But note his object, and mark his end. In speaking of some of the difficulties in his travels, he says:-"My time lay heavily on my hands, my only source of amus.e.m.e.nt consisting in the conversation of the woman telling of the wonderful tales of the land of the Moors-prison escapes, thievish feats, and one or two poisoning adventures in which she had been engaged. There was something very wild in her gestures. She goggled frightfully with her eyes." And then speaking of the old Gipsy woman whom he went to see:-"Here, thrusting her hand into her pocket, she discharged a handful of some kind of dust or snuff into the fellow's face. He stamped and roared, but was for some time held fast by the two Gipsy men; he extricated himself, however, and attempted to unsheath a knife which he wore in his girdle; but the two young Gipsies flung themselves upon him like furies."

Borrow says, after travelling a long distance by night, and setting out again the next morning to travel thirteen leagues:-"Throughout the day a drizzling rain was falling, which turned the dust of the roads into mud and mire. Towards evening we reached a moor-a wild place enough, strewn with enormous stones and rocks. The wind had ceased, but a strong wind rose and howled at our backs. The sun went down, and dark night presently came over us. We proceeded for nearly three hours, until we heard the barking of dogs, and perceived a light or two in the distance.

'That is Trujillo,' said Antonio, who had not spoken for a long time. 'I am glad of it,' I replied; 'I am so thoroughly tired, I shall sleep soundly in Trujillo.' That is as it may be. We soon entered the town, which appeared dark and gloomy enough. I followed close behind the Gipsy, who led the way, I knew not whither, through dismal streets and dark places where cats were squalling. 'Here is the house,' said he at last, dismounting before a low, mean hut. He knocked, but no answer. He knocked again, but no answer. 'There can be no difficulty,' said I, 'with respect to what we have to do. If your friends are gone out, it is easy enough to go to a posada.' 'You know not what you say,' replied the Gipsy. 'I dare not go to the mesuna, nor enter any house in Trujillo save this, and this is shut. Well, there is no remedy; we must move on; and, between ourselves, the sooner we leave the place the better. My own brother was garroted at Trujillo.' He lighted a cigar by means of a steel and yesca, sprung on his mule, and proceeded through streets and lanes equally dismal as those through which we had already travelled."

Mr. Borrow goes on to say:-"I confess I did not much like this decision of the Gipsy; I felt very slight inclination to leave the town behind, and to venture into unknown places in the dark of the night, amidst rain and mist-for the wind had now dropped, and the rain again began to fall briskly. I was, moreover, much fatigued, and wished for nothing better than to deposit myself in some comfortable manger, where I might sink to sleep lulled by the pleasant sound of horses and mules despatching their provender. I had, however, put myself under the direction of the Gipsy, and I was too old a traveller to quarrel with my guide under present circ.u.mstances. I therefore followed close to his crupper, our only light being the glow emitted from the Gipsy's cigar. At last he flung it from his mouth into a puddle, and we were then in darkness. We proceeded in this manner for a long time. The Gipsy was silent. I myself was equally so. The rain descended more and more. I sometimes thought I heard doleful noises, something like the hooting of owls. 'This is a strange night to be wandering abroad in,' I at length said to Antonio, the Gipsy.

(The Gipsy word for Antonio is 'Devil.') 'It is, brother,' said the Gipsy; 'but I would sooner be abroad in such a night, and in such places, than in the estaripel of Trujillo.'

"We wandered at least a league further, and now appeared to be near a wood, for I could occasionally distinguish the trunks of immense trees.

Suddenly Antonio stopped his mule. 'Look, brother,' said he, 'to the left, and tell me if you do not see a light; your eyes are sharper than mine.' I did as he commanded me. At first I could see nothing, but, moving a little further on, I plainly saw a large light at some distance, seemingly amongst the trees. 'Yonder cannot be a lamp or candle,' said I; 'it is more like the blaze of a fire.' 'Very likely,' said Antonio.

'There are no queres (_houses_) in this place; it is doubtless a fire made by durotunes (_shepherds_); let us go and join them, for, as you say, it is doleful work wandering about at night amidst rain and mire.'

"We dismounted and entered what I now saw was a forest, leading the animals cautiously amongst the trees and brushwood. In about five minutes we reached a small open s.p.a.ce, at the farther side of which, at the foot of a large cork-tree, a fire was burning, and by it stood or sat two or three figures. They had heard our approach, and one of them now exclaimed, 'Quien Vive?' 'I know that voice,' said Antonio, and, leaving the horse with me, rapidly advanced towards the fire. Presently I heard an 'Ola!' and a laugh, and soon the voice of Antonio summoned me to advance. On reaching the fire, I found two dark lads, and a still darker woman of about forty, the latter seated on what appeared to be horse or mule furniture. I likewise saw a horse and two donkeys tethered to the neighbouring trees. It was, in fact, a Gipsy bivouac . . . 'Come forward, brother, and show yourself,' said Antonio to me; 'you are amongst friends; these are of the Errate, the very people whom I expected to find at Trujillo, and in whose house we should have slept.'

"'And what,' said I, 'could have induced them to leave their house in Trujillo and come into this dark forest, in the midst of wind and rain, to pa.s.s the night?'

"'They come on business of Egypt, brother, doubtless,' replied Antonio, 'and that business is none of ours. Calla boca! It is lucky we have found them here, else we should have had no supper, and our horses no corn.'

"'My ro is prisoner at the village yonder,' said the woman, pointing with her hand in a particular direction; 'he is prisoner yonder for choring a mailla (_stealing a donkey_); we are come to see what we can do in his behalf; and where can we lodge better than in this forest, where there is nothing to pay? It is not the first time, I trow, that Calore have slept at the root of a tree.'

"One of the striplings now gave us barley for our animals in a large bag, into which we successively introduced their heads, allowing the famished creatures to regale themselves till we conceived that they had satisfied their hunger. There was a puchero simmering at the fire, half-fall of bacon, garbanzos, and other provisions; this was emptied into a large wooden platter, and out of this Antonio and myself supped; the other Gipsies refused to join us, giving us to understand that they had eaten before our arrival; they all, however, did justice to the leathern bottle of Antonio, which, before his departure from Merida, he had the precaution to fill.

"I was by this time completely overcome with fatigue and sleep. Antonio flung me an immense horse-cloth, of which he bore more than one beneath the huge cushion on which he rode. In this I wrapped myself, and placing my head upon a bundle, and my feet as near as possible to the fire, I lay down."

How delightful and soul-inspiring it would have been to the weary pilgrim, jaded in the cause of the poor Gipsies, if Antonio's heart had been full of religious zeal and fervour, and Hubert Petalengro and Esmeralda, their souls filled to overflowing with the love of G.o.d, had been by the side of the camp-fire, and the trio had struck up with their sweet voices, as the good man was drawing his weary legs and cold feet together before the embers of the dying Gipsy fire-

"Guide me, O thou great Jehovah, Pilgrim through this barren land; I am weak, but Thou art mighty, Hold me with Thy powerful hand.

Bread of heaven, feed me till I want no more.

"Open now the crystal fountain Whence the healing waters flow; Let the fiery, cloudy pillars, Lead me all my journey through.

Strong Deliverer, be Thou still my strength and shield."

"Antonio and the other Gipsies remained seated by the fire conversing. I listened for a moment to what they said, but I did not perfectly understand it, and what I did understand by no means interested me. The rain still drizzled, but I heeded it not, and was soon asleep.

"The sun was just appearing as I awoke. I made several efforts before I could rise from the ground; my limbs were quite stiff, and my hair was covered with rime, for the rain had ceased, and a rather severe frost set in. I looked around me, but could see neither Antonio nor the Gipsies; the animals of the latter had likewise disappeared, so had the horse which I had hitherto rode; the mule, however, of Antonio still remained fastened to the tree. The latter circ.u.mstance quieted some apprehensions which were beginning to arise in my mind. 'They are gone on some business of Egypt,' I said to myself, 'and will return anon.' I gathered together the embers of the fire, and heaping upon them sticks and branches, soon succeeded in calling forth a blaze, beside which I again placed the puchero, with what remained of the provision of last night. I waited for a considerable time in expectation of the return of my companions, but as they did not appear, I sat down and breakfasted.

Before I had well finished I heard the noise of a horse approaching rapidly, and presently Antonio made his appearance amongst the trees, with some agitation in his countenance. He sprang from the horse, and instantly proceeded to untie the mule. 'Mount, brother, mount!' said he, pointing to the horse; 'I went with the Callee and her chabes to the village where the ro is in trouble; the chino-baro, however, seized them at once with their cattle, and would have laid hands also on me; but I set spurs to the grasti, gave him the bridle, and was soon far away.

Mount, brother, mount, or we shall have the whole rustic _canaille_ upon us in a twinkling-it is such a bad place.'"

I almost imagine Borrow would have said, under the circ.u.mstances, as he was putting his foot into the stirrup to mount his horse to fly for his life into the wild regions of an unknown country:-

"Jesus, lover of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom fly; While the nearer waters roll, While the tempest still is high.

Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, Till the storm of life is past, Safe into the haven guide, Oh, receive my soul at last.

"Other refuge have I none, Hangs my helpless soul on Thee, Leave, O leave me not alone, Still support and comfort me.

All my trust on Thee is stayed, All my help from Thee I bring, Cover my defenceless head, With the shadow of Thy wing."

Sir Walter Scott, in "Guy Mannering," speaking of the dark deeds of the Gipsies, says:-"The idea of being dragged out of his miserable concealment by wretches whose trade was that of midnight murder, without weapons or the slightest means of defence, except entreaties which would be only their sport, and cries for help which could never reach other ear than their own-his safety intrusted to the precarious compa.s.sion of a being a.s.sociated with these felons, and whose trade of rapine and imposture must have hardened her against every human feeling-the bitterness of his emotions almost choked him. He endeavoured to read in her withered and dark countenance, as the lamp threw its light upon her features, something that promised those feelings of compa.s.sion which females, even in their most degraded state, can seldom altogether smother. There was no such touch of humanity about this woman."

"'Never fear,' said the old Gipsy man, 'Meg's true-bred; she's the last in the gang that will start; but she has some queer ways, and often cuts queer words.' With more of this gibberish, they continued the conversation, rendering it thus, even to each other, a dark, obscure dialect, eked out by significant nods and signs, but never expressing distinctly or in plain language the subject on which it turned."

G. P. Whyte-Melville speaks of the Russian Gipsies in the language of fiction in his "Interpreter" as follows:-"The morning sun smiles upon a motley troop journeying towards the Danube. Two or three lithe, supple urchins, bounding and dancing along with half-naked bodies, and bright black eyes shining through knotted elf-locks, form the advanced guard.

Half-a-dozen donkeys seem to carry the whole property of the tribe. The main body consists of sinewy, active-looking men, and strikingly handsome girls, all walking with the free, graceful air and elastic gait peculiar to those whose lives are pa.s.sed entirely in active exercise, under no roof but that of heaven. Dark-browed women in the very meridian of beauty bring up the rear, dragging or carrying a race of swarthy progeny, all alike distinguished for the sparkling eyes and raven hair, which, with a cunning nothing can overreach, and a nature nothing can tame, seem to be the peculiar inheritance of the Gipsy. Their costume is striking, not to say grotesque. Some of the girls, and all the matrons, bind their brows with various coloured handkerchiefs, which form a very picturesque and not unbecoming head-gear; whilst in a few instances coins even of gold are strung amongst the jetty locks of the Zingyni beauties. The men are not so particular in their attire. One sinewy fellow wears only a goatskin shirt and a string of beads round his neck, but the generality are clad in the coa.r.s.e cloth of the country, much tattered, and bearing evident symptoms of weather and wear. The little mischievous urchins who are clinging round their mothers' necks, or dragging back from their mothers' hands, and holding on to their mothers' skirts, are almost naked. Small heads and hands and feet, all the marks of what we are accustomed to term high birth, are hereditary among the Gipsies; and we doubt if the Queen of the South herself was a more queenly-looking personage than the dame now marching in the midst of the throng, and conversing earnestly with her companion, a resolute-looking man scarce entering upon the prime of life, with a Gipsy complexion, but a bearing in which it is not difficult to recognise the soldier. He is talking to his protectress-for such she is-with a military frankness and vivacity, which even to that royal personage, accustomed though she be to exact all the respect due to her rank, appear by no means displeasing. The lady is verging on the autumn of her charms (their summer must have been scorching indeed!), and though a masculine beauty, is a beauty nevertheless. Black-browed is she, and deep-coloured, with eyes of fire, and locks of jet, even now untinged with grey. Straight and regular are her features, and the wide mouth, with its strong, even dazzling teeth, betokens an energy and force of will which would do credit to the other s.e.x. She has the face of a woman that would dare much, labour much, everything but _love_ much. She ought to be a queen, and she _is_ one, none the less despotic for ruling over a tribe of Gipsies instead of a civilised community . . .

"'Every Gipsy can tell fortunes; mine has been told many a time, but it never came true.'

"She was studying the lines on his palm with earnest attention. She raised her dark eyes angrily to his face.

"'Blind! blind!' she answered, in a low, eager tone. 'The best of you cannot see a yard upon your way. Look at that white road, winding and winding many a mile before us upon the plain. Because it is flat and soft and smooth as far as we can see, will there be no hills on our journey, no rocks to cut our feet, no thorns to tear our limbs? Can you see the Danube rolling on far, far before us? Can you see the river you will have to cross some day, or can you tell me where it leads? I have the map of our journey here in my brain; I have the map of your career here on your hand. Once more I say, when the chiefs are in council, and the hosts are melting like snow before the sun, and the earth quakes, and the heavens are filled with thunder, and the shower that falls scorches and crushes and blasts-remember me! I follow the line of wealth: Man of gold! spoil on; here a horse, there a diamond; hundreds to uphold the right, thousands to spare the wrong; both hands full, and broad lands near a city of palaces, and a king's favour, and a nation of slaves beneath thy foot. I follow the line of pleasure: costly amber; rich embroidery; dark eyes melting for the Croat; glances unveiled for the shaven head, many and loving and beautiful; a garland of roses, all for one-rose by rose plucked and withered and thrown away; one tender bud remaining; cherish it till it blows, and wear it till it dies. I follow the line of blood:-it leads towards the rising sun-charging squadrons with lances in rest, and a wild shout in a strange tongue; and the dead wrapped in grey, with charm and amulet that were powerless to save; and hosts of many nations gathered by the sea-pestilence, famine, despair, and victory. Rising on the whirlwind, chief among chiefs, the honoured of leaders, the counsellor of princes-remember me! But ha! the line is crossed. Beware! trust not the sons of the adopted land; when the lily is on thy breast, beware of the dusky shadow on the wall! beware, and remember me!' . . .

"I proffered my hand readily to the Gipsy, and crossed it with one of the two pieces of silver which const.i.tuted the whole of my worldly wealth.

The Gipsy laughed, and began to prophesy in German. There are some events a child never forgets; and I remember every word she said as well as if it had been spoken yesterday.

"'Over the sea, and again over the sea; thou shalt know grief and hardship and losses, and the dove shall be driven from its nest. And the dove's heart shall become like the eagle's, that flies alone, and fleshes her beak in the slain. Beat on, though the poor wings be bruised by the tempest, and the breast be sore, and the heart sink; beat on against the wind, and seek no shelter till thou find thy resting-place at last. The time will come-only beat on.'

"The woman laughed as she spoke; but there was a kindly tone in her voice and a pitying look in her bright eyes that went straight to my heart.

Many a time since, in life, when the storm has indeed been boisterous and the wings so weary, have I thought of those words of encouragement, 'The time will come-beat on.' . . .

"'Thou shalt be a "De Rohan," my darling, and I can promise thee no brighter lot-broad acres, and blessings from the poor, and horses, and wealth, and honours. And the sword shall spare thee, and the battle turn aside to let thee pa.s.s. And thou shalt wed a fair bride with dark eyes and a queenly brow; but beware of St. Hubert's Day. Birth and burial, birth and burial-beware of St. Hubert's Day.'"

Disraeli, speaking of the Gipsies in his "Venetia," says:-"As Cadurcis approached he observed some low tents, and in a few minutes he was in the centre of an encampment of Gipsies. He was for a moment somewhat dismayed, for he had been brought up with the usual terror of these wild people; nevertheless he was not unequal to the occasion. He was surrounded in an instant, but only with women and children, for Gipsy men never immediately appear. They smiled with their bright eyes, and the flashes of the watch-fire threw a lurid glare over their dark and flashing countenances; they held out their practised hands; they uttered unintelligible, but not unfriendly sounds."

Matilda Betham Edwards, in her remarks upon Gipsies, says:-"Your pulses are quickened to Gipsy pitch, you are ready to make love or war, to heal and slay, to wander to the world's end, to be outlawed and hunted down, to dare and do anything for the sake of the sweet, untramelled life of the tent, the bright blue sky, the mountain air, the free savagedom, the joyous dance, the pa.s.sionate friendship, the fiery love."

I come now to notice what a few of the poets have said about these ignorant, nomadic tribes, who have been skulking and flitting about in our midst, since the days of Borrow, Roberts, Hoyland, and Crabb-a period of over forty years.

"He grows, like the young oak, healthy and broad, With no home but the forest, no bed but the sward; Half-naked he wades in the limpid stream, Or dances about in the scorching beam.

The dazzling glare of the banquet sheen Hath never fallen on him I ween, But fragments are spread, and the wood pine piled, And sweet is the meal of the Gipsy child."-ELIZA COOK.

"The Gipsy eye, bright as the star That sends its light from heaven afar, Wild with the strains of thy guitar, This heart with rapture fill.

Then, maiden fair, beneath this star, Come, touch me with the light guitar.

Thy brow unworked by lines of care, Decked with locks of raven hair, Seems ever beautiful and fair At moonlight's stilly hour.

What bliss! beside the leafy maze, Illumined by the moon's pale rays, On thy sweet face to sit and gaze, Thou wild, uncultured flower.

Then, maiden fair, beneath this star, Come, touch me with the light guitar."

HUBERT SMITH: "Tent Life in Norway."

"From every place condemned to roam, In every place we seek a home; These branches form our summer roof, By thick grown leaves made weather-proof; In shelt'ring nooks and hollow ways, We cheerily pa.s.s our winter days.

Come circle round the Gipsy's fire, Come circle round the Gipsy's fire, Our songs, our stories never tire, Our songs, our stories never tire."-REEVE.

"Where is the little Gipsy's home?

Under the spreading greenwood tree, Wherever she may roam, Wherever that tree may be.

Roaming the world o'er, Crossing the deep blue sea, She finds on every sh.o.r.e, A home among the free, A home among the free, Ah, voila la Gitana, voila la Gitana."-HALLIDAY.

"He checked his steed, and sighed to mark Her coral lips, her eyes so dark, And stately bearing-as she had been Bred up in courts, and born a queen.

Again he came, and again he came, Each day with a warmer, a wilder flame, And still again-till sleep by night For Judith's sake fled his pillow quite."-DELTA.

"A race that lives on prey, as foxes do, With stealthy, petty rapine; so despised, It is not persecuted, only spurned, Crushed under foot, warred on by chance like rats, Or swarming flies, or reptiles of the sea, Dragged in the net unsought and flung far off, To perish as they may."

GEORGE ELIOT: "The Spanish Gipsies," 1865.

"Help me wonder, here's a booke, Where I would for ever looke.