GUDLO XXXIV. THE GIPSY TELLS OF WILL-O’-THE-WISP.
Does mandy jin the lav adrée Rommanis for a Jack-o’-lantern—the dood that prasters, and hatches, an’ kells o’ the rātti, parl the panni, adrée the puvs? Avali; some pens ’em the Momeli Mullos, and some the Bitti Mullos. They’re bitti geeros who rikker tute adrée the gógemars, an’ sikker tute a dood till you’re all jālled apré a wafro drum an nashered, an’ odöi they chiv their kokeros pāuli an’ savs at tute. Mandy’s dicked their doods ádusta cheiruses, an’ kekoomi; but my pal dicked längis muis pāsh mungwe yeck rātti. He was jāllin’ langus an’ dicked their doods, and jinned it was the yāg of lesters tan. So he pallered ’em, an’ they tàdered him dúkker the drum, parl the bors, weshes, puvius, gogemars, till they lelled him adrée the panni, an then savvy’d avree. And odöi he dicked lender pré the waver rikk, mā lesters kokerus yākkis, an’ they were bitti mushis, bitti chovihānis, about dui peeras boro. An’ my pal was bengis hunnalo, an’ sovahalled pal’ lengis, “If I lelled you acai, you ratfolly juckos! if I nashered you, I’d chin tutes curros!” An’ he jālled to tan ajaw an’ pookered mandy saw dovo ’pré dovo rat. “Kún sus adovo?” Āvali, rya; dovo was pāsh Kaulo Panni—near Blackwater.
TRANSLATION.
Do I know the word in Rommanis for a Jack-o’-lantern—the light that runs, and stops, and dances by night, over the water, in the fields? Yes; some call them the Light Ghosts, and some the Little Ghosts. They’re little men who lead you into the waste and swampy places, and show you a light until you have gone astray and are lost, and then they turn themselves around and laugh at you. I have seen their lights many a time, and nothing more; but my brother saw their faces close and opposite to him (directly vis-à-vis) one night. He was going along and saw their lights, and thought it was the fire of his tent. So he followed them, and they drew him from the road over hedges, woods, fields, and lonely marshes till they got him in the water, and then laughed out loud. And there he saw them with his own eyes, on the opposite side, and they were little fellows, little goblins, about two feet high. And my brother was devilish angry, and swore at them! “If I had you here, you wretched dogs! if I caught you, I’d cut your throats!” And he went home and told me all that that night. “Where was it?” Yes, sir; that was near Blackwater.
GUDLO XXXV. THE GIPSY EXPLAINS WHY THE FLOUNDER HAS HIS MOUTH ON ONE SIDE.
Yeckorus sār the matchis jālled an’ suvved kettenescrus ’drée the panni. And yeck penned as yuv was a boro mush, an’ the waver rakkered ajaw sā yuv was a borodiro mush, and sār pookered sigán ket’nus how lengis were borodirer mushis. Adöi the flounder shelled avree for his meriben “Mandy’s the krallis of you sār!” an’ he shelled so surrelo he kaired his mui bongo, all o’ yeck rikkorus. So to akovo divvus acäi he’s penned the Krallis o’ the Matchis, and rikkers his mui bongo sār o’ yeck sidus.
Mushis shouldn’t shell too shunaben apré lengis kokeros.
TRANSLATION.
Once all the fish came and swam together in the water. And one said that he was a great person, and the other declared that he was a greater person, and (at last) all cried out at once what great characters (men) they all were. Then the flounder shouted for his life, “I’m the king of you all!” and he roared so violently he twisted his mouth all to one side. So to this day he is called the King of the Fishes, and bears his face crooked all on one side.
Men should not boast too loudly of themselves.
GUDLO XXXVI. A GIPSY ACCOUNT OF THE TRUE ORIGIN OF THE FISH CALLED OLD MAIDS OR YOUNG MAIDS.
Yeckorus kushti-dickin raklos were suvvin’ ’drée the lun panni, and there welled odoi some plochti rāklis an’ juvas who pooked the tāno ryas to hav’ avree an’ choomer ’em. But the rāklos wouldn’t well avree, so the rānis rikkered their rivabens avree an’ pirried adrée the panni paul’ lendy. An’ the ryas who were kandered alay, suvved andurer ’drée the panni, an’ the rānis pallered ’em far avree till they were saw latchered, rāklos and rāklis. So the tauno ryas were purabened into Barini Mushi Matchis because they were too ladge (latcho) of the rānis that kaumed ’em, and the rānis were kaired adrée Puri Rāni Matchis and Tāni Rāni Matchis because they were too tatti an’ ruzli.
Rāklos shouldn’t be too ladge, nor rāklis be too boro of their kokeros.
TRANSLATION.
Once some handsome youths were swimming in the sea, and there came some wanton women and girls who told the young men to come out and kiss them. But the youths would not come out, so the ladies stripped themselves and ran into the water after them. And the gentles who were driven away swam further into the water, and the ladies followed them far away till all were lost, boys and girls. So the young men were changed into Codfish because they were too shy of the girls that loved them, and the ladies were turned into Old Maids and Young Maids because they were too wanton and bold.
Men should not be too modest, nor girls too forward.
GUDLO XXXVII. HOW LORD COVENTRY LEAPED THE GIPSY TENT. A TRUE STORY.
I dicked Lord Coventry at the Worcester races. He kistured lester noko grai adrée the steeple-chase for the ruppeny—kek,—a sonnakai tank I think it was,—but he nashered. It was dovo tāno rye that yeck divvus in his noko park dicked a Rommany chal’s tan pāsh the rikk of a bor; and at yeck leap he kistered apré the bor, and jālled right atut an’ parl the Rommany chal’s tan. “Ha, kún’s acai?” he shelled, as he dicked the tikno kaulos; “a Rommany chal’s tan!” And from dovo divvus he mukked akovo Rom hatch his cāmmoben ’pré his puv. Tácho.
Ruzlo mushis has boro sees.
TRANSLATION.
I saw Lord Coventry at the Worcester races. He rode his own horse in the steeple-chase for the silver—no, it was a gold tankard, I think, but he lost.
It was that young gentleman who one day in his own park saw a Gipsy tent by the side of a hedge, and took a flying leap over tent, hedge, and all. “Ha, what’s here?” he cried, as he saw the little brown children; “a Gipsy’s tent!” And from that day he let that Gipsy stay as much as he pleased on his land.
Bold men have generous hearts.
GUDLO XXXVIII. OF MR BARTLETT’S LEAP.
Dovo’s sim to what they pens of Mr Bartlett in Glo’stershire, who had a fino tem pāsh Glo’ster an’ Bristol, where he jivved adrée a boro ker. Kek mush never dicked so booti weshni juckalos or weshni kannis as yuv rikkered odöi. They prastered atūt saw the drumyas sim as kanyas. Yeck divvus he was kisterin’ on a kushto grai, an’ he dicked a Rommany chal rikkerin’ a truss of gib-pūss ’pré lester dūmo prāl a bitti drum, an’ kistered ’pré the pooro mush, pūss an’ sār. I jins that puro mush better ’n I jins tute, for I was a’ter yeck o’ his raklis yeckorus; he had kushti-dick raklis, an’ he was old Knight Locke. “Puro,” pens the rye, “did I kair you trash?” “I māng tūte’s shunaben, rya,” pens Locke pauli; “I didn’t jin tute sus wellin’!” So puro Locke hatched odöi ’pré dovo tem sār his miraben, an’ that was a kushti covva for the puro Locke.
TRANSLATION.
That is like what is told of Mr Bartlett in Gloucestershire, who had a fine place near Gloucester and Bristol, where he lived in a great house. No man ever saw so many foxes or pheasants as he kept there. They ran across all the paths like hens. One day he was riding on a fine horse, when he saw a Gipsy carrying a truss of wheat-straw on his back up a little path, and leaped over the poor man, straw and all. I knew that old man better than I know you, for I was after one of his daughters then; he had beautiful girls, and he was old Knight Locke. “Old fellow,” said the gentleman, “did I frighten you?” “I beg your pardon, sir,” said Locke after him; “I didn’t know you were coming!” So old Locke stayed on that land all his life, and that was a good thing for old Locke.
GUDLO XXXIX. THE GIPSY, THE PIG, AND THE MUSTARD.
Yeckorus a Rommany chal jālled to a boro givescroker sā’s the rye sus hawin’. And sikk’s the Rom wan’t a-dickin’, the rye all-sido pordered a kell-mallico pāsh kris, an’ del it to the Rommany chal. An’ sā’s the kris dantered adrée his gullo, he was pāsh tassered, an’ the panni welled in his yākkas. Putched the rye, “Kún’s tute ruvvin’ ajaw for?” An’ he rākkered pauli, “The kris lelled mandys bávol ajaw.” Penned the rye, “I kaum the kris’ll del tute kushti bāk.” “Parraco, rya,” penned the Rom pauli; “I’ll kommer it kairs dovo.” Sikk’s the rye bitchered his sherro, the Rommany chal loured the krissko-curro mā the ruppeny rooy, an’ kek dicked it. The waver divvus anpauli, dovo Rom jālled to the ryas baulo-tan, an’ dicked odöi a boro rikkeno baulo, an’ gillied, “I’ll dick acai if I can kair tute ruv a bitti.”
Now, rya, you must jin if you del a baulor kris adrée a pābo, he can’t shell avree or kair a gudlo for his miraben, an’ you can rikker him bissin’, or chiv him apré a wardo, an’ jāl andūrer an’ kek jin it. An’ dovo’s what the Rommany chal kaired to the baulor, pāsh the sim kris; an’ as he bissered it avree an’ pakkered it adrée a gunno, he penned shukkár adrée the baulor’s kan, “Cālico tute’s rye hatched my bavol, an’ the divvus I’ve hatched tute’s; an’ yeckorus your rye kaumed the kris would del mandy kushti bāk, and kennā it has del mengy kushtier bāk than ever he jinned.
Ryes must be sig not to kair pyass an’ trickis atop o’ choro mushis.
TRANSLATION.
Once a Gipsy went to a great farmhouse as the gentleman sat at table eating. And so soon as the Gipsy looked away, the gentleman very quietly filled a cheese-cake with mustard and gave it to the Gipsy. When the mustard bit in his throat, he was half choked, and the tears came into his eyes. The gentleman asked him, “What are you weeping for now?” And he replied, “The mustard took my breath away.” The gentleman said, “I hope the mustard will give you good luck!” “Thank you, sir,” answered the Gipsy; “I’ll take care it does” (that). As soon as the gentleman turned his head, the Gipsy stole the mustard-pot with the silver spoon, and no one saw it. The next day after, that Gipsy went to the gentleman’s pig-pen, and saw there a great fine-looking pig, and sang, “I’ll see now if I can make you weep a bit.”
Now, sir, you must know that if you give a pig mustard in an apple, he can’t cry out or squeal for his life, and you can carry him away, or throw him on a waggon, and get away, and nobody will know it. And that is what the Gipsy did to the pig, with the same mustard; and as he ran it away and put it in a bag, he whispered softly into the pig’s ear, “Yesterday your master stopped my breath, and to-day I’ve stopped yours; and once your master hoped the mustard would give me good luck, and now it has given me better luck than he ever imagined.”
Gentlemen must be careful not to make sport of and play tricks on poor men.
GUDLO XL. EXPLAINING THE ORIGIN OF A CURRENT GIPSY PROVERB OR SAYING.
Trin or shtor beshes pauli kennā yeck o’ the Petulengros dicked a boro mullo baulor adrée a bitti drum. An’ sig as he latched it, some Rommany chals welled alay an’ dicked this here Rommany chal. So Petulengro he shelled avree, “A fino baulor! saw tulloben! jāl an the sala an’ you shall have pāsh.” And they welled apopli adrée the sāla and lelled pāsh sār tacho. And ever sense dovo divvus it’s a rākkerben o’ the Rommany chals, “Sār tulloben; jāl an the sāla an’ tute shall lel your pash.”
TRANSLATION.
Three or four years ago one of the Smiths found a great dead pig in a lane. And just as he found it, some Gipsies came by and saw this Rommany. So Smith bawled out to them, “A fine pig! all fat! come in the morning and you shall have half.” And they returned in the morning and got half, all right. And ever since it has been a saying with the Gipsies, “It’s all fat; come in the morning and get your half.”
GUDLO XLI. THE GIPSY’S FISH-HOOK.
Yeckorus a rye pookered a Rommany chal he might jāl matchyin’ ’drée his panni, and he’d del lester the cāmmoben for trin mushi, if he’d only matchy with a bongo sivv an’ a púnsy-ran. So the Rom jālled with India-drab kaired apré moro, an’ he drabbered saw the matchas adrée the panni, and rikkered avree his wardo sār pordo. A boro cheirus pauli dovo, the rye dicked the Rommany chal, an’ penned, “You choramengro, did tute lel the matchas avree my panni with a hook?” “Āyali, rya, with a hook,” penned the Rom pāle, werry sido. “And what kind of a hook?” “Rya,” rākkered the Rom, “it was yeck o’ the longi kind, what we pens in amandis jib a hookaben” (i.e., huckaben or hoc’aben).
When you del a mush cāmmoben to lel matchyas avree tute’s panni, you’d better hatch adoi an’ dick how he kairs it.
TRANSLATION.
Once a gentleman told a Gipsy he might fish in his pond, and he would give him permission to do so for a shilling, but that he must only fish with a hook and a fishing-pole (literally, crooked needle). So the Gipsy went with India-drab (juice of the berries of Indicus cocculus) made up with bread, and poisoned all the fish in the pond, and carried away his waggonful. A long time after, the gentleman met the Gipsy, and said, “You thief, did you catch the fish in my pond with a hook?” “Yes, sir, with a hook,” replied the Gipsy very quietly. “And what kind of a hook?” “Sir,” said the Gipsy, “it was one of the long kind, what we call in our language a hookaben” (i.e., a lie or trick).
When you give a man leave to fish in your pond, you had better be present and see how he does it.
GUDLO XLII. THE GIPSY AND THE SNAKE.
If you more the first sappa you dicks, tute’ll more the first enemy you’ve got. That’s what ’em pens, but I don’t jin if it’s tácho or nettus. And yeckorus there was a werry wafro mush that was allers a-kairin’ wafri covvabens. An’ yeck divvus he dicked a sap in the wesh, an’ he prastered paller it with a bori churi adrée lester waster and chinned her sherro apré. An’ then he rākkered to his kokerus, “Now that I’ve mored the sap, I’ll lel the jivaben of my wenomest enemy.” And just as he penned dovo lav he delled his pirro atut the danyas of a rukk, an’ pet alay and chivved the churi adrée his bukko. An’ as he was beshin’ alay a-mullerin’ ’drée the weshes, he penned to his kokerus, “Āvali, I dicks kennā that dovo’s tacho what they pookers about morin’ a sappa; for I never had kek worser ennemis than I’ve been to mandy’s selfus, and what wells of morin’ innocen hanimals is kek kushtoben.”
TRANSLATION.
If you kill the first snake you see, you’ll kill the first (principal) enemy you have. That is what they say, but I don’t know whether it is true or not. And once there was a very bad man who was always doing bad deeds. And one day he saw a snake in the forest, and ran after it with a great knife in his hand and cut her head off. And then he said to himself, “Now that I’ve killed the snake, I’ll take the life of my most vindictive (literally, most venomous) enemy.” And just as he spoke that word he struck his foot against the roots of a tree, and fell down and drove the knife into his own body (liver or heart). And as he lay dying in the forests, he said to himself, “Yes, I see now that it is true what they told me as to killing a snake; for I never had any worse enemy than I have been to myself, and what comes of killing innocent animals is naught good.”
GUDLO XLIII. THE STORY OF THE GIPSY AND THE BULL.
Yeckorus there was a Rommany chal who was a boro koorin’ mush, a surrelo mush, a boro-wasteni mush, werry toonery an’ hunnalo. An’ he penned adusta cheiruses that kek geero an’ kek covva ’pré the drumyas couldn’t trasher him. But yeck divvus, as yuv was jāllin’ langs the drum with a wáver pal, chūnderin’ an’ hookerin’ an’ lunterin’, an’ shorin’ his kokero how he could koor the puro bengis’ selfus, they shooned a gūro a-goorin’ an’ googerin’, an’ the first covva they jinned he prastered like divius at ’em, an’ these here geeros prastered apré ye rukk, an’ the boro koorin’ mush that was so flick o’ his wasters chury’d first o’ saw (sār), an’ hatched duri-dirus from the puv pré the limmers. An’ he beshed adoi an’ dicked ye bullus wusserin’ an’ chongerin’ his trushnees sār aboutus, an’ kellin’ pré lesters covvas, an’ poggerin’ to cutengroes saw he lelled for lesters miraben. An’ whenever the bavol pudered he was atrash he’d pelt-a-lay ’pré the shinger-ballos of the gooro (gūro). An’ so they beshed adoi till the sig of the sala, when the mush who dicked a’ter the gruvnis welled a-pirryin’ by an’ dicked these here chals beshin’ like chillicos pré the rukk, an’ patched lengis what they were kairin’ dovo for. So they pookered him about the bullus, an’ he hānkered it avree; an’ they welled alay an’ jālled andūrer to the kitchema, for there never was dui mushis in ’covo tem that kaumed a droppi levinor koomi than lender. But pāle dovo divvus that trusheni mush never sookered he couldn’t be a trashni mush no moreus. Tácho.
TRANSLATION.
Once there was a Gipsy who was a great fighting man, a strong man, a great boxer, very bold and fierce. And he said many a time that no man and no thing on the roads could frighten him. But one day, as he was going along the road with another man (his friend), exaggerating and bragging and boasting, and praising himself that he could beat the old devil himself, they heard a bull bellowing and growling, and the first thing they knew he ran like mad at them; and these men hurried up a tree, and the great fighting man that was so handy with his fists climbed first of all, and got (placed) himself furtherest from the ground on the limbs. And he sat there and saw the bull tossing and throwing his baskets all about, and dancing on his things, and breaking to pieces all he had for his living. And whenever the wind blew he was afraid he would fall on the horns of the bull. And so they sat there till daybreak, when the man who looked after the cows came walking by and saw these fellows sitting like birds on the tree, and asked them what they were doing that for. So they told him about the bull, and he drove it away; and they came down and went on to the alehouse, for there never were two men in this country that wanted a drop of beer more than they. But after that day that thirsty man never boasted he could not be a frightened man. True.
GUDLO XLIV. THE GIPSY AND HIS THREE SWEETHEARTS.
Yeckorus a tāno mush kaired his cāmmoben ta trin juvas kett’nus an’ kek o’ the trin jinned yuv sus a pirryin’ ye waver dui. An ’covo ráklo jivved adrée a bitti tan pāsh the rikkorus side o’ the boro lun panni, an’ yeck rātti sār the chais welled shikri kett’nus a lester, an’ kek o’ the geeris jinned the wavers san lullerin adoi. So they jālled sār-sigán kett’nus, an’ rākkered, “Sarshan!” ta yeck chairus. An’ dovo ráklo didn’t jin what jūva kaumed lester ferridīrus, or kun yuv kaumed ye ferridīrus, so sār the shtor besht-a-lay sum, at the habbenescro, and yuv del len habben an’ levinor. Yeck hawed booti, but ye waver dui wouldn’t haw kek, yeck pii’d, but ye wāver dui wouldn’t pi chommany, ’cause they were sār hunnali, and sookeri an’ kūried. So the ráklo penned lengis, yuv sos atrash if yuv lelled a jūva ’at couldn’t haw, she wouldn’t jiv, so he rummored the rákli that hawed her hābben.
All’ers haw sār the hābben foki banders apré a tute, an’ tute’ll jāl sikker men dūsh an’ tukli.
TRANSLATION.
Once a young man courted three girls together, and none of the three knew he was courting the two others. And that youth lived in a little place near the side of the great salt water, and one night all the girls came at once together to him, and none of the girls knew the others were coming there. So they went all quick together, and said “Good evening,” (sarishan means really “How are you?”) at the same time. And that youth did not know which girl liked him best, or whom he loved best; so all the four sat down together at the table, and he gave them food and beer. One ate plenty, but the other two would eat nothing; one drank, but the other two would not drink something, because they were all angry, and grieved, and worried. So the youth told them he was afraid if he took a wife that could not eat, she would not live, so he married the girl that ate her food.
Always eat all the food that people give you (literally share out to you), and you will go readily (securely) through sorrow and trouble.
GUDLO XLV. THE GIPSIES AND THE SMUGGLERS. A TRUE STORY.
Yeckorus, most a hundred besh kennā, when mi dádas sus a chávo, yeck rātti a booti Rommany chals san millerin kettenescrus pāsh the boro panni, kún sar-sig the graias ankaired a-wickerin an’ lúdderin an’ núckerin’ an kairin a boro gúdli, an’ the Rommanis shūned a shellin, an’ dicked mūshis prasterin and lullyin for lenders miraben, sā’s seer-dush, avree a boro hev. An’ when len sān sār jālled lúg, the Rommany chāls welled adoi an’ latched adusta bitti barrels o’ tatto-pánni, an’ fino covvas, for dovo mushis were ’mugglers, and the Roms lelled sar they mukked pāli. An’ dovo sus a boro covva for the Rommany chāls, an’ they pii’d sār graias, an’ the raklis an’ juvas jālled in kúshni heezis for booti divvuses. An’ dovo sus kerro pāsh Bo-Peep—a boro pūvius adrée bori chumures, pāsh Hastings in Sussex.
When ’mugglers násher an’ Rommany chāls latch, there’s kek worser cāmmoben for it.
TRANSLATION.
Once almost a hundred years now, when my father was a boy, one night many Gipsies were going together near the sea, when all at once the horses began whinnying and kicking and neighing, and making a great noise, and the Gipsies heard a crying out, and saw men running and rushing as if in alarm, from a great cave. And when they were all gone away together, the Gipsies went there and found many little barrels of brandy, and valuables, for those men were smugglers, and the Gipsies took all they left behind. And that was a great thing for the Gipsies, and they drank like horses, and the girls and women went in silk clothes for many days. And that was done near Bo-Peep, a great field in the hills, by Hastings in Sussex.
When smugglers lose and Gipsies find, nobody is the worse for it.
FOOTNOTES
{0a} The reason why Gipsy words have been kept unchanged was fully illustrated one day in a Gipsy camp in my hearing, when one man declaring of a certain word that it was only kennick or slang, and not “Rommanis,” added, “It can’t be Rommanis, because everybody knows it. When a word gets to be known to everybody, it’s no longer Rommanis.”
{1} Lavengro and the Rommany Rye: London, John Murray.
{5} To these I would add “Zelda’s Fortune,” now publishing in the Cornhill Magazine.
{21} Educated Chinese often exercise themselves in what they call “handsome talkee,” or “talkee leeson” (i.e., reason), by sitting down and uttering, by way of assertion and rejoinder, all the learned and wise sentences which they can recall. In their conversation and on their crockery, before every house and behind every counter, the elegant formula makes its appearance, teaching people not merely how to think, but what should be thought, and when.
{24} Probably from the modern Greek πατουνα, the sole of the foot, i.e., a track. Panth, a road, Hindustani.
{26} Pott: “Die Zigeuner in Europa and Asien,” vol. ii, p. 293.
{30} Two hundred (shel) years growing, two hundred years losing his coat, two hundred years before he dies, and then he loses all his blood and is no longer good.
{32} The words of the Gipsy, as I took them down from his own lips, were as follows:—
“Bawris are kushto habben. You can latcher adusta ’pré the bors. When they’re pirraben pauli the puvius, or tale the koshters, they’re kek kushti habben. The kushtiest are sovven sār the wen. Lel’em and tove ’em and chiv ’em adrée the kávi, with panny an’ a bitti lun. The simmun’s kushto for the yellow jaundice.”
I would remind the reader that in every instance where the original Gipsy language is given, it was written down or noted during conversation, and subsequently written out and read to a Gipsy, by whom it was corrected. And I again beg the reader to remember, that every Rommany phrase is followed by a translation into English.
{33} Dr Pott intimates that scharos, a globe, may be identical with sherro, a head. When we find, however, that in German Rommany tscharo means goblet, pitcher, vessel, and in fact cup, it seems as if the Gipsy had hit upon the correct derivation.
{34} “Dovós yect o’ the covvos that saw foki jins. When you lel a wart ’pré tutés wasters you jāl ’pré the drum or ’drée the puvius till you latcher a kaulo bawris—yeck o’ the boro kind with kek ker apré him, an’ del it apré the cāro of a kaulo kosh in the bor, and ear the bawris mullers, yeck divvus pāuli the wāver for shtār or pange divvuses the wart’ll kinner away-us. ’Dusta chairusses I’ve pukkered dovo to Gorgios, an’ Gorgios have kaired it, an’ the warts have yuzhered avree their wasters.”
{35} Among certain tribes in North America, tobacco is both burned before and smoked “unto” the Great Spirit.
{38} This word palindrome, though Greek, is intelligible to every Gipsy. In both languages it means “back on the road.”
{53} The Krallis’s Gav, King’s Village, a term also applied to Windsor.
{65} Pronounced cúv-vas, like covers without the r.
{70} The Lord’s Prayer in pure English Gipsy:—
“Moro Dad, savo djives oteh drey o charos, te caumen Gorgio ta Rommanny chal tiro nav, te awel tiro tem, te kairen tiro lav aukko prey puv, sar kairdios oteh drey o charos. Dey men todivvus more divvuskoe moro, ta for dey men pazorrhus tukey sar men for-denna len pazhorrus amande; ma muck te petrenna drey caik temptaciones; ley men abri sor doschder. Tiro se o tem, mi-duvel, tiro o zoozlu vast, tiro sor koskopen drey sor cheros. Avali. Tachipen.”
Specimens of old English Gipsy, preserving grammatical forms, may be found in Bright’s Hungary (Appendix). London, 1818. I call attention to the fact that all the specimens of the language which I give in this book simply represent the modern and greatly corrupted Rommany of the roads, which has, however, assumed a peculiar form of its own.
{75} In gipsy chores would mean swindles. In America it is applied to small jobs.
{81} Vide chapter x.
{83} This should be Bengo-tem or devil land, but the Gipsy who gave me the word declared it was bongo.
{110} In English: “Water is the Great God, and it is Bishnoo or Vishnoo because it falls from God. Vishnu is then the Great God?” “Yes; there can be no forced meaning there, can there, sir? Duvel (God) is Duvel all the world over; but correctly speaking, Vishnu is God’s blood—I have heard that many times. And the snow is feathers that fall from the angels’ wings. And what I said, that Bishnoo is God’s Blood is old Gipsy, and known by all our people.”
{112} “Simurgh—a fabulous bird, a griffin.”—Brice’s Hindustani Dictionary.
{124} Romi in Coptic signifies a man.
{127} Since writing the above I have been told that among many Hindus “(good) evening” is the common greeting at any time of the day. And more recently still, meeting a gentleman who during twelve years in India had paid especial attention to all the dialects, I greeted him, as an experiment, with “Sarisham!” He replied, ‘Why, that’s more elegant than common Hindu—it’s Persian!” “Sarisham” is, in fact, still in use in India, as among the Gipsies. And as the latter often corrupt it into sha’shān, so the vulgar Hindus call it “shān!” Sarishan means in Gipsy, “How are you?” but its affinity with sarisham is evident.
{133} Miklosich (“Uber die Mundarten de der Zigeuner,” Wien, 1872) gives, it is true, 647 Rommany words of Slavonic origin, but many of these are also Hindustani. Moreover, Dr Miklosich treats as Gipsy words numbers of Slavonian words which Gipsies in Slavonian lands have Rommanised, but which are not generally Gipsy.
{171} Fortune-telling.
{189} In Egypt, as in Syria, every child is more or less marked by tattooing. Infants of the first families, even among Christians, are thus stamped.
{206} The Royston rook or crow has a greyish-white back, but is with this exception entirely black.
{209} The peacock and turkey are called lady-birds in Rommany, because, as a Gipsy told me, “they spread out their clothes, and hold up their heads and look fine, and walk proud, like great ladies.” I have heard a swan called a pauno rāni chillico—a white lady-bird.
{210} To make skewers is a common employment among the poorer English Gipsies.
{213} This rhyme and metre (such as they are) were purely accidental with my narrator; but as they occurred verb. et lit., I set them down.
{218} This story is well known to most “travellers.” It is also true, the “hero” being a pash-and-pash, or half-blood Rommany chal, whose name was told to me.
{219} The reader will find in Lord Lytton’s “Harold” mention of an Anglo-Saxon superstition very similar to that embodied in the story of the Seven Whistlers. This story is, however, entirely Gipsy.
{221a} This, which is a common story among the English Gipsies, and told exactly in the words here given, is implicitly believed in by them. Unfortunately, the terrible legends, but too well authenticated, of the persecutions to which their ancestors were subjected, render it very probable that it may have occurred as narrated. When Gipsies were hung and transported merely for being Gipsies, it is not unlikely that a persecution to death may have originated in even such a trifle as the alleged theft of a dish-clout.
{221b} Although they bear it with remarkable apparent indifference, Gipsies are in reality extremely susceptible to being looked at or laughed at.
{235} This story was told me in a Gipsy tent near Brighton, and afterwards repeated by one of the auditors while I transcribed it.