CHAPTER VIII

Whilstin 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 utterlygodless. 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 thepimientos”; 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 utterlygodless.

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.

Thereis 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, theirdrapasandkæmpe-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, evenat 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 allI 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 sadCoruncho 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]

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 affordTo this poor troubled heart.

The false Juanito, day and night,Had best with caution go,The Gypsy carles of Yeira heightHave 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 floodThe shirt which binds my frame;But in Juanito Ralli’s bloodI bravely wash’d the same.

I sallied forth upon my grey,With him my hated foe,And when we reach’d the narrow wayI dealt a dagger blow.

To blessed Jesus’ holy feetI’d rush to kill and slayMy 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 bearNews 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 endThy 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 rodeA man came suddenly;And he his love and kindness show’dBy setting his dog on me.

Unless within a fortnight’s spaceThy 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 caseFor 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 hateHave vow’d against me, love!The first, first night that from the gateWe 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 eyeHas pierced my bosom’s core,A feat no eye beneath the skyCould 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 wifeThe Lord has punish’d me;I dare not take her for my lifeWhere’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 knifeAnd 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 beganTo show her silver flame,There came to him no Gypsy man,The Gypsy lassie came.

TheGitános, 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 greatestmajo, 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 termpicardías. 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 ortratofor 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 theAficion. 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.

PART THE FIRST

I with fear and terror quake,Whilst the pen to write I take;I will utter many a pray’rTo the heaven’s Regent fair,That she deign to succour me,And I’ll humbly bend my knee;For but poorly do I knowWith my subject on to go;Therefore is my wisest planNot to trust in strength of man.I my heavy sins bewail,Whilst I view the wo and wailHanded down so solemnlyIn the book of times gone by.Onward, onward, now I’ll moveIn 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 heardI will state—how God appear’dAnd 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 LordIn his hand doth hold a sword.And good Noah thus did call:Straight repent ye one and all,For the world with grief I seeLost 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 airDrag the Patriarch by the hair;Lewdness governs every one:Leaves her convent now the nun,And the monk abroad I seePractising iniquity.Now I’ll tell how God, intentTo 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’erspreadAll with darkness thick and dread;I the pen can scarcely plyFor the tears which dim my eye,And o’ercome with grievous wo,Fear the task I must foregoI have purposed to perform.—Hark, I hear upon the stormThousand, thousand devils fly,Who with awful howlings cry:Now’s the time and now’s the hour,We have licence, we have powerTo 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 stonesBruise and bury all below—Nor is that the worst, I trow,For the clouds begin to pourFloods of water more and more,Down upon the world with might,Never pausing day or night.Now in terrible distressAll to God their cries address,And his Mother dear adore,—But the time of grace is o’er,For the Almighty in the skyHolds 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’ninglyDraweth 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 thingBut from out its hold doth spring:See the mouse, and see its mateScour along, nor stop, nor wait;See the serpent and the snakeFor 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 hillAll assembled stand they still;In the second part I’ll tellUnto 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 sightAll that’s wings beneath the sky,Bat and swallow, wasp and fly,Gnat and sparrow, and behindComes the crow of carrion kind;Dove and pigeon are descried,And the raven fiery-eyed,With the beetle and the craneFlying on the hurricane:See they find no resting-place,For the world’s terrestrial spaceIs 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 livesKindly he admission gives.Of all kinds a single pair,And the members safely thereOf 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 peakNow 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 seeSwimming on the enormous seaHuman 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 pretendThat the latter world shall endTo 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 LordIn his mercy rest accord.Early of a morning tideThey 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’ spaceIt 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 repairTo 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 writeUnto all that in our landTongue Egyptian understand.May our Virgin Mother mildGrant to me, her erring child,Plenteous grace in every way,And success. Amen I say.

THE PESTILENCE

I’m resolved now to tellIn the speech of Gypsy-landAll the horror that befellIn this city huge and grand.

In the eighteenth hundred yearIn the midst of summertide,God, with man dissatisfied,His right hand on high did rear,With a rigour most severe;Whence we well might understandHe would strict account demandOf our lives and actions here.The dread event to render clearNow 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 castAll and utterly aside,As if death itself had died.Therefore to the present raceThese memorial lines I traceIn old Egypt’s tongue of pride.

As the streets you wander’d throughHow you quail’d with fear and dread,Heaps of dying and of deadAt the leeches’ door to view.To the tavern O how fewTo 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 entreatLong 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 meNot a friar or priest to seeIn this city huge and fair.

‘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.

TheGypsy 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 theydidunderstand the Romaic in 1540, we gather from a very remarkable work, calledEl 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 Cortesánowas 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.

The modern Persian, as has been already observed, is a daughter of the ancient Zend, and, as such, is entitled to claim affinity with the Sanscrit, and its dialects. With this language none in the world would be able to vie in simplicity and beauty, had not the Persians, in adopting the religion of Mahomet, unfortunately introduces into their speech an infinity of words of the rude coarse language used by the barbaric Arab tribes, the immediate followers of the warlike Prophet. With the rise of Islam the modern Persian was doomed to be carried into India. This country, from the time of Alexander, had enjoyed repose from external aggression, had been ruled by its native princes, and been permitted by Providence to exercise, without control or reproof, the degrading superstitions, and the unnatural and bloody rites of a religion at the formation of which the fiends of cruelty and lust seem to have presided; but reckoning was now about to be demanded of the accursed ministers of this system for the pain, torture, and misery which they had been instrumental in inflicting on their countrymen for the gratification of their avarice, filthy passions, and pride; the new Mahometans were at hand—Arab, Persian, and Afghan, with the glittering scimitar upraised, full of zeal for the glory and adoration of the one high God, and the relentless persecutors of the idol-worshippers. Already, in the four hundred and twenty-sixth year of the Hegeira, we read of the destruction of the great Butkhan, or image-house of Sumnaut, by the armies of the far-conquering Mahmoud, when the dissevered heads of the Brahmans rolled down the steps of the gigantic and Babel-like temple of the great image—

Text which cannot be reproduced—Arabic?

(This image grim, whose name was Laut,Bold Mahmoud found when he took Sumnaut.)

It is not our intention to follow the conquests of the Mahometans from the days of Walid and Mahmoud to those of Timour and Nadir; sufficient to observe, that the greatest part of India was subdued, new monarchies established, and the old religion, though far too powerful and widely spread to be extirpated, was to a considerable extent abashed and humbled before the bright rising sun of Islam. The Persian language, which the conquerors[324]of whatever denomination introduced with them to Hindustan, and which their descendants at the present day still retain, though not lords of the ascendant, speedily became widely extended in these regions, where it had previously been unknown. As the language of the court, it was of course studied and acquired by all those natives whose wealth, rank, and influence necessarily brought them into connection with the ruling powers; and as the language of the camp, it was carried into every part of the country where the duties of the soldiery sooner or later conducted them; the result of which relations between the conquerors and conquered was the adoption into the popular dialects of India of an infinity of modern Persian words, not merely those of science, such as it exists in the East, and of luxury and refinement, but even those which serve to express many of the most common objects, necessities, and ideas, so that at the present day a knowledge of the Persian is essential for the thorough understanding of the principal dialects of Hindustan, on which account, as well as for the assistance which it affords in communication with the Mahometans, it is cultivated with peculiar care by the present possessors of the land.

No surprise, therefore, can be entertained that the speech of the Gitános in general, who, in all probability, departed from Hindustan long subsequent to the first Mahometan invasions, abounds, like other Indian dialects, with words either purely Persian, or slightly modified to accommodate them to the genius of the language. Whether the Rommany originally constituted part of the natives of Multan or Guzerat, and abandoned their native land to escape from the torch and sword of Tamerlane and his Mongols, as Grellmann and others have supposed, or whether, as is much more probable, they were a thievish caste, like some others still to be found in Hindustan, who fled westward, either from the vengeance of justice, or in pursuit of plunder, their speaking Persian is alike satisfactorily accounted for. With the view of exhibiting how closely their language is connected with the Sanscrit and Persian, we subjoin the first ten numerals in the three tongues, those of the Gypsy according to the Hungarian dialect.[325a]

Gypsy.

Persian.

Sanscrit.[325b]

Jek

Ega

Dui

Dvaya

Trin

Treya

Schtar

Chehar

Tschatvar

Pansch

Pantscha

Tschov

Schesche

Schasda

Efta

Heft

Sapta

Ochto

Hescht

Aschta

Enija

Nava

Dösch

Dascha

It would be easy for us to adduce a thousand instances, as striking as the above, of the affinity of the Gypsy tongue to the Persian, Sanscrit, and the Indian dialects, but we have not space for further observation on a point which long since has been sufficiently discussed by others endowed with abler pens than our own; but having made these preliminary remarks, which we deemed necessary for the elucidation of the subject, we now hasten to speak of the Gitáno language as used in Spain, and to determine, by its evidence (and we again repeat, that the language is the only criterion by which the question can be determined), how far the Gitános of Spain are entitled to claim connection with the tribes who, under the names of Zingáni, etc., are to be found in various parts of Europe, following, in general, a life of wandering adventure, and practising the same kind of thievish arts which enable those in Spain to obtain a livelihood at the expense of the more honest and industrious of the community.

The Gitános of Spain, as already stated, are generally believed to be the descendants of the Moriscos, and have been asserted to be such in printed books.[326]Now they are known to speak a language or jargon amongst themselves which the other natives of Spain do not understand; of course, then, supposing them to be of Morisco origin, the words of this tongue or jargon, which are not Spanish, are the relics of the Arabic or Moorish tongue once spoken in Spain, which they have inherited from their Moorish ancestors. Now it is well known, that the Moorish of Spain was the same tongue as that spoken at present by the Moors of Barbary, from which country Spain was invaded by the Arabs, and to which they again retired when unable to maintain their ground against the armies of the Christians. We will, therefore, collate the numerals of the Spanish Gitáno with those of the Moorish tongue, preceding both with those of the Hungarian Gypsy, of which we have already made use, for the purpose of making clear the affinity of that language to the Sanscrit and Persian. By this collation we shall at once perceive whether the Gitáno of Spain bears most resemblance to the Arabic, or the Rommany of other lands.

HungarianGypsy.

SpanishGitáno.

MoorishArabic.

Jek

Yeque

Wahud

Dui

Snain

Trin

Slatza

Schtar

Estar

Arba

Pansch

Pansche

Khamsa

Tschov

Job. Zoi

Seta

Efta

Hefta

Sebéa

Ochto

Otor

Sminía

Enija

Esnia (Nu.Pers.)

Tussa

Dösch

Deque

Aschra

We believe the above specimens will go very far to change the opinion of those who have imbibed the idea that the Gitános of Spain are the descendants of Moors, and are of an origin different from that of the wandering tribes of Rommany in other parts of the world, the specimens of the two dialects of the Gypsy, as far as they go, being so strikingly similar, as to leave no doubt of their original identity, whilst, on the contrary, with the Moorish neither the one nor the other exhibits the slightest point of similarity or connection. But with these specimens we shall not content ourselves, but proceed to give the names of the most common things and objects in the Hungarian and Spanish Gitáno, collaterally, with their equivalents in the Moorish Arabic; from which it will appear that whilst the former are one and the same language, they are in every respect at variance with the latter. When we consider that the Persian has adopted so many words and phrases from the Arabic, we are at first disposed to wonder that a considerable portion of these words are not to be discovered in every dialect of the Gypsy tongue, since the Persian has lent it so much of its vocabulary. Yet such is by no means the case, as it is very uncommon, in any one of these dialects, to discover words derived from the Arabic. Perhaps, however, the following consideration will help to solve this point. The Gitános, even before they left India, were probably much the same rude, thievish, and ignorant people as they are at the present day. Now the words adopted by the Persian from the Arabic, and which it subsequently introduced into the dialects of India, are sounds representing objects and ideas with which such a people as the Gitános could necessarily be but scantily acquainted, a people whose circle of ideas only embraces physical objects, and who never commune with their own minds, nor exert them but in devising low and vulgar schemes of pillage and deceit. Whatever is visible and common is seldom or never represented by the Persians, even in their books, by the help of Arabic words: the sun and stars, the sea and river, the earth, its trees, its fruits, its flowers, and all that it produces and supports, are seldom named by them by other terms than those which their own language is capable of affording; but in expressing the abstract thoughts of their minds, and they are a people who think much and well, they borrow largely from the language of their religion—the Arabic. We therefore, perhaps, ought not to be surprised that in the scanty phraseology of the Gitános, amongst so much Persian, we find so little that is Arabic; had their pursuits been less vile, their desires less animal, and their thoughts less circumscribed, it would probably have been otherwise; but from time immemorial they have shown themselves a nation of petty thieves, horse-traffickers, and the like, without a thought of the morrow, being content to provide against the evil of the passing day.

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