The Romany Rye

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"I take up with your pal, as you call him! you had better mind what
you say," said Isopel Berners, "I take up with nobody."

"I merely mean taking up your quarters with him," said Mr.
Petulengro; "and I was only about to say a better fellow-lodger you
cannot have, or a more instructive, especially if you have a desire
to be inoculated with tongues, as he calls them. I wonder whether
you and he have had any tongue-work already."

"Have you and your wife anything particular to say? if you have
nothing but this kind of conversation I must leave you, as I am
going to make a journey this afternoon, and should be getting
ready."

"You must excuse my husband, madam," said Mrs. Petulengro, "he is
not overburdened with understanding, and has said but one word of
sense since he has been here, which was that we came to pay our
respects to you. We have dressed ourselves in our best Roman way,
in order to do honour to you; perhaps you do not like it; if so, I
am sorry. I have no French clothes, madam; if I had any, madam, I
would have come in them, in order to do you more honour."

"I like to see you much better as you are," said Belle; "people
should keep to their own fashions, and yours is very pretty."

"I am glad you are pleased to think it so, madam; it has been
admired in the great city; it created what they call a sensation;
and some of the great ladies, the court ladies, imitated it, else I
should not appear in it so often as I am accustomed; for I am not
very fond of what is Roman, having an imagination that what is
Roman is ungenteel; in fact, I once heard the wife of a rich
citizen say that gypsies were vulgar creatures. I should have
taken her saying very much to heart, but for her improper
pronunciation; she could not pronounce her words, madam, which we
gypsies, as they call us, usually can, so I thought she was no very
high purchase. You are very beautiful, madam, though you are not
dressed as I could wish to see you, and your hair is hanging down
in sad confusion; allow me to assist you in arranging your hair,
madam; I will dress it for you in our fashion; I would fain see how
your hair would look in our poor gypsy fashion; pray allow me,
madam?" and she took Belle by the hand.

"I really can do no such thing," said Belle, withdrawing her hand;
"I thank you for coming to see me, but--"

"Do allow me to officiate upon your hair, madam," said Mrs.
Petulengro. "I should esteem your allowing me a great mark of
condescension. You are very beautiful, madam, and I think you
doubly so, because you are so fair; I have a great esteem for
persons with fair complexions and hair; I have a less regard for
people with dark hair and complexions, madam."

"Then why did you turn off the lord, and take up with me?" said Mr.
Petulengro; "that same lord was fair enough all about him."

"People do when they are young and silly what they sometimes repent
of when they are of riper years and understandings. I sometimes
think that had I not been something of a simpleton, I might at this
time be a great court lady. Now, madam," said she, again taking
Belle by the hand, "do oblige me by allowing me to plait your hair
a little?"

"I have really a good mind to be angry with you," said Belle,
giving Mrs. Petulengro a peculiar glance.

"Do allow her to arrange your hair," said I; "she means no harm,
and wishes to do you honour; do oblige her and me too, for I should
like to see how your hair would look dressed in her fashion."

"You hear what the young rye says?" said Mrs. Petulengro. "I am
sure you will oblige the young rye, if not myself. Many people
would be willing to oblige the young rye, if he would but ask them;
but he is not in the habit of asking favours. He has a nose of his
own, which he keeps tolerably exalted; he does not think small-beer
of himself, madam; and all the time I have been with him, I never
heard him ask a favour before; therefore, madam, I am sure you will
oblige him. My sister Ursula would be very willing to oblige him
in many things, but he will not ask for anything, except for such a
favour as a word, which is a poor favour after all. I don't mean
for her word; perhaps he will some day ask you for your word. If
so--"

"Why, here you are, after railing at me for catching at words,
catching at a word yourself," said Mr. Petulengro.

"Hold your tongue, sir," said Mrs. Petulengro. "Don't interrupt me
in my discourse; if I caught at a word now, I am not in the habit
of doing so. I am no conceited body; no newspaper Neddy; no
pothouse witty person. I was about to say, madam, that if the
young rye asks you at any time for your word, you will do as you
deem convenient; but I am sure you will oblige him by allowing me
to braid your hair."

"I shall not do it to oblige him," said Belle; "the young rye, as
you call him, is nothing to me."

"Well, then, to oblige me," said Mrs. Petulengro; "do allow me to
become your poor tire-woman."

"It is great nonsense," said Belle, reddening; "however, as you
came to see me, and ask the matter as a particular favour to
yourself--"

"Thank you, madam," said Mrs. Petulengro, leading Belle to the
stool; "please to sit down here. Thank you; your hair is very
beautiful, madam," she continued, as she proceeded to braid Belle's
hair; "so is your countenance. Should you ever go to the great
city, among the grand folks, you would make a sensation, madam. I
have made one myself, who am dark; the chi she is kauley, which
last word signifies black, which I am not, though rather dark.
There is no colour like white, madam; it's so lasting, so genteel.
Gentility will carry the day, madam, even with the young rye. He
will ask words of the black lass, but beg the word of the fair."

In the meantime Mr. Petulengro and myself entered into
conversation. "Any news stirring, Mr. Petulengro?" said I. "Have
you heard anything of the great religious movements?"

"Plenty," said Mr. Petulengro; "all the religious people, more
especially the Evangelicals--those that go about distributing
tracts--are very angry about the fight between Gentleman Cooper and
White-headed Bob, which they say ought not to have been permitted
to take place; and then they are trying all they can to prevent the
fight between the lion and the dogs, which they say is a disgrace
to a Christian country. Now I can't say that I have any quarrel
with the religious party and the Evangelicals; they are always
civil to me and mine, and frequently give us tracts, as they call
them, which neither I nor mine can read; but I cannot say that I
approve of any movements, religious or not, which have in aim to
put down all life and manly sport in this here country."

"Anything else?" said I.

"People are becoming vastly sharp," said Mr. Petulengro; "and I am
told that all the old-fashioned good-tempered constables are going
to be set aside, and a paid body of men to be established, who are
not to permit a tramper or vagabond on the roads of England;--and
talking of roads, puts me in mind of a strange story I heard two
nights ago, whilst drinking some beer at a public-house in company
with my cousin Sylvester. I had asked Tawno to go, but his wife
would not let him. Just opposite me, smoking their pipes, were a
couple of men, something like engineers, and they were talking of a
wonderful invention which was to make a wonderful alteration in
England; inasmuch as it would set aside all the old roads, which in
a little time would be ploughed up, and sowed with corn, and cause
all England to be laid down with iron roads, on which people would
go thundering along in vehicles, pushed forward by fire and smoke.
Now, brother, when I heard this, I did not feel very comfortable;
for I thought to myself, what a queer place such a road would be to
pitch one's tent upon, and how impossible it would be for one's
cattle to find a bite of grass upon it; and I thought likewise of
the danger to which one's family would be exposed in being run over
and severely scorched by these same flying fiery vehicles; so I
made bold to say, that I hoped such an invention would never be
countenanced, because it was likely to do a great deal of harm.
Whereupon, one of the men, giving me a glance, said, without taking
the pipe out of his mouth, that for his part, he sincerely hoped
that it would take effect; and if it did no other good than
stopping the rambles of gypsies, and other like scamps, it ought to
be encouraged. Well, brother, feeling myself insulted, I put my
hand into my pocket, in order to pull out money, intending to
challenge him to fight for a five-shilling stake, but merely found
sixpence, having left all my other money at the tent; which
sixpence was just sufficient to pay for the beer which Sylvester
and myself were drinking, of whom I couldn't hope to borrow
anything--'poor as Sylvester' being a by-word amongst us. So, not
being able to back myself, I held my peace, and let the Gorgio have
it all his own way, who, after turning up his nose at me, went on
discoursing about the said invention, saying what a fund of profit
it would be to those who knew how to make use of it, and should
have the laying down of the new roads, and the shoeing of England
with iron. And after he had said this, and much more of the same
kind, which I cannot remember, he and his companion got up and
walked away; and presently I and Sylvester got up and walked to our
camp; and there I lay down in my tent by the side of my wife, where
I had an ugly dream of having camped upon an iron road; my tent
being overturned by a flying vehicle; my wife's leg injured; and
all my affairs put into great confusion."

"Now, madam," said Mrs. Petulengro, "I have braided your hair in
our fashion: you look very beautiful, madam; more beautiful, if
possible, than before." Belle now rose, and came forward with her
tire-woman. Mr. Petulengro was loud in his applause, but I said
nothing, for I did not think Belle was improved in appearance by
having submitted to the ministry of Mrs. Petulengro's hand. Nature
never intended Belle to appear as a gypsy; she had made her too
proud and serious. A more proper part for her was that of a
heroine, a queenly heroine,--that of Theresa of Hungary, for
example; or, better still, that of Brynhilda the Valkyrie, the
beloved of Sigurd, the serpent-killer, who incurred the curse of
Odin, because, in the tumult of spears, she sided with the young
king, and doomed the old warrior to die, to whom Odin had promised
victory.

Belle looked at me for a moment in silence; then turning to Mrs.
Petulengro, she said, "You have had your will with me; are you
satisfied?" "Quite so, madam," said Mrs. Petulengro, "and I hope
you will be so too, as soon as you have looked in the glass." "I
have looked in one already," said Belle; "and the glass does not
flatter." "You mean the face of the young rye," said Mrs.
Petulengro; "never mind him, madam; the young rye, though he knows
a thing or two, is not a university, nor a person of universal
wisdom. I assure you, that you never looked so well before; and I
hope that, from this moment, you will wear your hair in this way."
"And who is to braid it in this way?" said Belle, smiling. "I,
madam," said Mrs. Petulengro; "I will braid it for you every
morning, if you will but be persuaded to join us. Do so, madam,
and I think, if you did, the young rye would do so too." "The
young rye is nothing to me, nor I to him," said Belle; "we have
stayed some time together; but our paths will soon be apart. Now,
farewell, for I am about to take a journey." "And you will go out
with your hair as I have braided it," said Mrs. Petulengro; "if you
do, everybody will be in love with you." "No," said Belle;
"hitherto I have allowed you to do what you please, but henceforth
I shall have my own way. Come, come," said she, observing that the
gypsy was about to speak, "we have had enough of nonsense; whenever
I leave this hollow, it will be wearing my hair in my own fashion."
"Come, wife," said Mr. Petulengro; "we will no longer intrude upon
the rye and rawnie; there is such a thing as being troublesome."
Thereupon Mr. Petulengro and his wife took their leave, with many
salutations. "Then you are going?" said I, when Belle and I were
left alone. "Yes," said Belle; "I am going on a journey; my
affairs compel me." "But you will return again?" said I. "Yes,"
said Belle, "I shall return once more." "Once more," said I; "what
do you mean by once more? The Petulengros will soon be gone, and
will you abandon me in this place?" "You were alone here," said
Belle, "before I came, and I suppose, found it agreeable, or you
would not have stayed in it." "Yes," said I, "that was before I
knew you; but having lived with you here, I should be very loth to
live here without you." "Indeed," said Belle; "I did not know that
I was of so much consequence to you. Well, the day is wearing
away--I must go and harness Traveller to the cart." "I will do
that," said I, "or anything else you may wish me. Go and prepare
yourself; I will see after Traveller and the cart." Belle departed
to her tent, and I set about performing the task I had undertaken.
In about half-an-hour Belle again made her appearance--she was
dressed neatly and plainly. Her hair was no longer in the Roman
fashion, in which Pakomovna had plaited it, but was secured by a
comb; she held a bonnet in her hand. "Is there anything else I can
do for you?" I demanded. "There are two or three bundles by my
tent, which you can put into the cart," said Belle. I put the
bundles into the cart, and then led Traveller and the cart up the
winding path to the mouth of the dingle, near which was Mr.
Petulengro's encampment. Belle followed. At the top, I delivered
the reins into her hands; we looked at each other stedfastly for
some time. Belle then departed, and I returned to the dingle,
where, seating myself on my stone, I remained for upwards of an
hour in thought.

CHAPTER VII

The Festival--The Gypsy Song--Piramus of Rome--The Scotchman--Gypsy
Names.

On the following day there was much feasting amongst the Romany
chals of Mr. Petulengro's party. Throughout the forenoon the
Romany chies did scarcely anything but cook flesh, and the flesh
which they cooked was swine's flesh. About two o'clock, the chals
dividing themselves into various parties, sat down and partook of
the fare, which was partly roasted, partly sodden. I dined that
day with Mr. Petulengro and his wife and family, Ursula, Mr. and
Mrs. Chikno, and Sylvester and his two children. Sylvester, it
will be as well to say, was a widower, and had consequently no one
to cook his victuals for him, supposing he had any, which was not
always the case, Sylvester's affairs being seldom in a prosperous
state. He was noted for his bad success in trafficking,
notwithstanding the many hints which he received from Jasper, under
whose protection he had placed himself, even as Tawno Chikno had
done, who himself, as the reader has heard on a former occasion,
was anything but a wealthy subject, though he was at all times
better off than Sylvester, the Lazarus of the Romany tribe.

All our party ate with a good appetite, except myself, who, feeling
rather melancholy that day, had little desire to eat. I did not,
like the others, partake of the pork, but got my dinner entirely
off the body of a squirrel which had been shot the day before by a
chal of the name of Piramus, who, besides being a good shot, was
celebrated for his skill in playing on the fiddle. During the
dinner a horn filled with ale passed frequently around; I drank of
it more than once, and felt inspirited by the draughts. The repast
concluded, Sylvester and his children departed to their tent, and
Mr. Petulengro, Tawno, and myself, getting up, went and lay down
under a shady hedge, where Mr. Petulengro, lighting his pipe, began
to smoke, and where Tawno presently fell asleep. I was about to
fall asleep also, when I heard the sound of music and song.
Piramus was playing on the fiddle, whilst Mrs. Chikno, who had a
voice of her own, was singing in tones sharp enough, but of great
power, a gypsy song:-

POISONING THE PORKER
BY MRS. CHIKNO

To mande shoon ye Romany chals
Who besh in the pus about the yag,
I'll pen how we drab the baulo,
I'll pen how we drab the baulo.

We jaws to the drab-engro ker,
Trin horsworth there of drab we lels,
And when to the swety back we wels
We pens we'll drab the baulo,
We'll have a drab at a baulo.

And then we kairs the drab opre,
And then we jaws to the farming ker,
To mang a beti habben,
A beti poggado habben.

A rinkeno baulo there we dick,
And then we pens in Romano jib;
Wust lis odoi opre ye chick,
And the baulo he will lel lis,
The baulo he will lel lis.

Coliko, coliko saulo we
Apopli to the farming ker
Will wel and mang him mullo,
Will wel and mang his truppo.

And so we kairs, and so we kairs;
The baulo in the rarde mers;
We mang him on the saulo,
And rig to the tan the baulo.

And then we toves the wendror well
Till sore the wendror iuziou se,
Till kekkeno drab's adrey lis,
Till drab there's kek adrey lis.

And then his truppo well we hatch,
Kin levinor at the kitchema,
And have a kosko habben,
A kosko Romano habben.

The boshom engro kils, he kils,
The tawnie juva gils, she gils
A puro Romano gillie,
Now shoon the Romano gillie.

Which song I had translated in the following manner, in my younger
days, for a lady's album:

Listen to me ye Romanlads, who are seated in the straw about the
fire, and I will tell how we poison the porker, I will tell how we
poison the porker.

We go to the house of the poison-monger, where we buy three
pennies' worth of bane, and when we return to our people we say, we
will poison the porker; we will try and poison the porker.

We then make up the poison, and then we take our way to the house
of the farmer, as if to beg a bit of victuals, a little broken
victuals.

We see a jolly porker, and then we say in Roman language, "Fling
the bane yonder amongst the dirt, and the porker soon will find it,
the porker soon will find it."

Early on the morrow, we will return to the farm-house, and beg the
dead porker, the body of the dead porker.

And so we do, even so we do; the porker dieth during the night; on
the morrow we beg the porker, and carry to the tent the porker.

And then we wash the inside well, till all the inside is perfectly
clean, till there's no bane within it, not a poison grain within
it.

And then we roast the body well, send for ale to the alehouse, and
have a merry banquet, a merry Roman banquet.

The fellow with the fiddle plays, he plays; the little lassie
sings, she sings an ancient Roman ditty; now hear the Roman ditty.

SONG OF THE BROKEN CHASTITY
BY URSULA

Penn'd the Romany chi ke laki dye
"Miry dearie dye mi shom cambri!"
"And coin kerdo tute cambri,
Miry dearie chi, miry Romany chi?"
"O miry dye a boro rye,
A bovalo rye, a gorgiko rye,
Sos kistur pre a pellengo grye,
'Twas yov sos kerdo man cambri."
"Tu tawnie vassavie lubbeny,
Tu chal from miry tan abri;
Had a Romany cwal kair'd tute cambri,
Then I had penn'd ke tute chie,
But tu shan a vassavie lubbeny
With gorgikie rat to be cambri."

"There's some kernel in those songs, brother," said Mr. Petulengro,
when the songs and music were over.

"Yes," said I; "they are certainly very remarkable songs. I say,
Jasper, I hope you have not been drabbing baulor lately."

"And suppose we have, brother, what then?"

"Why, it is a very dangerous practice, to say nothing of the
wickedness of it."

"Necessity has no law, brother."

"That is true," said I; "I have always said so, but you are not
necessitous, and should not drab baulor."

"And who told you we had been drabbing baulor?"

"Why, you have had a banquet of pork, and after the banquet, Mrs.
Chikno sang a song about drabbing baulor, so I naturally thought
you might have lately been engaged in such a thing."

"Brother, you occasionally utter a word or two of common sense. It
was natural for you to suppose, after seeing that dinner of pork,
and hearing that song, that we had been drabbing baulor; I will now
tell you that we have not been doing so. What have you to say to
that?"

"That I am very glad of it."

"Had you tasted that pork, brother, you would have found that it
was sweet and tasty, which balluva that is drabbed can hardly be
expected to be. We have no reason to drab baulor at present, we
have money and credit; but necessity has no law. Our forefathers
occasionally drabbed baulor; some of our people may still do such a
thing, but only from compulsion."

"I see," said I; "and at your merry meetings you sing songs upon
the compulsatory deeds of your people, alias, their villainous
actions; and, after all, what would the stirring poetry of any
nation be, but for its compulsatory deeds? Look at the poetry of
Scotland, the heroic part, founded almost entirely on the
villainous deeds of the Scotch nation; cow-stealing, for example,
which is very little better than drabbing baulor; whilst the softer
part is mostly about the slips of its females among the broom, so
that no upholder of Scotch poetry could censure Ursula's song as
indelicate, even if he understood it. What do you think, Jasper?"

"I think, brother, as I before said, that occasionally you utter a
word of common sense; you were talking of the Scotch, brother; what
do you think of a Scotchman finding fault with Romany!"

"A Scotchman finding fault with Romany, Jasper! Oh dear, but you
joke, the thing could never be."

"Yes, and at Piramus's fiddle; what do you think of a Scotchman
turning up his nose at Piramus's fiddle?"

"A Scotchman turning up his nose at Piramus's fiddle! nonsense,
Jasper."

"Do you know what I most dislike, brother?"

"I do not, unless it be the constable, Jasper."

"It is not the constable; it's a beggar on horseback, brother."

"What do you mean by a beggar on horseback?"

"Why, a scamp, brother, raised above his proper place, who takes
every opportunity of giving himself fine airs. About a week ago,
my people and myself camped on a green by a plantation in the
neighbourhood of a great house. In the evening we were making
merry, the girls were dancing, while Piramus was playing on the
fiddle a tune of his own composing, to which he has given his own
name, Piramus of Rome, and which is much celebrated amongst our
people, and from which I have been told that one of the grand
gorgio composers, who once heard it, has taken several hints. So,
as we were making merry, a great many grand people, lords and
ladies, I believe, came from the great house, and looked on, as the
girls danced to the tune of Piramus of Rome, and seemed much
pleased; and when the girls had left off dancing, and Piramus
playing, the ladies wanted to have their fortunes told; so I bade
Mikailia Chikno, who can tell a fortune when she pleases better
than any one else, tell them a fortune, and she, being in a good
mind, told them a fortune which pleased them very much. So, after
they had heard their fortunes, one of them asked if any of our
women could sing; and I told them several could, more particularly
Leviathan--you know Leviathan, she is not here now, but some miles
distant, she is our best singer, Ursula coming next. So the lady
said she should like to hear Leviathan sing, whereupon Leviathan
sang the Gudlo pesham, and Piramus played the tune of the same
name, which as you know, means the honeycomb, the song and the tune
being well entitled to the name, being wonderfully sweet. Well,
everybody present seemed mighty well pleased with the song and
music, with the exception of one person, a carroty-haired Scotch
body; how he came there I don't know, but there he was; and, coming
forward, he began in Scotch as broad as a barn-door to find fault
with the music and the song, saying, that he had never heard viler
stuff than either. Well, brother, out of consideration for the
civil gentry with whom the fellow had come, I held my peace for a
long time, and in order to get the subject changed, I said to
Mikailia in Romany, You have told the ladies their fortunes, now
tell the gentlemen theirs, quick, quick,--pen lende dukkerin.
Well, brother, the Scotchman, I suppose, thinking I was speaking
ill of him, fell into a greater passion than before, and catching
hold of the word dukkerin--'Dukkerin,' said he, 'what's dukkerin?'
'Dukkerin,' said I, 'is fortune, a man or woman's destiny; don't
you like the word?' 'Word! d'ye ca' that a word? a bonnie word,'
said he. 'Perhaps, you'll tell us what it is in Scotch,' said I,
'in order that we may improve our language by a Scotch word; a pal
of mine has told me that we have taken a great many words from
foreign lingos.' 'Why, then, if that be the case, fellow, I will
tell you; it is e'en "spaeing,"' said he, very seriously. 'Well,
then,' said I, 'I'll keep my own word, which is much the prettiest-
-spaeing! spaeing! why, I should be ashamed to make use of the
word, it sounds so much like a certain other word;' and then I made
a face as if I were unwell. 'Perhaps it's Scotch also for that?'
'What do ye mean by speaking in that guise to a gentleman?' said
he; 'you insolent vagabond, without a name or a country.' 'There
you are mistaken,' said I; 'my country is Egypt, but we 'Gyptians,
like you Scotch, are rather fond of travelling; and as for name--my
name is Jasper Petulengro, perhaps you have a better; what is it?'
'Sandy Macraw.' At that, brother, the gentlemen burst into a roar
of laughter, and all the ladies tittered."

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