokkawar (cheat) with mules and asses, and the
women told baji, and after many days we came before a large town,
and the black man said, 'Go in there, little sister, and there you
will find your ro;' and I went to the gate, and an armed Corahano
stood within the gate, and I looked in his face, and lo! it was my
ro.

"O what a strange town it was that I found myself in, full of
people who had once been Candore (Christians) but had renegaded and
become Corahai. There were Sese and Lalore (Portuguese), and men
of other nations, and amongst them were some of the Errate from my
own country; all were now soldiers of the Crallis of the Corahai
and followed him to his wars; and in that town I remained with my
ro a long time, occasionally going out with him to the wars, and I
often asked him about the black men who had brought me thither, and
he told me that he had had dealings with them, and that he believed
them to be of the Errate. Well, brother, to be short, my ro was
killed in the wars, before a town to which the king of the Corahai
laid siege, and I became a piuli (widow), and I returned to the
village of the renegades, as it was called, and supported myself as
well as I could; and one day as I was sitting weeping, the black
man, whom I had never seen since the day he brought me to my ro,
again stood before me, and he said, 'Come with me, little sister,
come with me, the ro is at hand'; and I went with him, and beyond
the gate in the desert was the same party of black men and women
which I had seen before. 'Where is my ro?' said I. 'Here he is,
little sister,' said the black man, 'here he is; from this day I am
the ro and you the romi; come, let us go, for there is business to
be done.'

"And I went with him, and he was my ro, and we lived amongst the
deserts, and hokkawar'd and choried and told baji; and I said to
myself, this is good, sure I am amongst the Errate in a better chim
than my own; and I often said that they were of the Errate, and
then they would laugh and say that it might be so, and that they
were not Corahai, but they could give no account of themselves.

"Well, things went on in this way for years, and I had three chai
by the black man, two of them died, but the youngest, who is the
Calli who sits by the brasero, was spared; so we roamed about and
choried and told baji; and it came to pass that once in the winter
time our company attempted to pass a wide and deep river, of which
there are many in the Chim del Corahai, and the boat overset with
the rapidity of the current and all our people were drowned, all
but myself and my chabi, whom I bore in my bosom. I had now no
friends amongst the Corahai, and I wandered about the despoblados
howling and lamenting till I became half lili (mad), and in this
manner I found my way to the coast, where I made friends with the
captain of a ship and returned to this land of Spain. And now I am
here, I often wish myself back again amongst the Corahai."

Here she commenced laughing loud and long, and when she had ceased,
her daughter and grandchild took up the laugh, which they continued
so long that I concluded they were all lunatics.

Hour succeeded hour, and still we sat crouching over the brasero,
from which, by this time, all warmth had departed; the glow had
long since disappeared, and only a few dying sparks were to be
distinguished. The room or hall was now involved in utter
darkness; the women were motionless and still; I shivered and began
to feel uneasy. "Will Antonio be here to-night?" at length I
demanded.

"No tenga usted cuidao, my London Caloro," said the Gypsy mother,
in an unearthly tone; "Pepindorio {2} has been here some time."

I was about to rise from my seat and attempt to escape from the
house, when I felt a hand laid upon my shoulder, and in a moment I
heard the voice of Antonio.

"Be not afraid, 'tis I, brother; we will have a light anon, and
then supper."

The supper was rude enough, consisting of bread, cheese, and
olives. Antonio, however, produced a leathern bottle of excellent
wine; we despatched these viands by the light of an earthen lamp
which was placed upon the floor.

"Now," said Antonio to the youngest female, "bring me the pajandi,
and I will sing a gachapla."

The girl brought the guitar, which, with some difficulty, the Gypsy
tuned, and then strumming it vigorously, he sang:

"I stole a plump and bonny fowl,
But ere I well had dined,
The master came with scowl and growl,
And me would captive bind.

"My hat and mantle off I threw,
And scour'd across the lea,
Then cried the beng {3} with loud halloo,
Where does the Gypsy flee?"

He continued playing and singing for a considerable time, the two
younger females dancing in the meanwhile with unwearied diligence,
whilst the aged mother occasionally snapped her fingers or beat
time on the ground with her stick. At last Antonio suddenly laid
down the instrument:-