Opi Boswell.
Wanselo, or Anselo. I was once of the opinion that this name was originally Lancelot, but as Mr. Borrow has found Wentzlow,i.e., Wenceslas, in England, the latter is probably the original. I have found it changed to Onslow, as the name painted on a Romany van in Aberystwith, but it was pronounced Anselo.
Pastor-rumis.
Spico.
Jineral,i.e., General Cooper.
Horferus and Horfer. Either Arthur or Orpheus. His name was then changed to Wacker-doll, and finally settled into Wacker.
Plato or Platos Buckland.
Wine-Vinegar Cooper. The original name of the child bearing this extraordinary name was Owen. He died soon after birth, and was in consequence always spoken of as Wine-Vinegar,—Wine for the joy which his parents had at his birth, and Vinegar to signify their grief at his loss.
Gilderoy Buckland. Silvanus Boswell.
Lancelot Cooper. Sylvester, Vester, Wester, Westarus and ’Starus.
Oscar Buckland.
Dimiti Buckland. Liberty.
Piramus Boswell. Goliath.
Reconcile. Octavius.
Justerinus. Render Smith.
Faunio.
Shek-ésu. I am assured on good authority that a gypsy had a child baptized by this name.
Artaros. Sacki.
Culvato (Claude). Spysell.
Divervus. Spico.
Lasho,i.e., Louis.
Vesuvius. I do not know whether any child was actually called by this burning cognomen, but I remember that a gypsy, hearing two gentlemen talking about Mount Vesuvius, was greatly impressed by the name, and consulted with them as to the propriety of giving it to his little boy.
Wisdom. Loverin.
Inverto. Mantis.
Studaveres Lovel. Happy Boswell.
Selinda, Slinda, Linda, Slindi. Delilah.
Mia. Prudence.
Mizelia, Mizelli, Mizela. Providence.
Lina. Eve.
Pendivella. Athaliah.
Jewránum,i.e., Geranium. Gentilla, Gentie.
Virginia. Synfie. Probably Cynthia.
Suby, Azuba. Sybie. Probably from Sibyl.
Isaia.
Richenda. Canairis.
Kiomi. Fenella.
Liberina. Floure, Flower, Flora.
Malindi. Kisaiya.
Otchamé. Orlenda.
Renée. Reyora, Regina.
Sinaminta. Syeira. Probably Cyra.
Y-yra or Yeira. Truffeni.
Delīra, Deleera. Ocean Solis.
Marili Stanley. Penelli. Possibly from Fenella.
Britannia.
Glani. Ségel Buckland.
Zuba. Morella Knightly.
Sybarini Cooper. Eza.
Esmeralda Locke. Lenda.
Penti. Collia.
Reservi. This extraordinary name was derived from a reservoir, by which some gypsies were camped, and where a child was born.
Lementina. Casello (Celia).
Rodi. Catseye.
Alabïna. Trainette.
Dosia. Perpinia.
Lavi. Dora.
Silvina. Starlina.
Richenda. Bazena.
Marbelenni. Bena.
Ashena. Ewri.
Vashti. Koket.
Youregh. Lusho.
“Miro koko, pen mandy a rinkeno gudlo?”
Avali miri chavi. Me ’tvel pen tute dui te shyan trin, vonka tute ’atches sār pūkeno. Shūn amengi. Yeckorus adré o Làvines tem sos a boro chovihan, navdo Merlinos. Gusvero mush sos Merlinos, būti seeri covva yuv asti kair. Jindás yuv ta pūr yeck jivnipen adré o waver, saster adré o rūpp, te o rūpp adré sonakai. Finō covva sos adovo te sos miro. Te longoduro fon leste jivdes a bori chovihani, Trinali sos lākis nav. Boridiri chovihani sos Trinali, būti manushe seerdas yoi, būti ryor pūrdas yoi adré mylia te bālor, te né kesserdas yeck haura pā sār lender dush.
Yeck divvus Merlinos liás lester chovihaneskro ran te jas adūro ta latcher i chovihanī te pessur lāki drován pā sār lākis wafropen. Te pā adovo tacho dívvus i rāni Trinali shundas sa Merlinos boro ruslo sorelo chovihan se, te pendas, “Sossi ajafra mush? Me dukkerāva leste or yuv tevel mer mande, s’up mi o beng! me shom te seer leste. Mukkamen dikk savo lela kūmi shūnaben, te savo sē o jinescrodiro?” Te adoi o Merlinos jās apré o dromus, sārodívvus akonyo, sarja adré o kamescro dūd, te Trinali jāsadré o wesh sarjā adré o rātinus, o tam, o kālopen, o shure, denne yoi sos chovihāni. Kennāsig, yān latcherde yeckawaver, awer Merlinos né jindas yoi sos Trinali, te Trinali né jindas adovo manush se Merlinos. Te yuv sos būti kamelo ke laki, te yoi apopli; kennāsig yāndūi ankairde ta kām yeckawaver butidiro. Vonka yeck jinella adovo te o waver jinella lis, kek boro chirus tvel i duī sosti jinavit. Merlinos te Trinali pende “me kamava tute,” sig ketenes, te chūmerde yeckawaver, te beshde alay rikkerend adré o simno pelashta te rakkerde kūshto bāk.
Te adenna Merlinos pūkkerdas lāki, yuv jas ta dusher a būti wafodi chovihani, te Trinali pendas lesko o simno covva, sā yoi sos ruzno ta kair o sīmno keti a boro chovihano. Te i dūi ankairede ta mānger yeckawāver ta mūkk o covva jā, te yoi te yuv shomas atrash o nasherin lende pireno te pirenī. Awer Merlinos pendas, “Mandy sovahalldom pā o kam ta pur lāki pā sār lākis jivaben adré o wāves trūppo.” Te yoi ruvvedas te pendas, “Sovahalldas me pā o chone ta pūr adovo chovihano adré a wavero, sim’s tute.” Denna Merlinos putcherdas, “Sāsi lesters nav?” Yoi pendas, “Merlinos.” Yuv rakkeredas palall, “Me shom leste, sāsī tiro nav?” Yoi shelledas avrī, “Trinali!”
Kennā vānka chovihanis sovahallan chumeny apré o kam te i choni, yān sosti keravit or mér. Te denna Merlinos pendas, “Jinesa tu sā ta kair akovo pennis sār kūshto te tacho?” “Kekker mīro kāmlo pireno,” pendas i chori chovihanī sā yoi ruvdas.” “Denna me shom kūmi jinescro, ne tute,” pendas Merlinos. “Shukar te kūshto covva se akovo, miri romni. Me bevel pūr tute adré mande, te mande adré tute. Te vonka mendui shom romadi mendui tevel yeck.”
Sā yeck mush ta dívvus kennā penella yoi siggerdas leste, te awavero pens yuv siggerdas lāki. Ne jināva me miri kāmeli. Ne dikkdas tu kekker a dui sherescro haura? Avail! Wūsser lis uppar, te vānka lis pellalay pūkk amengy savo rikk se alay. Welsher pendas man adovo. Welsheri pennena sarja tachopen.
“My uncle, tell me a pretty story!”
Yes, my child. I will tell you two, and perhaps three, if you keep very quiet. Listen to me. Once in Wales there was a great wizard named Merlin. Many magic things he could do. He knew how to change one living being into another, iron into silver, and silver into gold. A fine thing that would be if it were mine. And afar from him lived a great witch. Trinali was her name. A great witch was Trinali. Many men did she enchant, many gentlemen did she change into asses and pigs, and never cared a copper for all their sufferings.
One day Merlin took his magic rod, and went afar to find the witch, and pay her severely for all her wickedness. And on that very [true] day the lady Trinali heard how Merlin was [is] a great, powerful wizard, and said, “What sort of a man is this? I will punish him or he shall kill me, deuce help me! I will bewitch him. Let us see who has the most cleverness and who is the most knowing.” And then Merlin went on the road all day alone, always in sunshine; and Trinali went in the forest, always in the shade, the darkness, the gloom, for she was a black witch. Soon they found one another, but Merlin did not know [that] she was Trinali, and Trinal,did not know that man was [is to be] Merlin. And he was very pleasant to her, and she to him again. Very soon the two began to love one another very much. When one knows that and the other knows it, both will soon know it. Merlin and Trinali said “I love thee” both together, and kissed one another, and sat down wrapped in the same cloak, and conversed happily.
Then Merlin told her he was going to punish a very wicked witch; and Trinali told him the same thing, how she was bold [daring] to do the same thing to a great wizard. And the two began to beg one another to let the thing go, and she and he were afraid of losing lover and sweetheart. But Merlin said, “I swore by the sun to change her for her whole life into another form” [body]; and she wept and said, “I swore by the moon to change that wizard into another [person] even as you did.” Then Merlin inquired, “What is his name?” She said, “Merlin.” He replied, “I am he; what is your name?” She cried aloud, “Trinali.”
Now when witches swear anything on the sun or the moon, they must do it or die. Then Merlin said, “Do you know how to make this business all nice and right?” “Not at all, my dear love,” said the poor witch, as she wept. “Then I am cleverer than you,” said Merlin. “An easy and nice thing it is, my bride. For I will change you into me, and myself into you. And when we are married we two will be one.”
So one man says nowadays that she conquered him, and another that he conquered her. I do not know [which it was], my dear. Did you ever see a two-headed halfpenny?Yes? Throw it up, andwhen it falls down ask me which side is under. A Welsher told me that story. Welshers always tell the truth.
Yeckorus sims būti kedivvus, sos rakli, te yoi sos kushti partanengrī, te yoi astis kair a rinkeno plāchta, yeck sār dívvus. Te covakai chi kamdas rye butidiro, awer yeck dívvus lākis pīreno sos stardo adré staruben. Te vonka yoi shundas lis, yoi hushtiedas apré te jas keti krallis te mangerdas leste choruknes ta mūkk lākis pīreno jā pīro. Te krallis patserdas lāki tevel yoi kairdas leste a rinkeno plāchta, yeck sār divvus pā kūrikus, hafta plāchta pā hafta dívvus, yuv tvel ferdel leste, te dé leste tachaben ta jā ’vrī. I tāni rāni siggerdas ta keravit, te pā shov divvus yoi táderedas adrom, kūshti zī, pā lis te sārkon chirus adré o shab yoi bítcherdas plāchta keta krallis. Awer avella yeck dívvus yoi sos kinlo, te pendes yoi néi kamdas kair būtsi ’dovo dívvus sī sos brishnū te yoi nestis shīri a sappa dré o kamlo dūd. Adenn’ o krallis pendas te yoi nestis kair būtsi hafta dívvus lava lakis pīreno, o rye sosti hatch staramescro te yoi ne mūkkdas kāmaben adosta pā leste. Te i rakli sos sā húnnalo te tukno dré lakis zī yoi merdas o rúvvin te lias pūraben adré o pūv-sūver. Te keti dívvus kennā yoi pandella apré lakris tavia, vonka kam peshella, te i cuttor pāni tu dikess’ apré lende shan o panni fon lākis yākka yoi ruvdas pā lākris pīreno.
Te tu vel hatch kaulo yeck lilieskro dívvus tu astis nasher sār o kairoben fon o chollo kūrikus, miri chavi. Tu peness’ tu kāmess’ to shūn waveri gudli. Sār tacho. Me tevel pūker tute rinkno gudlo apré kāli foki. Repper tute sārkon me penāva sā me repper das lis fon miro bābus.
Once there was a girl, as there are many to-day, and she was a good needle-worker, and could make a beautiful cloak in one day. And that [there] girl loved a gentleman very much; but one day her sweetheart was shut up in prison, and when she heard it she hastened and went to the king, and begged him humbly to let her love go free. And the king promised her if she would make him a fine cloak,—one every day for a week, seven cloaks for seven days,—he would forgive him, and give him leave to go free. The young lady hastened to do it, and for six days she worked hard [lit. pulled away] cheerfully at it, and always in the evening she sent a cloak to the king. But it came [happened] one day that she was tired, and said [that] she did not wish to work because it was rainy, and she could not dry or bleach the cloth [?] in the sunlight. Then the king said that if she could not work seven days to get her lover the gentleman must remain imprisoned, for she did not love him as she should [did not let love enough on him]. And the maid was so angry and vexed in her heart [or soul] that she died of grief, and was changed into a spider. And to this day she spreads out her threads when the sun shines, and the dew-drops which you see on them are the tears which she has wept for her lover.
If you remain idle one summer day you may lose a whole week’s work, my dear. You say that you would like to hear more stories! All right. I will tell you a nice story about lazy people.[317b]Rememberall I tell you, as I remembered it from my grandfather.
Yeckorus pā ankairoben, kon i manūshia nanei lavia, o boro Dúvel jas pirián. Sā sī asar? Shūn miri chavi, me givellis tute:—
Būti beshia kedivrus kennāAdré o tem ankairoben,O boro Dúvel jās ’vrī ajā,Ta dikk i mushia miraben.
Būti beshia kedivrus kennāAdré o tem ankairoben,O boro Dúvel jās ’vrī ajā,Ta dikk i mushia miraben.
Sa yuv pirridas, dikkdas trin mūshia pāsh o dromescro rikk, hatchin keti chomano mūsh te vel dé lendis navia, te len putcherde o boro Dúvel ta navver lende. Dordi, o yeckto mush sos pāno, te o boro Dúvel pūkkerdas kavodoi, “Gorgio.” Te yuv sikkerdas leste kokero keti dovo, te sūderdas leste būti kāmeli sā jewries, te rinkeni rūdaben, te jāsgorgeous. Te o wavescro geero sos kālo sā skunya, te o boro Dúvel pendas, “Nigger!” te yuvnikkeredasadrom, sā sūjery te mūzhili, te yuv senikkerinsarjā keti kenna, adré o kamescro dūd, te yuv’s kālo-kālo ta kair būtsi, naneí tu serbers leste keti lis, te tazzers lis. Te o trinto mush sos brauuo, te yuv beshdas pūkeno, tūvin leste’s swägler, keti o boro Dúvel rākkerdas, “Rom!” te adenna o mūsh hatchedas apré, te pendas būti kāmelo, “Parraco Rya tiro kūshtaben; me te vel mishto piav tiro sastopen!” Te jās romeli aroaminlangs i lescro romni, te kekker dukkerdas lester kokerus, né kesserdas pa chichi fon adennadoi keti kennā, te jās adral o sweti, te kekker hatchedas pūkenus, te nanei hudder ta kéravit ket’ o boro Dúvel penell’ o lav. Tacho adovo se sā tiri yakka, miri kāmli.
Once in the creation, when men had no names, the Lord went walking. How was that? Listen, my child, I will sing it to you:—
Many a year has passed awaySince the world was first begun,That the great Lord went out one dayTo see how men’s lives went on.
Many a year has passed awaySince the world was first begun,That the great Lord went out one dayTo see how men’s lives went on.
As he walked along he saw three men by the roadside, waiting till some man would give them names; and they asked the Lord to name them. See! the first man was white, and the Lord called him Gorgio. Then he adapted himself to that name, and adorned himself with jewelry and fine clothes, and wentgorgeous. And the other man was black and the Lord called him Nigger, and he lounged away [nikker, to lounge, loiter; an attempted pun], so idle and foul; and he is always lounging till now in the sunshine, and he is too lazy [kalo-kalo, black-black, or lazy-lazy, that is, too black or too lazy] to work unless you compel and punish him. And the third man was brown, and he sat quiet, smoking his pipe, till the Lord said, Rom! [gypsy, or “roam”]; and then that man arose and said, very politely, “Thank you, Lord, for your kindness. I’d be glad to drink your health.” And he went, Romany fashion, a-roaming[319b]with his romni [wife], and never troubled himself about anything from that time till to-day, and went through the world, and never rested and never wishedto until the Lord speaks the word. That is all as true as your eyes, my dear!
“Pen mandy a waver gudlo trustal o ankairoben!”
Né shomas adoi, awer shūndom būti apā lis fon miro bābus. Foki pende mengy sā o chollo-tem[320]sos kérdo fon o kam, awer i Romany chalia savo keren sār chingernes, pen o kam sos kérdo fon o boro tem. Wafedo gry se adovo te nestis ja sigan te anpāli o kūshto drom. Yeckorus ’dré o pūro chirus, te kennā, sos a bori pūreni chovihāni te kérdas sīrīni covvas, te jivdas sār akonyo adré o heb adré o rātti. Yeck dívvus yoi latchedas yag-bar adré o puv, te tilldas es apré te pūkkeredas lestes nav pāle, “Yāg-bar.” Te pāsh a bittus yoi latchedas a bitto kūshto-saster, te haderdas lis apré te putchedas lestis nav, te lis rakkerdas apopli, “Saster.” Chivdási dui ’dré lākis pūtsī, te pendas Yāg-bar, “Tu sosti rummer o rye, Saster!” Te yan kérdavit, awer yeck dívvus i dui ankairede ta chinger, te Saster dés lestis jūva Yag-bar a tatto-yek adré o yakk, te kairedas i chingari ta mūkker avri, te hotcher i pūri jūva’s pūtsī. Sā yoi wūsserdas hotcherni putsī adré o hev, te pendas lis ta kessur adrom keti avenna o mūsh sāri jūva kun kekker chingerd chichi. I chingari shan staria, te dovo yāg sē o kam, te lis nanei jillo avrī keti kennā, te lis tevel hotcher andūro būti beshia pā sār jinova mé keti chingerben. Tacho sī? Né shomas adoi.
“Tell me another story about the creation!”
I was not there at the time, but I heard a great deal about it from my grandfather. All he did there was to turn the wheel. People tell me that the world was made from the sun, but gypsies, who do everything all contrary, say that the sun was made from the earth. A bad horse is that which will not travel either way on a road. Once in the old time, as [there may be] now, was a great old witch, who made enchantments, and lived all alone in the sky in the night. One day she found a flint in a field, and picked her up, and the stone told her that her name was Flint. And after a bit she found a small piece of steel, and picked him up, and asked his name, and he replied, “Steel” [iron]. She put the two in her pocket, and said to Flint, “You must marry Master Steel.” So they did, but one day the two began to quarrel, and Steel gave his wife Flint a hot one [a severe blow] in the eye, and made sparks fly, and set fire to the old woman’s pocket. So she threw the burning pocket up into the sky, and told it to stay there until a man and his wife who had never quarreled should come there. The sparks [from Flint’s eye] are the stars, and the fire is the sun, and it has not gone out as yet, and it will burn on many a year, for all I know to the contrary. Is it true? I was not there.
“Pen mandy a wāver gudlo apā o chone?”
Avail miri deari. Adré o pūro chirus būtidosta manushia jivvede kūshti-bākeno ’dré o chone, sār chichi ta kair awer ta rikker āp o yāg so kérela o dūd. Awer, amen i foki jivdas būti wafodo mūleno manush, kon dusherdas te lias witchaben atūt sār i waveri deari manushia, te yuv kairedas lis sā’s ta shikker lende sār adrom, te chivdas len avrī o chone. Te kennā o sig o i foki shan jillo, yuv pendas: “Kennā akovi dinneli juckalis shan jillo, me te vel jiv mashni te kūshto, sār akonyus.” Awer pāsh o bitto, o yāg ankairdas ta hátch alay, te akovo geero latchdas se yuv né kāmdas ta hatch adré o rātti te merav shillino, yuv sosti jā sarja pā kosht. Te kanna i waveri foki shanas adoi, yān né kerden o rikkaben te wadderin i kāshta adré o dívvusko chirus, awer kennā asti lel lis sār apré sustis pikkia, sār i rātti, te sār o divvus. Sā i foki akai apré o chollo-tem dikena adovo manush keti dívvus kennā, sar pordo o koshter te bittered, te mūserd te gūmeri, te gūberin keti leskro noko kokero, te kūnerin akonyus pāsh lestis yāg. Te i chori mushia te yuv badderedas adrom, yul [yān] jassed sār atūt te trūstal o hev akai, te adoi, te hatchede up būti pā lender kokeros; te adovi shan i starya, te chirkia, te bitti dūdapen tu díkessa sārakai.
“Se adovo sār tacho?” Akovi se kūmi te me jinova. Awer kanna sā tu penessa mé astis dikk o manush dré o chone savo rikkela kāsht apré lestes dūmo, yuv sosti keravit ta chiv adré o yāg, te yuv ne tevel dukker lestes kokero ta kair adovo te yuv sus rumado or lias palyor, sā lis se kāmmaben adosta o mūsh chingerd lestis palya te nassered lende sār andūro. Tacho.
“Tell me another story about the moon.”
Yes, my dear. In the old time many men lived happily in the moon, with nothing to do but keep up the fire which makes the light. But among the folk lived a very wicked, obstinate man, who troubled and hated all the other nice [dear] people, and he managed it so as to drive them all away, and put them out of the moon. And when the mass of the folk were gone, he said, “Now those stupid dogs have gone, I will live comfortably and well, all alone.” But after a bit the fire began to burn down, and that man found that if he did not want to be in the darkness [night] and die of cold he must go all the time for wood. And when the other people were there, they never did any carrying or splitting wood in the day-time, but now he had to take it all on his shoulders, all night and all day. So the people here on our earth see that man to this day all burdened [full] of wood, and bitter and grumbling to himself, and lurking alone by his fire. And the poor people whom he had driven away went all across and around heaven, here and there, and set up in business for themselves, and they are the stars and planets and lesser lights which you see all about.
Taken down accurately from an old gypsy. Common dialect, or “half-and-half” language.
“Rya, tute kāms mandy to pukker tute the tachopen—āwo? Se’s a boro or a kūsi covva, mandy’ll rakker tacho, s’up mi-duvel, apré mi meriben,bengis adré man’nys see if mandy pens a bitto huckaben! An’ sā se adduvvel? Did mandy ever chore a kāni adré mi jiv? and what do the Romany chals kair o’ the poris, ’cause kekker ever dikked chīchī pāsh of a Romany tan? Kek rya,—mandyneverchored a kāni an’ adré sixty beshes kenna ’at mandy’s been apré the drumyors, an’ sār dovo chirus mandy never dikked or shūned or jinned of a Romany chal’s chorin yeck. What’s adduvel tute pens?—that Petulengro kāliko dívvus penned tute yuv rikkered a yāgengeree to muller kānis! Avail rya—tacho se ajā—the mush penned adré his kokero seeweshnikanis. But kekkairescrokanis. Romanis kekker chores lendy.”
“Master, you want me to tell you all the truth,—yes? If it’s a big or a little thing, I’ll tell the truth, so help me God, upon my life! The devil be in my soul if I tell the least lie! And what is it? Did I ever in all my life steal a chicken? and what do the gypsies do with the feathers, because nobody ever saw any near a gypsy tent? Never, sir,—Ineverstole a chicken; and in all the sixty years that I’ve been on the roads, in all that time I never saw or heard or knew of a gypsy’s stealing one. What’s that you say?—that Petulengro told you yesterday that he carried a gun to killchickens! Ah yes, sir,—that is true, too. The man meant in his heart wood chickens [that is, pheasants]. But notdomesticchickens. Gypsies never stealthem.”[324]
“Miri diri bībī, me kamāva butidiro tevel chovihani. Kāmāva ta dukker geeris te ta jin kūnjerni cola. Tu sosti sikker mengi sārakovi.”
“Oh miri kamli! vonka tu vissa te vel chovihani, te i Gorgie jinena lis, tu lesa buti tugnus. Sār i chavi tevel shellavrī, te kair a gudli te wūsser baria kánna dikena tute, te shyan i bori foki mérena tute. Awer kūshti se ta jin garini covva, kushti se vonka chori churkni jūva te sār i sweti chungen’ apré, jinela sā ta kair lende wafodopen ta pessur sār lenghis dūsh. Te man tevel sikker tute chomany chovihaneskes. Shun! Vonka tu kamesa pen o dukkerin, lesa tu sār tiro man[325]ta latcher ajafera a manush te manushī lis se. Dé lende o yack, chiv lis drován opā lakis yakka tevel se rakli. Vonka se pash trasherdo yoi tevel pen būti talla jinaben. Kánna tu sos kédo lis sórkon chérus tu astis risser buti dinneli chaia sa tav trūstal tiro āngushtri. Kennā-sig tiri yakka dikena pensa sappa, te vonka tu shan hoïni tu tevel dikk pens’ o puro beng. O pāshno covva mīri deari se ta jin sā ta plasser, te kāmer, te masher foki. Vanka rakli lela chumeni kek-siglo adré lakis mūi, tu sastis pen laki adovo sikerela buti bāk. Kánna lela lulli te safráni balia, pen lāki adovo se tatcho sigaben yoi sasti lel buti sonakei. Kánna lakis koria wena ketenes, dovo sikerela yoi tevel ketni buti barveli rya. Pen sarjā vonka tu dikesa o latch apré lākis cham, talla lakis kor, te vaniso, adovos sigaben yoi tevel a bori rāni. Mā kessur tu ki lo se, ’pré o truppo te pré o bull, pen lāki sarjā o latch adoi se sigaben oboridirines. Hammer laki apré. Te dikessa tu yoi lela bitti wastia te bitti piria, pen lāki trūstal a rye ko se divius pā rinkeni pīria, te sā o rinkeno wast anela kūmi bacht te rinkno mūi. Hammerin te kāmerin te masherin te shorin shan o pāsh o dukkerin. Se kek rakli te kekno mush adré mi duvel’s chollo-tem savo ne se boïno te hunkari pā chomani, te sī tu astis latcher sā se tu susti lel lender wongur. Stastis, latcher sār o rakkerben apré foki.
“Awer miri bibi, adovos sar hokkanipen. Me kamāva buti ta sikker tachni chovihanipen. Pen mandy sī nanei tachi chovahanis, te sā yol dikena.”
“O tachi chovihani miri chavi, lela yakka pensa chiriclo, o kunsus se rikkeredo apré pensa bongo chiv. Buti Yahūdi, te nebollongeri lena jafri yakka. Te cho’hani balia shan rikkerdi pa lākis ankairoben te surri, te adenna risserdi. Vonka Gorgikani cho’hani lena shelni yākka, adulli shan i trasheni.
“Me penava tuki chomani sirines. Vonka tu latchesa o pori te o sasterni krafni, te anpāli tu latchesa cuttor fon papiros, tu sastis chin apré lis sār o pori savo tu kamesa, te hā lis te tu lesa lis. Awer tu sasti chin sār tīro noko rātt. Sī tu latchessa pāsh o lon-doeyav o boro matcheskro-bar, te o puro curro, chiv lis keti kan, shunesa godli. Tevel tastis kana pordo chone peshela, besh sar nangi adré lakis dūd hefta ratti, te shundes adré lis, sarrāti o gudli te vel tachodiro, te anpāle tu shunesa i feris rakerena sig adosta. Vonka tu keresa hev sār o bar adré o mulleskri-tan, jasa tu adoi yeck ratti pāsh a waver te kennā-sig tu shunesa sā i mūlia rakerena. Sorkon-chirus penena ki lovo se garrido. Sastis lel o bar te risser lis apré o mulleskri-tan, talla hev si kédo.
“Me penāva tūki apopli chomani cho’haunes. Levini o sar covva te suverena apré o pani, pā lenia, pā doeyav. Te asar i paneskri mullos kon jivena adré o pani rakkerena keti pūveskri chovihanīs. Si manūsh dikela pāno panna, te partan te diklo apré o pani te lela lis, adovo sikela astis lel a pireni, o yuzhior te o kushtidir o partan se, o kushtidir i rakli. Sī latchesa ran apré o pani, dovo sikela sastis kūr tiro wafedo geero. Chokka or curro apré o pāni penela tu tevel sig atch kāmelo sar tiri pīreni, te pireno. Te safrāni rūzhia pā pāni dukerena sonaki, te pauni, rupp, te loli, kammaben.”
“Kána latchesa klisin, dovo se būti bacht. Vonka haderesa lis apré, pen o manusheskro te rakleskri nav, te yān wena kamlo o tute. Butidir bacht sī lullo dori te tav. Rikker lis, sikela kushti kāmaben. Man nasher lis avrī tiro zī miri chavi.”
“Nanei, bibi, kekker.”
“My dear aunt, I wish very much to be a witch. I would like to enchant people and to know secret things. You can teach me all that.”
“Oh, my darling! if you come to be a witch, and the Gentiles know it, you will have much trouble. All the children will cry aloud, and make a noise and throw stones at you when they see you, and perhaps the grown-up people will kill you. But it is nice to know secret things; pleasant for a poor old humble woman whom all the world spits upon to know how to do them evil and pay them for their cruelty. And Iwillteach you something of witchcraft. Listen!When thou wilt tell a fortune, put all thy heart into finding out what kind of a man or woman thou hast to deal with. Look [keenly], fix thy glance sharply, especially if it be a girl. When she is half-frightened, she will tell you much without knowing it. When thou shalt have often done this thou wilt be able to twist many a silly girl like twine around thy fingers. Soon thy eyes will look like a snake’s, and when thou art angry thou wilt look like the old devil. Half the business, my dear, is to know how to please and flatter and allure people. When a girl has anything unusual in her face, you must tell her that it signifies extraordinary luck. If she have red or yellow hair, tell her that is a true sign that she will have much gold. When her eyebrows meet, that shows she will be united to many rich gentlemen. Tell her always, when you see a mole on her cheek or her forehead or anything, that is a sign she will become a great lady. Never mind where it is, on her body,—tell her always that a mole or fleck is a sign of greatness.Praise her up. And if you see that she has small hands or feet, tell her about a gentleman who is wild about pretty feet, and how a pretty hand brings more luck than a pretty face. Praising and petting and alluring and crying-up are half of fortune-telling. There is no girl and no man in all the Lord’s earth who is not proud and vain about something, and if you can find it out you can get their money. If you can, pick up all the gossip about people.”
“But, my aunt, that is all humbug. I wish much to learn real witchcraft. Tell me if there are no real witches, and how they look.”
“A real witch, my child, has eyes like a bird, the corner turned up like the point of a curved pointedknife. Many Jews and un-Christians have such eyes. And witches’ hairs are drawn out from the beginning [roots] and straight, and then curled [at the ends]. When Gentile witches have green eyes they are the most [to be] dreaded.
“I will tell you something magical. When you find a pen or an iron nail, and then a piece of paper, you should write on it with the pen all thou wishest, and eat it, and thou wilt get thy wish. But thou must write all in thy own blood. If thou findest by the sea a great shell or an old pitcher [cup, etc.], put it to your ear: you will hear a noise. If you can, when the full moon shines sit quite naked in her light and listen to it; every night the noise will become more distinct, and then thou wilt hear the fairies talking plainly enough. When you make a hole with a stone in a tomb go there night after night, and erelong thou wilt hear what the dead are saying. Often they tell where money is buried. You must take a stone and turn it around in the tomb till a hole is there.
“I will tell you something more witchly. Observe [take care] of everything that swims on water, on rivers or the sea. For so the water-spirits who live in the water speak to the earth’s witches. If a man sees cloth on the water and gets it, that shows he will get a sweetheart; the cleaner and nicer the cloth, the better the maid. If you find a staff [stick or rod] on the water, that shows you will beat your enemy. A shoe or cup floating on the water means that you will soon be loved by your sweetheart. And yellow flowers [floating] on the water foretell gold, and white, silver, and red, love.
“When you find a key, that is much luck. When you pick [lift it] up, utter a male or female name,and the person will become your own. Very lucky is a red string or ribbon. Keep it. It foretells happy love. Do not let this run away from thy soul, my child.”
“No, aunt, never.”
This chapter contains in abridged form the substance of papers on the origin of the gypsies and their language, read before the London Philological Society; also of another paper read before the Oriental Congress at Florence in 1878; and aresuméof these published in the LondonSaturday Review.
It has been repeated until the remark has become accepted as a sort of truism, that the gypsies are a mysterious race, and that nothing is known of their origin. And a few years ago this was true; but within those years so much has been discovered that at present there is really no more mystery attached to the beginning of these nomads than is peculiar to many other peoples. What these discoveries or grounds of belief are I shall proceed to give briefly, my limits not permitting the detailed citation of authorities. First, then, there appears to be every reason for believing with Captain Richard Burton that the Jāts of Northwestern India furnished so large a proportion of the emigrants or exiles who, from the tenth century, went out of India westward, that there is very little risk in assuming it as an hypothesis, at least, that they formed theHauptstammof the gypsies of Europe. What other elements entered into these, with whom we are all familiar, will be considered presently. These gypsies came from India, where caste is established and callings are hereditary evenamong out-castes. It is not assuming too much to suppose that, as they evinced a marked aptitude for certain pursuits and an inveterate attachment to certain habits, their ancestors had in these respects resembled them for ages. These pursuits and habits were that
They were tinkers, smiths, and farriers.
They dealt in horses, and were naturally familiar with them.
They were without religion.
They were unscrupulous thieves.
Their women were fortune-tellers, especially by chiromancy.
They ate without scruple animals which had died a natural death, being especially fond of the pig, which, when it has thus been “butchered by God,” is still regarded even by prosperous gypsies in England as a delicacy.
They flayed animals, carried corpses, and showed such aptness for these and similar detested callings that in several European countries they long monopolized them.
They made and sold mats, baskets, and small articles of wood.
They have shown great skill as dancers, musicians, singers, acrobats; and it is a rule almost without exception that there is hardly a traveling company of such performers or a theatre, in Europe or America, in which there is not at least one person with some Romany blood.
Their hair remains black to advanced age, and they retain it longer than do Europeans or ordinary Orientals.
They speak an Aryan tongue, which agrees in themain with that of the Jāts, but which contains words gathered from other Indian sources. This is a consideration of the utmost importance, as by it alone can we determine what was the agglomeration of tribes in India which formed the Western gypsy.
Admitting these as the peculiar pursuits of the race, the next step should be to consider what are the principal nomadic tribes of gypsies in India and Persia, and how far their occupations agree with those of the Romany of Europe. That the Jāts probably supplied the main stock has been admitted. This was a bold race of Northwestern India, which at one time had such power as to obtain important victories over the caliphs. They were broken and dispersed in the eleventh century by Mahmoud, many thousands of them wandering to the West. They were without religion, “of the horse, horsey,” and notorious thieves. In this they agree with the European gypsy. But they are not habitual eaters ofmullo bālor, or “dead pork;” they do not devour everything like dogs. We cannot ascertain that the Jāt is specially a musician, a dancer, a mat and basket maker, a rope-dancer, a bear-leader, or a peddler. We do not know whether they are peculiar in India among the Indians for keeping their hair unchanged to old age, as do pure-blood English gypsies. All of these things are, however, markedly characteristic of certain different kinds of wanderers, or gypsies, in India. From this we conclude, hypothetically, that the Jāt warriors were supplemented by other tribes,—chief among these may have been the Dom,—and that the Jāt element has at present disappeared, and been supplanted by the lower type.
The Doms are a race of gypsies found from CentralIndia to the far northern frontier, where a portion of their early ancestry appears as the Domarr, and are supposed to be pre-Aryan. In “The People of India,” edited by J. Forbes Watson and J. W. Kaye (India Museum, 1868), we are told that the appearance and modes of life of the Doms indicate a marked difference from those of the people who surround them (in Behar). The Hindus admit their claim to antiquity. Their designation in the Shastras is Sopuckh, meaning dog-eater. They are wanderers; they make baskets and mats, and are inveterate drinkers of spirits, spending all their earnings on it. They have almost a monopoly as to burning corpses and handling all dead bodies. They eat all animals which have died a natural death, and are particularly fond of pork of this description. “Notwithstanding profligate habits, many of them attain the age of eighty or ninety; and it is not till sixty or sixty-five that their hair begins to get white.” The Domarr are a mountain race, nomads, shepherds, and robbers. Travelers speak of them as “gypsies.” A specimen which we have of their language would, with the exception of one word, which is probably an error of the transcriber, be intelligible to any English gypsy, and be called pure Romany. Finally, the ordinary Dom calls himself a Dom, his wife a Domni, and the being a Dom, or the collective gypsydom, Domnipana.Din Hindustani is found asrin English gypsy speech,—e.g.,doi, a wooden spoon, is known in Europe asroi. Now in common Romany we have, even in London,—
Rom . . . A gypsy.
Romni . . . A gypsy wife.
Romnipen . . . Gypsydom.
Of this wordromI shall have more to say. It may be observed that there are in the IndianDomcertain distinctly-marked and degrading features, characteristic of the European gypsy, which are out of keeping with the habits of warriors, and of a daring Aryan race which withstood the caliphs. Grubbing in filth as if by instinct, handling corpses, making baskets, eating carrion, being given to drunkenness, does not agree with anything we can learn of the Jāts. Yet the European gypsies are all this, and at the same time “horsey” like the Jāts. Is it not extremely probable that during the “out-wandering” the Dom communicated his name and habits to his fellow-emigrants?
The marked musical talent characteristic of the Slavonian and other European gypsies appears to link them with the Luri of Persia. These are distinctly gypsies; that is to say, they are wanderers, thieves, fortune-tellers, and minstrels. The Shah-Nameh of Firdusi tells us that about the year 420a.d.Shankal, the Maharajah of India, sent to Behram Gour, a ruler of the Sassanian dynasty in Persia, ten thousand minstrels, male and female, calledLuri. Though lands were allotted to them, with corn and cattle, they became from the beginning irreclaimable vagabonds. Of their descendants, as they now exist, Sir Henry Pottinger says:—
“They bear a marked affinity to the gypsies of Europe.[335]They speak a dialect peculiar to themselves, have a king to each troupe, and are notorious for kidnapping and pilfering. Their principal pastimes are drinking, dancing, and music. . . . They are invariably attended by half a dozen of bears andmonkeys that are broke in to perform all manner of grotesque tricks. In each company there are always two or three members who profess . . . modes of divining, which procure them a ready admission into every society.”
“They bear a marked affinity to the gypsies of Europe.[335]They speak a dialect peculiar to themselves, have a king to each troupe, and are notorious for kidnapping and pilfering. Their principal pastimes are drinking, dancing, and music. . . . They are invariably attended by half a dozen of bears andmonkeys that are broke in to perform all manner of grotesque tricks. In each company there are always two or three members who profess . . . modes of divining, which procure them a ready admission into every society.”
This account, especially with the mention of trained bears and monkeys, identifies them with the Ričinari, or bear-leading gypsies of Syria (also called Nuri), Turkey, and Roumania. A party of these lately came to England. We have seen these Syrian Ričinari in Egypt. They are unquestionably gypsies, and it is probable that many of them accompanied the early migration of Jāts and Doms.
The Nāts or Nuts are Indian wanderers, who, as Dr. J. Forbes Watson declares, in “The People of India,” “correspond to the European gypsy tribes,” and were in their origin probably identical with the Luri. They are musicians, dancers, conjurers, acrobats, fortune-tellers, blacksmiths, robbers, and dwellers in tents. They eat everything, except garlic. There are also in India the Banjari, who are spoken of by travelers as “gypsies.” They are traveling merchants or peddlers. Among all these wanderers there is a current slang of the roads, as in England. This slang extends even into Persia. Each tribe has its own, but the name for the generally spokenlingua francaisRom.
It has never been pointed out, however, by any writer, that there is in Northern and Central India a distinct tribe, which is regarded, even by the Nāts and Doms and Jāts themselves, as peculiarly and distinctly gypsy. There are, however, such wanderers, and the manner in which I became aware of their existence was, to say the least, remarkable. I was going one day along the Marylebone Road when Imet a very dark man, poorly clad, whom I took for a gypsy; and no wonder, as his eyes had the very expression of the purest blood of the oldest families. To him I said,—
“Rakessa tu Romanes?” (Can you talk gypsy?)
“I know what you mean,” he answered in English. “You ask me if I can talk gypsy. I know what those people are. But I’m a Mahometan Hindu from Calcutta. I get my living by making curry powder. Here is my card.” Saying this he handed me a piece of paper, with his name written on it:John Nano.
“When I say to you, ‘Rakessa tu Romanes?’ what does it mean?”
“It means, ‘Can you talk Rom?’ Butrakessais not a Hindu word. It’s Panjabī.”
I met John Nano several times afterwards and visited him in his lodgings, and had him carefully examined and cross-questioned and pumped by Professor Palmer of Cambridge, who is proficient in Eastern tongues. He conversed with John in Hindustani, and the result of our examination was that John declared he had in his youth lived a very loose life, and belonged to a tribe of wanderers who were to all the other wanderers on the roads in India what regular gypsies are to the English Gorgio hawkers and tramps. These people were, he declared, “therealgypsies of India, and just like the gypsies here. People in India called them Trablūs, which means Syrians, but they were full-blood Hindus, and not Syrians.” And here I may observe that this word Trablūs which is thus applied to Syria, is derived from Tripoli. John was very sure that his gypsies were Indian. They had a peculiar language, consistingof words which were not generally intelligible. “Could he remember any of these words?” Yes. One of them wasmanro, which meant bread. Nowmanrois all over Europe the gypsy word for bread. John Nano, who spoke several tongues, said that he did not know it in any Indian dialect except in that of his gypsies. These gypsies called themselves and their languageRom. Rom meant in India a real gypsy. And Rom was the general slang of the road, and it came from the Roms or Trablūs. Once he had written all his autobiography in a book. This is generally done by intelligent Mahometans. This manuscript had unfortunately been burned by his English wife, who told us that she had done so “because she was tired of seeing a book lying about which she could not read.”
Reader, think of losing such a life! The autobiography of an Indian gypsy,—an abyss of adventure and darksome mysteries, illuminated, it may be, with vivid flashes of Dacoitee, while in the distance rumbled the thunder of Thuggism! Lost, lost, irreparably lost forever! And in this book John had embodied a vocabulary of the real Indian Romany dialect. Nothing was wanting to complete our woe. John thought at first that he had lent it to a friend who had never returned it. But his wife remembered burning it. Of one thing John was positive: Rom was as distinctively gypsy talk in India as in England, and the Trablūs are the true Romanys of India.
What here suggests itself is, how these Indian gypsies came to be calledSyrian. The gypsies which roam over Syria are evidently of Indian origin; their language and physiognomy both declare it plainly. I offer as an hypothesis that bands of gypsies whohave roamed from India to Syria have, after returning, been called Trablūs, or Syrians, just as I have known Germans, after returning from the father-land to America, to be called Americans. One thing, however, is at least certain. The Rom are the very gypsies of gypsies in India. They are thieves, fortune-tellers, and vagrants. But whether they have or had any connection with the migration to the West we cannot establish. Their language and their name would seem to indicate it; but then it must be borne in mind that the wordrom, likedom, is one of wide dissemination,dūmbeing a Syrian gypsy word for the race. And the very great majority of even English gypsy words are Hindi, with an admixture of Persian, and do not belong to a slang of any kind. As in India,churiis a knife,nākthe nose,baliahairs, and so on, with others which would be among the first to be furnished with slang equivalents. And yet these very gypsies areRom, and the wife is aRomni, and they use words which are not Hindu in common with European gypsies. It is therefore not improbable that in these Trablūs, so called through popular ignorance, as they are called Tartars in Egypt and Germany, we have a portion at least of the real stock. It is to be desired that some resident in India would investigate the Trablūs. It will probably be found that they are Hindus who have roamed from India to Syria and back again, here and there, until they are regarded as foreigners in both countries.
Next to the wordromitself, the most interesting in Romany iszingan, ortchenkan, which is used in twenty or thirty different forms by the people of every country, except England, to indicate the gypsy. An incredible amount of far-fetched erudition hasbeen wasted in pursuing this philologicalignis fatuus. That there are leather-working and saddle-working gypsies in Persia who call themselves Zingan is a fair basis for an origin of the word; but then there are Tchangar gypsies of Jāt affinity in the Punjab. Wonderful it is that in this war of words no philologist has paid any attention to what the gypsies themselves say about it. What they do say is sufficiently interesting, as it is told in the form of a legend which is intrinsically curious and probably ancient. It is given as follows in “The People of Turkey,” by a Consul’s Daughter and Wife, edited by Mr. Stanley Lane Poole, London, 1878: “Although the gypsies are not persecuted in Turkey, the antipathy and disdain felt for them evinces itself in many ways, and appears to be founded upon a strange legend current in the country. This legend says that when the gypsy nation were driven out of their country (India), and arrived at Mekran, they constructed a wonderful machine to which a wheel was attached.” From the context of this imperfectly told story, it would appear as if the gypsies could not travel farther until this wheel should revolve:—
“Nobody appeared to be able to turn it, till in the midst of their vain efforts some evil spirit presented himself under the disguise of a sage, and informed the chief, whose name was Chen, that the wheel would be made to turn only when he had married his sister Guin. The chief accepted the advice, the wheel turned round, and the name of the tribe after this incident became that of the combined names of the brother and sister, Chenguin, the appellation of all the gypsies of Turkey at the present day.”
The legend goes on to state that in consequence ofthis unnatural marriage the gypsies were cursed and condemned by a Mahometan saint to wander forever on the face of the earth. The real meaning of the myth—for myth it is—is very apparent.Chenis a Romany word, generally pronouncedchone, meaning the moon;[341a]whileguinis almost universally given asganorkan. That is to say, Chen-gan or -kan, or Zin-kan, is much commoner than Chen-guin. Nowkanis a common gypsy word for the sun. George Borrow gives it as such, and I myself have heard Romanys call the sunkan, thoughkamis commoner, and is usually assumed to be right. Chen-kan means, therefore, moon-sun. And it may be remarked in this connection, that the neighboring Roumanian gypsies, who are nearly allied to the Turkish, have a wild legend stating that the sun was a youth who, having fallen in love with his own sister, was condemned as the sun to wander forever in pursuit of her, after she was turned into the moon. A similar legend exists in Greenland[341b]and in the island of Borneo, and it was known to the old Irish. It is in fact a spontaneous myth, or one of the kind which grow up from causes common to all races. It would be natural, to any imaginative savage, to regard the sun and moon as brother and sister. The next step would be to think of the one as regularly pursuing the other over the heavens, and to this chase an erotic cause would naturally be assigned. And as the pursuit is interminable, the pursuer never attaining his aim, it would be in time regarded as a penance. Hence it comes that in the most distant and differentlands we have the same old story of the brother and the sister, just as the Wild Hunter pursues his bride.
It was very natural that the gypsies, observing that the sun and moon were always apparently wandering, should have identified their own nomadic life with that of these luminaries. That they have a tendency to assimilate the idea of a wanderer and pilgrim to that of the Romany, or toRomanipen, is shown by the assertion once made to me by an English gypsy that his people regarded Christ as one of themselves, because he was always poor, and went wandering about on a donkey, and was persecuted by the Gorgios. It may be very rationally objected by those to whom the term “solar myth” is as a red rag, that the story, to prove anything, must first be proved itself. This will probably not be far to seek. Everything about it indicates an Indian origin, and if it can be found among any of the wanderers in India, it may well be accepted as the possible origin of the greatly disputed wordzingan. It is quite as plausible as Dr. Miklosich’s very far-fetched derivation from the Acingani,—’Ατσίyανοι,—an unclean, heretical Christian sect, who dwelt in Phrygia and Lycaonia from the seventh till the eleventh century. The mention of Mekran indicates clearly that the moon story came from India before the Romany could have obtained any Greek name. And if gypsies call themselves or are called Jen-gan, or Chenkan, or Zingan, in the East, especially if they were so called by Persian poets, it is extremely unlikely that they ever received such a name from the Gorgios of Europe. It is really extraordinary that all the philologists who have toiled to derive the wordzinganfrom a Greekor Western source have never reflected that if it was applied to the race at an early time in India or Persia all their speculations must fall to the ground.
One last word of John Nano, who was so called from two similar Indian words, meaning “the pet of his grandfather.” I have in my possession a strange Hindu knife, with an enormously broad blade, perhaps five or six inches broad towards the end, with a long handle richly mounted in the purest bronze with a little silver. I never could ascertain till 1 knew him what it had been used for. Even the old ex-king of Oude, when he examined it, went wrong on it. Not so John Nano.
“I know well enough what that knife is. I have seen it before,—years ago. It is very old, and it was long in use; it was the knife used by the public executioner in Bhotan. It is Bhotanī.”
By the knife hangs the ivory-handled court-dagger which belonged to Francis II. of France, the first husband of Mary Queen of Scots. I wonder which could tell the strangest story of the past!
“It has cut off many a head,” said John Nano, “and I have seen it before!”
I do not think that I have gone too far in attaching importance to the gypsy legend of the origin of the wordchen-kanorzingan. It is their own, and therefore entitled to preference over the theories of mere scholars; it is Indian and ancient, and there is much to confirm it. When I read the substance of this chapter before the Philological Society of London, Prince Lucien Bonaparte,—who is beyond question a great philologist, and one distinguished for vast research,—who was in the chair, seemed, in his comments on my paper, to consider this sun andmoon legend as frivolous. And it is true enough that German symbolizers have given us the sun myth to such an extent that the mere mention of it in philology causes a recoil. Then, again, there is the law of humanity that the pioneer, the gatherer of raw material, who is seldom collector and critic together, is always assailed. Columbus always gets the chains and Amerigo Vespucci the glory. But the legend itself is undeniably of the gypsies and Indian.
It is remarkable that there are certain catch-words, or test-words, among old gypsies with which they try new acquaintances. One of these iskekkávi, a kettle; another,chinamangrī, a bill-hook, or chopper (also a letter), for which there is also another word. But I have found several very deep mothers in sorcery who have given me the word for sun,kam, as a precious secret, but little known. Now the word really is very well known, but the mystery attached to it, as tochoneorshule, the moon, would seem to indicate that at one time these words had a peculiar significance. Once the darkest-colored English gypsy I ever met, wishing to sound the depth of my Romany, asked me for the words for sun and moon, making more account of my knowledge of them than of many more far less known.
As it will interest the reader, I will here give the ballad of the sun and the moon, which exists both in Romany and Roumani, or Roumanian, in the translation which I take from “A Winter in the City of Pleasure” (that is Bucharest), by Florence K. Berger,—a most agreeable book, and one containing two Chapters on the Tzigane, or gypsies.
Brother, one day the Sun resolved to marry. During nine years, drawn by nine fiery horses, he had rolled by heaven and earth as fast as the wind or a flying arrow.
But it was in vain that he fatigued his horses. Nowhere could he find a love worthy of him. Nowhere in the universe was one who equaled in beauty his sister Helen, the beautiful Helen with silver tresses.
The Sun went to meet her, and thus addressed her: “My dear little sister Helen, Helen of the silver tresses, let us be betrothed, for we are made for one another.
“We are alike not only in our hair and our features, but also in our beauty. I have locks of gold, and thou hast locks of silver. My face is shining and splendid, and thine is soft and radiant.”
“O my brother, light of the world, thou who art pure of all stain, one has never seen a brother and sister married together, because it would be a shameful sin.”
At this rebuke the Sun hid himself, and mounted up higher to the throne of God, bent before Him, and spoke:—
“Lord our Father, the time has arrived for me to wed. But, alas! I cannot find a love in the world worthy of me except the beautiful Helen, Helen of the silver hair!”
God heard him, and, taking him by the hand, led him into hell to affright his heart, and then into paradise to enchant his soul.
Then He spake to him, and while He was speakingthe Sun began to shine brightly and the clouds passed over:—
“Radiant Sun! Thou who art free from all stain, thou hast been through hell and hast entered paradise. Choose between the two.”
The Sun replied, recklessly, “I choose hell, if I may have, for a life, Helen, Helen of the shining silver hair.”
The Sun descended from the high heaven to his sister Helen, and ordered preparation for his wedding. He put on her forehead the waving gold chaplet of the bride, he put on her head a royal crown, he put on her body a transparent robe all embroidered with fine pearls, and they all went into the church together.
But woe to him, and woe to her! During the service the lights were extinguished, the bells cracked while ringing, the seats turned themselves upside down, the tower shook to its base, the priests lost their voices, and the sacred robes were torn off their backs.
The bride was convulsed with fear. For suddenly, woe to her! an invisible hand grasped her up, and, having borne her on high, threw her into the sea, where she was at once changed into a beautiful silver fish.
The Sun grew pale and rose into the heaven. Then descending to the west, he plunged into the sea to search for his sister Helen, Helen of the shining silver hair.
However, the Lord God (sanctified in heaven and upon the earth) took the fish in his hand, cast it forth into the sky, and changed it anew into the moon.
Then He spoke. And while God was speaking the entire universe trembled, the peaks of the mountains bowed down, and men shivered with fear.
“Thou, Helen of the long silver tresses, and thou resplendent Sun, who are both free from all stain, I condemn you for eternity to follow each other with your eyes through space, without being ever able to meet or to reach each other upon the road of heaven. Pursue one another for all time in traveling around the skies and lighting up the world.”
* * * * *
Fallen from a high estate by sin, wicked, and therefore wandering: it was with such a story of being penitent pilgrims, doomed for a certain space to walk the earth, that the gypsies entered Europe from India, into Islam and into Christendom, each time modifying the story to suit the religion of the country which they invaded. Now I think that this sun and moon legend is far from being frivolous, and that it conforms wonderfully well with the famous story which they told to the Emperor Sigismund and the Pope and all Europe, that they were destined to wander because they had sinned. When they first entered Europe, the gypsies were full of these legends; they told them to everybody; but they had previously told them to themselves in the form of the Indian sun and moon story. This was the root whence other stories grew. As the tale of the Wandering Jew typifies the Hebrew, so does this of the sun and moon the Romany.