It is still more difficult to say what is the peculiar dress of the

Gitánas; they wear not the large red cloaks and immense bonnets of coarse

beaver which distinguish their sisters of England; they have no other

headgear than a handkerchief, which is occasionally resorted to as a

defence against the severity of the weather; their hair is sometimes

confined by a comb, but more frequently is permitted to stray dishevelled

down their shoulders; they are fond of large ear-rings, whether of gold,

silver, or metal, resembling in this respect the poissardes of France.

There is little to distinguish them from the Spanish women save the

absence of the mantilla, which they never carry. Females of fashion not

unfrequently take pleasure in dressing à la Gitána, as it is called; but

this female Gypsy fashion, like that of the men, is more properly the

fashion of Andalusia, the principal characteristic of which is the saya,

which is exceedingly short, with many rows of flounces.

True it is that the original dress of the Gitános, male and female,

whatever it was, may have had some share in forming the Andalusian

fashion, owing to the great number of these wanderers who found their way

to that province at an early period. The Andalusians are a mixed breed

of various nations, Romans, Vandals, Moors; perhaps there is a slight

sprinkling of Gypsy blood in their veins, and of Gypsy fashion in their

garb.

The Gitános are, for the most part, of the middle size, and the

proportions of their frames convey a powerful idea of strength and

activity united; a deformed or weakly object is rarely found amongst them

in persons of either sex; such probably perish in their infancy, unable

to support the hardships and privations to which the race is still

subjected from its great poverty, and these same privations have given

and still give a coarseness and harshness to their features, which are

all strongly marked and expressive. Their complexion is by no means

uniform, save that it is invariably darker than the general olive hue of

the Spaniards; not unfrequently countenances as dark as those of mulattos

present themselves, and in some few instances of almost negro blackness.

Like most people of savage ancestry, their teeth are white and strong;

their mouths are not badly formed, but it is in the eye more than in any

other feature that they differ from other human beings.

There is something remarkable in the eye of the Gitáno: should his hair

and complexion become fair as those of the Swede or the Finn, and his

jockey gait as grave and ceremonious as that of the native of Old

Castile, were he dressed like a king, a priest, or a warrior, still would

the Gitáno be detected by his eye, should it continue unchanged. The Jew

is known by his eye, but then in the Jew that feature is peculiarly

small; the Chinese has a remarkable eye, but then the eye of the Chinese

is oblong, and even with the face, which is flat; but the eye of the

Gitáno is neither large nor small, and exhibits no marked difference in

its shape from the eyes of the common cast. Its peculiarity consists

chiefly in a strange staring expression, which to be understood must be

seen, and in a thin glaze, which steals over it when in repose, and seems

to emit phosphoric light. That the Gypsy eye has sometimes a peculiar

effect, we learn from the following stanza:—

‘A Gypsy stripling’s glossy eye

Has pierced my bosom’s core,

A feat no eye beneath the sky

Could e’er effect before.’

The following passages are extracted from a Spanish work, {247} and

cannot be out of place here, as they relate to those matters to which we

have devoted this chapter.

‘The Gitános have an olive complexion and very marked physiognomy; their

cheeks are prominent, their lips thick, their eyes vivid and black; their

hair is long, black, and coarse, and their teeth very white. The general

expression of their physiognomy is a compound of pride, slavishness, and

cunning. They are, for the most part, of good stature, well formed, and

support with facility fatigue and every kind of hardship. When they

discuss any matter, or speak among themselves, whether in Catalan, in

Castilian, or in Germania, which is their own peculiar jargon, they

always make use of much gesticulation, which contributes to give to their

conversation and to the vivacity of their physiognomy a certain

expression, still more penetrating and characteristic.

‘When a Gitáno has occasion to speak of some business in which his

interest is involved, he redoubles his gestures in proportion as he knows

the necessity of convincing those who hear him, and fears their

impassibility. If any rancorous idea agitate him in the course of his

narrative; if he endeavour to infuse into his auditors sentiments of

jealousy, vengeance, or any violent passion, his features become

exaggerated, and the vivacity of his glances, and the contraction of his

lips, show clearly, and in an imposing manner, the foreign origin of the

Gitános, and all the customs of barbarous people. Even his very smile

has an expression hard and disagreeable. One might almost say that joy

in him is a forced sentiment, and that, like unto the savage man, sadness

is the dominant feature of his physiognomy.

‘The Gitána is distinguished by the same complexion, and almost the same

features. In her frame she is as well formed, and as flexible as the

Gitáno. Condemned to suffer the same privations and wants, her

countenance, when her interest does not oblige her to dissemble her

feelings, presents the same aspect of melancholy, and shows besides, with

more energy, the rancorous passions of which the female heart is

susceptible. Free in her actions, her carriage, and her pursuits, she

speaks, vociferates, and makes more gestures than the Gitáno, and, in

imitation of him, her arms are in continual motion, to give more

expression to the imagery with which she accompanies her discourse; her

whole body contributes to her gesture, and to increase its force;

endeavouring by these means to sharpen the effect of language in itself

insufficient; and her vivid and disordered imagination is displayed in

her appearance and attitude.

‘When she turns her hand to any species of labour, her hurried action,

the disorder of her hair, which is scarcely subjected by a little comb,

and her propensity to irritation, show how little she loves toil, and her

disgust for any continued occupation.

‘In her disputes, the air of menace and high passion, the flow of words,

and the facility with which she provokes and despises danger, indicate

manners half barbarous, and ignorance of other means of defence.

Finally, both in males and females, their physical constitution, colour,

agility, and flexibility, reveal to us a caste sprung from a burning

clime, and devoted to all those exercises which contribute to evolve

bodily vigour, and certain mental faculties.

‘The dress of the Gitáno varies with the country which he inhabits. Both

in Rousillon and Catalonia his habiliments generally consist of jacket,

waistcoat, pantaloons, and a red faja, which covers part of his

waistcoat; on his feet he wears hempen sandals, with much ribbon tied

round the leg as high as the calf; he has, moreover, either woollen or

cotton stockings; round his neck he wears a handkerchief, carelessly

tied; and in the winter he uses a blanket or mantle, with sleeves, cast

over the shoulder; his head is covered with the indispensable red cap,

which appears to be the favourite ornament of many nations in the

vicinity of the Mediterranean and Caspian Sea.

‘The neck and the elbows of the jacket are adorned with pieces of blue

and yellow cloth embroidered with silk, as well as the seams of the

pantaloons; he wears, moreover, on the jacket or the waistcoat, various

rows of silver buttons, small and round, sustained by rings or chains of

the same metal. The old people, and those who by fortune, or some other

cause, exercise, in appearance, a kind of authority over the rest, are

almost always dressed in black or dark-blue velvet. Some of those who

affect elegance amongst them keep for holidays a complete dress of

sky-blue velvet, with embroidery at the neck, pocket-holes, arm-pits, and

in all the seams; in a word, with the exception of the turban, this was

the fashion of dress of the ancient Moors of Granada, the only difference

being occasioned by time and misery.

‘The dress of the Gitánas is very varied: the young girls, or those who

are in tolerably easy circumstances, generally wear a black bodice laced

up with a string, and adjusted to their figures, and contrasting with the

scarlet-coloured saya, which only covers a part of the leg; their shoes

are cut very low, and are adorned with little buckles of silver; the

breast, and the upper part of the bodice, are covered either with a white

handkerchief, or one of some vivid colour; and on the head is worn

another handkerchief, tied beneath the chin, one of the ends of which

falls on the shoulder, in the manner of a hood. When the cold or the

heat permit, the Gitána removes the hood, without untying the knots, and

exhibits her long and shining tresses restrained by a comb. The old

women, and the very poor, dress in the same manner, save that their

habiliments are more coarse and the colours less in harmony. Amongst

them misery appears beneath the most revolting aspect; whilst the poorest

Gitáno preserves a certain deportment which would make his aspect

supportable, if his unquiet and ferocious glance did not inspire us with

aversion.’

CHAPTER VI

WHILST their husbands are engaged in their jockey vocation, or in

wielding the cachas, the Callees, or Gypsy females, are seldom idle, but

are endeavouring, by various means, to make all the gain they can. The

richest amongst them are generally contrabandistas, and in the large

towns go from house to house with prohibited goods, especially silk and

cotton, and occasionally with tobacco. They likewise purchase cast-off

female wearing-apparel, which, when vamped up and embellished, they

sometimes contrive to sell as new, with no inconsiderable profit.

Gitánas of this description are of the most respectable class; the rest,

provided they do not sell roasted chestnuts, or esteras, which are a

species of mat, seek a livelihood by different tricks and practices, more

or less fraudulent; for example—

_La Bahi_, or fortune-telling, which is called in Spanish, _buena

ventura_.—This way of extracting money from the credulity of dupes is, of

all those practised by the Gypsies, the readiest and most easy; promises

are the only capital requisite, and the whole art of fortune-telling

consists in properly adapting these promises to the age and condition of

the parties who seek for information. The Gitánas are clever enough in

the accomplishment of this, and in most cases afford perfect

satisfaction. Their practice chiefly lies amongst females, the portion

of the human race most given to curiosity and credulity. To the young

maidens they promise lovers, handsome invariably, and sometimes rich; to

wives children, and perhaps another husband; for their eyes are so

penetrating, that occasionally they will develop your most secret

thoughts and wishes; to the old, riches—and nothing but riches; for they

have sufficient knowledge of the human heart to be aware that avarice is

the last passion that becomes extinct within it. These riches are to

proceed either from the discovery of hidden treasures or from across the

water; from the Americas, to which the Spaniards still look with hope, as

there is no individual in Spain, however poor, but has some connection in

those realms of silver and gold, at whose death he considers it probable

that he may succeed to a brilliant ‘heréncia.’ The Gitánas, in the

exercise of this practice, find dupes almost as readily amongst the

superior classes, as the veriest dregs of the population. It is their

boast, that the best houses are open to them; and perhaps in the space of

one hour, they will spae the bahi to a duchess, or countess, in one of

the hundred palaces of Madrid, and to half a dozen of the lavanderas

engaged in purifying the linen of the capital, beneath the willows which

droop on the banks of the murmuring Manzanares. One great advantage

which the Gypsies possess over all other people is an utter absence of

_mauvaise honte_; their speech is as fluent, and their eyes as unabashed,

in the presence of royalty, as before those from whom they have nothing

to hope or fear; the result being, that most minds quail before them.

There were two Gitánas at Madrid, one Pepita by name, and the other La

Chicharona; the first was a spare, shrewd, witch-like female, about

fifty, and was the mother-in-law of La Chicharona, who was remarkable for

her stoutness. These women subsisted entirely by fortune-telling and

swindling. It chanced that the son of Pepita, and husband of Chicharona,

having spirited away a horse, was sent to the presidio of Malaga for ten

years of hard labour. This misfortune caused inexpressible affliction to

his wife and mother, who determined to make every effort to procure his

liberation. The readiest way which occurred to them was to procure an

interview with the Queen Regent Christina, who they doubted not would

forthwith pardon the culprit, provided they had an opportunity of

assailing her with their Gypsy discourse; for, to use their own words,

‘they well knew what to say.’ I at that time lived close by the palace,

in the street of Santiago, and daily, for the space of a month, saw them

bending their steps in that direction.

One day they came to me in a great hurry, with a strange expression on

both their countenances. ‘We have seen Christina, hijo’ (my son), said

Pepita to me.

‘Within the palace?’ I inquired.

‘Within the palace, O child of my garlochin,’ answered the sibyl:

‘Christina at last saw and sent for us, as I knew she would; I told her

“bahi,” and Chicharona danced the Romalis (Gypsy dance) before her.’

‘What did you tell her?’

‘I told her many things,’ said the hag, ‘many things which I need not

tell you: know, however, that amongst other things, I told her that the

chabori (little queen) would die, and then she would be Queen of Spain.

I told her, moreover, that within three years she would marry the son of

the King of France, and it was her bahi to die Queen of France and Spain,

and to be loved much, and hated much.’

‘And did you not dread her anger, when you told her these things?’

‘Dread her, the Busnee?’ screamed Pepita: ‘No, my child, she dreaded me

far more; I looked at her so—and raised my finger so—and Chicharona

clapped her hands, and the Busnee believed all I said, and was afraid of

me; and then I asked for the pardon of my son, and she pledged her word

to see into the matter, and when we came away, she gave me this baria of

gold, and to Chicharona this other, so at all events we have hokkanoed

the queen. May an evil end overtake her body, the Busnee!’

Though some of the Gitánas contrive to subsist by fortune-telling alone,

the generality of them merely make use of it as an instrument towards the

accomplishment of greater things. The immediate gains are scanty; a few

cuartos being the utmost which they receive from the majority of their

customers. But the bahi is an excellent passport into houses, and when

they spy a convenient opportunity, they seldom fail to avail themselves

of it. It is necessary to watch them strictly, as articles frequently

disappear in a mysterious manner whilst Gitánas are telling fortunes.

The bahi, moreover, is occasionally the prelude to a device which we

shall now attempt to describe, and which is called _Hokkano Baro_, or the

great trick, of which we have already said something in the former part

of this work. It consists in persuading some credulous person to deposit

whatever money and valuables the party can muster in a particular spot,

under the promise that the deposit will increase many manifold. Some of

our readers will have difficulty in believing that any people can be

found sufficiently credulous to allow themselves to be duped by a trick

of this description, the grossness of the intended fraud seeming too

palpable. Experience, however, proves the contrary. The deception is

frequently practised at the present day, and not only in Spain but in

England—enlightened England—and in France likewise; an instance being

given in the memoirs of Vidocq, the late celebrated head of the secret

police of Paris, though, in that instance, the perpetrator of the fraud

was not a Gypsy. The most subtle method of accomplishing the hokkano

baro is the following:—

When the dupe—a widow we will suppose, for in these cases the dupes are

generally widows—has been induced to consent to make the experiment, the

Gitána demands of her whether she has in the house some strong chest with

a safe lock. On receiving an affirmative answer, she will request to see

all the gold and silver of any description which she may chance to have

in her possession. The treasure is shown her; and when the Gitána has

carefully inspected and counted it, she produces a white handkerchief,

saying, Lady, I give you this handkerchief, which is blessed. Place in

it your gold and silver, and tie it with three knots. I am going for

three days, during which period you must keep the bundle beneath your

pillow, permitting no one to go near it, and observing the greatest

secrecy, otherwise the money will take wings and fly away. Every morning

during the three days it will be well to open the bundle, for your own

satisfaction, to see that no misfortune has befallen your treasure; be

always careful, however, to fasten it again with the three knots. On my

return, we will place the bundle, after having inspected it, in the

chest, which you shall yourself lock, retaining the key in your

possession. But, thenceforward, for three weeks, you must by no means

unlock the chest, nor look at the treasure—if you do it will fly away.

Only follow my directions, and you will gain much, very much, baribu.

The Gitána departs, and, during the three days, prepares a bundle as

similar as possible to the one which contains the money of her dupe, save

that instead of gold ounces, dollars, and plate, its contents consist of

copper money and pewter articles of little or no value. With this bundle

concealed beneath her cloak, she returns at the end of three days to her

intended victim. The bundle of real treasure is produced and inspected,

and again tied up by the Gitána, who then requests the other to open the

chest, which done, she formally places _a bundle_ in it; but, in the

meanwhile, she has contrived to substitute the fictitious for the real

one. The chest is then locked, the lady retaining the key. The Gitána

promises to return at the end of three weeks, to open the chest, assuring

the lady that if it be not unlocked until that period, it will be found

filled with gold and silver; but threatening that in the event of her

injunctions being disregarded, the money deposited will vanish. She then

walks off with great deliberation, bearing away the spoil. It is

needless to say that she never returns.

There are other ways of accomplishing the hokkano baro. The most simple,

and indeed the one most generally used by the Gitánas, is to persuade

some simple individual to hide a sum of money in the earth, which they

afterwards carry away. A case of this description occurred within my own

knowledge, at Madrid, towards the latter part of the year 1837. There

was a notorious Gitána, of the name of Aurora; she was about forty years

of age, a Valencian by birth, and immensely fat. This amiable personage,

by some means, formed the acquaintance of a wealthy widow lady; and was

not slow in attempting to practise the hokkano baro upon her. She

succeeded but too well. The widow, at the instigation of Aurora, buried

one hundred ounces of gold beneath a ruined arch in a field, at a short

distance from the wall of Madrid. The inhumation was effected at night

by the widow alone. Aurora was, however, on the watch, and, in less than

ten minutes after the widow had departed, possessed herself of the

treasure; perhaps the largest one ever acquired by this kind of deceit.

The next day the widow had certain misgivings, and, returning to the

spot, found her money gone. About six months after this event, I was

imprisoned in the Carcel de la Corte, at Madrid, and there I found

Aurora, who was in durance for defrauding the widow. She said that it

had been her intention to depart for Valencia with the ‘barias,’ as she

styled her plunder, but the widow had discovered the trick too soon, and

she had been arrested. She added, however, that she had contrived to

conceal the greatest part of the property, and that she expected her

liberation in a few days, having been prodigal of bribes to the

‘justicia.’ In effect, her liberation took place sooner than my own.

Nevertheless, she had little cause to triumph, as before she left the

prison she had been fleeced of the last cuarto of her ill-gotten gain, by

alguazils and escribanos, who, she admitted, understood hokkano baro much

better than herself.

When I next saw Aurora, she informed me that she was once more on

excellent terms with the widow, whom she had persuaded that the loss of

the money was caused by her own imprudence, in looking for it before the

appointed time; the spirit of the earth having removed it in anger. She

added that her dupe was quite disposed to make another venture, by which

she hoped to retrieve her former loss.

_Ustilar pastésas_.—Under this head may be placed various kinds of theft

committed by the Gitános. The meaning of the words is stealing with the

hands; but they are more generally applied to the filching of money by

dexterity of hand, when giving or receiving change. For example: a

Gitána will enter a shop, and purchase some insignificant article,

tendering in payment a baria or golden ounce. The change being put down

before her on the counter, she counts the money, and complains that she

has received a dollar and several pesetas less than her due. It seems

impossible that there can be any fraud on her part, as she has not even

taken the pieces in her hand, but merely placed her fingers upon them;

pushing them on one side. She now asks the merchant what he means by

attempting to deceive the poor woman. The merchant, supposing that he

has made a mistake, takes up the money, counts it, and finds in effect

that the just sum is not there. He again hands out the change, but there

is now a greater deficiency than before, and the merchant is convinced

that he is dealing with a witch. The Gitána now pushes the money to him,

uplifts her voice, and talks of the justicia. Should the merchant become

frightened, and, emptying a bag of dollars, tell her to pay herself, as

has sometimes been the case, she will have a fine opportunity to exercise

her powers, and whilst taking the change will contrive to convey secretly

into her sleeves five or six dollars at least; after which she will

depart with much vociferation, declaring that she will never again enter

the shop of so cheating a picaro.

Of all the Gitánas at Madrid, Aurora the fat was, by their own

confession, the most dexterous at this species of robbery; she having

been known in many instances, whilst receiving change for an ounce, to

steal the whole value, which amounts to sixteen dollars. It was not

without reason that merchants in ancient times were, according to Martin

Del Rio, advised to sell nothing out of their shops to Gitánas, as they

possessed an infallible secret for attracting to their own purses from

the coffers of the former the money with which they paid for the articles

they purchased. This secret consisted in stealing á pastésas, which they

still practise. Many accounts of witchcraft and sorcery, which are

styled old women’s tales, are perhaps equally well founded. Real actions

have been attributed to wrong causes.

Shoplifting, and other kinds of private larceny, are connected with

stealing á pastésas, for in all dexterity of hand is required. Many of

the Gitánas of Madrid are provided with large pockets, or rather sacks,

beneath their gowns, in which they stow away their plunder. Some of

these pockets are capacious enough to hold, at one time, a dozen yards of

cloth, a Dutch cheese and a bottle of wine. Nothing that she can eat,

drink, or sell, comes amiss to a veritable Gitána; and sometimes the

contents of her pocket would afford materials for an inventory far more

lengthy and curious than the one enumerating the effects found on the

person of the man-mountain at Lilliput.

_Chiving Drao_.—In former times the Spanish Gypsies of both sexes were in

the habit of casting a venomous preparation into the mangers of the

cattle for the purpose of causing sickness. At present this practice has

ceased, or nearly so; the Gitános, however, talk of it as universal

amongst their ancestors. They were in the habit of visiting the stalls

and stables secretly, and poisoning the provender of the animals, who

almost immediately became sick. After a few days the Gitános would go to

the labourers and offer to cure the sick cattle for a certain sum, and if

their proposal was accepted would in effect perform the cure.

Connected with the cure was a curious piece of double dealing. They

privately administered an efficacious remedy, but pretended to cure the

animals not by medicines but by charms, which consisted of small

variegated beans, called in their language bobis, {262a} dropped into the

mangers. By this means they fostered the idea, already prevalent, that

they were people possessed of supernatural gifts and powers, who could

remove diseases without having recourse to medicine. By means of drao,

they likewise procured themselves food; poisoning swine, as their

brethren in England still do, {262b} and then feasting on the flesh,

which was abandoned as worthless: witness one of their own songs:—

‘By Gypsy drow the Porker died,

I saw him stiff at evening tide,

But I saw him not when morning shone,

For the Gypsies ate him flesh and bone.’

By drao also they could avenge themselves on their enemies by destroying

their cattle, without incurring a shadow of suspicion. Revenge for

injuries, real or imaginary, is sweet to all unconverted minds; to no one

more than the Gypsy, who, in all parts of the world, is, perhaps, the

most revengeful of human beings.

Vidocq in his memoirs states, that having formed a connection with an

individual whom he subsequently discovered to be the captain of a band of

Walachian Gypsies, the latter, whose name was Caroun, wished Vidocq to

assist in scattering certain powders in the mangers of the peasants’

cattle; Vidocq, from prudential motives, refused the employment. There

can be no doubt that these powders were, in substance, the drao of the

Spanish Gitános.

_La Bar Lachi_, _or the Loadstone_.—If the Gitános in general be addicted

to any one superstition, it is certainly with respect to this stone, to

which they attribute all kinds of miraculous powers. There can be no

doubt, that the singular property which it possesses of attracting steel,

by filling their untutored minds with amazement, first gave rise to this

veneration, which is carried beyond all reasonable bounds.

They believe that he who is in possession of it has nothing to fear from

steel or lead, from fire or water, and that death itself has no power

over him. The Gypsy contrabandistas are particularly anxious to procure

this stone, which they carry upon their persons in their expeditions;

they say, that in the event of being pursued by the jaracanallis, or

revenue officers, whirlwinds of dust will arise, and conceal them from

the view of their enemies; the horse-stealers say much the same thing,

and assert that they are uniformly successful, when they bear about them

the precious stone. But it is said to be able to effect much more.

Extraordinary things are related of its power in exciting the amorous

passions, and, on this account, it is in great request amongst the Gypsy

hags; all these women are procuresses, and find persons of both sexes

weak and wicked enough to make use of their pretended knowledge in the

composition of love-draughts and decoctions.

In the case of the loadstone, however, there is no pretence, the Gitánas

believing all they say respecting it, and still more; this is proved by

the eagerness with which they seek to obtain the stone in its natural

state, which is somewhat difficult to accomplish.

In the museum of natural curiosities at Madrid there is a large piece of

loadstone originally extracted from the American mines. There is

scarcely a Gitána in Madrid who is not acquainted with this circumstance,

and who does not long to obtain the stone, or a part of it; its being

placed in a royal museum serving to augment, in their opinion, its real

value. Several attempts have been made to steal it, all of which,

however, have been unsuccessful. The Gypsies seem not to be the only

people who envy royalty the possession of this stone. Pepita, the old

Gitána of whose talent at telling fortunes such honourable mention has

already been made, informed me that a priest, who was muy enamorado (in

love), proposed to her to steal the loadstone, offering her all his

sacerdotal garments in the event of success: whether the singular reward

that was promised had but slight temptations for her, or whether she

feared that her dexterity was not equal to the accomplishment of the

task, we know not, but she appears to have declined attempting it.

According to the Gypsy account, the person in love, if he wish to excite

a corresponding passion in another quarter by means of the loadstone,

must swallow, _in aguardiente_, a small portion of the stone pulverised,

at the time of going to rest, repeating to himself the following magic

rhyme:—

‘To the Mountain of Olives one morning I hied,

Three little black goats before me I spied,

Those three little goats on three cars I laid,

Black cheeses three from their milk I made;

The one I bestow on the loadstone of power,

That save me it may from all ills that lower;

The second to Mary Padilla I give,

And to all the witch hags about her that live;

The third I reserve for Asmodeus lame,

That fetch me he may whatever I name.’

_La raiz del buen Baron_, _or the root of the good Baron_.—On this

subject we cannot be very explicit. It is customary with the Gitánas to

sell, under this title, various roots and herbs, to unfortunate females

who are desirous of producing a certain result; these roots are boiled in

white wine, and the abominable decoction is taken fasting. I was once

shown the root of the good baron, which, in this instance, appeared to be

parsley root. By the good baron is meant his Satanic majesty, on whom

the root is very appropriately fathered.

CHAPTER VII

IT is impossible to dismiss the subject of the Spanish Gypsies without

offering some remarks on their marriage festivals. There is nothing

which they retain connected with their primitive rites and principles,

more characteristic perhaps of the sect of the Rommany, of the sect of

the _husbands and wives_, than what relates to the marriage ceremony,

which gives the female a protector, and the man a helpmate, a sharer of

his joys and sorrows. The Gypsies are almost entirely ignorant of the

grand points of morality; they have never had sufficient sense to

perceive that to lie, to steal, and to shed human blood violently, are

crimes which are sure, eventually, to yield bitter fruits to those who

perpetrate them; but on one point, and that one of no little importance

as far as temporal happiness is concerned, they are in general wiser than

those who have had far better opportunities than such unfortunate

outcasts, of regulating their steps, and distinguishing good from evil.

They know that chastity is a jewel of high price, and that conjugal

fidelity is capable of occasionally flinging a sunshine even over the

dreary hours of a life passed in the contempt of almost all laws, whether

human or divine.

There is a word in the Gypsy language to which those who speak it attach

ideas of peculiar reverence, far superior to that connected with the name

of the Supreme Being, the creator of themselves and the universe. This

word is _Lácha_, which with them is the corporeal chastity of the

females; we say corporeal chastity, for no other do they hold in the

slightest esteem; it is lawful amongst them, nay praiseworthy, to be

obscene in look, gesture, and discourse, to be accessories to vice, and

to stand by and laugh at the worst abominations of the Busné, provided

their _Lácha ye trupos_, or corporeal chastity, remains unblemished. The

Gypsy child, from her earliest years, is told by her strange mother, that

a good Calli need only dread one thing in this world, and that is the

loss of Lácha, in comparison with which that of life is of little

consequence, as in such an event she will be provided for, but what

provision is there for a Gypsy who has lost her Lácha? ‘Bear this in

mind, my child,’ she will say, ‘and now eat this bread, and go forth and

see what you can steal.’

A Gypsy girl is generally betrothed at the age of fourteen to the youth

whom her parents deem a suitable match, and who is generally a few years

older than herself. Marriage is invariably preceded by betrothment; and

the couple must then wait two years before their union can take place,

according to the law of the Calés. During this period it is expected

that they treat each other as common acquaintance; they are permitted to

converse, and even occasionally to exchange slight presents. One thing,

however, is strictly forbidden, and if in this instance they prove

contumacious, the betrothment is instantly broken and the pair are never

united, and thenceforward bear an evil reputation amongst their sect.

This one thing is, going into the campo in each other’s company, or

having any rendezvous beyond the gate of the city, town, or village, in

which they dwell. Upon this point we can perhaps do no better than quote

one of their own stanzas:—

‘Thy sire and mother wrath and hate

Have vowed against us, love!

The first, first night that from the gate

We two together rove.’

With all the other Gypsies, however, and with the Busné or Gentiles, the

betrothed female is allowed the freest intercourse, going whither she

will, and returning at all times and seasons. With respect to the Busné,

indeed, the parents are invariably less cautious than with their own

race, as they conceive it next to an impossibility that their child

should lose her Lácha by any intercourse with _the white blood_; and true

it is that experience has proved that their confidence in this respect is

not altogether idle. The Gitánas have in general a decided aversion to

the white men; some few instances, however, to the contrary are said to

have occurred.

A short time previous to the expiration of the term of the betrothment,

preparations are made for the Gypsy bridal. The wedding-day is certainly

an eventful period in the life of every individual, as he takes a partner

for better or for worse, whom he is bound to cherish through riches and

poverty; but to the Gypsy particularly the wedding festival is an

important affair. If he is rich, he frequently becomes poor before it is

terminated; and if he is poor, he loses the little which he possesses,

and must borrow of his brethren; frequently involving himself throughout

life, to procure the means of giving a festival; for without a festival,

he could not become a Rom, that is, a husband, and would cease to belong

to this sect of Rommany.

There is a great deal of what is wild and barbarous attached to these

festivals. I shall never forget a particular one at which I was present.

After much feasting, drinking, and yelling, in the Gypsy house, the

bridal train sallied forth—a frantic spectacle. First of all marched a

villainous jockey-looking fellow, holding in his hands, uplifted, a long

pole, at the top of which fluttered in the morning air a snow-white

cambric handkerchief, emblem of the bride’s purity. Then came the

betrothed pair, followed by their nearest friends; then a rabble rout of

Gypsies, screaming and shouting, and discharging guns and pistols, till

all around rang with the din, and the village dogs barked. On arriving

at the church gate, the fellow who bore the pole stuck it into the ground

with a loud huzza, and the train, forming two ranks, defiled into the

church on either side of the pole and its strange ornaments. On the

conclusion of the ceremony, they returned in the same manner in which

they had come.

Throughout the day there was nothing going on but singing, drinking,

feasting, and dancing; but the most singular part of the festival was

reserved for the dark night. Nearly a ton weight of sweetmeats had been

prepared, at an enormous expense, not for the gratification of the

palate, but for a purpose purely Gypsy. These sweetmeats of all kinds,

and of all forms, but principally yémas, or yolks of eggs prepared with a

crust of sugar (a delicious bonne-bouche), were strewn on the floor of a

large room, at least to the depth of three inches. Into this room, at a

given signal, tripped the bride and bridegroom _dancing romális_,

followed amain by all the Gitános and Gitánas, _dancing romális_. To

convey a slight idea of the scene is almost beyond the power of words.

In a few minutes the sweetmeats were reduced to a powder, or rather to a

mud, the dancers were soiled to the knees with sugar, fruits, and yolks

of eggs. Still more terrific became the lunatic merriment. The men

sprang high into the air, neighed, brayed, and crowed; whilst the Gitánas

snapped their fingers in their own fashion, louder than castanets,

distorting their forms into all kinds of obscene attitudes, and uttering

words to repeat which were an abomination. In a corner of the apartment

capered the while Sebastianillo, a convict Gypsy from Melilla, strumming

the guitar most furiously, and producing demoniacal sounds which had some

resemblance to Malbrun (Malbrouk), and, as he strummed, repeating at

intervals the Gypsy modification of the song:—

‘Chalá Malbrún chinguerár,

Birandón, birandón, birandéra—

Chalá Malbrún chinguerár,

No sé bus truterá—

No sé bus truterá.

No sé bus truterá.

La romí que le caméla,

Birandón, birandón,’ etc.

The festival endures three days, at the end of which the greatest part of

the property of the bridegroom, even if he were previously in easy

circumstances, has been wasted in this strange kind of riot and

dissipation. Paco, the Gypsy of Badajoz, attributed his ruin to the

extravagance of his marriage festival; and many other Gitános have

confessed the same thing of themselves. They said that throughout the

three days they appeared to be under the influence of infatuation, having

no other wish or thought but to make away with their substance; some have

gone so far as to cast money by handfuls into the street. Throughout the

three days all the doors are kept open, and all corners, whether Gypsies

or Busné, welcomed with a hospitality which knows no bounds.

In nothing do the Jews and Gitános more resemble each other than in their

marriages, and what is connected therewith. In both sects there is a

betrothment: amongst the Jews for seven, amongst the Gitános for a period

of two years. In both there is a wedding festival, which endures amongst

the Jews for fifteen and amongst the Gitános for three days, during

which, on both sides, much that is singular and barbarous occurs, which,

however, has perhaps its origin in antiquity the most remote. But the

wedding ceremonies of the Jews are far more complex and allegorical than

those of the Gypsies, a more simple people. The Nazarene gazes on these

ceremonies with mute astonishment; the washing of the bride—the painting

of the face of herself and her companions with chalk and carmine—her

ensconcing herself within the curtains of the bed with her female bevy,

whilst the bridegroom hides himself within his apartment with the youths

his companions—her envelopment in the white sheet, in which she appears

like a corse, the bridegroom’s going to sup with her, when he places

himself in the middle of the apartment with his eyes shut, and without

tasting a morsel. His going to the synagogue, and then repairing to

breakfast with the bride, where he practises the same self-denial—the

washing of the bridegroom’s plate and sending it after him, that he may

break his fast—the binding his hands behind him—his ransom paid by the

bride’s mother—the visit of the sages to the bridegroom—the mulct imposed

in case he repent—the killing of the bullock at the house of the

bridegroom—the present of meat and fowls, meal and spices, to the

bride—the gold and silver—that most imposing part of the ceremony, the

walking of the bride by torchlight to the house of her betrothed, her

eyes fixed in vacancy, whilst the youths of her kindred sing their wild

songs around her—the cup of milk and the spoon presented to her by the

bridegroom’s mother—the arrival of the sages in the morn—the reading of

the Ketuba—the night—the half-enjoyment—the old woman—the tantalising

knock at the door—and then the festival of fishes which concludes all,

and leaves the jaded and wearied couple to repose after a fortnight of

persecution.

The Jews, like the Gypsies, not unfrequently ruin themselves by the riot

and waste of their marriage festivals. Throughout the entire fortnight,

the houses, both of bride and bridegroom, are flung open to all

corners;—feasting and song occupy the day—feasting and song occupy the

hours of the night, and this continued revel is only broken by the

ceremonies of which we have endeavoured to convey a faint idea. In these

festivals the sages or _ulemma_ take a distinguished part, doing their

utmost to ruin the contracted parties, by the wonderful despatch which

they make of the fowls and viands, sweetmeats, _and strong waters_

provided for the occasion.

After marriage the Gypsy females generally continue faithful to their

husbands through life; giving evidence that the exhortations of their

mothers in early life have not been without effect. Of course licentious

females are to be found both amongst the matrons and the unmarried; but

such instances are rare, and must be considered in the light of

exceptions to a principle. The Gypsy women (I am speaking of those of

Spain), as far as corporeal chastity goes, are very paragons; but in

other respects, alas!—little can be said in praise of their morality.

CHAPTER VIII

WHILST in Spain I devoted as much time as I could spare from my grand

object, which was to circulate the Gospel through that benighted country,

to attempt to enlighten the minds of the Gitános on the subject of

religion. I cannot say that I experienced much success in my endeavours;

indeed, I never expected much, being fully acquainted with the stony

nature of the ground on which I was employed; perhaps some of the seed

that I scattered may eventually spring up and yield excellent fruit. Of

one thing I am certain: if I did the Gitános no good, I did them no harm.

It has been said that there is a secret monitor, or conscience, within

every heart, which immediately upbraids the individual on the commission

of a crime; this may be true, but certainly the monitor within the Gitáno

breast is a very feeble one, for little attention is ever paid to its

reproofs. With regard to conscience, be it permitted to observe, that it

varies much according to climate, country, and religion; perhaps nowhere

is it so terrible and strong as in England; I need not say why. Amongst

the English, I have seen many individuals stricken low, and

broken-hearted, by the force of conscience; but never amongst the

Spaniards or Italians; and I never yet could observe that the crimes

which the Gitános were daily and hourly committing occasioned them the

slightest uneasiness.

One important discovery I made among them: it was, that no individual,

however wicked and hardened, is utterly _godless_. Call it superstition,

if you will, still a certain fear and reverence of something sacred and

supreme would hang about them. I have heard Gitános stiffly deny the

existence of a Deity, and express the utmost contempt for everything

holy; yet they subsequently never failed to contradict themselves, by

permitting some expression to escape which belied their assertions, and

of this I shall presently give a remarkable instance.

I found the women much more disposed to listen to anything I had to say

than the men, who were in general so taken up with their traffic that

they could think and talk of nothing else; the women, too, had more

curiosity and more intelligence; the conversational powers of some of

them I found to be very great, and yet they were destitute of the

slightest rudiments of education, and were thieves by profession. At

Madrid I had regular conversaziones, or, as they are called in Spanish,

tertúlias, with these women, who generally visited me twice a week; they

were perfectly unreserved towards me with respect to their actions and

practices, though their behaviour, when present, was invariably strictly

proper. I have already had cause to mention Pépa the sibyl, and her

daughter-in-law, Chicharona; the manners of the first were sometimes

almost elegant, though, next to Aurora, she was the most notorious

she-thug in Madrid; Chicharona was good-humoured, like most fat

personages. Pépa had likewise two daughters, one of whom, a very

remarkable female, was called La Tuérta, from the circumstance of her

having but one eye, and the other, who was a girl of about thirteen, La

Casdamí, or the scorpion, from the malice which she occasionally

displayed.

Pépa and Chicharona were invariably my most constant visitors. One day

in winter they arrived as usual; the One-eyed and the Scorpion following

behind.

_Myself_.—‘I am glad to see you, Pépa: what have you been doing this

morning?’

_Pépa_.—‘I have been telling baji, and Chicharona has been stealing á

pastésas; we have had but little success, and have come to warm ourselves

at the braséro. As for the One-eyed, she is a very sluggard (holgazána),

she will neither tell fortunes nor steal.’

_The One-eyed_.—‘Hold your peace, mother of the Bengues; I will steal,

when I see occasion, but it shall not be á pastésas, and I will hokkawar

(deceive), but it shall not be by telling fortunes. If I deceive, it

shall be by horses, by jockeying. {276} If I steal, it shall be on the

road—I’ll rob. You know already what I am capable of, yet knowing that,

you would have me tell fortunes like yourself, or steal like Chicharona.

Me diñela cónche (it fills me with fury) to be asked to tell fortunes,

and the next Busnee that talks to me of bajis, I will knock all her teeth

out.’

_The Scorpion_.—‘My sister is right; I, too, would sooner be a salteadóra

(highwaywoman), or a chalána (she-jockey), than steal with the hands, or

tell bájis.’

_Myself_.—‘You do not mean to say, O Tuérta, that you are a jockey, and

that you rob on the highway.’

_The One-eyed_.—‘I am a chalána, brother, and many a time I have robbed

upon the road, as all our people know. I dress myself as a man, and go

forth with some of them. I have robbed alone, in the pass of the

Guadarama, with my horse and escopéta. I alone once robbed a cuadrilla

of twenty Gallégos, who were returning to their own country, after

cutting the harvests of Castile; I stripped them of their earnings, and

could have stripped them of their very clothes had I wished, for they

were down on their knees like cowards. I love a brave man, be he Busné

or Gypsy. When I was not much older than the Scorpion, I went with

several others to rob the cortíjo of an old man; it was more than twenty

leagues from here. We broke in at midnight, and bound the old man: we

knew he had money; but he said no, and would not tell us where it was; so

we tortured him, pricking him with our knives and burning his hands over

the lamp; all, however, would not do. At last I said, “Let us try the

_pimientos_”; so we took the green pepper husks, pulled open his eyelids,

and rubbed the pupils with the green pepper fruit. That was the worst

pinch of all. Would you believe it? the old man bore it. Then our

people said, “Let us kill him,” but I said, no, it were a pity: so we

spared him, though we got nothing. I have loved that old man ever since

for his firm heart, and should have wished him for a husband.’

_The Scorpion_.—‘Ojalá, that I had been in that cortíjo, to see such

sport!’

_Myself_.—‘Do you fear God, O Tuérta?’

_The One-eyed_.—‘Brother, I fear nothing.’

_Myself_.—‘Do you believe in God, O Tuérta?’

_The One-eyed_.—‘Brother, I do not; I hate all connected with that name;

the whole is folly; me diñela cónche. If I go to church, it is but to

spit at the images. I spat at the búlto of María this morning; and I

love the Corojai, and the Londoné, {278a} because they are not baptized.’

_Myself_.—‘You, of course, never say a prayer.’

_The One-eyed_.—‘No, no; there are three or four old words, taught me by

some old people, which I sometimes say to myself; I believe they have

both force and virtue.’

_Myself_.—‘I would fain hear; pray tell me them.’

_The One-eyed_.—‘Brother, they are words not to be repeated.’

_Myself_.—‘Why not?’

_The One-eyed_.—‘They are holy words, brother.’

_Myself_.—‘Holy! You say there is no God; if there be none, there can be

nothing holy; pray tell me the words, O Tuérta.’

_The One-eyed_.—‘Brother, I dare not.’

_Myself_.—‘Then you do fear something.’

_The One-eyed_.—‘Not I—

‘_Saboca Enrecar María Ereria_, {278b}

and now I wish I had not said them.’

_Myself_.—‘You are distracted, O Tuérta: the words say simply, ‘Dwell

within us, blessed Maria.’ You have spitten on her búlto this morning in

the church, and now you are afraid to repeat four words, amongst which is

her name.’

_The One-eyed_.—‘I did not understand them; but I wish I had not said

them.’

. . . . .

I repeat that there is no individual, however hardened, who is utterly

_godless_.

The reader will have already gathered from the conversations reported in

this volume, and especially from the last, that there is a wide

difference between addressing Spanish Gitános and Gitánas and English

peasantry: of a certainty what will do well for the latter is calculated

to make no impression on these thievish half-wild people. Try them with

the Gospel, I hear some one cry, which speaks to all: I did try them with

the Gospel, and in their own language. I commenced with Pépa and

Chicharona. Determined that they should understand it, I proposed that

they themselves should translate it. They could neither read nor write,

which, however, did not disqualify them from being translators. I had

myself previously translated the whole Testament into the Spanish

Rommany, but I was desirous to circulate amongst the Gitános a version

conceived in the exact language in which they express their ideas. The

women made no objection, they were fond of our tertúlias, and they

likewise reckoned on one small glass of Malaga wine, with which I

invariably presented them. Upon the whole, they conducted themselves

much better than could have been expected. We commenced with Saint Luke:

they rendering into Rommany the sentences which I delivered to them in

Spanish. They proceeded as far as the eighth chapter, in the middle of

which they broke down. Was that to be wondered at? The only thing which

astonished me was, that I had induced two such strange beings to advance

so far in a task so unwonted, and so entirely at variance with their

habits, as translation.

These chapters I frequently read over to them, explaining the subject in

the best manner I was able. They said it was lachó, and jucál, and

mistó, all of which words express approval of the quality of a thing.

Were they improved, were their hearts softened by these Scripture

lectures? I know not. Pépa committed a rather daring theft shortly

afterwards, which compelled her to conceal herself for a fortnight; it is

quite possible, however, that she may remember the contents of those

chapters on her death-bed; if so, will the attempt have been a futile

one?

I completed the translation, supplying deficiencies from my own version

begun at Badajoz in 1836. This translation I printed at Madrid in 1838;

it was the first book which ever appeared in Rommany, and was called

‘Embéo e Majaro Lucas,’ or Gospel of Luke the Saint. I likewise

published, simultaneously, the same Gospel in Basque, which, however, I

had no opportunity of circulating.

The Gitános of Madrid purchased the Gypsy Luke freely: many of the men

understood it, and prized it highly, induced of course more by the

language than the doctrine; the women were particularly anxious to obtain

copies, though unable to read; but each wished to have one in her pocket,

especially when engaged in thieving expeditions, for they all looked upon

it in the light of a charm, which would preserve them from all danger and

mischance; some even went so far as to say, that in this respect it was

equally efficacious as the Bar Lachí, or loadstone, which they are in

general so desirous of possessing. Of this Gospel {281} five hundred

copies were printed, of which the greater number I contrived to circulate

amongst the Gypsies in various parts; I cast the book upon the waters and

left it to its destiny.

I have counted seventeen Gitánas assembled at one time in my apartment in

the Calle de Santiágo in Madrid; for the first quarter of an hour we

generally discoursed upon indifferent matters, I then by degrees drew

their attention to religion and the state of souls. I finally became so

bold that I ventured to speak against their inveterate practices,

thieving and lying, telling fortunes, and stealing á pastésas; this was

touching upon delicate ground, and I experienced much opposition and much

feminine clamour. I persevered, however, and they finally assented to

all I said, not that I believe that my words made much impression upon

their hearts. In a few months matters were so far advanced that they

would sing a hymn; I wrote one expressly for them in Rommany, in which

their own wild couplets were, to a certain extent, imitated.

The people of the street in which I lived, seeing such numbers of these

strange females continually passing in and out, were struck with

astonishment, and demanded the reason. The answers which they obtained

by no means satisfied them. ‘Zeal for the conversion of souls,—the souls

too of Gitánas,—disparáte! the fellow is a scoundrel. Besides he is an

Englishman, and is not baptized; what cares he for souls? They visit him

for other purposes. He makes base ounces, which they carry away and

circulate. Madrid is already stocked with false money.’ Others were of

opinion that we met for the purposes of sorcery and abomination. The

Spaniard has no conception that other springs of action exist than

interest or villainy.

My little congregation, if such I may call it, consisted entirely of

women; the men seldom or never visited me, save they stood in need of

something which they hoped to obtain from me. This circumstance I little

regretted, their manners and conversation being the reverse of

interesting. It must not, however, be supposed that, even with the

women, matters went on invariably in a smooth and satisfactory manner.

The following little anecdote will show what slight dependence can be

placed upon them, and how disposed they are at all times to take part in

what is grotesque and malicious. One day they arrived, attended by a

Gypsy jockey whom I had never previously seen. We had scarcely been

seated a minute, when this fellow, rising, took me to the window, and

without any preamble or circumlocution, said—‘Don Jorge, you shall lend

me two barias’ (ounces of gold). ‘Not to your whole race, my excellent

friend,’ said I; ‘are you frantic? Sit down and be discreet.’ He obeyed

me literally, sat down, and when the rest departed, followed with them.

We did not invariably meet at my own house, but occasionally at one in a

street inhabited by Gypsies. On the appointed day I went to this house,

where I found the women assembled; the jockey was also present. On

seeing me he advanced, again took me aside, and again said—‘Don Jorge,

you shall lend me two barias.’ I made him no answer, but at once entered

on the subject which brought me thither. I spoke for some time in

Spanish; I chose for the theme of my discourse the situation of the

Hebrews in Egypt, and pointed out its similarity to that of the Gitános

in Spain. I spoke of the power of God, manifested in preserving both as

separate and distinct people amongst the nations until the present day.

I warmed with my subject. I subsequently produced a manuscript book,

from which I read a portion of Scripture, and the Lord’s Prayer and

Apostles’ Creed, in Rommany. When I had concluded I looked around me.

The features of the assembly were twisted, and the eyes of all turned

upon me with a frightful squint; not an individual present but

squinted,—the genteel Pépa, the good-humoured Chicharona, the Casdamí,

etc. etc. The Gypsy fellow, the contriver of the jest, squinted worst of

all. Such are Gypsies.

THE ZINCALI

PART III

CHAPTER I

THERE is no nation in the world, however exalted or however degraded, but

is in possession of some peculiar poetry. If the Chinese, the Hindoos,

the Greeks, and the Persians, those splendid and renowned races, have

their moral lays, their mythological epics, their tragedies, and their

immortal love songs, so also have the wild and barbarous tribes of

Soudan, and the wandering Esquimaux, their ditties, which, however

insignificant in comparison with the compositions of the former nations,

still are entitled in every essential point to the name of poetry; if

poetry mean metrical compositions intended to soothe and recreate the

mind fatigued by the cares, distresses, and anxieties to which mortality

is subject.

The Gypsies too have their poetry. Of that of the Russian Zigani we have

already said something. It has always been our opinion, and we believe

that in this we are by no means singular, that in nothing can the

character of a people be read with greater certainty and exactness than

in its songs. How truly do the warlike ballads of the Northmen and the

Danes, their _drapas_ and _kæmpe-viser_, depict the character of the

Goth; and how equally do the songs of the Arabians, replete with homage

to the one high, uncreated, and eternal God, ‘the fountain of blessing,’

‘the only conqueror,’ lay bare to us the mind of the Moslem of the

desert, whose grand characteristic is religious veneration, and

uncompromising zeal for the glory of the Creator.

And well and truly do the coplas and gachaplas of the Gitános depict the

character of the race. This poetry, for poetry we will call it, is in

most respects such as might be expected to originate among people of

their class; a set of Thugs, subsisting by cheating and villainy of every

description; hating the rest of the human species, and bound to each

other by the bonds of common origin, language, and pursuits. The general

themes of this poetry are the various incidents of Gitáno life and the

feelings of the Gitános. A Gypsy sees a pig running down a hill, and

imagines that it cries ‘Ustilame Caloro!’ {288}—a Gypsy reclining sick on

the prison floor beseeches his wife to intercede with the alcayde for the

removal of the chain, the weight of which is bursting his body—the moon

arises, and two Gypsies, who are about to steal a steed, perceive a

Spaniard, and instantly flee—Juanito Ralli, whilst going home on his

steed, is stabbed by a Gypsy who hates him—Facundo, a Gypsy, runs away at

the sight of the burly priest of Villa Franca, who hates all Gypsies.

Sometimes a burst of wild temper gives occasion to a strain—the swarthy

lover threatens to slay his betrothed, even _at the feet of Jesus_,

should she prove unfaithful. It is a general opinion amongst the Gitános

that Spanish women are very fond of Rommany chals and Rommany. There is

a stanza in which a Gitáno hopes to bear away a beauty of Spanish race by

means of a word of Rommany whispered in her ear at the window.

Amongst these effusions are even to be found tender and beautiful

thoughts; for Thugs and Gitános have their moments of gentleness. True

it is that such are few and far between, as a flower or a shrub is here

and there seen springing up from the interstices of the rugged and

frightful rocks of which the Spanish sierras are composed: a wicked

mother is afraid to pray to the Lord with her own lips, and calls on her

innocent babe to beseech him to restore peace and comfort to her heart—an

imprisoned youth appears to have no earthly friend on whom he can rely,

save his sister, and wishes for a messenger to carry unto her the tale of

his sufferings, confident that she would hasten at once to his

assistance. And what can be more touching than the speech of the

relenting lover to the fair one whom he has outraged?

‘Extend to me the hand so small,

Wherein I see thee weep,

For O thy balmy tear-drops all

I would collect and keep.’

This Gypsy poetry consists of quartets, or rather couplets, but two

rhymes being discernible, and those generally imperfect, the vowels alone

agreeing in sound. Occasionally, however, sixains, or stanzas of six

lines, are to be found, but this is of rare occurrence. The thought,

anecdote or adventure described, is seldom carried beyond one stanza, in

which everything is expressed which the poet wishes to impart. This

feature will appear singular to those who are unacquainted with the

character of the popular poetry of the south, and are accustomed to the

redundancy and frequently tedious repetition of a more polished muse. It

will be well to inform such that the greater part of the poetry sung in

the south, and especially in Spain, is extemporary. The musician

composes it at the stretch of his voice, whilst his fingers are tugging

at the guitar; which style of composition is by no means favourable to a

long and connected series of thought. Of course, the greater part of

this species of poetry perishes as soon as born. A stanza, however, is

sometimes caught up by the bystanders, and committed to memory; and being

frequently repeated, makes, in time, the circuit of the country. For

example, the stanza about Coruncho Lopez, which was originally made at

the gate of a venta by a Miquelet, {290} who was conducting the said

Lopez to the galleys for a robbery. It is at present sung through the

whole of the peninsula, however insignificant it may sound to foreign

ears:—

‘Coruncho Lopez, gallant lad,

A smuggling he would ride;

He stole his father’s ambling prad,

And therefore to the galleys sad

Coruncho now I guide.’

The couplets of the Gitános are composed in the same off-hand manner, and

exactly resemble in metre the popular ditties of the Spaniards. In

spirit, however, as well as language, they are in general widely

different, as they mostly relate to the Gypsies and their affairs, and

not unfrequently abound with abuse of the Busné or Spaniards. Many of

these creations have, like the stanza of Coruncho Lopez, been wafted over

Spain amongst the Gypsy tribes, and are even frequently repeated by the

Spaniards themselves; at least, by those who affect to imitate the

phraseology of the Gitános. Those which appear in the present collection

consist partly of such couplets, and partly of such as we have ourselves

taken down, as soon as they originated, not unfrequently in the midst of

a circle of these singular people, dancing and singing to their wild

music. In no instance have they been subjected to modification; and the

English translation is, in general, very faithful to the original, as

will easily be perceived by referring to the lexicon. To those who may

feel disposed to find fault with or criticise these songs, we have to

observe, that the present work has been written with no other view than

to depict the Gitános such as they are, and to illustrate their

character; and, on that account, we have endeavoured, as much as

possible, to bring them before the reader, and to make them speak for

themselves. They are a half-civilised, unlettered people, proverbial for

a species of knavish acuteness, which serves them in lieu of wisdom. To

place in the mouth of such beings the high-flown sentiments of modern

poetry would not answer our purpose, though several authors have not

shrunk from such an absurdity.

These couplets have been collected in Estremadura and New Castile, in

Valencia and Andalusia; the four provinces where the Gitáno race most

abounds. We wish, however, to remark, that they constitute scarcely a

tenth part of our original gleanings, from which we have selected one

hundred of the most remarkable and interesting.

The language of the originals will convey an exact idea of the Rommany of

Spain, as used at the present day amongst the Gitános in the fairs, when

they are buying and selling animals, and wish to converse with each other

in a way unintelligible to the Spaniards. We are free to confess that it

is a mere broken jargon, but it answers the purpose of those who use it;

and it is but just to remark that many of its elements are of the most

remote antiquity, and the most illustrious descent, as will be shown

hereafter. We have uniformly placed the original by the side of the

translation; for though unwilling to make the Gitános speak in any other

manner than they are accustomed, we are equally averse to have it

supposed that many of the thoughts and expressions which occur in these

songs, and which are highly objectionable, originated with ourselves.

{292}

RHYMES OF THE GITÁNOS

Unto a refuge me they led,

To save from dungeon drear;

Then sighing to my wife I said,

I leave my baby dear.

Back from the refuge soon I sped,

My child’s sweet face to see;

Then sternly to my wife I said,

You’ve seen the last of me.

O when I sit my courser bold,

My bantling in my rear,

And in my hand my musket hold,

O how they quake with fear.

Pray, little baby, pray the Lord,

Since guiltless still thou art,

That peace and comfort he afford

To this poor troubled heart.

The false Juanito, day and night,

Had best with caution go,

The Gypsy carles of Yeira height

Have sworn to lay him low.

There runs a swine down yonder hill,

As fast as e’er he can,

And as he runs he crieth still,

Come, steal me, Gypsy man.

I wash’d not in the limpid flood

The shirt which binds my frame;

But in Juanito Ralli’s blood

I bravely wash’d the same.

I sallied forth upon my grey,

With him my hated foe,

And when we reach’d the narrow way

I dealt a dagger blow.

To blessed Jesus’ holy feet

I’d rush to kill and slay

My plighted lass so fair and sweet,

Should she the wanton play.

I for a cup of water cried,

But they refus’d my prayer,

Then straight into the road I hied,

And fell to robbing there.

I ask’d for fire to warm my frame,

But they’d have scorn’d my prayer,

If I, to pay them for the same,

Had stripp’d my body bare.

Then came adown the village street,

With little babes that cry,

Because they have no crust to eat,

A Gypsy company;

And as no charity they meet,

They curse the Lord on high.

I left my house and walk’d about,

They seized me fast and bound;

It is a Gypsy thief, they shout,

The Spaniards here have found.

From out the prison me they led,

Before the scribe they brought;

It is no Gypsy thief, he said,

The Spaniards here have caught.

Throughout the night, the dusky night,

I prowl in silence round,

And with my eyes look left and right,

For him, the Spanish hound,

That with my knife I him may smite,

And to the vitals wound.

Will no one to the sister bear

News of her brother’s plight,

How in this cell of dark despair,

To cruel death he’s dight?

The Lord, as e’en the Gentiles state,

By Egypt’s race was bred,

And when he came to man’s estate,

His blood the Gentiles shed.

O never with the Gentiles wend,

Nor deem their speeches true;

Or else, be certain in the end

Thy blood will lose its hue.

From out the prison me they bore,

Upon an ass they placed,

And scourg’d me till I dripp’d with gore,

As down the road it paced.

They bore me from the prison nook,

They bade me rove at large;

When out I’d come a gun I took,

And scathed them with its charge.

My mule so bonny I bestrode,

To Portugal I’d flee,

And as I o’er the water rode

A man came suddenly;

And he his love and kindness show’d

By setting his dog on me.

Unless within a fortnight’s space

Thy face, O maid, I see;

Flamenca, of Egyptian race,

My lady love shall be.

Flamenca, of Egyptian race,

If thou wert only mine,

Within a bonny crystal case

For life I’d thee enshrine.

Sire nor mother me caress,

For I have none on earth;

One little brother I possess,

And he’s a fool by birth.

Thy sire and mother wrath and hate

Have vow’d against me, love!

The first, first night that from the gate

We two together rove.

Come to the window, sweet love, do,

And I will whisper there,

In Rommany, a word or two,

And thee far off will bear.

A Gypsy stripling’s sparkling eye

Has pierced my bosom’s core,

A feat no eye beneath the sky

Could e’er effect before.

Dost bid me from the land begone,

And thou with child by me?

Each time I come, the little one,

I’ll greet in Rommany.

With such an ugly, loathly wife

The Lord has punish’d me;

I dare not take her for my life

Where’er the Spaniards be.

O, I am not of gentle clan,

I’m sprung from Gypsy tree;

And I will be no gentleman,

But an Egyptian free.

On high arose the moon so fair,

The Gypsy ’gan to sing:

I see a Spaniard coming there,

I must be on the wing.

This house of harlotry doth smell,

I flee as from the pest;

Your mother likes my sire too well;

To hie me home is best.

The girl I love more dear than life,

Should other gallant woo,

I’d straight unsheath my dudgeon knife

And cut his weasand through;

Or he, the conqueror in the strife,

The same to me should do.

Loud sang the Spanish cavalier,

And thus his ditty ran:

God send the Gypsy lassie here,

And not the Gypsy man.

At midnight, when the moon began

To show her silver flame,

There came to him no Gypsy man,

The Gypsy lassie came.

CHAPTER II

THE Gitános, abject and vile as they have ever been, have nevertheless

found admirers in Spain, individuals who have taken pleasure in their

phraseology, pronunciation, and way of life; but above all, in the songs

and dances of the females. This desire for cultivating their

acquaintance is chiefly prevalent in Andalusia, where, indeed, they most

abound; and more especially in the town of Seville, the capital of the

province, where, in the barrio or Faubourg of Triana, a large Gitáno

colon has long flourished, with the denizens of which it is at all times

easy to have intercourse, especially to those who are free of their

money, and are willing to purchase such a gratification at the expense of

dollars and pesetas.

When we consider the character of the Andalusians in general, we shall

find little to surprise us in this predilection for the Gitános. They

are an indolent frivolous people, fond of dancing and song, and sensual

amusements. They live under the most glorious sun and benign heaven in

Europe, and their country is by nature rich and fertile, yet in no

province of Spain is there more beggary and misery; the greater part of

the land being uncultivated, and producing nothing but thorns and

brushwood, affording in itself a striking emblem of the moral state of

its inhabitants.

Though not destitute of talent, the Andalusians are not much addicted to

intellectual pursuits, at least in the present day. The person in most

esteem among them is invariably the greatest _majo_, and to acquire that

character it is necessary to appear in the dress of a Merry Andrew, to

bully, swagger, and smoke continually, to dance passably, and to strum

the guitar. They are fond of obscenity and what they term _picardías_.

Amongst them learning is at a terrible discount, Greek, Latin, or any of

the languages generally termed learned, being considered in any light but

accomplishments, but not so the possession of thieves’ slang or the

dialect of the Gitános, the knowledge of a few words of which invariably

creates a certain degree of respect, as indicating that the individual is

somewhat versed in that kind of life or _trato_ for which alone the

Andalusians have any kind of regard.

In Andalusia the Gitáno has been studied by those who, for various

reasons, have mingled with the Gitános. It is tolerably well understood

by the chalans, or jockeys, who have picked up many words in the fairs

and market-places which the former frequent. It has, however, been

cultivated to a greater degree by other individuals, who have sought the

society of the Gitános from a zest for their habits, their dances, and

their songs; and such individuals have belonged to all classes, amongst

them have been noblemen and members of the priestly order.

Perhaps no people in Andalusia have been more addicted in general to the

acquaintance of the Gitános than the friars, and pre-eminently amongst

these the half-jockey half-religious personages of the Cartujan convent

at Xeres. This community, now suppressed, was, as is well known, in

possession of a celebrated breed of horses, which fed in the pastures of

the convent, and from which they derived no inconsiderable part of their

revenue. These reverend gentlemen seem to have been much better versed

in the points of a horse than in points of theology, and to have

understood thieves’ slang and Gitáno far better than the language of the

Vulgate. A chalan, who had some knowledge of the Gitáno, related to me

the following singular anecdote in connection with this subject.

He had occasion to go to the convent, having been long in treaty with the

friars for a steed which he had been commissioned by a nobleman to buy at

any reasonable price. The friars, however, were exorbitant in their

demands. On arriving at the gate, he sang to the friar who opened it a

couplet which he had composed in the Gypsy tongue, in which he stated the

highest price which he was authorised to give for the animal in question;

whereupon the friar instantly answered in the same tongue in an

extemporary couplet full of abuse of him and his employer, and forthwith

slammed the door in the face of the disconcerted jockey.

An Augustine friar of Seville, called, we believe, Father Manso, who

lived some twenty years ago, is still remembered for his passion for the

Gitános; he seemed to be under the influence of fascination, and passed

every moment that he could steal from his clerical occupations in their

company. His conduct at last became so notorious that he fell under the

censure of the Inquisition, before which he was summoned; whereupon he

alleged, in his defence, that his sole motive for following the Gitános

was zeal for their spiritual conversion. Whether this plea availed him

we know not; but it is probable that the Holy Office dealt mildly with

him; such offenders, indeed, have never had much to fear from it. Had he

been accused of liberalism, or searching into the Scriptures, instead of

connection with the Gitános, we should, doubtless, have heard either of

his execution or imprisonment for life in the cells of the cathedral of

Seville.

Such as are thus addicted to the Gitános and their language, are called,

in Andalusia, Los del’ Aficion, or those of the predilection. These

people have, during the last fifty years, composed a spurious kind of

Gypsy literature: we call it spurious because it did not originate with

the Gitános, who are, moreover, utterly unacquainted with it, and to whom

it would be for the most part unintelligible. It is somewhat difficult

to conceive the reason which induced these individuals to attempt such

compositions; the only probable one seems to have been a desire to

display to each other their skill in the language of their predilection.

It is right, however, to observe, that most of these compositions, with

respect to language, are highly absurd, the greatest liberties being

taken with the words picked up amongst the Gitános, of the true meaning

of which the writers, in many instances, seem to have been entirely

ignorant. From what we can learn, the composers of this literature

flourished chiefly at the commencement of the present century: Father

Manso is said to have been one of the last. Many of their compositions,

which are both in poetry and prose, exist in manuscript in a compilation

made by one Luis Lobo. It has never been our fortune to see this

compilation, which, indeed, we scarcely regret, as a rather curious

circumstance has afforded us a perfect knowledge of its contents.

Whilst at Seville, chance made us acquainted with a highly extraordinary

individual, a tall, bony, meagre figure, in a tattered Andalusian hat,

ragged capote, and still more ragged pantaloons, and seemingly between

forty and fifty years of age. The only appellation to which he answered

was Manuel. His occupation, at the time we knew him, was selling tickets

for the lottery, by which he obtained a miserable livelihood in Seville

and the neighbouring villages. His appearance was altogether wild and

uncouth, and there was an insane expression in his eye. Observing us one

day in conversation with a Gitána, he addressed us, and we soon found

that the sound of the Gitáno language had struck a chord which vibrated

through the depths of his soul. His history was remarkable; in his early

youth a manuscript copy of the compilation of Luis Lobo had fallen into

his hands. This book had so taken hold of his imagination, that he

studied it night and day until he had planted it in his memory from

beginning to end; but in so doing, his brain, like that of the hero of

Cervantes, had become dry and heated, so that he was unfitted for any

serious or useful occupation. After the death of his parents he wandered

about the streets in great distress, until at last he fell into the hands

of certain toreros, or bull-fighters, who kept him about them, in order

that he might repeat to them the songs of the _Aficion_. They

subsequently carried him to Madrid, where, however, they soon deserted

him after he had experienced much brutality from their hands. He

returned to Seville, and soon became the inmate of a madhouse, where he

continued several years. Having partially recovered from his malady, he

was liberated, and wandered about as before. During the cholera at

Seville, when nearly twenty thousand human beings perished, he was

appointed conductor of one of the death-carts, which went through the

streets for the purpose of picking up the dead bodies. His perfect

inoffensiveness eventually procured him friends, and he obtained the

situation of vendor of lottery tickets. He frequently visited us, and

would then recite long passages from the work of Lobo. He was wont to

say that he was the only one in Seville, at the present day, acquainted

with the language of the Aficion; for though there were many pretenders,

their knowledge was confined to a few words.

From the recitation of this individual, we wrote down the Brijindope, or

Deluge, and the poem on the plague which broke out in Seville in the year

1800. These and some songs of less consequence, constitute the poetical

part of the compilation in question; the rest, which is in prose,

consisting chiefly of translations from the Spanish, of proverbs and

religious pieces.

BRIJINDOPE.—THE DELUGE {304}

A POEM: IN TWO PARTS

PART THE FIRST

I with fear and terror quake,

Whilst the pen to write I take;

I will utter many a pray’r

To the heaven’s Regent fair,

That she deign to succour me,

And I’ll humbly bend my knee;

For but poorly do I know

With my subject on to go;

Therefore is my wisest plan

Not to trust in strength of man.

I my heavy sins bewail,

Whilst I view the wo and wail

Handed down so solemnly

In the book of times gone by.

Onward, onward, now I’ll move

In the name of Christ above,

And his Mother true and dear,

She who loves the wretch to cheer.

All I know, and all I’ve heard

I will state—how God appear’d

And to Noah thus did cry:

Weary with the world am I;

Let an ark by thee be built,

For the world is lost in guilt;

And when thou hast built it well,

Loud proclaim what now I tell:

Straight repent ye, for your Lord

In his hand doth hold a sword.

And good Noah thus did call:

Straight repent ye one and all,

For the world with grief I see

Lost in vileness utterly.

God’s own mandate I but do,

He hath sent me unto you.

Laugh’d the world to bitter scorn,

I his cruel sufferings mourn;

Brawny youths with furious air

Drag the Patriarch by the hair;

Lewdness governs every one:

Leaves her convent now the nun,

And the monk abroad I see

Practising iniquity.

Now I’ll tell how God, intent

To avenge, a vapour sent,

With full many a dreadful sign—

Mighty, mighty fear is mine:

As I hear the thunders roll,

Seems to die my very soul;

As I see the world o’erspread

All with darkness thick and dread;

I the pen can scarcely ply

For the tears which dim my eye,

And o’ercome with grievous wo,

Fear the task I must forego

I have purposed to perform.—

Hark, I hear upon the storm

Thousand, thousand devils fly,

Who with awful howlings cry:

Now’s the time and now’s the hour,

We have licence, we have power

To obtain a glorious prey.—

I with horror turn away;

Tumbles house and tumbles wall;

Thousands lose their lives and all,

Voiding curses, screams and groans,

For the beams, the bricks and stones

Bruise and bury all below—

Nor is that the worst, I trow,

For the clouds begin to pour

Floods of water more and more,

Down upon the world with might,

Never pausing day or night.

Now in terrible distress

All to God their cries address,

And his Mother dear adore,—

But the time of grace is o’er,

For the Almighty in the sky

Holds his hand upraised on high.

Now’s the time of madden’d rout,

Hideous cry, despairing shout;

Whither, whither shall they fly?

For the danger threat’ningly

Draweth near on every side,

And the earth, that’s opening wide,

Swallows thousands in its womb,

Who would ‘scape the dreadful doom.

Of dear hope exists no gleam,

Still the water down doth stream;

Ne’er so little a creeping thing

But from out its hold doth spring:

See the mouse, and see its mate

Scour along, nor stop, nor wait;

See the serpent and the snake

For the nearest highlands make;

The tarantula I view,

Emmet small and cricket too,

All unknowing where to fly,

In the stifling waters die.

See the goat and bleating sheep,

See the bull with bellowings deep.

And the rat with squealings shrill,

They have mounted on the hill:

See the stag, and see the doe,

How together fond they go;

Lion, tiger-beast, and pard,

To escape are striving hard:

Followed by her little ones,

See the hare how swift she runs:

Asses, he and she, a pair.

Mute and mule with bray and blare,

And the rabbit and the fox,

Hurry over stones and rocks,

With the grunting hog and horse,

Till at last they stop their course—

On the summit of the hill

All assembled stand they still;

In the second part I’ll tell

Unto them what there befell.

PART THE SECOND

When I last did bid farewell,

I proposed the world to tell,

Higher as the Deluge flow’d,

How the frog and how the toad,

With the lizard and the eft,

All their holes and coverts left,

And assembled on the height;

Soon I ween appeared in sight

All that’s wings beneath the sky,

Bat and swallow, wasp and fly,

Gnat and sparrow, and behind

Comes the crow of carrion kind;

Dove and pigeon are descried,

And the raven fiery-eyed,

With the beetle and the crane

Flying on the hurricane:

See they find no resting-place,

For the world’s terrestrial space

Is with water cover’d o’er,

Soon they sink to rise no more:

‘To our father let us flee!’

Straight the ark-ship openeth he,

And to everything that lives

Kindly he admission gives.

Of all kinds a single pair,

And the members safely there

Of his house he doth embark,

Then at once he shuts the ark;

Everything therein has pass’d,

There he keeps them safe and fast.

O’er the mountain’s topmost peak

Now the raging waters break.

Till full twenty days are o’er,

‘Midst the elemental roar,

Up and down the ark forlorn,

Like some evil thing is borne:

O what grief it is to see

Swimming on the enormous sea

Human corses pale and white,

More, alas! than I can write:

O what grief, what grief profound,

But to think the world is drown’d:

True a scanty few are left,

All are not of life bereft,

So that, when the Lord ordain,

They may procreate again,

In a world entirely new,

Better people and more true,

To their Maker who shall bow;

And I humbly beg you now,

Ye in modern times who wend,

That your lives ye do amend;

For no wat’ry punishment,

But a heavier shall be sent;

For the blessed saints pretend

That the latter world shall end

To tremendous fire a prey,

And to ashes sink away.

To the Ark I now go back,

Which pursues its dreary track,

Lost and ‘wilder’d till the Lord

In his mercy rest accord.

Early of a morning tide

They unclosed a window wide,

Heaven’s beacon to descry,

And a gentle dove let fly,

Of the world to seek some trace,

And in two short hours’ space

It returns with eyes that glow,

In its beak an olive bough.

With a loud and mighty sound,

They exclaim: ‘The world we’ve found.’

To a mountain nigh they drew,

And when there themselves they view,

Bound they swiftly on the shore,

And their fervent thanks outpour,

Lowly kneeling to their God;

Then their way a couple trod,

Man and woman, hand in hand,

Bent to populate the land,

To the Moorish region fair—

And another two repair

To the country of the Gaul;

In this manner wend they all,

And the seeds of nations lay.

I beseech ye’ll credence pay,

For our father, high and sage,

Wrote the tale in sacred page,

As a record to the world,

Record sad of vengeance hurl’d.

I, a low and humble wight,

Beg permission now to write

Unto all that in our land

Tongue Egyptian understand.

May our Virgin Mother mild

Grant to me, her erring child,

Plenteous grace in every way,

And success. Amen I say.

THE PESTILENCE

I’m resolved now to tell

In the speech of Gypsy-land

All the horror that befell

In this city huge and grand.

In the eighteenth hundred year

In the midst of summertide,

God, with man dissatisfied,

His right hand on high did rear,

With a rigour most severe;

Whence we well might understand

He would strict account demand

Of our lives and actions here.

The dread event to render clear

Now the pen I take in hand.

At the dread event aghast,

Straight the world reform’d its course;

Yet is sin in greater force,

Now the punishment is past;

For the thought of God is cast

All and utterly aside,

As if death itself had died.

Therefore to the present race

These memorial lines I trace

In old Egypt’s tongue of pride.

As the streets you wander’d through

How you quail’d with fear and dread,

Heaps of dying and of dead

At the leeches’ door to view.

To the tavern O how few

To regale on wine repair;

All a sickly aspect wear.

Say what heart such sights could brook—

Wail and woe where’er you look—

Wail and woe and ghastly care.

Plying fast their rosaries,

See the people pace the street,

And for pardon God entreat

Long and loud with streaming eyes.

And the carts of various size,

Piled with corses, high in air,

To the plain their burden bear.

O what grief it is to me

Not a friar or priest to see

In this city huge and fair.

ON THE LANGUAGE OF THE GITÁNOS

‘I am not very willing that any language should be totally

extinguished; the similitude and derivation of languages afford the

most indubitable proof of the traduction of nations, and the

genealogy of mankind; they add often physical certainty to historical

evidence of ancient migrations, and of the revolutions of ages which

left no written monuments behind them.’—JOHNSON.

THE Gypsy dialect of Spain is at present very much shattered and broken,

being rather the fragments of the language which the Gypsies brought with

them from the remote regions of the East than the language itself: it

enables, however, in its actual state, the Gitános to hold conversation

amongst themselves, the import of which is quite dark and mysterious to

those who are not of their race, or by some means have become acquainted

with their vocabulary. The relics of this tongue, singularly curious in

themselves, must be ever particularly interesting to the philological

antiquarian, inasmuch as they enable him to arrive at a satisfactory

conclusion respecting the origin of the Gypsy race. During the later

part of the last century, the curiosity of some learned individuals,

particularly Grellmann, Richardson, and Marsden, induced them to collect

many words of the Romanian language, as spoken in Germany, Hungary, and

England, which, upon analysing, they discovered to be in general either

pure Sanscrit or Hindustani words, or modifications thereof; these

investigations have been continued to the present time by men of equal

curiosity and no less erudition, the result of which has been the

establishment of the fact, that the Gypsies of those countries are the

descendants of a tribe of Hindus who for some particular reason had

abandoned their native country. In England, of late, the Gypsies have

excited particular attention; but a desire far more noble and laudable

than mere antiquarian curiosity has given rise to it, namely, the desire

of propagating the glory of Christ amongst those who know Him not, and of

saving souls from the jaws of the infernal wolf. It is, however, with

the Gypsies of Spain, and not with those of England and other countries,

that we are now occupied, and we shall merely mention the latter so far

as they may serve to elucidate the case of the Gitános, their brethren by

blood and language. Spain for many centuries has been the country of

error; she has mistaken stern and savage tyranny for rational government;

base, low, and grovelling superstition for clear, bright, and

soul-ennobling religion; sordid cheating she has considered as the path

to riches; vexatious persecution as the path to power; and the

consequence has been, that she is now poor and powerless, a pagan amongst

the pagans, with a dozen kings, and with none. Can we be surprised,

therefore, that, mistaken in policy, religion, and moral conduct, she

should have fallen into error on points so naturally dark and mysterious

as the history and origin of those remarkable people whom for the last

four hundred years she has supported under the name of Gitános? The idea

entertained at the present day in Spain respecting this race is, that

they are the descendants of the Moriscos who remained in Spain, wandering

about amongst the mountains and wildernesses, after the expulsion of the

great body of the nation from the country in the time of Philip the

Third, and that they form a distinct body, entirely unconnected with the

wandering tribes known in other countries by the names of Bohemians,

Gypsies, etc. This, like all unfounded opinions, of course originated in

ignorance, which is always ready to have recourse to conjecture and

guesswork, in preference to travelling through the long, mountainous, and

stony road of patient investigation; it is, however, an error far more

absurd and more destitute of tenable grounds than the ancient belief that

the Gitános were Egyptians, which they themselves have always professed

to be, and which the original written documents which they brought with

them on their first arrival in Western Europe, and which bore the

signature of the king of Bohemia, expressly stated them to be. The only

clue to arrive at any certainty respecting their origin, is the language

which they still speak amongst themselves; but before we can avail

ourselves of the evidence of this language, it will be necessary to make

a few remarks respecting the principal languages and dialects of that

immense tract of country, peopled by at least eighty millions of human

beings, generally known by the name of Hindustan, two Persian words

tantamount to the land of Ind, or, the land watered by the river Indus.

The most celebrated of these languages is the Sanskrida, or, as it is

known in Europe, the Sanscrit, which is the language of religion of all

those nations amongst whom the faith of Brahma has been adopted; but

though the language of religion, by which we mean the tongue in which the

religious books of the Brahmanic sect were originally written and are

still preserved, it has long since ceased to be a spoken language;

indeed, history is silent as to any period when it was a language in

common use amongst any of the various tribes of the Hindus; its

knowledge, as far as reading and writing it went, having been entirely

confined to the priests of Brahma, or Brahmans, until within the last

half-century, when the British, having subjugated the whole of Hindustan,

caused it to be openly taught in the colleges which they established for

the instruction of their youth in the languages of the country. Though

sufficiently difficult to acquire, principally on account of its

prodigious richness in synonyms, it is no longer a sealed language,—its

laws, structure, and vocabulary being sufficiently well known by means of

numerous elementary works, adapted to facilitate its study. It has been

considered by famous philologists as the mother not only of all the

languages of Asia, but of all others in the world. So wild and

preposterous an idea, however, only serves to prove that a devotion to

philology, whose principal object should be the expansion of the mind by

the various treasures of learning and wisdom which it can unlock,

sometimes only tends to its bewilderment, by causing it to embrace

shadows for reality. The most that can be allowed, in reason, to the

Sanscrit is that it is the mother of a certain class or family of

languages, for example, those spoken in Hindustan, with which most of the

European, whether of the Sclavonian, Gothic, or Celtic stock, have some

connection. True it is that in this case we know not how to dispose of

the ancient Zend, the mother of the modern Persian, the language in which

were written those writings generally attributed to Zerduscht, or

Zoroaster, whose affinity to the said tongues is as easily established as

that of the Sanscrit, and which, in respect to antiquity, may well

dispute the palm with its Indian rival. Avoiding, however, the

discussion of this point, we shall content ourselves with observing, that

closely connected with the Sanscrit, if not derived from it, are the

Bengáli, the high Hindustáni, or grand popular language of Hindustan,

generally used by the learned in their intercourse and writings, the

languages of Multan, Guzerat, and other provinces, without mentioning the

mixed dialect called Mongolian Hindustáni, a corrupt jargon of Persian,

Turkish, Arabic, and Hindu words, first used by the Mongols, after the

conquest, in their intercourse with the natives. Many of the principal

languages of Asia are totally unconnected with the Sanscrit, both in

words and grammatical structure; these are mostly of the great Tartar

family, at the head of which there is good reason for placing the Chinese

and Tibetian.

Bearing the same analogy to the Sanscrit tongue as the Indian dialects

specified above, we find the Rommany, or speech of the Roma, or Zincali,

as they style themselves, known in England and Spain as Gypsies and

Gitános. This speech, wherever it is spoken, is, in all principal

points, one and the same, though more or less corrupted by foreign words,

picked up in the various countries to which those who use it have

penetrated. One remarkable feature must not be passed over without

notice, namely, the very considerable number of Sclavonic words, which

are to be found embedded within it, whether it be spoken in Spain or

Germany, in England or Italy; from which circumstance we are led to the

conclusion, that these people, in their way from the East, travelled in

one large compact body, and that their route lay through some region

where the Sclavonian language, or a dialect thereof, was spoken. This

region I have no hesitation in asserting to have been Bulgaria, where

they probably tarried for a considerable period, as nomad herdsmen, and

where numbers of them are still to be found at the present day. Besides

the many Sclavonian words in the Gypsy tongue, another curious feature

attracts the attention of the philologist—an equal or still greater

quantity of terms from the modern Greek; indeed, we have full warranty

for assuming that at one period the Spanish section, if not the rest of

the Gypsy nation, understood the Greek language well, and that, besides

their own Indian dialect, they occasionally used it for considerably

upwards of a century subsequent to their arrival, as amongst the Gitános

there were individuals to whom it was intelligible so late as the year

1540.

Where this knowledge was obtained it is difficult to say,—perhaps in

Bulgaria, where two-thirds of the population profess the Greek religion,

or rather in Romania, where the Romaic is generally understood; that they

_did_ understand the Romaic in 1540, we gather from a very remarkable

work, called _El Estudioso Cortesáno_, written by Lorenzo Palmiréno: this

learned and highly extraordinary individual was by birth a Valencian, and

died about 1580; he was professor at various universities—of rhetoric at

Valencia, of Greek at Zaragossa, where he gave lectures, in which he

explained the verses of Homer; he was a proficient in Greek, ancient and

modern, and it should be observed that, in the passage which we are about

to cite, he means himself by the learned individual who held conversation

with the Gitános. {321} _El Estudioso Cortesáno_ was reprinted at Alcala

in 1587, from which edition we now copy.

‘Who are the Gitános? I answer; these vile people first began to show

themselves in Germany, in the year 1417, where they call them Tartars or

Gentiles; in Italy they are termed Ciani. They pretend that they come

from Lower Egypt, and that they wander about as a penance, and to prove

this, they show letters from the king of Poland. They lie, however, for

they do not lead the life of penitents, but of dogs and thieves. A

learned person, in the year 1540, prevailed with them, by dint of much

persuasion, to show him the king’s letter, and he gathered from it that

the time of their penance was already expired; he spoke to them in the

Egyptian tongue; they said, however, as it was a long time since their

departure from Egypt, they did not understand it; he then spoke to them

in the vulgar Greek, such as is used at present in the Morea and

Archipelago; _some understood it_, others did not; so that as all did not

understand it, we may conclude that the language which they use is a

feigned one, {67} got up by thieves for the purpose of concealing their

robberies, like the jargon of blind beggars.’

Still more abundant, however, than the mixture of Greek, still more

abundant than the mixture of Sclavonian, is the alloy in the Gypsy

language, wherever spoken, of modern Persian words, which circumstance

will compel us to offer a few remarks on the share which the Persian has

had in the formation of the dialects of India, as at present spoken.