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Te del amen o gulo Del eg meschibo pa amara choribo.
Te vas del o Del amengue; te n'avel man pascotia ando drom, te na hoden pen mandar.
Ja Develehi! Az Develehi! Ja Develeskey! Az Develeskey! Heri Devlis!
My sweet God, who art there in Heaven, may thy name come hallowed; may thy kingdom come hither; may they do all that thou wishest upon earth, as in Heaven. Give me to-day my daily bread, and forgive me all that I cannot pay thee, as I shall forgive other men all that they do not pay me. Do not let me fall into evil desire; but take me out from all wickedness. For thine is the kingdom, thine the power, thine the glory now and ever.
May the sweet God give us a remedy for our poverty.
May God help us! May no misfortune happen to me in the road, and may no one steal anything me.
Go with God! Stay with God! Go, for God's sake! Stay, for God's sake! By God!
LIL OF ROMANO JINNYPEN
The tawno fokey often putches so koskipen se drey the Romano jib? Mande pens ye are sore dinneles; bute, bute koskipen se adrey lis, ta dusta, dosta of moro foky would have been bitcheno or nash'd, but for the puro, choveno Romano jib. A lav in Romany, penn'd in cheeros to a tawnie rakli, and rigg'd to the tan, has kair'd a boro kisi of luvvo and wafor covars, which had been chor'd, to be chived tuley pov, so that when the muskerres well'd they could latch vanisho, and had kek yeckly to muk the Romano they had lell'd opre, jal his drom, but to mang also his artapen.
His bitchenipenskie cheeros is knau abri, and it were but kosko in leste to wel ken, if it were yeckly to lel care of lescri puri, choveny romady; she's been a tatchi, tatchi romady to leste, and kek man apasavello that she has jall'd with a wafu mush ever since he's been bitcheno.
When yeck's tardrad yeck's beti ten oprey, kair'd yeck's beti yag anglo the wuddur, ta nash'd yeck's kekauvi by the kekauviskey saster oprey lis, yeck kek cams that a dikkimengro or muskerro should wel and pen: so's tute kairing acai? Jaw oprey, Romano juggal.
Prey Juliken yeckto Frydivvus, anglo nango muyiskie staunyi naveni kitchema, prey the chong opral Bororukeskoe Gav, drey the Wesh, tute dickavavasa bute Romany foky, mushor ta juvar, chalor ta cheiar.
Jinnes tu miro puro prala Rye Stanniwix, the puro rye savo rigs a bawlo-dumo-mengri, ta kair'd desh ta stor mille barior by covar- plastring?
He jall'd on rokkring ta rokkring dinneleskoenaes till mande pukker'd leste: if tute jasas on dovodoiskoenaes mande curavava tute a tatto yeck prey the nok.
You putches mande so si patrins. Patrins are Romany drom sikkering engris, by which the Romany who jal anglo muk lende that wels palal jin the drom they have jall'd by: we wusts wastperdes of chaw oprey the puv at the jalling adrey of the drom, or we kairs sar a wangust a trihool oprey the chik, or we chins ranior tuley from the rukhies, and chivs lende oprey drey the puv aligatas the bor; but the tatcho patrin is wast-perdes of leaves, for patrin or patten in puro Romano jib is the uav of a rukheskoe leaf.
The tatcho drom to be a jinney-mengro is to shoon, dick, and rig in zi.
The mush savo kek se les the juckni-wast oprey his jib and his zi is keck kosko to jal adrey sweti.
The lil to lel oprey the kekkeno mushe's puvior and to keir the choveno foky mer of buklipen and shillipen, is wusted abri the Raioriskey rokkaring ker.
The nav they dins lati is Bokht drey Cuesni, because she rigs about a cuesni, which sore the rardies when she jals keri, is sure to be perdo of chored covars.
Cav acoi, pralor, se the nav of a lil, the sherrokairipen of a puro kladjis of Roumany tem. The Borobeshemescrotan, or the lav- chingaripen between ye jinneynengro ta yi sweti; or the merripenskie rokrapen chiv'd by the zi oprey the trupo.
When the shello was about his men they rigg'd leste his artapen, and muk'd leste jal; but from dovo divvus he would rig a men-pangushi kekkomi, for he penn'd it rigg'd to his zee the shello about his men.
Jack Vardomescro could del oprey dosta to jin sore was oprey the mea- bars and the drom-sikkering engris.
The Romano drom to pek a chiriclo is to kair it oprey with its porior drey chik, and then to chiv it adrey the yag for a beti burroder than a posh ora. When the chik and the hatch'd porior are lell'd from the chiriclesky trupos, the per's chinn'd aley, and the wendror's wusted abri, 'tis a hobben dosta koshto for a crallissa to hal without lon.
When Gorgio mushe's merripen and Romany Chal's merripen wels kettaney, kek kosto merripen see.
Yeckorus he pukker'd mande that when he was a bis beschengro he mored a gorgio, and chived the mulo mas tuley the poov; he was lell'd oprey for the moripen, but as kekkeno could latch the shillo mas, the pokiniuses muk'd him jal; he penn'd that the butsi did not besh pordo pre his zi for bute chiros, but then sore on a sudden he became tugnis and atraish of the mulo gorgio's bavol-engro, and that often of a rarde, as he was jalling posh motto from the kitchema by his cocoro, he would dick over his tatcho pikko and his bango pikko, to jin if the mulo mush's bavol-engro was kek welling palal to lel bonnek of leste.
Does tute jin the Romano drom of lelling the wast?
Avali, prala.
Sikker mande lis.
They kairs it ajaw, prala.
A chorredo has burreder peeas than a Romany Chal.
Tute has shoon'd the lav pazorrus. Dovodoy is so is kored gorgikonaes "Trusted." Drey the puro cheeros the Romano savo lelled lovvu, or wafor covars from lescro prala in parriken, ta kek pess'd leste apopli, could be kair'd to buty for leste as gry, mailla or cost-chinnimengro for a besh ta divvus. To divvus kek si covar ajaw. If a Romano lelled lovvu or wafu covars from meero vast in parriken, ta kek pessed mande apopli, sar estist for mande te kair leste buty as gry, mailla, or cost-chinnimengro for mande for yek divvus, kek to pen for sore a besh?
Do you nav cavacoi a weilgorus? Ratfelo rinkeno weilgorus cav acoi: you might chiv lis sore drey teero putsi.
Kek jinnipenskey covar se to pen tute's been bango. If tute pens tute's been bango, foky will pen: Estist tute's a koosho koshko mushipen, but tatchipe a ratfelo dinnelo.
Car's tute jibbing?
Mande's kek jibbing; mande's is atching, at the feredest; mande's a pirremengri, prala!
Cauna Romany foky rokkerelan yeck sar wafu penelan pal ta pen; cauna dado or deya rokkerelan ke lendes chauves penelan meero chauvo or meeri chi; or my child, gorgikonaes, to ye dui; cauna chauves rokkerelan te dad or deya penelan meero dad or meeri deya!
Meero dado, soskey were creminor kair'd? Meero chauvo, that puvo- baulor might jib by haIling lende. Meero dado, soskey were puvobaulor kair'd? Meero chauvo, that tute and mande might jib by lelling lende. Meero dado, soskey were tu ta mande kair'd? Meero chauvo, that creminor might jib by halling mende.
Sore giv-engres shan dinneles. When they shoons a gav-engro drey the tem pen: Dov-odoy's a fino grye! they pens: Kekkeno grye se; grasni si; whether the covar's a grasni or kekkeni. Kek jinellan the dinneles that a grasni's a grye, though a grye is kek a grasni.
Kekkeni like Romano Will's rawnie for kelling drey a chauro.
Cauna Constance Petulengri merr'd she was shel ta desch beshor puri.
Does tute jin Rawnie Wardomescri?
Mande jins lati misto, prala.
Does tute cam lati?
Mande cams lati bute, prala; and mande has dosta, dosta cheeros penn'd to the wafor Romany Chals, when they were rokkering wafudo of lati: She's a rawnie; she lels care of sore of you; if it were kek for lati, you would sore jal to the beng.
So kerella for a jivipen?
She dukkers, prala; she dukkers.
Can she dukker misto?
There's kekkeny Romany juva tuley the can for dukkering sar Rawnie Wardomescri; nastis not to be dukker'd by lati; she's a tatchi chovahan; she lels foky by the wast and dukkers lende, whether they cams or kek.
Kek koskipen si to jal roddring after Romany Chals. When tute cams to dick lende nestist to latch yeck o' lende; but when tute's penching o' wafor covars tute dicks o' lende dosta dosta.
Mande will sollohaul neither bango nor tatcho against kekkeno; if they cams to latch abri chomoni, muk lende latch it abri their cokkore.
If he had been bitcheno for a boro luripen mande would have penn'd chi; but it kairs mande diviou to pentch that he was bitcheno, all along of a bori lubbeny, for trin tringurishis ta posh.
When he had kair'd the moripen, he kair'd sig and plastrar'd adrey the wesh, where he gared himself drey the hev of a boro, puro rukh; but it was kek koskipen asarlus; the plastra-mengres slomm'd his pire sore along the wesh till they well'd to the rukh.
Sau kisi foky has tute dukker'd to divvus?
Yeck rawnie coccori, prala; dov ody she wels palal; mande jins lati by the kaulo dori prey laki shubba.
Sau bute luvvu did she del tute?
Yeck gurush, prala; yeck gurush coccoro. The beng te lilly a truppy!
Shoon the kosko rokkrapen so Micail jinney-mengro penn'd ke Rawnie Trullifer: Rawnie Trollopr, you must jib by your jibben: and if a base se tukey you must chiv lis tuley.
Can you rokkra Romanes? Avali, prala! So si Weshenjuggalslomomengreskeytemskey tudlogueri? Mande don't jin what you pens, prala. Then tute is kek Romano lavomengro.
BOOK OF THE WISDOM OF THE EGYPTIANS
The young people often ask: What good is there in the Romany tongue? I answers: Ye are all fools! There is plenty, plenty of good in it, and plenty, plenty of our people would have been transported or hung, but for the old, poor Roman language. A word in Romany said in time to a little girl, and carried to the camp, has caused a great purse of money and other things, which had been stolen, to be stowed underground; so that when the constables came they could find nothing, and had not only to let the Gypsy they had taken up go his way, but also to beg his pardon.
His term of transportation has now expired, and it were but right in him to come home, if it were only to take care of his poor old wife: she has been a true, true wife to him, and I don't believe that she has taken up with another man ever since he was sent across.
When one's pitched up one's little tent, made one's little fire before the door, and hung one's kettle by the kettle-iron over it, one doesn't like that an inspector or constable should come and say: What are you doing here? Take yourself off, you Gypsy dog.
On the first Friday of July, before the public-house called the Bald- faced Stag, on the hill above the town of the great tree in the Forest, you will see many Roman people, men and women, lads and lasses.
Do you know my old friend Mr. Stanniwix, the old gentleman that wears a pigtail, and made fourteen thousand pounds by smuggling?
He went on talking and talking foolishness till I said to him: If you goes on in that 'ere way I'll hit you a hot 'un on the nose.
You ask me what are patrins. Patrin is the name of the signs by which the Gypsies who go before show the road they have taken to those who follow behind. We flings handfuls of grass down at the head of the road we takes, or we makes with the finger a cross-mark on the ground, we sticks up branches of trees by the side the hedge. But the true patrin is handfuls of leaves flung down; for patrin or patten in old Roman language means the leaf of a tree.
The true way to be a wise man is to hear, see, and bear in mind.
The man who has not the whip-hand of his tongue and his temper is not fit to go into company.
The Bill to take up the no-man's lands (comons), and to make the poor people die of hunger and cold, has been flung out of the House of Commons.
The name they gives her is "Luck in a basket," because she carries about a basket, which every night, when she goes home, is sure to be full of stolen property.
This here, brothers, is the title of a book, the head-work of an old king of Roumany land: the Tribunal, or the dispute between the wise man and the world: or, the death-sentence passed by the soul upon the body.
When the rope was about his neck they brought him his pardon, and let him go; but from that day he would wear a neck-kerchief no more, for he said it brought to his mind the rope about his neck.
Jack Cooper could read enough to know all that was upon the milestones and the sign-posts.
The Roman way to cook a fowl is to do it up with its feathers in clay, and then to put it in fire for a little more than half an hour. When the clay and the burnt feathers are taken from the fowl, the belly cut open, and the inside flung out, 'tis a food good enough for a queen to eat without salt.
When the Gentile way of living and the Gypsy way of living come together, it is anything but a good way of living.
He told me once that when he was a chap of twenty he killed a Gentile, and buried the dead meat under ground. He was taken up for the murder, but as no one could find the cold meat, the justices let him go. He said that the job did not sit heavy upon his mind for a long time, but then all of a sudden he became sad, and afraid of the dead Gentile's ghost; and that often of a night, as he was coming half-drunk from the public-house by himself, he would look over his right shoulder and over his left shoulder, to know if the dead man's ghost was not coming behind to lay hold of him.
Do you know the Gypsy way of taking the hand? Aye, aye, brother. Show it to me. They does it so, brother.
A tramp has more fun than a Gypsy.
You have heard the word pazorrus. That is what is called by the Gentiles "trusted," or in debt. In the old time the Roman who got from his brother money or other things on trust, and did not pay him again, could be made to work for him as horse, ass, or wood cutter for a year and a day. At present the matter is not so. If a Roman got money, or other things, from my hand on credit, and did not repay me, how could I make him labour for me as horse, ass, or stick-cutter for one day, not to say for a year?
Do you call this a fair? A very pretty fair is this: you might put it all into your pocket.
It is not a wise thing to say you have been wrong. If you allow you have been wrong, people will say: You may be a very honest fellow, but are certainly a very great fool.
Where are you living?
Mine is not living; mine is staying, to say the best of it; I am a traveller, brother!
When Roman people speak to one another, they say brother and sister. When parents speak to their children, they say, my son, or my daughter, or my child, gorgiko-like, to either. When children speak to their parents, they say, my father, or my mother.
My father, why were worms made? My son, that moles might live by eating them. My father, why were moles made? My son, that you and I might live by catching them. My father, why were you and I made? My son, that worms might live by eating us.
All farmers are fools. When they hear a citizen in the country say: That's a fine horse! they say: 'Tis no horse, 'tis a mare; whether the thing's a horse or not. The simpletons don't know that a mare's a horse, though a horse is not a mare.
No one like Gypsy Will's wife for dancing in a platter.
When Constance Smith died, she was a hundred ten years old.
Do you know Mrs. Cooper?
I knows her very well, brother.
Do you like her?
I loves her very much, brother; and I have often, often said to the other Gypsies, when they speaking ill of her: She's a gentlewoman; takes care of all of you; if it were not for her, you would all go to the devil.
What does she do for a living?
She tells fortunes, brother; she tells fortunes.
Is she a good hand at fortune-telling?
There's no Roman woman under the sun so good at fortune-telling as Mrs. Cooper; it is impossible not to have your fortune told by her; she's a true witch; she takes people by the hand, and tells their fortunes, whether they will or no.
'Tis no use to go seeking after Gypsies. When you wants to see them 'tis impossible to find one of them; but when you are thinking of other matters you see plenty, plenty of them.
I will swear neither falsely nor truly against any one; if they wishes to find out something, let them find it out themselves.
If he had been transported for a great robbery, I would have said nothing; but it makes me mad to think that he has been sent away, all along of a vile harlot, for the value of three-and-sixpence.
When he had committed the murder he made haste, and ran into the wood, where he hid himself in the hollow of a great old tree; but it was no use at all; the runners followed his track all along the forest till they came to the tree.
How many fortunes have you told to-day?
Only one lady's, brother; yonder she's coming back; I knows her by the black lace on her gown.
How much money did she give you?
Only one groat, brother; only one groat. May the devil run away with her bodily!
Hear the words of wisdom which Mike the Grecian said to Mrs. Trullifer: Mrs. Trollopr, you must live by your living; and if you have a pound you must spend it.
Can you speak Romany? Aye, aye, brother! What is Weshenjuggalslomomengreskeytemskeytudlogueri? I don't know what you say, brother. Then you are no master of Romany.
ROMANE NAVIOR OF TEMES AND GAVIOR GYPSY NAMES OF CONTRIES AND TOWNS
Baulo-mengreskey tem Swineherds' country, Hampshire Bitcheno padlengreskey tem Transported fellows' country, Botany Bay Bokra-mengreskey tem Shepherds' country, Sussex Bori-congriken gav Great church town, York Boro-rukeneskey gav Great tree town, Fairlop Boro gueroneskey tem Big fellows' country, Northumberland Chohawniskey tem Witches' country, Lancashire Choko-mengreskey gav Shoemakers' town, Northampton Churi-mengreskey gav Cutlers' town, Sheffield Coro-mengreskey tem Potters' country, Staffordshire Cosht-killimengreskey tem Cudgel players' country, Cornwall Curo-mengreskey gav Boxers' town, Nottingham Dinelo tem Fools' country, Suffolk Giv-engreskey tem Farmers' country, Buckinghamshire Gry-engreskey gav Horsedealers' town, Horncastle Guyo-mengreskey tem Pudding-eaters' country, Yorkshire Hindity-mengreskey tem Dirty fellows' country, Ireland Jinney-mengreskey gav Sharpers' town, Manchester Juggal-engreskey gav Dog-fanciers' town, Dudley Juvlo-mengreskey tem Lousy fellows' country, Scotland Kaulo gav The black town, Birmingham Levin-engriskey tem Hop country, Kent Lil-engreskey gav Book fellows' town, Oxford Match-eneskey gav Fishy town, Yarmouth Mi-develeskey gav My God's town, Canterbury Mi-krauliskey gav Royal town, London Nashi-mescro gav Racers' town, Newmarket Pappin-eskey tem Duck country, Lincolnshire Paub-pawnugo tem Apple-water country, Herefordshire Porrum-engreskey tem Leek-eaters' country, Wales Pov-engreskey tem Potato country, Norfolk Rashayeskey gav Clergyman's town, Ely Rokrengreskey gav Talking fellows' town, Norwich Shammin-engreskey gav Chairmakers' town, Windsor Tudlo tem Milk country, Cheshire Weshen-eskey gav Forest town, Epping Weshen-juggal-slommo-mengreskey tem Fox-hunting fellows' country, Leicestershire Wongareskey gav Coal town, Newcastle Wusto-mengresky tem Wrestlers' country, Devonshire
THOMAS ROSSAR-MESCRO
Prey Juniken bis diuto divvus, drey the besh yeck mille ochto shel shovardesh ta trin, mande jaw'd to dick Thomas Rossar-mescro, a puro Romano, of whom mande had shoon'd bute. He was jibbing drey a tan naveno Rye Groby's Court, kek dur from the Coromengreskoe Tan ta Bokkar-engreskey Wesh. When mande dick'd leste he was beshing prey the poov by his wuddur, chiving misto the poggado tuleskey part of a skammin. His ker was posh ker, posh wardo, and stood drey a corner of the tan; kek dur from lesti were dui or trin wafor ker-wardoes. There was a wafudo canipen of baulor, though mande dick'd kekkeney. I penn'd "Sarshin?" in Romany jib, and we had some rokrapen kettaney. He was a boro mush, as mande could dick, though he was beshing. But though boro he was kek tulo, ta lescre wastes were tarney sar yek rawnie's. Lollo leste mui sar yeck weneskoe paub, ta lescro bal rather lollo than parno. Prey his shero was a beti stadj, and he was kek wafudo riddo. On my putching leste kisi boro he was, ta kisi puro, he penn'd that he was sho pire sore but an inch boro, ta enyovardesh ta dui besh puro. He didn't jin to rokkra bute in Romano, but jinn'd almost sore so mande rokkar'd te leste. Moro rokkrapen was mostly in gorgiko jib. Yeck covar yecklo drey lescro drom of rokkring mande pennsch'd kosko to rig in zi. In tan of penning Romany, sar wafor Romany chals, penn'd o Roumany, a lav which sig, sig rigg'd to my zi Roumain, the tatcho, puro nav of the Vallackiskie jib and foky. He seem'd a biti aladge of being of Romany rat. He penn'd that he was beano drey the Givengreskey Tem, that he was kek tatcho Romano, but yeckly posh ta posh: lescro dado was Romano, but lescri daya a gorgie of the Lilengreskoe Gav; he had never camm'd bute to jib Romaneskoenaes, and when tarno had been a givengreskoe raklo. When he was boro he jall'd adrey the Lilengrotemskey militia, and was desh ta stor besh a militia curomengro. He had jall'd bute about Engli-tem and the juvalo- mengreskey, Tem, drey the cheeros of the puri chingaripen, and had been adrey Monseer-tem, having volunteered to jal odoy to cour agen the parley-woo gueros. He had dick'd Bordeaux and the boro gav Paris. After the chingaripen, he had lell'd oprey skamminengring, and had jall'd about the tem, but had been knau for buter than trianda beshor jibbing in Lundra. He had been romado, but his romadi had been mullee bute, bute cheeros; she had dinn'd leste yeck chavo, so was knau a heftwardesh beshengro, dicking bute puroder than yo cocoro, ta kanau lying naflo of a tatti naflipen drey yeck of the wardes. He penn'd that at yeck cheeros he could kair dosta luvvu by skammin-engring, but kanau from his bori puripen could scarcely kair yeck tringurushee a divvus. "Ladjipen si," I penn'd, "that a mush so puro as tute should have to booty." "Kosko zi! kosko zi!" he penn'd; "Paracrow Dibble that mande is dosta ruslo to booty, and that mande has koskey camomescres; I shan't be tugnis to jib to be a shel beshengro, though tatchipen si if mande was a rye mande would kair kek booty." His chaveskoe chavo, a trianda ta pansch beshengro, well'd kanau ta rokkar'd mansar. He was a misto dicking ta rather misto riddo mush, sar chimouni jinneymengreskey drey lescro mui. He penn'd that his dadeskoe dad was a fino puro mush, savo had dick'd bute, and that dosta, dosta foky well'd odoy to shoon lescre rokkrapenes of the puro cheeros, of the Franciskie ta Amencanskie chingaripenes, and of what yo had dick'd drey wafu tems. That tatchipen to pen there was a cheeros when his drom was dur from kosko, for that he camm'd to cour, sollohaul ta kair himself motto, but that kanau he was a wafu mush, that he had muk'd sore curopen and wafudo rokkrapen, and, to corauni sore, was yeck tee-totaller, yo cocoro having kair'd leste sollohaul that he would pi kekomi neither tatti panie nor levinor: that he jall'd sore the curques either to congri or Tabernacle, and that tho' he kek jinn'd to del oprey he camm'd to shoon the Miduveleskoe lil dell'd oprey to leste; that the panishkie ryor held leste drey boro camopen, and that the congriskoe rashi, and oprey sore Dr. P. of the Tabernacle had a boro opinionos of leste, ta penn'd that he would hal the Miduveleskoe habben sar moro Araunyo Jesus drey the kosko tem opral. Mande putch'd whether the Romany Chals well'd often to dick leste? He penn'd that they well'd knau and then to pen Koshto divvus and Sarshin? but dov' odoy was sore; that neither his dadeskoe dad nor yo cocoro camm'd to dick lende, because they were wafodu foky, perdo of wafodupen and bango camopen, ta oprey sore bute envyous; that drey the wen they jall'd sore cattaney to the ryor, and rokkar'd wafodu of the puno mush, and pukker'd the ryor to let lester a coppur which the ryor had lent leste, to kair tatto his choveno puro truppo drey the cheeros of the trashlo shillipen; that tatchipen si their wafodupen kaired the puro mush kek dosh, for the ryor pukker'd lende to jal their drom and be aladge of their cocore, but that it was kek misto to pensch that yeck was of the same rat as such foky. After some cheeros I dinn'd the puro mush a tawno cuttor of rupe, shook leste by ye wast, penn'd that it would be mistos amande to dick leste a shel-beshengro, and jaw'd away keri.
THOMAS HERNE
On the twenty-second day of June, in the year one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, I went to see Thomas Herne, an old Gypsy, of whom I had heard a great deal. He was living at a place called Mr. Groby's Court, not far from the Potteries and the Shepherd's Bush. When I saw him, he was sitting on the ground by his door, mending the broken bottom of a chair. His house was half-house half-waggon, and stood in a corner of the court; not far from it were two or three other waggon-houses. There was a disagreeable smell of hogs, though I saw none. I said, "How you do?" in the Gypsy tongue, and we had discourse together. He was a tall man, as I could see, though he was sitting. But, though tall, he was not stout, and his hands were small as those of a lady. His face was as red as a winter apple, and his hair was rather red than grey. He had a small hat on his head, and he was not badly dressed. On my asking him how tall he was, and how old, he said that he was six foot high, all but an inch, and that he was ninety-two years old. He could not talk much Gypsy, but understood almost all that I said to him. Our discourse was chiefly in English. One thing only in his manner of speaking I thought worthy of remembrance. Instead of saying Romany, like other Gypsies, he said Roumany, a word which instantly brought to my mind Roumain, the genuine, ancient name of the Wallachian tongue and people. He seemed to be rather ashamed of being of Gypsy blood. He told me that he was born in Buckinghamshire, that he was no true Gypsy, but only half-and-half: his father was a Gypsy, but his mother was a Gentile of Oxford; he had never had any particular liking for the Gypsy manner of living, and when little had been a farmer's boy. When he grew up he enlisted into the Oxford militia, and was fourteen years a militia soldier. He had gone much about England and Scotland in the time of the old war, and had been in France, having volunteered to go thither to fight against the French. He had seen Bordeaux and the great city of Paris. After war he had taken up chair-making, and had travelled about the country, but had been now for more than thirty years living in London. He had been married, but his wife had long been dead. She had borne him a son, who was now a man seventy years of age, looking much older than himself, and at present lying sick of a burning fever in one of the caravans. He said that at one time he could make a good deal of money by chair-making, but now from his great age could scarcely earn a shilling a day. "What a shame," said I, "that a man so old as you should have to work at all!" "Courage! courage!" he cried; "I thank God that I am strong enough to work, and that I have good friends; I shan't be sorry to live to be a hundred years old, though true it is that if I were a gentleman I would do no work." His grandson, a man of about five-and-thirty, came now and conversed with me. He was a good-looking and rather well-dressed man, with something of a knowing card in his countenance. He said that his grandfather was a fine old man, who had seen a great deal, and that a great many people came to hear his stories of the old time, of the French and American wars, and of what he had seen in other countries. That, truth to say, there was a time when his way was far from commendable, for that he loved to fight, swear, and make himself drunk; but that now he was another man, that he had abandoned all fighting and evil speaking, and, to crown all, was a tee- totaller, he himself having made him swear that he would no more drink either gin or ale: that he went every Sunday either to church or Tabernacle, and that, though he did not know how to read, he loved to hear the holy book read to him; that the gentlemen of the parish entertained a great regard for him, and that the church clergyman and, above all, Dr. P. of the Tabernacle had a high opinion of him, and said that he would partake of the holy banquet with our Lord Jesus in the blessed country above. On my inquiring whether the Gypsies came often to see him, he said that they came now and then to say "Good day" and "How do you do?" but that was all; that neither his grandfather nor himself cared to see them, because they were evil people, full of wickedness and left-handed love, and, above all, very envyous; that in the winter they all went in a body to the gentlemen and spoke ill of the old man, and begged the gentlemen to take from him a blanket which the gentlemen had lent him to warm his poor old body with in the time of the terrible cold; that it is true their wickedness did the old man no harm, for the gentlemen told them to go away and be ashamed of themselves, but that it was not pleasant to think that one was of the same blood as such people. After some time I gave the old man a small piece of silver, shook him by the hand, said that I should be glad to see him live to be a hundred, and went away home.
KOKKODUS ARTARUS
Drey the puro cheeros there jibb'd a puri Romani juva, Sinfaya laki nav. Tatchi Romani juva i; caum'd to rokkra Romany, nav'd every mush kokkodus, ta every mushi deya. Yeck chavo was laki; lescro nav Artaros; dinnelo or diviou was O; romadi was lesgue; but the rommadi merr'd, mukking leste yeck chavo. Artaros caum'd to jal oprey the drom, and sikker his nangipen to rawnies and kair muior. At last the ryor chiv'd leste drey the diviou ker. The chavo jibb'd with his puri deya till he was a desch ta pantsch besh engro. Yeck divvus a Romani juva jalling along the drom dick'd the puri juva beshing tuley a bor roving: What's the matter, Sinfaya, pukker'd i?
My chavo's chavo is lell'd oprey, deya. What's he lell'd oprey for? For a meila and posh, deya. Why don't you jal to dick leste? I have nash'd my maila, deya. O ma be tugni about your maila; jal and dick leste.
I don't jin kah se, deya! diviou kokkodus Artaros jins, kek mande. Ah diviou, diviou, jal amande callico.
MANG, PRALA
Romano chavo was manging sar bori gudli yeck rye te del les pasherro. Lescri deya so was beshing kek dur from odoy penn'd in gorgikey rokrapen: Meklis juggal, ta av acoi! ma kair the rye kinyo with your gudli! and then penn'd sig in Romany jib: Mang, Prala, mang! Ta o chavo kair'd ajaw till the rye chiv'd les yeck shohaury.
[Something like the following little anecdote is related by the Gypsies in every part of Continental Europe.]
BEG ON, BROTHER
A Gypsy brat was once pestering a gentleman to give him a halfpenny. The mother, who was sitting nigh, cried in English: Leave off, you dog, and come here! don't trouble the gentleman with your noise; and then added in Romany: Beg on, brother! and so the brat did, till the gentleman flung him a sixpence.
ENGLISH GYPSY SONGS
WELLING KATTANEY
Coin si deya, coin se dado? Pukker mande drey Romanes, Ta mande pukkeravava tute.
Rossar-mescri minri deya! Vardo-mescro minro dado! Coin se dado, coin si deya? Mande's pukker'd tute drey Romanes; Knau pukker tute mande.
Petuiengro minro dado! Purana minri deya! Tatchey Romany si men - Mande's pukker'd tute drey Romanes, Ta tute's pukker'd mande.
THE GYPSY MEETING
Who's your mother, who's your father? Do thou answer me in Romany, And I will answer thee.
A Hearne I have for mother! A Cooper for my father! Who's your father, who's your mother? I have answer'd thee in Romany, Now do thou answer me.
A Smith I have for father! A Lee I have for mother! True Romans both are we - For I've answer'd thee in Romany, And thou hast answer'd me.
LELLING CAPPI
"Av, my little Romany chel! Av along with mansar! Av, my little Romany chel! Koshto si for mangue."
"I shall lel a curapen, If I jal aley; I shall lel a curapen From my dear bebee."
"I will jal on my chongor, Then I'll pootch your bebee. 'O my dear bebee, dey me your chi, For koshto si for mangue.'
"'Since you pootch me for my chi, I will dey you lati.'" Av, my little Romany chel! We will jal to the wafu tem:
"I will chore a beti gry, And so we shall lel cappi." "Kekko, meero mushipen, For so you would be stardo;
"But I will jal a dukkering, And so we shall lel cappi." "Koshto, my little Romany chel! Koshto si for mangue."
MAKING A FORTUNE
"Come along, my little gypsy girl, Come along, my little dear; Come along, my little gypsy girl - We'll wander far and near."
"I should get a leathering Should I with thee go; I should get a leathering From my dear aunt, I trow."
"I'll go down on my two knees, And I will beg your aunt. 'O auntie dear, give me your child; She's just the girl I want!'
"'Since you ask me for my child, I will not say thee no!' Come along, my little gypsy girl! To another land we'll go:
"I will steal a little horse, And our fortunes make thereby." "Not so, my little gypsy boy, For then you'd swing on high;
"But I'll a fortune-telling go, And our fortunes make thereby." "Well said, my little gypsy girl, You counsel famously."
LELLING CAPPI—No.2
"Av, my little Rumni chel, Av along with mansar; We will jal a gry-choring Pawdle across the chumba.
"I'll jaw tuley on my chongor To your deya and your bebee; And I'll pootch lende that they del Tute to me for romadi."
"I'll jaw with thee, my Rumni chal, If my dye and bebee muk me; But choring gristurs traishes me, For it brings one to the rukie.
"'Twere ferreder that you should ker, Petuls and I should dukker, For then adrey our tanney tan, We kek atraish may sova."
"Kusko, my little Rumni chel, Your rokrapen is kusko; We'll dukker and we'll petuls ker Pawdle across the chumba.
"O kusko si to chore a gry Adrey the kaulo rarde; But 'tis not kosko to be nash'd Oprey the nashing rukie."
MAKING A FORTUNE—No.2
"Come along, my little gypsy girl, Come along with me, I pray! A-stealing horses we will go, O'er the hills so far away.
"Before your mother and your aunt I'll down upon my knee, And beg they'll give me their little girl To be my Romadie."
"I'll go with you, my gypsy boy, If my mother and aunt agree; But a perilous thing is horse-stealinge, For it brings one to the tree.
"'Twere better you should tinkering ply, And I should fortunes tell; For then within our little tent In safety we might dwell."
"Well said, my little gypsy girl, I like well what you say; We'll tinkering ply, and fortunes tell O'er the hills so far away.
"'Tis a pleasant thing in a dusky night A horse-stealing to go; But to swing in the wind on the gallows-tree, Is no pleasant thing, I trow."
THE DUI CHALOR
Dui Romany Chals were bitcheney, Bitcheney pawdle the bori pawnee. Plato for kawring, Lasho for choring The putsi of a bori rawnee.
And when they well'd to the wafu tem, The tem that's pawdle the bori pawnee, Plato was nasho Sig, but Lasho Was lell'd for rom by a bori rawnee.
You cam to jin who that rawnie was, 'Twas the rawnie from whom he chor'd the putsee: The Chal had a black Chohauniskie yack, And she slomm'd him pawdle the bori pawnee.
THE TWO GYPSIES
Two Gypsy lads were transported, Were sent across the great water. Plato was sent for rioting, And Louis for stealing the purse Of a great lady.
And when they came to the other country, The country that lies across the great water, Plato was speedily hung, But Louis was taken as a husband By a great lady.
You wish to know who was the lady, 'Twas the lady from whom he stole the purse: The Gypsy had a black and witching eye, And on account of that she followed him Across the great water.
MIRO ROMANY CHl
As I was a jawing to the gav yeck divvus I met on the drom miro Romany chi; I pootch'd las whether she come sar mande, And she penn'd tu sar wafo rommadis; O mande there is kek wafo romady, So penn'd I to miro Romany chi, And I'll kair tute miro tatcho romadi If you but pen tu come sar mande.
MY ROMAN LASS
As I to the town was going one day My Roman lass I met by the way; Said I: Young maid, will you share my lot? Said she: Another wife you've got. Ah no! to my Roman lass I cried: No wife have I in the world so wide, And you my wedded wife shall be If you will consent to come with me.
AVA, CHI
Hokka tute mande Mande pukkra bebee Mande shauvo tute - Ava, Chi!
YES, MY GIRL
If to me you prove untrue, Quickly I'll your auntie tell I've been over-thick with you - Yes, my girl, I will.
THE TEMESKOE RYE
Penn'd the temeskoe rye to the Romany chi, As the choon was dicking prey lende dui: Rinkeny tawni, Romany rawni, Mook man choom teero gudlo mui.
THE YOUTHFUL EARL
Said the youthful earl to the Gypsy girl, As the moon was casting its silver shine: Brown little lady, Egyptian lady, Let me kiss those sweet lips of thine.
CAMO-GILLIE
Pawnie birks My men-engni shall be; Yackors my dudes Like ruppeney shine: Atch meery chi! Ma jal away: Perhaps I may not dick tute Kek komi.
LOVE-SONG
I'd choose as pillows for my head Those snow-white breasts of thine; I'd use as lamps to light my bed Those eyes of silver shine: O lovely maid, disdain me not, Nor leave me in my pain: Perhaps 'twill never be my lot To see thy face again.
TUGNIS AMANDE
I'm jalling across the pani - A choring mas and morro, Along with a bori lubbeny, And she has been the ruin of me.
I sov'd yeck rarde drey a gran, A choring mas and morro, Along with a bori lubbeny, And she has been the ruin of me.
She pootch'd me on the collico, A choring mas and morro, To jaw with lasa to the show, For she would be the ruin of me.
And when I jaw'd odoy with lasa, A choring mas and morro, Sig she chor'd a rawnie's kissi, And so she was the ruin of me.
They lell'd up lata, they lell'd up mande, A choring mas and morro, And bitch'd us dui pawdle pani, So she has been the ruin of me.
I'm jalling across the pani, A choring mas and morro, Along with a bori lubbeny, And she has been the ruin of me.
WOE IS ME
I'm sailing across the water, A-stealing bread and meat so free, Along with a precious harlot, And she has been the ruin of me.
I slept one night within a barn, A-stealing bread and meat so free, Along with a precious harlot, And she has been the ruin of me.
Next morning she would have me go, A-stealing bread and meat so free, To see with her the wild-beast show, For she would be the ruin of me.
I went with her to see the show, A-stealing bread and meat so free, To steal a purse she was not slow, And so she was the ruin of me.
They took us up, and with her I, A-stealing bread and meat so free: Am sailing now to Botany, So she has been the ruin of me.
I'm sailing across the water, A-stealing bread and meat so free, Along with a precious harlot, And she has been the ruin of me.
THE RYE AND RAWNIE
The rye he mores adrey the wesh The kaun-engro and chiriclo; You sovs with leste drey the wesh, And rigs for leste the gono.
Oprey the rukh adrey the wesh Are chiriclo and chiricli; Tuley the rukh adrey the wesh Are pireno and pireni.
THE SQUIRE AND LADY
The squire he roams the good greenwood, And shoots the pheasant and the hare; Thou sleep'st with him in good green wood, And dost for him the game-sack bear.
I see, I see upon the tree The little male and female dove; Below the tree I see, I see The lover and his lady love.
ROMANY SUTTUR GILLIE
Jaw to sutturs, my tiny chal; Your die to dukker has jall'd abri; At rarde she will wel palal And tute of her tud shall pie.
Jaw to lutherum, tiny baw! I'm teerie deya's purie mam; As tute cams her tud canaw Thy deya meerie tud did cam.
GYPSY LULLABY
Sleep thee, little tawny boy! Thy mother's gone abroad to spae, Her kindly milk thou shalt enjoy When home she comes at close of day.
Sleep thee, little tawny guest! Thy mother is my daughter fine; As thou dost love her kindly breast, She once did love this breast of mine.
SHARRAFI KRALYISSA
Finor coachey innar Lundra, Bonor coachey innar Lundra, Finor coachey, bonor coachey Mande dick'd innar Lundra.
Bonor, finor coachey Mande dick'd innar Lundra The divvus the Kralyissa jall'd To congri innar Lundra.
OUR BLESSED QUEEN
Coaches fine in London, Coaches good in London, Coaches fine and coaches good I did see in London.
Coaches good and coaches fine I did see in London, The blessed day our blessed Queen Rode to church in London.
PLASTRA LESTI!
Gare yourselves, pralor! Ma pee kek-komi! The guero's welling - Plastra lesti!
RUN FOR IT!
Up, up, brothers! Cease your revels! The Gentile's coming - Run like devils!
FOREIGN GYPSY SONGS
Oy die-la, oy mama-la oy! Cherie podey mangue penouri. Russian Gypsy Song.
THE ROMANY SONGSTRESS FROM THE RUSSIAN GYPSY
Her temples they are aching, As if wine she had been taking; Her tears are ever springing, Abandoned is her singing! She can neither eat nor nest With love she's so distress'd; At length she's heard to say: "Oh here I cannot stay, Go saddle me my steed, To my lord I must proceed; In his palace plenteously Both eat and drink shall I; The servants far and wide, Bidding guests shall run and ride. And when within the hall the multitude I see, I'll raise my voice anew, and sing in Romany."
L'ERAJAI
Un erajai Sinaba chibando un sermon; Y lle falta un balicho Al chindomar de aquel gao, Y lo chanelaba que los Cales Lo abian nicabao; Y penela l'erajai, "Chaboro! Guillate a tu quer Y nicabela la peri Que terela el balicho, Y chibela andro Una lima de tun chabori, Chabori, Una lima de tun chabori."
THE FRIAR FROM THE SPANISH GYPSY
A Friar Was preaching once with zeal and with fire; And a butcher of the town Had lost a flitch of bacon; And well the friar knew That the Gypsies it had taken; So suddenly he shouted: "Gypsy, ho! Hie home, and from the pot! Take the flitch of bacon out, The flitch good and fat, And in its place throw A clout, a dingy clout of thy brat, Of thy brat, A clout, a dingy clout of thy brat."
MALBRUN
Chalo Malbrun chingarar, Birandon, birandon, birandera! Chalo Malbrun chingarar; No se bus trutera! No se bus trutera!
La romi que le camela, Birandon, birandon, birandera! La romi que le camela Muy curepenada esta, Muy curepenada esta.
S'ardela a la felicha, Birandon, birandon, birandera! S'ardela a la felicha Y baribu dur dica, Y baribu dur dica.
Dica abillar su burno, Birandon, birandon, birandera! Dica abillar su burno, En ropa callarda, En ropa callarda.
"Burno, lacho quirbo; Birandon, birandon, birandera! Burno, lacho quiribo, Que nuevas has dinar? Que nuevas has dinar?"
"Las nuevas que io terelo, Birandon, birandon, birandera! Las nuevas que io terelo Te haran orobar, Te haran orobar.
"Mero Malbrun mi eray, Birandon, birandon, birandera! Mero Malbrun mi eray Mero en la chinga, Mero en la chinga.
"Sinaba a su entierro, Birandon, birandon, birandera! Sinaba a su entierro La plastani sara, La plastani sara.
"Seis guapos jundunares, Birandon, birandon, birandera! Seis guapos jundunares Le llevaron cabanar, Le llevaron cabanar.
"Delante de la jestari, Birandon, birandon, birandera! Delante de la jestari Chalo el sacrista, Chalo el sacrista.
"El sacrista delante, Birandon, birandon, birandera! El sacrista delante, Y el errajai pala, Y el errajai pala.
"Al majaro ortalame, Birandon, birandon, birandera! Al majaro ortalame Le llevaron cabanar, Le llevaron cabanar.
"Y ote le cabanaron Birandon, birandon, birandera! Y ote le cabanaron No dur de la burda, No dur de la burda.
"Y opre de la jestari Birandon, birandon, birandera! Guillabela un chilindrote; Soba en paz, soba! Soba en paz, soba!
MALBROUK FROM THE SPANISH GYPSY VERSION
Malbrouk is gone to the wars, Birrandon, birrandon, birrandera! Malbrouk is gone to the wars; He'll never return no more! He'll never return no more!
His lady-love and darling, Birrandon, birrandon, birrandera His lady-love and darling His absence doth deplore, His absence doth deplore.
To the turret's top she mounted, Birrandon, birrandon, birrandera! To the turret's top she mounted And look'd till her eyes were sore, And look'd till her eyes were sore.
She saw his squire a-coming, Birrandon, birrandon, birrandera! She saw his squire a-coming; And a mourning suit he wore, And a mourning suit he wore.
"O squire, my trusty fellow; Birrandon, birrandon, birrandera! O squire, my trusty fellow, What news of my soldier poor? What news of my soldier poor?"
"The news which I bring thee, lady, Birrandon, birrandon, birrandera! The news which I bring thee, lady, Will cause thy tears to shower, Will cause thy tears to shower.
"Malbrouk my master's fallen, Birrandon, birrandon, birrandera! Malbrouk my master's fallen, He fell on the fields of gore, He fell on the fields of gore.
"His funeral attended, Birrandon, birrandon, birrandera! His funeral attended The whole reg'mental corps, The whole reg'mental corps.
"Six neat and proper soldiers, Birrandon, birrandon, birrandera! Six neat and proper soldiers To the grave my master bore, To the grave my master bore.
"The parson follow'd the coffin, Birrandon, birrandon, birrandera! The parson follow'd the coffin, And the sexton walk'd before, And the sexton walk'd before.
"They buried him in the churchyard, Birrandon, birrandon, birrandera! They buried him in the churchyard, Not far from the church's door, Not far from the church's door.
"And there above his coffin, Birrandon, birrandon, birrandera! There sings a little swallow: Sleep there, thy toils are o'er, Sleep there, thy toils are o'er."
THE ENGLISH GYPSIES
TUGNEY BESHOR
The Romany Chals Should jin so bute As the Puro Beng To scape of gueros And wafo gorgies The wafodupen.
They lels our gryor, They lels our wardoes, And wusts us then Drey starripenes To mer of pishens And buklipen.
Cauna volelan Muley pappins Pawdle the len Men artavavam Of gorgio foky The wafodupen. Ley teero sollohanloinus opreylis!
SORROWFUL YEARS
The wit and the skill Of the Father of ill, Who's clever indeed, If they would hope With their foes to cope The Romany need.
Our horses they take, Our waggons they break, And us they fling Into horrid cells, Where hunger dwells And vermin sting.
When the dead swallow The fly shall follow Across the river, O we'll forget The wrongs we've met, But till then O never: Brother, of that be certain.
The English Gypsies call themselves Romany Chals and Romany Chies, that is, Sons and Daughters of Rome. When speaking to each other, they say "Pal" and "Pen"; that is, brother and sister. All people not of their own blood they call "Gorgios," or Gentiles. Gypsies first made their appearance in England about the year 1480. They probably came from France, where tribes of the race had long been wandering about under the names of Bohemians and Egyptians. In England they pursued the same kind of merripen {3} which they and their ancestors had pursued on the Continent. They roamed about in bands, consisting of thirty, sixty, or ninety families, with light, creaking carts, drawn by horses and donkeys, encamping at night in the spots they deemed convenient. The women told fortunes at the castle of the baron and the cottage of the yeoman; filched gold and silver coins from the counters of money-changers; caused the death of hogs in farmyards, by means of a stuff called drab or drao, which affects the brain, but does not corrupt the blood; and subsequently begged, and generally obtained, the carcases. The men plied tinkering and brasiery, now and then stole horses, and occasionally ventured upon highway robbery. The writer has here placed the Chies before the Chals, because, as he has frequently had occasion to observe, the Gypsy women are by far more remarkable beings than the men. It is the Chi and not the Chal who has caused the name of Gypsy to be a sound awaking wonder, awe, and curiosity in every part of the civilised world. Not that there have never been remarkable men of the Gypsy race both abroad and at home. Duke Michael, as he was called, the leader of the great Gypsy horde which suddenly made its appearance in Germany at the beginning of the fifteenth century, was no doubt a remarkable man; the Gitano Condre, whom Martin del Rio met at Toledo a hundred years afterwards, who seemed to speak all languages, and to be perfectly acquainted with the politics of all the Courts of Europe, must certainly have been a remarkable man; so, no doubt, here at home was Boswell; so undoubtedly was Cooper, called by the gentlemen of the Fives Court—poor fellows! they are all gone now—the "wonderful little Gypsy";—but upon the whole the poetry, the sorcery, the devilry, if you please to call it so, are vastly on the side of the women. How blank and inanimate is the countenance of the Gypsy man, even when trying to pass off a foundered donkey as a flying dromedary, in comparison with that of the female Romany, peering over the wall of a par-yard at a jolly hog!
Sar shin Sinfye? Koshto divvus, Romany Chi! So shan tute kairing acoi?
Sinfye, Sinfye! how do you do? Daughter of Rome, good day to you! What are you thinking here to do?
After a time the evil practices of the Gypsies began to be noised about, and terrible laws were enacted against people "using the manner of Egyptians"—Chies were scourged by dozens, Chals hung by scores. Throughout the reign of Elizabeth there was a terrible persecution of the Gypsy race; far less, however, on account of the crimes which they actually committed, than from a suspicion which was entertained that they harboured amidst their companies priests and emissaries of Rome, who had come to England for the purpose of sowing sedition and inducing the people to embrace again the old discarded superstition. This suspicion, however, was entirely without foundation. The Gypsies call each other brother and sister, and are not in the habit of admitting to their fellowship people of a different blood and with whom they have no sympathy. There was, however, a description of wandering people at that time, even as there is at present, with whom the priests, who are described as going about, sometimes disguised as serving-men, sometimes as broken soldiers, sometimes as shipwrecked mariners, would experience no difficulty in associating, and with whom, in all probability, they occasionally did associate—the people called in Acts of Parliament sturdy beggars and vagrants, in the old cant language Abraham men, and in the modern Pikers. These people have frequently been confounded with the Gypsies, but are in reality a distinct race, though they resemble the latter in some points. They roam about like the Gypsies, and, like them, have a kind of secret language. But the Gypsies are a people of Oriental origin, whilst the Abrahamites are the scurf of the English body corporate. The language of the Gypsies is a real language, more like the Sanscrit than any other language in the world; whereas the speech of the Abrahamites is a horrid jargon, composed for the most part of low English words used in an allegorical sense—a jargon in which a stick is called a crack; a hostess, a rum necklace; a bar-maid, a dolly-mort; brandy, rum booze; a constable, a horny. But enough of these Pikers, these Abrahamites. Sufficient to observe that if the disguised priests associated with wandering companies it must have been with these people, who admit anybody to their society, and not with the highly exclusive race the Gypsies.
For nearly a century and a half after the death of Elizabeth the Gypsies seem to have been left tolerably to themselves, for the laws are almost silent respecting them. Chies, no doubt, were occasionally scourged for cauring, that is filching gold and silver coins, and Chals hung for grychoring, that is horse-stealing; but those are little incidents not much regarded in Gypsy merripen. They probably lived a life during the above period tolerably satisfactory to themselves—they are not an ambitious people, and there is no word for glory in their language—but next to nothing is known respecting them. A people called Gypsies are mentioned, and to a certain extent treated of, in two remarkable works—one a production of the seventeenth, the other of the eighteenth century—the first entitled the 'English Rogue, or the Adventures of Merriton Latroon,' the other the 'Life of Bamfield Moore Carew'; but those works, though clever and entertaining, and written in the raciest English, are to those who seek for information respecting Gypsies entirely valueless, the writers having evidently mistaken for Gypsies the Pikers or Abrahamites, as the vocabularies appended to the histories, and which are professedly vocabularies of the Gypsy language, are nothing of the kind, but collections of words and phrases belonging to the Abrahamite or Piker jargon. At the commencement of the last century, and for a considerable time afterwards, there was a loud cry raised against the Gypsy women for stealing children. This cry, however, was quite as devoid of reason as the suspicion entertained of old against the Gypsy communities of harbouring disguised priests. Gypsy women, as the writer had occasion to remark many a long year ago, have plenty of children of their own, and have no wish to encumber themselves with those of other people. A yet more extraordinary charge was, likewise, brought against them—that of running away with wenches. Now, the idea of Gypsy women running away with wenches! Where were they to stow them in the event of running away with them? and what were they to do with them in the event of being able to stow them? Nevertheless, two Gypsy women were burnt in the hand in the most cruel and frightful manner, somewhat about the middle of the last century, and two Gypsy men, their relations, sentenced to be hanged, for running away with a certain horrible wench of the name of Elizabeth Canning, who, to get rid of a disgraceful burden, had left her service and gone into concealment for a month, and on her return, in order to account for her absence, said that she had been run away with by Gypsies. The men, however, did not undergo their sentence; for, ere the day appointed for their execution arrived, suspicions beginning to be entertained with respect to the truth of the wench's story, they were reprieved, and, after a little time, the atrocious creature, who had charged people with doing what they neither did nor dreamt of doing, was tried for perjury, convicted, and sentenced to transportation. Yet so great is English infatuation that this Canning, this Elizabeth, had a host of friends, who stood by her, and swore by her to the last, and almost freighted the ship which carried her away with goods, the sale of which enabled her to purchase her freedom of the planter to whom she was consigned, to establish herself in business, and to live in comfort, and almost in luxury, in the New World during the remainder of her life.
But though Gypsies have occasionally experienced injustice; though Patricos and Sherengroes were hanged by dozens in Elizabeth's time on suspicion of harbouring disguised priests; though Gypsy women in the time of the Second George, accused of running away with wenches, were scorched and branded, there can be no doubt that they live in almost continual violation of the laws intended for the protection of society; and it may be added, that in this illegal way of life the women have invariably played a more important part than the men. Of them, amongst other things, it may be said that they are the most accomplished swindlers in the world, their principal victims being people of their own sex, on whose credulity and superstition they practise. Mary Caumlo, or Lovel, was convicted a few years ago at Cardiff of having swindled a surgeon's wife of eighty pounds, under pretence of propitiating certain planets by showing them the money. Not a penny of the booty was ever recovered by the deluded victim; and the Caumli, on leaving the dock, after receiving sentence of a year's imprisonment, turned round and winked to some brother or sister in court, as much as to say: "Mande has gared the luvvu; mande is kek atugni for the besh's starripen"—"I have hid the money, and care nothing for the year's imprisonment." Young Rawnie P. of N., the daughter of old Rawnie P., suddenly disappeared with the whole capital of an aged and bedridden gentlewoman, amounting to nearly three hundred pounds, whom she had assured that if she were intrusted with it for a short time she should be able to gather certain herbs, from which she could make decoctions, which would restore to the afflicted gentlewoman all her youthful vigour. Mrs. Townsley of the Border was some time ago in trouble at Wick, only twenty-five miles distant from Johnny Groat's House, on a charge of fraudulently obtaining from a fisherman's wife one shilling, two half-crowns, and a five-pound note by promising to untie certain witch-locks, which she had induced her to believe were entwined in the meshes of the fisherman's net, and would, if suffered to remain, prevent him from catching a single herring in the Firth. These events occurred within the last few years, and are sufficiently notorious. They form a triad out of dozens of a similar kind, in some of which there are features so odd, so strangely droll, that indignation against the offence is dispelled by an irresistible desire to laugh.
But Gypsyism is declining, and its days are numbered. There is a force abroad which is doomed to destroy it, a force which never sleepeth either by day or night, and which will not allow the Roman people rest for the soles of their feet. That force is the Rural Police, which, had it been established at the commencement instead of towards the middle of the present century, would have put down Gypsyism long ago. But, recent as its establishment has been, observe what it has produced. Walk from London to Carlisle, but neither by the road's side, nor on heath or common, will you see a single Gypsy tent. True Gypsyism consists in wandering about, in preying upon the Gentiles, but not living amongst them. But such a life is impossible in these days; the Rural Force will not permit it. "It is a hard thing, brother," said old Agamemnon Caumlo to the writer, several years ago; "it is a hard thing, after one has pitched one's little tent, lighted one's little fire, and hung one's kettle by the kettle-iron over it to boil, to have an inspector or constable come up, and say, 'What are you doing here? Take yourself off, you Gypsy dog!'" A hard thing, indeed, old Agamemnon; but there is no help for it. You must e'en live amongst the Gorgios. And for years past the Gypsies have lived amongst the Gorgios, and what has been the result? They do not seem to have improved the Gentiles, and have certainly not been improved by them. By living amongst the Gentiles they have, to a certain extent, lost the only two virtues they possessed. Whilst they lived apart on heaths and commons, and in shadowy lanes, the Gypsy women were paragons of chastity, and the men, if not exactly patterns of sobriety, were, upon the whole, very sober fellows. Such terms, however, are by no means applicable to them at the present day. Sects and castes, even of thieves and murderers, can exist as long as they have certain virtues, which give them a kind of respect in their own eyes; but, losing those virtues, they soon become extinct. When the salt loses its savour, what becomes of it? The Gypsy salt has not altogether lost its savour, but that essential quality is every day becoming fainter, so that there is every reason to suppose that within a few years the English Gypsy caste will have disappeared, merged in the dregs of the English population.
GYPSY NAMES
There are many curious things connected with the Gypsies, but perhaps nothing more so than what pertains to their names. They have a double nomenclature, each tribe or family having a public and a private name, one by which they are known to the Gentiles, and another to themselves alone. Their public names are quite English; their private ones attempts, some of them highly singular and uncouth, to render those names by Gypsy equivalents. Gypsy names may be divided into two classes, names connected with trades, and surnames or family names. First of all, something about trade names.
There are only two names of trades which have been adopted by English Gypsies as proper names, Cooper and Smith: these names are expressed in the English Gypsy dialect by Vardo-mescro and Petulengro. The first of these renderings is by no means a satisfactory one, as Vardo-mescro means a cartwright, or rather a carter. To speak the truth, it would be next to impossible to render the word 'cooper' into English Gypsy, or indeed into Gypsy of any kind; a cooper, according to the common acceptation of the word, is one who makes pails, tubs, and barrels, but there are no words in Gypsy for such vessels. The Transylvanian Gypsies call a cooper a bedra-kero or pail-maker, but bedra is not Gypsy, but Hungarian, and the English Gypsies might with equal propriety call a cooper a pail-engro. On the whole the English Gypsies did their best when they rendered 'cooper' into their language by the word for 'cartwright.'
Petulengro, the other trade name, is borne by the Gypsies who are known to the public by the English appellation of Smith. It is not very easy to say what is the exact meaning of Petulengro: it must signify, however, either horseshoe-fellow or tinker: petali or petala signifies in Gypsy a horseshoe, and is probably derived from the Modern Greek [Greek: ]; engro is an affix, and is either derived from or connected with the Sanscrit kara, to make, so that with great feasibility Petulengro may be translated horseshoe-maker. But bedel in Hebrew means 'tin,' and as there is little more difference between petul and bedel than between petul and petalon, Petulengro may be translated with almost equal feasibility by tinker or tin-worker, more especially as tinkering is a principal pursuit of Gypsies, and to jal petulengring signifies to go a-tinkering in English Gypsy. Taken, however, in either sense, whether as horseshoe-maker or tin- worker (and, as has been already observed, it must mean one or the other), Petulengro may be considered as a tolerably fair rendering of the English Smith.
So much for the names of the Gypsies which the writer has ventured to call the trade names; now for those of the other class. These are English surnames, and for the most part of a highly aristocratic character, and it seems at first surprising that people so poor and despised as Gypsies should be found bearing names so time-honoured and imposing. There is, however, a tolerable explanation of the matter in the supposition that on their first arrival in England the different tribes sought the protection of certain grand powerful families, and were permitted by them to locate themselves on their heaths and amid their woodlands, and that they eventually adopted the names of their patrons. Here follow the English names of some of the principal tribes, with the Romany translations or equivalents:-
BOSWELL.—The proper meaning of this word is the town of Bui. The initial Bo or Bui is an old Northern name, signifying a colonist or settler, one who tills and builds. It was the name of a great many celebrated Northern kempions, who won land and a home by hard blows. The last syllable, well, is the French ville: Boswell, Boston, and Busby all signify one and the same thing—the town of Bui—the well being French, the ton Saxon, and the by Danish; they are half- brothers of Bovil and Belville, both signifying fair town, and which ought to be written Beauville and Belville. The Gypsies, who know and care nothing about etymologies, confounding bos with buss, a vulgar English verb not to be found in dictionaries, which signifies to kiss, rendered the name Boswell by Chumomisto, that is, Kisswell, or one who kisses well—choom in their language signifying to kiss, and misto well—likewise by choomomescro, a kisser. Vulgar as the word buss may sound at present, it is by no means of vulgar origin, being connected with the Latin basio and the Persian bouse.
GREY.—This is the name of a family celebrated in English history. The Gypsies who adopted it, rendered it into their language by Gry, a word very much resembling it in sound, though not in sense, for gry, which is allied to the Sanscrit ghora, signifies a horse. They had no better choice, however, for in Romany there is no word for grey, any more than there is for green or blue. In several languages there is a difficulty in expressing the colour which in English is called grey. In Celtic, for instance, there is no definite word for it; glas, it is true, is used to express it, but glas is as frequently used to express green as it is to express grey.
HEARNE, HERNE.—This is the name of a family which bears the heron for its crest, the name being either derived from the crest, or the crest from the name. There are two Gypsy renderings of the word— Rossar-mescro or Ratzie-mescro, and Balorengre. Rossar-mescro signifies duck-fellow, the duck being substituted for the heron, for which there is no word in Romany. The meaning of Balor-engre is hairy people; the translator or translators seeming to have confounded Hearne with 'haaren,' old English for hairs. The latter rendering has never been much in use.
LEE.—The Gypsy name of this tribe is Purrum, sometimes pronounced Purrun. The meaning of Purrurn is an onion, and it may be asked what connection can there be between Lee and onion? None whatever: but there is some resemblance in sound between Lee and leek, and it is probable that the Gypsies thought so, and on that account rendered the name by Purrum, which, if not exactly a leek, at any rate signifies something which is cousin-german to a leek. It must be borne in mind that in some parts of England the name Lee is spelt Legh and Leigh, which would hardly be the case if at one time it had not terminated in something like a guttural, so that when the Gypsies rendered the name, perhaps nearly four hundred years ago, it sounded very much like 'leek,' and perhaps was Leek, a name derived from the family crest. At first the writer was of opinion that the name was Purrun, a modification of pooro, which in the Gypsy language signifies old, but speedily came to the conclusion that it must be Purrum, a leek or onion; for what possible reason could the Gypsies have for rendering Lee by a word which signifies old or ancient? whereas by rendering it by Purrum, they gave themselves a Gypsy name, which, if it did not signify Lee, must to their untutored minds have seemed a very good substitute for Lee. The Gypsy word pooro, old, belongs to Hindostan, and is connected with the Sanscrit pura, which signifies the same. Purrum is a modification of the Wallachian pur, a word derived from the Latin porrum, an onion, and picked up by the Gypsies in Roumania or Wallachia, the natives of which region speak a highly curious mixture of Latin and Sclavonian.
LOVEL.—This is the name or title of an old and powerful English family. The meaning of it is Leo's town, Lowe's town, or Louis' town. The Gypsies, who adopted it, seem to have imagined that it had something to do with love, for they translated it by Camlo or Caumlo, that which is lovely or amiable, and also by Camomescro, a lover, an amorous person, sometimes used for 'friend.' Camlo is connected with the Sanscrit Cama, which signifies love, and is the appellation of the Hindoo god of love. A name of the same root as the one borne by that divinity was not altogether inapplicable to the Gypsy tribe who adopted it: Cama, if all tales be true, was black, black though comely, a Beltenebros, and the Lovel tribe is decidedly the most comely and at the same time the darkest of all the Anglo-Egyptian families. The faces of many of them, male and female, are perfect specimens of black beauty. They are generally called by the race the Kaulo Camloes, the Black Comelies. And here, though at the risk of being thought digressive, the writer cannot forbear saying that the darkest and at one time the comeliest of all the Caumlies, a celebrated fortune-teller, and an old friend of his, lately expired in a certain old town, after attaining an age which was something wonderful. She had twenty-one brothers and sisters, and was the eldest of the family, on which account she was called "Rawnie P., pooroest of bis ta dui," Lady P.—she had married out of the family— eldest of twenty-two.
MARSHALL.—The name Marshall has either to do with marshal, the title of a high military personage, or marches, the borders of contiguous countries. In the early Norman period it was the name of an Earl of Pembroke. The Gypsies who adopted the name seem in translating it to have been of opinion that it was connected with marshes, for they rendered it by mokkado tan engre, fellows of the wet or miry place, an appellation which at one time certainly became them well, for they are a northern tribe belonging to the Border, a country not very long ago full of mosses and miry places. Though calling themselves English, they are in reality quite as much Scotch as English, and as often to be found in Scotland as the other country, especially in Dumfriesshire and Galloway, in which latter region, in Saint Cuthbert's churchyard, lies buried 'the old man' of the race,— Marshall, who died at the age of 107. They sometimes call themselves Bungyoror and Chikkeneymengre, cork-fellows and china people, which names have reference to the occupations severally followed by the males and females, the former being cutters of bungs and corks, and the latter menders of china.
STANLEY.—This is the name or title of an ancient English family celebrated in history. It is probably descriptive of their original place of residence, for it signifies the stony lea, which is also the meaning of the Gaelic Auchinlech, the place of abode of the Scottish Boswells. It was adopted by an English Gypsy tribe, at one time very numerous, but at present much diminished. Of this name there are two renderings into Romany; one is Baryor or Baremescre, stone-folks or stonemasons, the other is Beshaley. The first requires no comment, but the second is well worthy of analysis, as it is an example of the strange blunders which the Gypsies sometimes make in their attempts at translation. When they rendered Stanley by Beshaley or Beshley, they mistook the first syllable stan for 'stand,' but for a very good reason rendered it by besh, which signifies 'to sit, and the second for a word in their own language, for ley or aley in Gypsy signifies 'down,' so they rendered Stanley by Beshley or Beshaley, which signifies 'sit down.' Here, of course, it will be asked what reason could have induced them, if they mistook stan for 'stand,' not to have rendered it by the Gypsy word for 'stand'? The reason was a very cogent one, the want of a word in the Gypsy language to express 'stand'; but they had heard in courts of justice witnesses told to stand down, so they supposed that to stand down was much the same as to sit down, whence their odd rendering of Stanley. In no dialect of the Gypsy, from the Indus to the Severn, is there any word for 'stand,' though in every one there is a word for 'sit,' and that is besh, and in every Gypsy encampment all along the vast distance, Beshley or Beshaley would be considered an invitation to sit down.
So much for the double-name system in use among the Gypsies of England. There is something in connection with the Gypsies of Spain which strangely coincides with one part of it—the translation of names. Among the relics of the language of the Gitanos or Spanish Gypsies are words, some simple and some compound, which are evidently attempts to translate names in a manner corresponding to the plan employed by the English Romany. In illustration of the matter, the writer will give an analysis of Brono Aljenicato, the rendering into Gitano of the name of one frequently mentioned in the New Testament, and once in the Apostles' Creed, the highly respectable, but much traduced individual known to the English public as Pontius Pilate, to the Spanish as Poncio Pilato. The manner in which the rendering has been accomplished is as follows: Poncio bears some resemblance to the Spanish puente, which signifies a bridge, and is a modification of the Latin pons, and Pilato to the Spanish pila, a fountain, or rather a stone pillar, from the top of which the waters of a fountain springing eventually fall into a stone basin below, the two words— the Brono Aljenicato—signifying bridge-fountain, or that which is connected with such a thing. Now this is the identical, or all but the identical, way in which the names Lee, Lovel, and Stanley have been done into English Romany. A remarkable instance is afforded in this Gitano Scripture name, this Brono Aljenicato, of the heterogeneous materials of which Gypsy dialects are composed: Brono is a modification of a Hindoo or Sanscrit, Aljenicato of an Arabic root. Brono is connected with the Sanscrit pindala, which signifies a bridge, and Aljenicato is a modification of the Gypsy aljenique, derived from the Arabic alain, which signifies the fountain. But of whatever materials composed, a fine-sounding name is this same Brono Aljenicato, perhaps the finest sounding specimen of Spanish Gypsy extant, much finer than a translation of Pontius Pilate would be, provided the name served to express the same things, in English, which Poncio Pilato serves to express in Spanish, for then it would be Pudjico Pani or Bridgewater; for though in English Gypsy there is the word for a bridge, namely pudge, a modification of the Persian pul, or the Wallachian podul, there is none for a fountain, which can be only vaguely paraphrased by pani, water.
FORTUNE-TELLING
Gypsy women, as long as we have known anything of Gypsy history, have been arrant fortune-tellers. They plied fortune-telling about France and Germany as early as 1414, the year when the dusky bands were first observed in Europe, and they have never relinquished the practice. There are two words for fortune-telling in Gypsy, bocht and dukkering. Bocht is a Persian word, a modification of, or connected with, the Sanscrit bagya, which signifies 'fate.' Dukkering is the modification of a Wallaco-Sclavonian word signifying something spiritual or ghostly. In Eastern European Gypsy, the Holy Ghost is called Swentuno Ducos.
Gypsy fortune-telling is much the same everywhere, much the same in Russia as it is in Spain and in England. Everywhere there are three styles—the lofty, the familiar, and the homely; and every Gypsy woman is mistress of all three and uses each according to the rank of the person whose vast she dukkers, whose hand she reads, and adapts the luck she promises. There is a ballad of some antiquity in the Spanish language about the Buena Ventura, a few stanzas of which translated will convey a tolerable idea of the first of these styles to the reader, who will probably with no great reluctance dispense with any illustrations of the other two:-
Late rather one morning In summer's sweet tide, Goes forth to the Prado Jacinta the bride:
There meets her a Gypsy So fluent of talk, And jauntily dressed, On the principal walk.
"O welcome, thrice welcome, Of beauty thou flower! Believe me, believe me, Thou com'st in good hour."
Surprised was Jacinta; She fain would have fled; But the Gypsy to cheer her Such honeyed words said:
"O cheek like the rose-leaf! O lady high-born! Turn thine eyes on thy servant, But ah, not in scorn.
"O pride of the Prado! O joy of our clime! Thou twice shalt be married, And happily each time.
"Of two noble sons Thou shalt be the glad mother, One a Lord Judge, A Field-Marshal the other."
Gypsy females have told fortunes to higher people than the young Countess Jacinta: Modor—of the Gypsy quire of Moscow—told the fortune of Ekatarina, Empress of all the Russias. The writer does not know what the Ziganka told that exalted personage, but it appears that she gave perfect satisfaction to the Empress, who not only presented her with a diamond ring—a Russian diamond ring is not generally of much value—but also her hand to kiss. The writer's old friend, Pepita, the Gitana of Madrid, told the bahi of Christina, the Regentess of Spain, in which she assured her that she would marry the son of the King of France, and received from the fair Italian a golden ounce, the most magnificent of coins, a guerdon which she richly merited, for she nearly hit the mark, for though Christina did not marry the son of the King of France, her second daughter was married to a son of the King of France, the Duke of M-, one of the three claimants of the crown of Spain, and the best of the lot; and Britannia, the Caumli, told the good luck to the Regent George on Newmarket Heath, and received 'foive guineas' and a hearty smack from him who eventually became George the Fourth—no bad fellow by the by, either as regent or king, though as much abused as Pontius Pilate, whom he much resembled in one point, unwillingness to take life—the sonkaype or gold-gift being, no doubt, more acceptable than the choomape or kiss-gift to the Beltenebrosa, who, if a certain song be true, had no respect for gorgios, however much she liked their money:-
Britannia is my nav; I am a Kaulo Camlo; The gorgios pen I be A bori chovahaunie; And tatchipen they pens, The dinneleskie gorgies, For mande chovahans The luvvu from their putsies.
Britannia is my name; I am a swarthy Lovel; The Gorgios say I be A witch of wondrous power; And faith they speak the truth, The silly, foolish fellows, For often I bewitch The money from their pockets.
Fortune-telling in all countries where the Gypsies are found is frequently the prelude to a kind of trick called in all Gypsy dialects by something more or less resembling the Sanscrit kuhana; for instance, it is called in Spain jojana, hokano, and in English hukni. It is practised in various ways, all very similar; the defrauding of some simple person of money or property being the object in view. Females are generally the victims of the trick, especially those of the middle class, who are more accessible to the poor woman than those of the upper. One of the ways, perhaps the most artful, will be found described in another chapter.
THE HUKNI
The Gypsy makes some poor simpleton of a lady believe that if the latter puts her gold into her hands, and she makes it up into a parcel, and puts it between the lady's feather-bed and mattress, it will at the end of a month be multiplied a hundredfold, provided the lady does not look at it during all that time. On receiving the money she makes it up into a brown paper parcel, which she seals with wax, turns herself repeatedly round, squints, and spits, and then puts between the feather-bed and mattress—not the parcel of gold, but one exactly like it, which she has prepared beforehand, containing old halfpence, farthings, and the like; then, after cautioning the lady by no means to undo the parcel before the stated time, she takes her departure singing to herself:-
O dear me! O dear me! What dinnelies these gorgies be.
The above artifice is called by the English Gypsies the hukni, and by the Spanish hokhano baro, or the great lie. Hukni and hokano were originally one and the same word; the root seems to be the Sanscrit huhana, lie, trick, deceit.
CAURING
The Gypsy has some queer, old-fashioned gold piece; this she takes to some goldsmith's shop, at the window of which she has observed a basin full of old gold coins, and shows it to the goldsmith, asking him if he will purchase it. He looks at it attentively, and sees that it is of very pure gold; whereupon he says that he has no particular objection to buy it; but that as it is very old it is not of much value, and that he has several like it. "Have you indeed, Master?" says the Gypsy; "then pray show them to me, and I will buy them; for, to tell you the truth, I would rather buy than sell pieces like this, for I have a great respect for them, and know their value: give me back my coin, and I will compare any you have with it." The goldsmith gives her back her coin, takes his basin of gold from the window, and places it on the counter. The Gypsy puts down her head, and pries into the basin. "Ah, I see nothing here like my coin," says she. "Now, Master, to oblige me, take out a handful of the coins and lay them on the counter; I am a poor, honest woman, Master, and do not wish to put my hand into your basin. Oh! if I could find one coin like my own, I would give much money for it; barributer than it is worth." The goldsmith, to oblige the poor, simple, foreign creature (for such he believes her to be), and, with a considerable hope of profit, takes a handful of coins from the basin and puts them upon the counter. "I fear there is none here like mine, Master," says the Gypsy, moving the coins rapidly with the tips of her fingers. "No, no, there is not one here like mine—kek yeck, kek yeck—not one, not one. Stay, stay! What's this, what's this? So se cavo, so se cavo? Oh, here is one like mine; or if not quite like, like enough to suit me. Now, Master, what will you take for this coin?" The goldsmith looks at it, and names a price considerably above the value; whereupon she says: "Now, Master, I will deal fairly with you: you have not asked me the full value of the coin by three three-groats, three-groats, three-groats; by trin tringurushis, tringurushis, tringurushis. So here's the money you asked, Master, and three three-groats, three shillings, besides. God bless you, Master! You would have cheated yourself, but the poor woman would not let you; for though she is poor she is honest": and thus she takes her leave, leaving the goldsmith very well satisfied with his customer—with little reason, however, for out of about twenty coins which he laid on the counter she had filched at least three, which her brown nimble fingers, though they seemingly scarcely touched the gold, contrived to convey up her sleeves. This kind of pilfering is called by the English Gypsies cauring, and by the Spanish ustilar pastesas, or stealing with the fingers. The word caur seems to be connected with the English cower, and the Hebrew kara, a word of frequent occurrence in the historical part of the Old Testament, and signifying to bend, stoop down, incurvare.
METROPOLITAN GYPSYRIES—WANDSWORTH, 1864
What may be called the grand Metropolitan Gypsyry is on the Surrey side of the Thames. Near the borders of Wandsworth and Battersea, about a quarter of a mile from the river, is an open piece of ground which may measure about two acres. To the south is a hill, at the foot of which is a railway, and it is skirted on the north by the Wandsworth and Battersea Road. This place is what the Gypsies call a kekkeno mushes puv, a no man's ground; a place which has either no proprietor, or which the proprietor, for some reason, makes no use of for the present. The houses in the neighbourhood are mean and squalid, and are principally inhabited by artisans of the lowest description. This spot, during a considerable portion of the year, is the principal place of residence of the Metropolitan Gypsies, and of other people whose manner of life more or less resembles theirs. During the summer and autumn the little plain, for such it is, is quite deserted, except that now and then a wretched tent or two may be seen upon it, belonging to some tinker family, who have put up there for a few hours on their way through the metropolis; for the Gypsies are absent during summer, some at fairs and races, the men with their cocoa-nuts and the women busy at fortune-telling, or at suburban places of pleasure—the former with their donkeys for the young cockneys to ride upon, and the latter as usual dukkering and hokkering, and the other travellers, as they are called, roaming about the country following their particular avocations, whilst in the autumn the greater part of them all are away in Kent, getting money by picking hops. As soon, however, as the rains, the precursors of winter, descend, the place begins to be occupied, and about a week or two before Christmas it is almost crammed with the tents and caravans of the wanderers; and then it is a place well worthy to be explored, notwithstanding the inconvenience of being up to one's ankles in mud, and the rather appalling risk of being bitten by the Gypsy and travelling dogs tied to the tents and caravans, in whose teeth there is always venom and sometimes that which can bring on the water-horror, for which no European knows a remedy. The following is an attempt to describe the odd people and things to be met with here; the true Gypsies, and what to them pertaineth, being of course noticed first.
On this plain there may be some fifteen or twenty Gypsy tents and caravans. Some of the tents are large, as indeed it is highly necessary that they should be, being inhabited by large families—a man and his wife, a grandmother a sister or two and half a dozen children, being, occasionally found in one; some of them are very small, belonging to poor old females who have lost their husbands, and whose families have separated themselves from them, and allow them to shift for themselves. During the day the men are generally busy at their several avocations, chinning the cost, that is, cutting the stick for skewers, making pegs for linen-lines, kipsimengring or basket-making, tinkering or braziering; the children are playing about, or begging halfpence by the road of passengers; whilst the women are strolling about, either in London or the neighbourhood, engaged in fortune-telling or swindling. Of the trades of the men, the one by far the most practised is chinning the cost, and as they sit at the door of the tents, cutting and whittling away, they occasionally sweeten their toil by raising their voices and singing the Gypsy stanza in which the art is mentioned, and which for terseness and expressiveness is quite equal to anything in the whole circle of Gentile poetry:
Can you rokra Romany? Can you play the bosh? Can you jal adrey the staripen? Can you chin the cost?
Can you speak the Roman tongue? Can you play the fiddle? Can you eat the prison-loaf? Can you cut and whittle?
These Gypsies are of various tribes, but chiefly Purruns, Chumomescroes and Vardomescroes, or Lees, Boswells and Coopers, and Lees being by far the most numerous. The men are well made, active fellows, somewhat below the middle height. Their complexions are dark, and their eyes are full of intelligence; their habiliments are rather ragged. The women are mostly wild-looking creatures, some poorly clad, others exhibiting not a little strange finery. There are some truly singular beings amongst those women, which is more than can be said with respect to the men, who are much on a level, and amongst whom there is none whom it is possible to bring prominently out, and about whom much can be said. The women, as has been already observed, are generally out during the day, being engaged in their avocations abroad. There is a very small tent about the middle of the place; it belongs to a lone female, whom one frequently meets wandering about Wandsworth or Battersea, seeking an opportunity to dukker some credulous servant-girl. It is hard that she should have to do so, as she is more than seventy-five years of age, but if she did not she would probably starve. She is very short of statue, being little more than five feet and an inch high, but she is wonderfully strongly built. Her head is very large, and seems to have been placed at once upon her shoulders without any interposition of neck. Her face is broad, with a good-humoured expression upon it, and in general with very little vivacity; at times, however, it lights up, and then all the Gypsy beams forth. Old as she is, her hair, which is very long, is as black as the plumage of a crow, and she walks sturdily, though with not much elasticity, on her short, thick legs, and, if requested, would take up the heaviest man in Wandsworth or Battersea and walk away with him. She is, upon the whole, the oddest Gypsy woman ever seen; see her once and you will never forget her. Who is she? you ask. Who is she? Why, Mrs. Cooper, the wife of Jack Cooper, the fighting Gypsy, once the terror of all the Light Weights of the English Ring; who knocked West Country Dick to pieces, and killed Paddy O'Leary, the fighting pot- boy, Jack Randall's pet. Ah, it would have been well for Jack if he had always stuck to his true, lawful Romany wife, whom at one time he was very fond of, and whom he used to dress in silks and satins, and best scarlet cloth, purchased with the money gained in his fair, gallant battles in the Ring! But he did not stick to her, deserting her for a painted Jezebel, to support whom he sold his battles, by doing which he lost his friends and backers; then took from his poor wife all he had given her, and even plundered her of her own property, down to the very blankets which she lay upon; and who finally was so infatuated with love for his paramour that he bore the blame of a crime which she had committed, and in which he had no share, suffering ignominy and transportation in order to save her. Better had he never deserted his tatchie romadie, his own true Charlotte, who, when all deserted him, the painted Jezebel being the first to do so, stood by him, supporting him with money in prison, and feeing counsel on his trial from the scanty proceeds of her dukkering. All that happened many years ago; Jack's term of transportation, a lengthy one, has long, long been expired, but he has not come back, though every year since the expiration of his servitude he has written her a letter, or caused one to be written to her, to say that he is coming, that he is coming; so that she is always expecting him, and is at all times willing, as she says, to re-invest him with all the privileges of a husband, and to beg and dukker to support him if necessary. A true wife she has been to him, a tatchie romadie, and has never taken up with any man since he left her, though many have been the tempting offers that she has had, connubial offers, notwithstanding the oddity of her appearance. Only one wish she has now in this world, the wish that he may return; but her wish, it is to be feared, is a vain one, for Jack lingers and lingers in the Sonnakye Tem, golden Australia, teaching, it is said, the young Australians to box, tempted by certain shining nuggets, the produce of the golden region. It is pleasant, though there is something mournful in it, to visit Mrs. Cooper after nightfall, to sit with her in her little tent after she has taken her cup of tea, and is warming her tired limbs at her little coke fire, and hear her talk of old times and things: how Jack courted her 'neath the trees of Loughton Forest, and how, when tired of courting, they would get up and box, and how he occasionally gave her a black eye, and how she invariably flung him at a close; and how they were lawfully married at church, and what a nice man the clergyman was, and what funny things he said both before and after he had united them; how stoutly West Country Dick contended against Jack, though always losing; how in Jack's battle with Paddy O'Leary the Irishman's head in the last round was truly frightful, not a feature being distinguishable, and one of his ears hanging down by a bit of skin; how Jack vanquished Hardy Scroggins, whom Jack Randall himself never dared fight. Then, again, her anecdotes of Alec Reed, cool, swift-hitting Alec, who was always smiling, and whose father was a Scotchman, his mother an Irishwoman, and who was born in Guernsey; and of Oliver, old Tom Oliver, who seconded Jack in all his winning battles, and after whom he named his son, his only child, Oliver, begotten of her in lawful wedlock, a good and affectionate son enough, but unable to assist her, on account of his numerous family. Farewell, Mrs. Cooper, true old Charlotte! here's a little bit of silver for you, and a little bit of a gillie to sing:
Charlotta is my nav, I am a puro Purrun; My romado was Jack, The couring Vardomescro. He muk'd me for a lubbeny, Who chor'd a rawnie's kissi; He penn'd 'twas he who lell'd it, And so was bitched pawdel.
Old Charlotte I am called, Of Lee I am a daughter; I married Fighting Jack, The famous Gypsy Cooper. He left me for a harlot, Who pick'd a lady's pocket; He bore the blame to save her, And so was sent to Bot'ny.
Just within the bounds of the plain, and close by the road, may occasionally be seen a small caravan of rather a neat appearance. It comes and goes suddenly, and is seldom seen there for more than three days at a time. It belongs to a Gypsy female who, like Mrs. Cooper, is a remarkable person, but is widely different from Mrs. Cooper in many respects. Mrs. Cooper certainly does not represent the beau ideal of a Gypsy female, this does—a dark, mysterious, beautiful, terrible creature! She is considerably above the middle height, powerfully but gracefully made, and about thirty-seven years of age. Her face is oval, and of a dark olive. The nose is Grecian, the cheek-bones rather high; the eyes somewhat sunk, but of a lustrous black; the mouth small, and the teeth exactly like ivory. Upon the whole the face is exceedingly beautiful, but the expression is evil— evil to a degree. Who she is no one exactly knows, nor what is her name, nor whether she is single woman, wife, or widow. Some say she is a foreign Gypsy, others from Scotland, but she is neither—her accent is genuine English. What strikes one as most singular is the power she possesses of appearing in various characters—all Romany ones it is true, but so different as seemingly to require three distinct females of the race to represent them: sometimes she is the staid, quiet, respectable Gypsy; sometimes the forward and impudent; at others the awful and sublime. Occasionally you may see her walking the streets dressed in a black silk gown, with a black silk bonnet on her head; over her left arm is flung a small carpet, a sample of the merchandise which is in her caravan, which is close at hand, driven by a brown boy; her address to her customers is highly polite; the tones of her voice are musical, though somewhat deep. At Fairlop, on the first Friday of July, in the evening, she may be found near the Bald-faced Hind, dressed in a red cloak and a large beaver; her appearance is bold and reckless—she is dukkering low tradesmen and servant girls behind the trees at sixpence a head, or is bandying with the voice of a raven slang and obscenity with country boors, or with the blackguard butcher-boys who throng in from Whitechapel and Shoreditch to the Gypsy Fair. At Goodwood, a few weeks after, you may see her in a beautiful half-riding dress, her hair fantastically plaited and adorned with pearls, standing beside the carriage of a Countess, telling the fortune of her ladyship with the voice and look of a pythoness. She is a thing of incongruities; an incomprehensible being! nobody can make her out; the writer himself has tried to make her out but could not, though he has spoken to her in his deepest Romany. It is true there is a certain old Gypsy, a friend of his, who thinks he has made her out. "Brother," said he one day, "why you should be always going after that woman I can't conceive, unless indeed you have lost your wits. If you go after her for her Romany you will find yourself in the wrong box: she may have a crumb or two of Romany, but for every crumb that she has I am quite sure you have a quartern loaf. Then as for her beauty, of which it is true she has plenty, and for which half a dozen Gorgios that I knows of are running mad, it's of no use going after her for that, for her beauty she keeps for her own use and that of her master the Devil; not but that she will sell it—she's sold it a dozen times to my certain knowledge—but what's the use of buying a thing, when the fool who buys it never gets it, never has the 'joyment of it, brother? She is kek tatcho, and that's what I like least in her; there's no trusting her, neither Gorgio nor Romano can trust her: she sells her truppos to a Rye-gorgio for five bars, and when she has got them, and the Gorgio, as he has a right to do, begins to kelna lasa, she laughs and asks him if he knows whom he has to deal with; then if he lels bonnek of lati, as he is quite justified in doing, she whips out a churi, and swears if he doesn't leave off she will stick it in his gorlo. Oh! she's an evil mare, a wafodu grasni, though a handsome one, and I never looks at her, brother, without saying to myself the old words: |
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