the zincali-第61章
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the friar who opened it a couplet which he had composed in the
Gypsy tongue; in which he stated the highest price which he was
authorised to give for the animal in question; whereupon the friar
instantly answered in the same tongue in an extemporary couplet
full of abuse of him and his employer; and forthwith slammed the
door in the face of the disconcerted jockey。
An Augustine friar of Seville; called; we believe; Father Manso;
who lived some twenty years ago; is still remembered for his
passion for the Gitanos; he seemed to be under the influence of
fascination; and passed every moment that he could steal from his
clerical occupations in their company。 His conduct at last became
so notorious that he fell under the censure of the Inquisition;
before which he was summoned; whereupon he alleged; in his defence;
that his sole motive for following the Gitanos was zeal for their
spiritual conversion。 Whether this plea availed him we know not;
but it is probable that the Holy Office dealt mildly with him; such
offenders; indeed; have never had much to fear from it。 Had he
been accused of liberalism; or searching into the Scriptures;
instead of connection with the Gitanos; we should; doubtless; have
heard either of his execution or imprisonment for life in the cells
of the cathedral of Seville。
Such as are thus addicted to the Gitanos and their language; are
called; in Andalusia; Los del' Aficion; or those of the
predilection。 These people have; during the last fifty years;
composed a spurious kind of Gypsy literature: we call it spurious
because it did not originate with the Gitanos; who are; moreover;
utterly unacquainted with it; and to whom it would be for the most
part unintelligible。 It is somewhat difficult to conceive the
reason which induced these individuals to attempt such
compositions; the only probable one seems to have been a desire to
display to each other their skill in the language of their
predilection。 It is right; however; to observe; that most of these
compositions; with respect to language; are highly absurd; the
greatest liberties being taken with the words picked up amongst the
Gitanos; of the true meaning of which the writers; in many
instances; seem to have been entirely ignorant。 From what we can
learn; the composers of this literature flourished chiefly at the
commencement of the present century: Father Manso is said to have
been one of the last。 Many of their compositions; which are both
in poetry and prose; exist in manuscript in a compilation made by
one Luis Lobo。 It has never been our fortune to see this
compilation; which; indeed; we scarcely regret; as a rather curious
circumstance has afforded us a perfect knowledge of its contents。
Whilst at Seville; chance made us acquainted with a highly
extraordinary individual; a tall; bony; meagre figure; in a
tattered Andalusian hat; ragged capote; and still more ragged
pantaloons; and seemingly between forty and fifty years of age。
The only appellation to which he answered was Manuel。 His
occupation; at the time we knew him; was selling tickets for the
lottery; by which he obtained a miserable livelihood in Seville and
the neighbouring villages。 His appearance was altogether wild and
uncouth; and there was an insane expression in his eye。 Observing
us one day in conversation with a Gitana; he addressed us; and we
soon found that the sound of the Gitano language had struck a chord
which vibrated through the depths of his soul。 His history was
remarkable; in his early youth a manuscript copy of the compilation
of Luis Lobo had fallen into his hands。 This book had so taken
hold of his imagination; that he studied it night and day until he
had planted it in his memory from beginning to end; but in so
doing; his brain; like that of the hero of Cervantes; had become
dry and heated; so that he was unfitted for any serious or useful
occupation。 After the death of his parents he wandered about the
streets in great distress; until at last he fell into the hands of
certain toreros; or bull…fighters; who kept him about them; in
order that he might repeat to them the songs of the AFICION。 They
subsequently carried him to Madrid; where; however; they soon
deserted him after he had experienced much brutality from their
hands。 He returned to Seville; and soon became the inmate of a
madhouse; where he continued several years。 Having partially
recovered from his malady; he was liberated; and wandered about as
before。 During the cholera at Seville; when nearly twenty thousand
human beings perished; he was appointed conductor of one of the
death…carts; which went through the streets for the purpose of
picking up the dead bodies。 His perfect inoffensiveness eventually
procured him friends; and he obtained the situation of vendor of
lottery tickets。 He frequently visited us; and would then recite
long passages from the work of Lobo。 He was wont to say that he
was the only one in Seville; at the present day; acquainted with
the language of the Aficion; for though there were many pretenders;
their knowledge was confined to a few words。
From the recitation of this individual; we wrote down the
Brijindope; or Deluge; and the poem on the plague which broke out
in Seville in the year 1800。 These and some songs of less
consequence; constitute the poetical part of the compilation in
question; the rest; which is in prose; consisting chiefly of
translations from the Spanish; of proverbs and religious pieces。
BRIJINDOPE。 … THE DELUGE (65)
A POEM: IN TWO PARTS
PART THE FIRST
I with fear and terror quake;
Whilst the pen to write I take;
I will utter many a pray'r
To the heaven's Regent fair;
That she deign to succour me;
And I'll humbly bend my knee;
For but poorly do I know
With my subject on to go;
Therefore is my wisest plan
Not to trust in strength of man。
I my heavy sins bewail;
Whilst I view the wo and wail
Handed down so solemnly
In the book of times gone by。
Onward; onward; now I'll move
In the name of Christ above;
And his Mother true and dear;
She who loves the wretch to cheer。
All I know; and all I've heard
I will state … how God appear'd
And to Noah thus did cry:
Weary with the world am I;
Let an ark by thee be built;
For the world is lost in guilt;
And when thou hast built it well;
Loud proclaim what now I tell:
Straight repent ye; for your Lord
In his hand doth hold a sword。
And good Noah thus did call:
Straight repent ye one and all;
For the world with grief I see
Lost in vileness utterly。
God's own mandate I but do;
He hath sent me unto you。
Laugh'd the world to bitter scorn;
I his cruel sufferings mourn;
Brawny youths with furious air
Drag the Patriarch by the hair;
Lewdness governs every one:
Leaves her convent now the nun;
And the monk abroad I see
Practising iniquity。
Now I'll tell how God; intent
To avenge; a vapour sent;
With full many a dreadful sign …
Mighty; mighty fear is mine:
As I hear the thunders roll;
Seems to die my very soul;
As I see the world o'erspread
All with darkness thick and dread;
I the pen can scarcely ply
For the tears which dim my eye;
And o'ercome with grievous wo;
Fear the task I must forego
I have purposed to perform。 …
Hark; I hear upon the storm
Thousand; thousand devils fly;
Who with awful howlings cry:
Now's the time and now's the hour;
We have licence; we have power
To obtain a glorious prey。 …
I with horror turn away;
Tumbles house and tumbles wall;