Never did a Gipsy trace Smoother lines in hands or face; Venus here doth Saturne move That you should be the Queene of Love."

BEN JONSON.

"Fond dreamer, pause! why floats the silvery breath Of thin, light smoke from yonder bank of heath?

What forms are those beneath the s.h.a.ggy trees, In tattered tent, scarce sheltered from the breeze; The h.o.a.ry father and the ancient dame, The squalid children, cowering o'er the flame?

Those were not born by English hearths to dwell, Or heed the carols of the village bell; Those swarthy lineaments, that wild attire, Those stranger tones, bespeak an eastern sire; Bid us in home's most favoured precincts trace The houseless children of a homeless race; And as in warning vision seem to show That man's best joys are drowned by shades of woe.

"Pilgrims of Earth, who hath not owned the spell That ever seems around your tents to dwell; Solemn and thrilling as the nameless dread That guards the chambers of the silent dead!

The sportive child, if near your camp he stray, Stands tranced with fear, and heeds no more his play; To gain your magic aid, the love-sick swain, With hasty footsteps threads the dusky lane; The pa.s.sing traveller lingers, half in sport, And half in awe beside your savage court, While the weird hags explore his palm to spell What varied fates these mystic lines foretell.

"The murmuring streams your minstrel songs supply, The moss your couch, the oak your canopy; The sun awakes you as with trumpet-call, Lightly ye spring from slumber's gentle thrall; Eve draws her curtain o'er the burning west, Like forest birds ye sink at once to rest.

"Free as the winds that through the forest rush, Wild as the flowers that by the wayside blush, Children of nature wandering to and fro, Man knows not whence ye came, nor where ye go; Like foreign weeds cast upon Western strands, Which stormy waves have borne from unknown lands; Like the murmuring sh.e.l.ls to fancy's ears that tell The mystic secrets of their ocean cell.

"Drear was the scene-a dark and troublous time- The Heaven all gloom, the wearied Earth all crime; Men deemed they saw the unshackled powers of ill Rage in that storm, and work their perfect will.

Then like a traveller, when the wild wind blows, And black night flickers with the driving snows, A stranger people, 'mid that murky gloom, Knocked at the gates of awe-struck Christendom!

No clang of arms, no din of battle roared Round the still march of that mysterious horde; Weary and sad arrayed in pilgrim's guise, They stood and prayed, nor raised their suppliant eyes.

At once to Europe's hundred sh.o.r.es they came, In voice, in feature, and in garb the same.

Mother and babe and youth, and h.o.a.ry age, The haughty chieftain and the wizard sage; At once in every land went up the cry, 'Oh! fear us not-receive us or we die!'"

DEAN STANLEY'S PRIZE POEM, 1837: "The Gipsies."

Part IV.

Gipsy Life in a Variety of Aspects.

[Picture: A Gipsy's van near Notting Hill, Latimer Road]

In Part III. I have endeavoured, as well as I have been able, to show some of the agencies that have been set in motion during the last three centuries for and against the Gipsies, with a view to their extermination, by the hang-man, to their being reclaimed by the religious zeal and fervour of the minister, and to their improvement by the artificial means of poetry, fiction, and romance. First, the persecution dealt out to the Gipsies in this, as well as other countries, during a period of several centuries, although to a large extent brought upon themselves by their horrible system of lying and deception, neither exterminated them nor improved their habits; but, on the contrary, they increased and spread like mushrooms; the oftener they were trampled upon the more they seemed to thrive; the more they were hated, hunted, and driven into hiding-places the oftener these sly, fortune-telling, lying foxes would be seen sneaking across our path, ready to grab our chickens and young turkeys as opportunities presented themselves. Second, that when stern justice said "it is enough," persecution hanging down its hands and revenge drooping her head, a few n.o.ble-hearted men, filled with missionary zeal, took up the cause of the Gipsies for a period of nearly forty years in various forms and ways at the end of the last and the commencement of the present century. Except in a few isolated cases, they also failed in producing any noticeable change in either the moral, social, or religious condition of the Gipsies, and with the death of Hoyland, Borrow, Crabb, Roberts, and others, died the last flicker of a flickering light that was to lead these poor, deluded, benighted heathen wanderers upon a road to usefulness, honesty, uprightness, and industry.

Third, that on the decline of religious zeal, fervour, and philanthropy on behalf of the Gipsies more than forty years ago the spasmodic efforts of poets, novelists, and dramatists, in a variety of forms of fiction and romance, came to the front, to lead them to the goal through a lot of questionable by-lanes, queer places, and artificial lights, the result being that these melodramatic personages have left the Gipsies in a more pitiable condition than they were before they took up their cause, although they, in doing so, put "two faces under one hat," blessing and cursing, smiling and frowning, all in one breath, praising their faults and sins, and d.a.m.ning their _few_ virtues. In fact, to such a degree have fiction writers painted the black side of a Gipsy's life, habits, and character in glowing colours that, to take another 20,000 men, women, and children out of our back slums and sink-gutters and write the word "Gipsy" upon their back, instead of "scamp," and send them through the country with a few donkeys, some long sticks, old blankets and rags, dark eyes, dirty faces, filthy bodies, short petticoats, and old scarlet hoods and cloaks, you would in fifty years make this country not worth living in. It is my decided conviction that unless we are careful, and take the "bull by the horns," and compel them to educate their children, and to put their habitations, tents, and vans under better sanitary arrangements, we shall be fostering seeds in these dregs of society that will one day put a stop to the work of civilisation, and bring to an end the advance in arts, science, laws, and commerce that have been making such rapid strides in this country of late years.

It is more pleasant to human nature to sit upon a stile on a midsummer eve, down a country lane, in the twilight, as the shades of evening are gathering around you, the stars twinkling over head, the little silver stream rippling over the pebbles at your feet in sounds like the distant warbling of the lark, and the sweet notes of the nightingale ringing in your ears, than to visit the abodes of misery, filth, and squalor among the Gipsies in their wigwams. It is more agreeable to the soft parts of our hearts and our finer feelings to listen to the melody and harmony of lively, lovely damsels as they send forth their enchanting strains than to hear the cries of the poor little, dirty Gipsy children sending forth their piteous moans for bread. It is more delightful to the poetic and sentimental parts of our nature to guide over the stepping-stones a number of bright, sharp, clean, lively, interesting, little dears, with their "hoops," "shuttle-c.o.c.ks," and "battle-doors," than to be seated among a lot of little ragged, half-starved Gipsy children, who have never known what soap, water, and comb are. It is more in harmony with our sensibilities to sit and listen to the drollery, wit, sarcasm, and fun of _Punch_ than to the horrible tales of blood, revenge, immorality, and murder that some of the adult Gipsies delight in setting forth. It is more in accordance with our feelings to sit and admire the innocent, angelic being, the perfection of the good and beautiful, than to sit by the hardened, wicked, ugly, old Gipsy woman who has spent a lifetime in sin and debauchery, cursing the G.o.d who made her as she expires.

Nevertheless, these things have to be done if we are to have the angelic beings from the other world ministering to our wants, and wafting us home as we leave our tenement of clay behind to receive the "Well done."

I will now, as we pa.s.s along, endeavour to show what the actual condition of the Gipsies has been in the past, and what it is at the present time, which, in some cases, has been touched upon previously, with reference to the moral, social, and religious traits in their character that go to the making up of a MAN-the n.o.blest work of G.o.d. The peculiar fascinating charms about them, conjured up by ethnologists and philologists, I will leave for those learned gentlemen to deal with as they may think well. I will, however, say that, as regards their so-called language, it is neither more nor less than gibberish, not "full of sound and fury signifying nothing," but full of "sound and fury" signifying something.

They never converse with it openly among themselves for a good purpose, as the Frenchmen, Germans, Turks, Spaniards, or other foreigners do.

Some of the old Gipsies have a thousand or more leading words made up from various sources, English, French, German, Spanish, Indian, &c., which they teach their children, and use in the presence of strangers with a certain amount of pride, and, at the same time, to throw dust into their eyes while the Gipsies are talking among themselves. They will in the same breath bless you in English and curse you in Romany; this I experienced myself lately while sitting in a tent among a dozen uninteresting-looking Gipsies, while they one and all were thanking me for taking steps to get the children educated. There was one among them who with a smile upon his face, was cursing me in Romany from his heart.

Many writers differ in the spelling and p.r.o.nunciation of Gipsy words, and what strikes me as remarkable is, the Gipsies themselves are equally confused upon these points. No doubt the confusion in the minds of writers arises princ.i.p.ally from the fact that they have had their information from ignorant, lying, deceiving Gipsies. Almost all Gipsies have an inveterate hatred and jealousy towards each other, especially if one sets himself up as knowing more than John Jones in the next yard.

One Gipsy would say paanengro-gujo means sailor, or water gentile, another Gipsy would say it means an Irishman, or potato gentile; another would say poovengri-gujo meant a sailor; another would say it means an Irishman. They glory in contradictions and mystification. I was at an encampment a few days ago, and out of the twenty-five men and women and forty children there were not three that could talk Romany, and there was not one who could spell a single word of it. Their language, like themselves, was Indian enough, no doubt, when they started on their pilgrimage many centuries ago; but, as a consequence of their mixing with the sc.u.m of other nations in their journey westward, the charm in their language and themselves has pretty nearly by this time vanished. If I were to attempt to write a book about their language it would not do the Gipsies one iota of good. "G.o.d bless you" are words the Gipsies very often use when showing their kindness for favours received, and, as a kind of test, I have tried to find out lately if there were any Gipsies round London who could tell me what these words were in Romany, and I have only found one who could perform the task. They all shake their heads and say, "Ours is not a language, only slang, which we use when required." Taking their slang generally, according to Grellmann, Hoyland, Borrow, Smart, and Crofton, there is certainly nothing very elevating about it. Worldliness, sensuality, and devilism are things helped forward by their gibberish. Words dealing with honesty, uprightness, fidelity, industry, religion, cleanliness, and love are very spa.r.s.e.

William Stanley, a converted Gipsy, said, some years since, that "G.o.d bless you" was in Romany, Artmee Devillesty; Smart and Crofton say it is, Dovel, parav, parik toot, toti. In another place they say it is Doovel jal toosa. Mrs. Simpson says it is, Mi-Doovel-kom-tooti. Mrs. Smith says it is Mi-Doovel Andy-Paratuta.

The following are the whole of the slang words Smart and Crofton have under the letters indicated, and which words are taken princ.i.p.ally from Grellmann, Hoyland, Borrow, and Dr. Paspati:-

I.

I, Man, me, mandi, manghi.

Ill, Nasfelo, naffelo d.o.o.s.h.

Illness, Naffelopen.

Ill-tempered, Krni.

Imitation, Foshono.

Immediately, Kenaw sig.

In, Adre, dre, ando, inna.

Indebted, Pazerous.

Inflame, Katcher.

Injure, Dooka.

Inn, Kitchema.

Innkeeper, Kitchemengro.

Intestine, Venderi.

Into, Ande, adre, dre.

Ireland, Hindo-tem, Hinditemeskro-tem.

Irishman, Hindi-temengro, poovengri gaujo.

Irish Gipsy, Ef.a.ge.

Iron, Saster, saasta, saashta.

Iron, Sastera.

Is, See.

It, Les.

Itch, Honj.

J.

Jail, Steripen.

Jews, Miduvelesto-mauromengri.