In previous chapters passing mention has been frequently made of the
Romany language,—the tongue of the true gypsy,—and it is interesting
to note that a writer, some fifty years since, said he regretted to
have to say that in a few years the language would not be spoken, if,
indeed, there would be any gypsies to speak it. Such a statement, made
by an undoubted authority on the subject at that period, would probably
be considered by many at the present time sufficient to warrant an
assertion that the Romany language is now practically dead, together
with most of the Romanies themselves. Even a superficial investigation
of the matter by the man in the street would tend to confirm this
idea as the gypsy resents any interference with his affairs, and
is, moreover, very jealous of his language. This should occasion no
surprise, for, from the first appearance of gypsies in this country,
right down to the present time, they have not been treated in a way
calculated to engender in them a belief in the good intentions of the
Gentiles. However, a very different state of things from that premised
will be found actually to exist by the few who have full opportunities,
while possessing the necessary qualifications for forming a correct
opinion, for the gypsy is not by any means extinct, and, not only is
the old language very much alive among the Romanies, but they have
coined or built up words to denote inventions that were unknown to the
writer of half a century ago.
It must be admitted that cant or slang words are used for many objects,
but it will be found that Romany is used in a number of cases,
alternatively with such words.
In colloquial Romany, as in English, a number of words are trimmed or
abbreviated so that while conversation is thereby rendered more facile,
the way of the would-be learner of the language is made additionally
hard,—for instance, the term kekauvisky saster—the iron upon which
the kettle is hung—is frequently abbreviated to kaubisaster,—kaubi
being synonymous with kekauvi for kettle, and, as it gives less trouble
to say, is really better, for one is less likely to confuse it with kek
or kekko—meaning no, not, etc. Dickoi, too, is used for dick acoi
(look here), and in place of paniskey shock (water-cress), the shorter
word panishock is often substituted.
[Illustration: “DOLCE FAR NIENTE.”]
As the scope of this work does not include the teaching of the Romany
tongue, I will not weary the reader with other instances of gypsy
word-clipping, but proceed with a brief general survey of the language,
touching upon some interesting features and peculiarities, and give a
few literal examples which have been either addressed to me, or have
come directly under my notice while living among the people.
It will, of course, be understood that the translations are freely
rendered, and that gypsy in common with other languages possesses
peculiarities which must be learned by ear and cannot be adequately
described in writing.
The attainment of fluency in the language is practically
impossible apart from a lengthy sojourn by the aspirant with the
people, and even this, by itself, will be of little use, for his
physical and temperamental qualifications must be such as commend
themselves to those whom he wishes to make his friends, and as
a consequence—instructors. However, under the most favourable
conditions, direct information will very rarely be imparted, so that
the pupil’s progress will largely depend on his powers of absorption
and imitation.
Generally, Romany is spoken with a free and altogether irregular
admixture of English, making it very much more difficult for the
novice to get a good start, for not only are the sandwiched English
words absolutely meaningless to him, in the unlikely event of his
being able to distinguish them, but some of the Romany words having a
similar sound to English have a totally different meaning. As might be
expected, some slight variations in the pronunciation or enunciation
of the English portions occur in different localities; but Romany
may be said to be almost free from provincialisms, so that one who
is conversant with it will have little difficulty in conversing with
gypsies from any part of the country.
[Illustration: “THE WEAKER SEX” (?)]
A curious fact I have noted, is that Romany names for some of the
commonest things, articles in everyday use, have been forgotten by
the gypsies, while the names of some objects for which they have
no occasion, year in, year out, have been retained in all their
original purity. Time and again have I been asked for the Romany
names of certain common objects, and upon a word being supplied,
my interrogator has repeated it again and again to impress it upon
his memory. One of the most fluent speakers I ever met had forgotten
the word for “plate,” while another was unable to say “thank you” in
Romany, albeit each had a very extensive knowledge of the tongue,
including names for many animals, flowers and insects, and was an adept
at word building; with respect to this practice it must be borne in
mind that the gypsy uses the Romany language much in the same way that
a potter uses clay,—he does not alter the character of the material,
but moulds it into an expression of his idea.
Usually he is little worried by genders or any rules of grammar, his
sole purpose being to convey his ideas in the simplest manner possible
in the best Romany he has at command, and he considers it as _his_
language, for the use only of himself and his people, being unwilling
that a gorgio should learn even a few words of it.
“What would be the use of Romany,” said an old man to me, “if sore
dinneleskoe gorgios jinned what mande penned?”
So general is this jealous feeling, that all knowledge of the
language will frequently be disowned, and I have often known gypsies
intentionally misinform non-gypsies by supplying wrong words; for
instance, I heard a gypsy tell an inquiring gorgio that the word
“match” was “yog cosh” in gypsy. Upon analyzing this and finding it
signified “fire stick,” the information would be accepted as correct,
until it was discovered that it also meant a firebrand, and that there
is a very different genuine Romany word denoting this specific match
and nothing else.
The true Romanichal prides himself on his knowledge of the tongue,
which, when well spoken, he designates “deep” Romany, and I have known
real exponents of it in descendants of the old, old gypsies who have
been described, with some little exaggeration, perhaps, as having been
“as black as the ace of spades”; at the same time, I am acquainted with
other families who are much darker-complexioned than many Hindoos,
whose Romany is comparatively meagre.
Apropos of the suspicious reticence of the gypsy, I recollect that
while in the hop gardens, a man came one day to the spot where a gypsy
girl and I were picking, and having heard a little of our conversation,
came nearer and said—
“I say, I should like to learn Romany.”
[Illustration: “BEAUX YEUX.”]
The girl replied, “Oh, would you—why it would take you ever so long.
That’s true, isn’t it?” she added, turning to me for confirmation of
the statement.
Undaunted, he returned to the charge—
“Well, can you tell me the best way to learn?”
“Yes,” replied my companion without a moment’s hesitation, “marry a
gypsy girl,—if she’ll have you.”
Upon looking into this, and reading between the lines, the objection
the gypsies have to the acquirement of their language by any one whom
they do not credit with some degree of blood relationship is quite
evident.
On another occasion I happened to be chatting with about half a dozen
gypsies, when a person who was not a gypsy joined the group. This was a
signal for a woman near me to come close and whisper—
“Kekko rokkra it, mush” (don’t talk it), and I discovered later that
the new-comer was one who had picked up a little of the language and
was most anxious to learn more. Although the behaviour of the gypsies
towards the man was politeness itself, no more Romany was spoken until
he was out of earshot.
I have previously had occasion to refer to the direct searching gaze of
the gypsy, that look which makes even an unimaginative Gentile feel as
though he were being turned inside out for inspection. In a fashion,
this is really the case, for the piercing eyes play a principal part
in their owner’s rapid estimate of a new-comer; if his decision be
that the stranger possesses neither consanguinity nor sympathy with
his own race, but is essentially a gorgio, I know of nothing that will
induce the gypsy to impart correct information about his people or
their language,—on the other hand, should he discover some trace of
blood relationship and be assured of fellow-feeling, he will extend the
right hand of fellowship to the whilom stranger, and a mutual knowledge
of the Romany tongue will, as it were, endorse a bond of lasting
friendship, the no-longer stranger will be introduced to, and accepted
by the relatives and friends as a tatcho pal.
[Illustration: “WHEN THE HEART IS YOUNG.”]
In returning to our consideration of the gypsy language it will not,
we think, be difficult to realize that, to a great extent, it is this
aloofness and the clinging to old traditions, tribal laws and customs,
that has not only enabled them to discredit prophecies of extinction,
but has kept them very much alive, with a language little known by
outsiders, and an unshaken belief in their assertion that gypsies,
their language and manner of life will never die out. It is at least
certain that the genuine Romanies do all possible among themselves
to keep their own language in vigorous health, and although many are
illiterate they seize every opportunity to recover lost words, and by
constant repetition commit them to memory.
Notwithstanding the admixture of English with the Romany, it is
astonishing how little the tongue has altered in the centuries during
which it has been spoken and passed on from one generation to another
in this country mainly by word of mouth. Occasionally, however, one may
hear slight variations, which, upon investigation, resolve into the
exact words, or a close resemblance to words having the same meaning
in one or other of the dialects of Romany of the European continent;
instances of this I recall as I write:—
I once heard a child talking to the cat, which he always called a
“matchiko,” instead of the English gypsy word, “matchko.”
One man always addressed me as “mini Rye,” instead of the usual “miro
Rye.” In these cases “matchiko” is the identical word, while “mini”
reminds one of “minrio,” both words being in a continental dialect, but
having the meaning intended by the English users.
The following examples, being set down verbatim as addressed to, or
heard by me, will give a good idea of colloquial Romany of the present
day:—
“Miro dado jalled to buty adrey a wongar mine, ta his pals del’d dado
oprey the nok and poggered it; if he hadn’t jalled apré he’d have been
mullo.”
(My father went to work in a coal mine and his workmates hit father on
the nose and broke it; if he hadn’t gone up he’d have been killed.)
“Trin petuls kitchema.”
(Three Horseshoes public-house.)
A man introduced another as “a pal o’ the beng,” which means “brother
of the devil.”
“Rye, dick at the gry’s (gryor) choring cas.”
(Sir, or gentleman, look at the horses stealing hay.)
“He kair’d a lot of wongar acoi, he’s chopped his vardo for another,
mande dick’d to rardi.”
(He made a deal of money here, he has exchanged his van for another, I
saw it this night.)
[Illustration:
“Passing gleams of restless mirth.”
H. COLERIDGE.]
“When sore Romanichals have jalled, this tan’ll be a mullo poov.”
(When all the gypsies have gone away, this place will be like a
cemetery.)
“A juva mande knew bute chiv’d her tickno te woddrus drey the vardo,
but the drab-engro penned she’d be mullo if she atched, so her deya
chiv’d her drey the tan.”
(A married woman I knew well put her child to bed in the caravan, but
the doctor said she wouldn’t live if she stayed there, so her mother
put her in the tent.)
“Yeck divvus a mush came te mande ta del’d mande yeck coro levinor,
mande penned, mande kekko pi levinor. Then yo penned, will tuti pi soda
pani or ginger levinor, tuti’s a Romany mush ta mande cams tuti te lei
chomany.”
(One day a man came to me and gave me a pot of ale; I said I did not
drink ale, then he said, will you drink soda water, or ginger beer,
you’re a Romany chal and I desire you to take something.)
“I pen’d paracrow tuti, pen’d kushti divvus, ta jalled oprey o’ drom te
mande’s tan.”
(I thanked him, said good day and went along the road to my tent.)
“Will mande dick tuti collico sorlo?
“I dick’d tuti collico sarla but tuti kekko dick mande.”
(Shall I see you to-morrow morning?
I saw you yesterday evening but you didn’t see me.)
“Here’s to the Romany Rye; he’s kek a cooromengro, but a mush that jins
what we pens. He’s kek a killimengro, but a tatcho Romano.”
(Here’s to the gypsy gentleman; he’s not a fighting man, but knows
just what we say. He’s not a dancing fellow, but one of the gentleman
gypsies.)
Among the mongrel gypsies and Chorodies a good deal of slang is
interposed throughout their talk, and they appear to be unable to judge
by the sound of a word whether it be an approximately correct gypsy
word or a slang term, whereas the true gypsy, upon hearing a Romany
word of which he had no previous knowledge, will say it over and over
again, and at last assert, “Yes, that’s right, that’s correct, I can
tell.”
[Illustration: THE POST-PRANDIAL HALF-HOUR.]
A half-caste gypsy once attempted to bring discredit on my knowledge
of the Romany tongue by speaking in what he afterwards informed me was
“foreign Romany.” I regret that while I have a distinct recollection
of the jumble of sounds, I am not able to reproduce it. Strangely
enough, this man prided himself on being able to talk in a tongue no
one else understood, and I confess I am still incapable of seeing just
how he or any one else benefited thereby.
Probably it is the “Romany” of the Chorodies and low-lived half-castes
that has induced writers to describe the gypsy tongue in England
as having become sadly mutilated; certainly, such folk present no
exception to the rule that the language of a people becomes, almost
invariably, degraded in the ratio that their life is debased, the
lowest of them seeming even to select inharmonious, and often foul
and repulsive words to express their daily needs. Language would,
indeed, appear to be to them little more than the bark of a dog, or the
neighing of a horse, for, obviously, the melody of pure Romany does
not in the least appeal to them as it undoubtedly does to the true
Romanichal, whose language conjures up visions of trees and birds,
furze-covered commons and heather-clad moors.
Romany is a poetical language, and, as might be expected, gypsy poetry
is not rare. When well recited it is very musical although much of it
does not rhyme; I have, however, found that a mixed Romany audience
invariably prefers such as has both rhythm and rhyme.
One evening towards the end of the hop-picking, I attended a concert
which had been organized for the entertainment of the gypsies, the
artistes for the most part being the Romanies themselves, while the
programme might fittingly be described as “scratch.”
[Illustration: “TATCHEY ROMANIES.”]
The affair was held in a large tent capable of accommodating, say,
a hundred to a hundred and fifty persons. We had a “full house” and
the odour of hops was very perceptible; but this was a trifling
matter which, if noticed at all by the majority of the audience, was
immediately forgotten when the programme was commenced. Names had
been given during the morning by those who were willing to sing,
or otherwise contribute to the amusement or entertainment of the
company. Our platform consisted of a box placed bottom upward, the
tent was illuminated by two hanging lamps, and as there was no charge
for admission, every grade of gypsy society contributed its quota of
audience, among whom were many good-looking girls, a fair sprinkling
of men and a number of women whose beauty had not for several years
been remarkable; there was also present a small contingent of the
rough element, one or two of whom caused a little trouble at times by
perpetrating idiotic practical jokes, one of which was that a youth
would commence to set on fire the coat-tail of some one directly in
front of him; however, these disturbers of the peace were soon noticed,
and, as I had anticipated, were advised in very forcible language to
get outside. As they were discreet enough to withdraw, our programme
subsequently went along very well. One or two humorous songs were sung
by gypsies, and, strangely enough, not the slightest indication of
humour was apparent in either intonation or gesture. Songs of a more
or less sentimental character were the rule, although we had some
rollicking songs towards the end, to which a girl executed a step-dance
on the box until a board gave way.
The singing of the Romany girls was very seductive; whether this was
due to the witchery of their glances, their winning manner, or the
peculiar, weird style of singing, I have not been able to determine;
as a rule, their voices are good, they sing in tune, and usually are
unaccompanied by any instrument.
I am not able to call to mind the titles of all the songs of the
evening, but the following were favourites:—
“Home is home.”
“When the fields are white with daisies.”
“Put my little shoes away.”
“I’ve been lonely since my mother died.”
One small boy announced the title of a poem he was going to recite,
but when mounted upon the box in front of the audience he commenced
with something of so different a nature that the management decided
hastily he had better step down and the audience would forego the
remainder, which, I learned subsequently, was worse than the verse we
heard. The next boy, however, gave us a treat, for he had the voice
of a seraph and sang well,—indeed, I often heard the boy in the hop
fields and could generally track him down by his voice. Some of the
“home-dwellers” also contributed to the evening’s entertainment, one
of them being good enough to bring a gramophone. At last “God save the
King” was sung, and we prepared to depart to our respective vans and
tents.
Some of the audience had come from another camp at a little distance,
and as the night was very dark some one voiced their desire for a
lantern. Fortunately, I was able to procure an oil torch designed for
outdoor use, so with this flaming merrily, I led the way at the head of
a band of Romanies. We were a merry party and a good deal of jesting
was indulged in.
Before separating, and while we were in a lane with a steep bank on
each side, some one suggested the Romany dance and the hint was at once
acted upon.
It would seem that from earliest times these people have numbered
amongst them many excellent dancers and singers, and what I now
witnessed demonstrated beyond doubt that their love of song and the
dance is as strong to-day as in the past.
The company disposed themselves in a circle and two or three couples
went into the ring, a song was started and time was kept by the
clapping of hands. Some one said—
“Go it! dance away, it’s early yet, we are all Romanies here and the
kushti Romany Rye’s lelled a moomli so we can dick the dancing.” Then
upon the request “Now, all together, please,” each of the dancers
clasped a partner, and with cheeks touching, the whirling commenced.
Another, then another, fascinated by the movements of the dancers,
entered the ring and took part, either in a species of step-dance or
by executing the mazy whirl. The dance was performed with all the
zest and vivacity of the Italian tarantella, but instead of being
accompanied by such songs as are favoured by some of the peasants who
perform the tarantella,—of which the subjoined insensate couplet is an
example—
“Fegato fritto e baccalà!
In ’ccoppo ’na camera a pazzia.”
(With dried salt cod and liver-fry
Up in a room to play sky-high)—
lively English songs, into which Romany words were inserted when they
happened to rhyme,—were sung with gusto by the entire company. Had
there been any gorgios present they could not have failed to be amused
and puzzled by these songs, of which the words were a mosaic of poggado
jib sung to dance time.
The play of light as it fell upon the throng, catching here a
kerchief of yellow or other brilliant colour on head or shoulders,
there a necklace of bright red beads, a gold brooch or large
ear-rings,—produced an effect that would have gladdened the heart of
a painter, the _tout ensemble_—even if a little barbaric—being quite
captivating. Swarthy skins seemed still darker by the torchlight, and
as the excitement increased, eyes flashed as only a Romany’s can, and,
one after another, dark-eyed belles flashed by; I could imagine
no term more aptly descriptive of each than their own musical words,
“rinkeny chovahani.”
[Illustration: “DUI KUSHTI KAULO YOCKS.”]
At last, the dance ended almost as suddenly as it had been begun and
the merry party broke up.
It was nearing the time when the final goodbye would be said and all
would again go on the road, so that this was the last occasion during
the hop-picking upon which so general a gathering could take place;
some would, perhaps, meet again in a week or two, others not until next
“hopping.” As there were a number present whom I did not expect to
see again for a good while, I received many a warm hand-shake and the
almost invariable and hearty wish for a “happy journey,” which, from a
gypsy, means not only the journey one is just about to take, but also
implies—“as you travel through life may happiness attend you.”
Any little unpleasant happenings there might have been were forgotten,
and, after a parting song, keepsakes were asked for and exchanged,—a
pretty custom that brings to mind the giver long after each has jalled
opré the drom.