_First Gypsy_.—‘Arromáli (in truth), I little thought when I saw the erraño standing by the door of the posada that I was about to meet a brother—one too who, though well dressed, was not ashamed to speak to a poor Gitáno; but tell me, I beg you, brother, from whence you come; I have heard that you have just arrived from Laloró, but I am sure you are no Portuguese; the Portuguese are very different from you; I know it, for I have been in Laloró; I rather take you to be one of the Corahai, for I have heard say that there is much of our blood there. You are a Corahano, are you not?’
_Myself_.—‘I am no Moor, though I have been in the country. I was born in an island in the West Sea, called England, which I suppose you have heard spoken of.’
_First Gypsy_.—‘Yes, yes, I have a right to know something of the English. I was born in this foros, and remember the day when the English hundunares clambered over the walls, and took the town from the Gabiné: well do I remember that day, though I was but a child; the streets ran red with blood and wine! Are there Gitános then amongst the English?’
_Myself_.—‘There are numbers, and so there are amongst most nations of the world.’
_Second Gypsy_.—‘Vaya! And do the English Caloré gain their bread in the same way as those of Spain? Do they shear and trim? Do they buy and change beasts, and (lowering his voice) do they now and then chore a gras?’ { 181}
_Myself_.—‘They do most of these things: the men frequent fairs and markets with horses, many of which they steal; and the women tell fortunes and perform all kinds of tricks, by which they gain more money than their husbands.’
_First Gypsy_.—‘They would not be callees if they did not: I have known a Gitána gain twenty ounces of gold, by means of the hokkano baro, in a few hours, whilst the silly Gypsy, her husband, would be toiling with his shears for a fortnight, trimming the horses of the Busné, and yet not be a dollar richer at the end of the time.’
_Myself_.—‘You seem wretchedly poor. Are you married?’
_First Gypsy_.—‘I am, and to the best-looking and cleverest callee in Badajoz; nevertheless we have never thriven since the day of our marriage, and a curse seems to rest upon us both. Perhaps I have only to thank myself; I was once rich, and had never less than six borricos to sell or exchange, but the day before my marriage I sold all I possessed, in order to have a grand fiesta. For three days we were merry enough; I entertained every one who chose to come in, and flung away my money by handfuls, so that when the affair was over I had not a cuarto in the world; and the very people who had feasted at my expense refused me a dollar to begin again, so we were soon reduced to the greatest misery. True it is, that I now and then shear a mule, and my wife tells the bahi (fortune) to the servant-girls, but these things stand us in little stead: the people are now very much on the alert, and my wife, with all her knowledge, has been unable to perform any grand trick which would set us up at once. She wished to come to see you, brother, this night, but was ashamed, as she has no more clothes than myself. Last summer our distress was so great that we crossed the frontier into Portugal: my wife sung, and I played the guitar, for though I have but one arm, and that a left one, I have never felt the want of the other. At Estremoz I was cast into prison as a thief and vagabond, and there I might have remained till I starved with hunger. My wife, however, soon got me out: she went to the lady of the corregidor, to whom she told a most wonderful bahi, promising treasures and titles, and I wot not what; so I was set at liberty, and returned to Spain as quick as I could.’