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diff --git a/2733-0.txt b/2733-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fa58177 --- /dev/null +++ b/2733-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7847 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Romano Lavo-Lil, by George Borrow + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Romano Lavo-Lil + Word-Book of the Romany + + +Author: George Borrow + + + +Release Date: August 30, 2019 [eBook #2733] +[This file was first posted on July 2, 2000] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROMANO LAVO-LIL*** + + +Transcribed from the 1905 John Murray edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: Book cover] + + “Can you rokra Romany? + Can you play the bosh? + Can you jal adrey the staripen? + Can you chin the cost?” + + “Can you speak the Roman tongue? + Can you play the fiddle? + Can you eat the prison-loaf? + Can you cut and whittle?” + + + + + + ROMANO LAVO-LIL + + + WORD-BOOK OF THE ROMANY + OR, ENGLISH GYPSY LANGUAGE + WITH SPECIMENS OF GYPSY POETRY, AND AN + ACCOUNT OF CERTAIN GYPSYRIES OR + PLACES INHABITED BY THEM, AND + OF VARIOUS THINGS RELATING TO + GYPSY LIFE IN ENGLAND + + BY GEORGE BORROW + + * * * * * + + LONDON + JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W. + 1905 + + * * * * * + + PRINTED BY + HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD., + LONDON AND AYLESBURY. + + * * * * * + +THE Author of the present work wishes to state that the Vocabulary, which +forms part of it, has existed in manuscript for many years. It is one of +several vocabularies of various dialects of the Gypsy tongue, made by him +in different countries. The most considerable—that of the dialect of the +Zincali or Rumijelies (Romany Chals) of Spain—was published in the year +1841. Amongst those which remain unpublished is one of the Transylvanian +Gypsy, made principally at Kolosvār in the year 1844. + +_December_ 1, 1873. + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE +THE ENGLISH GYPSY LANGUAGE 3 +ROMANO LAVO-LIL: WORD-BOOK OF THE ROMANY 15 +RHYMED LIST OF GYPSY VERBS 71 +BETIE ROKRAPENES: LITTLE SAYINGS 76 +COTORRES OF MI-DIBBLE’S LIL CHIV’D ADREY ROMANES: PIECES OF 85 +SCRIPTURE CAST INTO ROMANY +THE LORD’S PRAYER IN THE GYPSY DIALECT OF TRANSYLVANIA 92 +LIL OF ROMANO JINNYPEN: BOOK OF THE WISDOM OF THE EGYPTIANS 96 +ROMANE NAVIOR OF TEMES AND GAVIOR: GYPSY NAMES OF COUNTRIES 112 +AND TOWNS +THOMAS ROSSAR-MESCRO, OR THOMAS HERNE 118 +KOKKODUS ARTARUS 129 +MANG, PRALA: BEG ON, BROTHER 132 +ENGLISH GYPSY SONGS:— + WELLING KATTANEY: THE GYPSY MEETING 132 + LELLING CAPPI: MAKING A FORTUNE 136 + THE DUI CHALOR: THE TWO GYPSIES 138 + MIRO ROMANY CHI: MY ROMAN LASS 142 + AVA, CHI: YES, MY GIRL 146 + THE TEMESKOE RYE: THE YOUTHFUL EARL 146 + CAMO-GILLIE: LOVE-SONG 148 + TUGNIS AMANDE: WOE IS ME 150 + THE RYE AND THE RAWNE: THE SQUIRE AND LADY 152 + ROMANY SUTTUR GILLIE: GYPSY LULLABY 154 + SHARRAFI KRALYISSA: OUR BLESSED QUEEN 156 + PLASTRA LESTI: RUN FOR IT! 156 +FOREIGN GYPSY SONGS:— + THE ROMANY SONGSTRESS 161 + L’ERAJAI: THE FRAIR 162 + MALBRUN: MALBROUK 164 +THE ENGLISH GYPSIES:— + TUGNEY BESHOR: SORROWFUL YEARS 172 + THEIR HISTORY 174 +GYPSY NAMES 185 +FORTUNE-TELLING 197 + THE HUKNI 201 + CAURING 202 +METROPOLITAN GYPSYRIES:— + WANDSWORTH 207 + THE POTTERIES 228 + THE MOUNT 235 +RYLEY BOSVIL 241 +KIRK YETHOLM 253 + + + + +THE ENGLISH GYPSY LANGUAGE + + +THE Gypsies of England call their language, as the Gypsies of many other +countries call theirs, _Romany_ or _Romanes_, a word either derived from +the Indian _Ram_ or _Rama_, which signifies a husband, or from the town +Rome, which took its name either from the Indian _Ram_, or from the +Gaulic word, _Rom_, which is nearly tantamount to husband or man, for as +the Indian _Ram_ means a husband or man, so does the Gaulic _Pom_ signify +that which constitutes a man and enables him to become a husband. + +Before entering on the subject of the English Gypsy, I may perhaps be +expected to say something about the original Gypsy tongue. It is, +however, very difficult to say with certainty anything on the subject. +There can be no doubt that a veritable Gypsy tongue at one time existed, +but that it at present exists there is great doubt indeed. The +probability is that the Gypsy at present exists only in dialects more or +less like the language originally spoken by the Gypsy or Zingaro race. +Several dialects of the Gypsy are to be found which still preserve along +with a considerable number of seemingly original words certain curious +grammatical forms, quite distinct from those of any other speech. Others +are little more than jargons, in which a certain number of Gypsy words +are accommodated to the grammatical forms of the languages of particular +countries. In the foremost class of the purer Gypsy dialects, I have no +hesitation in placing those of Russia, Wallachia, Bulgaria, and +Transylvania. They are so alike, that he who speaks one of them can make +himself very well understood by those who speak any of the rest; from +whence it may reasonably be inferred that none of them can differ much +from the original Gypsy speech; so that when speaking of Gypsy language, +any one of these may be taken as a standard. One of them—I shall not +mention which—I have selected for that purpose, more from fancy than any +particular reason. + +The Gypsy language, then, or what with some qualification I may call +such, may consist of some three thousand words, the greater part of which +are decidedly of Indian origin, being connected with the Sanscrit or some +other Indian dialect; the rest consist of words picked up by the Gypsies +from various languages in their wanderings from the East. It has two +genders, masculine and feminine; _o_ represents the masculine and _i_ the +feminine: for example, _boro rye_, a great gentleman; _bori rani_, a +great lady. There is properly no indefinite article: _gajo_ or _gorgio_, +a man or gentile; _o gajo_, the man. The noun has two numbers, the +singular and the plural. It has various cases formed by postpositions, +but has, strictly speaking, no genitive. It has prepositions as well as +postpositions; sometimes the preposition is used with the noun and +sometimes the postposition: for example, _cad o gav_, from the town; +_chungale mannochendar_, evil men from, _i.e._ from evil men. The verb +has no infinitive; in lieu thereof, the conjunction ‘that’ is placed +before some person of some tense. ‘I wish to go’ is expressed in Gypsy +by _camov te jaw_, literally, I wish that I go; thou wishest to go, +_caumes te jas_, thou wishest that thou goest; _caumen te jallan_, they +wish that they go. Necessity is expressed by the impersonal verb and the +conjunction ‘that’: _hom te jay_, I must go; lit. I am that I go; _shan +te jallan_, they are that they go; and so on. There are words to denote +the numbers from one up to a thousand. For the number nine there are two +words, _nu_ and _ennyo_. Almost all the Gypsy numbers are decidedly +connected with the Sanscrit. + +After these observations on what may be called the best preserved kind of +Gypsy, I proceed to a lower kind, that of England. The English Gypsy +speech is very scanty, amounting probably to not more than fourteen +hundred words, the greater part of which seem to be of Indian origin. +The rest form a strange medley taken by the Gypsies from various Eastern +and Western languages: some few are Arabic, many are Persian; some are +Sclavo-Wallachian, others genuine Sclavonian. Here and there a Modern +Greek or Hungarian word is discoverable; but in the whole English Gypsy +tongue I have never noted but one French word—namely, _tass_ or _dass_, +by which some of the very old Gypsies occasionally call a cup. + +Their vocabulary being so limited, the Gypsies have of course words of +their own only for the most common objects and ideas; as soon as they +wish to express something beyond these they must have recourse to +English, and even to express some very common objects, ideas, and +feelings, they are quite at a loss in their own tongue, and must either +employ English words or very vague terms indeed. They have words for the +sun and the moon, but they have no word for the stars, and when they wish +to name them in Gypsy, they use a word answering to ‘lights.’ They have +a word for a horse and for a mare, but they have no word for a colt, +which in some other dialects of the Gypsy is called _kuro_; and to +express a colt they make use of the words _tawno gry_, a little horse, +which after all may mean a pony. They have words for black, white, and +red, but none for the less positive colours—none for grey, green, and +yellow. They have no definite word either for hare or rabbit; _shoshoi_, +by which they generally designate a rabbit, signifies a hare as well, and +_kaun-engro_, a word invented to distinguish a hare, and which signifies +ear-fellow, is no more applicable to a hare than to a rabbit, as both +have long ears. They have no certain word either for to-morrow or +yesterday, _collico_ signifying both indifferently. A remarkable +coincidence must here be mentioned, as it serves to show how closely +related are Sanscrit and Gypsy. _Shoshoi_ and _collico_ are nearly of +the same sound as the Sanscrit _sasa_ and _kalya_, and exactly of the +same import; for as the Gypsy _shoshoi_ signifies both hare and rabbit, +and _collico_ to-morrow as well as yesterday, so does the Sanscrit _sasa_ +signify both hare and rabbit, and _kalya_ to-morrow as well as yesterday. + +The poverty of their language in nouns the Gypsies endeavour to remedy by +the frequent use of the word _engro_. This word affixed to a noun or +verb turns it into something figurative, by which they designate, seldom +very appropriately, some object for which they have no positive name. +_Engro_ properly means a fellow, and _engri_, which is the feminine or +neuter modification, a thing. When the noun or verb terminates in a +vowel, _engro_ is turned into _mengro_, and _engri_ into _mengri_. I +have already shown how, by affixing _engro_ to _kaun_, the Gypsies have +invented a word to express a hare. In like manner, by affixing _engro_ +to _pov_, earth, they have coined a word for a potato, which they call +_pov-engro_ or _pov-engri_, earth-fellow or thing; and by adding _engro_ +to _rukh_, or _mengro_ to _rooko_, they have really a very pretty +figurative name for a squirrel, which they call _rukh-engro_ or +_rooko-mengro_, literally a fellow of the tree. _Poggra-mengri_, a +breaking thing, and _pea-mengri_, a drinking thing, by which they +express, respectively, a mill and a teapot, will serve as examples of the +manner by which they turn verbs into substantives. This method of +finding names for objects, for which there are properly no terms in +Gypsy, might be carried to a great length—much farther, indeed, than the +Gypsies are in the habit of carrying it: a slack-rope dancer might be +termed _bittitardranoshellokellimengro_, or slightly-drawn-rope-dancing +fellow; a drum, _duicoshtcurenomengri_, or a thing beaten by two sticks; +a tambourine, _angustrecurenimengri_, or a thing beaten by the fingers; +and a fife, _muipudenimengri_, or thing blown by the mouth. All these +compound words, however, would be more or less indefinite, and far beyond +the comprehension of the Gypsies in general. + +The verbs are very few, and with two or three exceptions expressive only +of that which springs from what is physical and bodily, totally +unconnected with the mind, for which, indeed, the English Gypsy has no +word; the term used for mind, _zi_—which is a modification of the +Hungarian _sziv_—meaning heart. There are such verbs in this dialect as +to eat, drink, walk, run, hear, see, live, die; but there are no such +verbs as to hope, mean, hinder, prove, forbid, teaze, soothe. There is +the verb _apasavello_, I believe; but that word, which is Wallachian, +properly means being trusted, and was incorporated in the Gypsy language +from the Gypsies obtaining goods on trust from the Wallachians, which +they never intended to pay for. There is the verb for love, _camova_; +but that word is expressive of physical desire, and is connected with the +Sanscrit _Cama_, or Cupid. Here, however, the English must not triumph +over the Gypsies, as their own verb ‘love’ is connected with a Sanscrit +word signifying ‘lust.’ One pure and abstract metaphysical verb the +English Gypsy must be allowed to possess—namely, _penchava_, I think, a +word of illustrious origin, being derived from the Persian _pendashtan_. + +The English Gypsies can count up to six, and have the numerals for ten +and twenty, but with those for seven, eight, and nine, perhaps not three +Gypsies in England are acquainted. When they wish to express those +numerals in their own language, they have recourse to very uncouth and +roundabout methods, saying for seven, _dui trins ta yeck_, two threes and +one; for eight, _dui stors_, or two fours; and for nine, _desh sore but +yeck_, or ten all but one. Yet at one time the English Gypsies possessed +all the numerals as their Transylvanian, Wallachian, and Russian brethren +still do; even within the last fifty years there were Gypsies who could +count up to a hundred. These were _tatchey Romany_, real Gypsies, of the +old sacred black race, who never slept in a house, never entered a +church, and who, on their death-beds, used to threaten their children +with a curse, provided they buried them in a churchyard. The two last of +them rest, it is believed, some six feet deep beneath the moss of a wild, +hilly heath,—called in Gypsy the _Heviskey Tan_, or place of holes; in +English, Mousehold,—near an ancient city, which the Gentiles call +Norwich, and the Romans the _Chong Gav_, or the town of the hill. + +With respect to Grammar, the English Gypsy is perhaps in a worse +condition than with respect to words. Attention is seldom paid to +gender; _boro rye_ and _boro rawnie_ being said, though as _rawnie_ is +feminine, _bori_ and not _boro_ should be employed. The proper Gypsy +plural terminations are retained in nouns, but in declension prepositions +are generally substituted for postpositions, and those prepositions +English. The proper way of conjugating verbs is seldom or never +observed, and the English method is followed. They say, I _dick_, I see, +instead of _dico_; I _dick’d_, I saw, instead of _dikiom_; if I had +_dick’d_, instead of _dikiomis_. Some of the peculiar features of Gypsy +grammar yet retained by the English Gypsies will be found noted in the +Dictionary. + +I have dwelt at some length on the deficiencies and shattered condition +of the English Gypsy tongue; justice, however, compels me to say that it +is far purer and less deficient than several of the continental Gypsy +dialects. It preserves far more of original Gypsy peculiarities than the +French, Italian, and Spanish dialects, and its words retain more of the +original Gypsy form than the words of those three; moreover, however +scanty it may be, it is far more copious than the French or the Italian +Gypsy, though it must be owned that in respect to copiousness it is +inferior to the Spanish Gypsy, which is probably the richest in words of +all the Gypsy dialects in the world, having names for very many of the +various beasts, birds, and creeping things, for most of the plants and +fruits, for all the days of the week, and all the months in the year; +whereas most other Gypsy dialects, the English amongst them, have names +for only a few common animals and insects, for a few common fruits and +natural productions, none for the months, and only a name for a single +day—the Sabbath—which name is a modification of the Modern Greek +_κυριακηὴ_. + +Though the English Gypsy is generally spoken with a considerable alloy of +English words and English grammatical forms, enough of its proper words +and features remain to form genuine Gypsy sentences, which shall be +understood not only by the Gypsies of England, but by those of Russia, +Hungary, Wallachia, and even of Turkey; for example:— + + Kek man camov te jib bolli-mengreskoenæs, + Man camov te jib weshenjugalogonæs. + + I do not wish to live like a baptized person. {11a} + I wish to live like a dog of the wood. {11b} + +It is clear-sounding and melodious, and well adapted to the purposes of +poetry. Let him who doubts peruse attentively the following lines:— + + Coin si deya, coin se dado? + Pukker mande drey Romanes, + Ta mande pukkeravava tute. + + Rossar-mescri minri deya! + Wardo-mescro minro dado! + Coin se dado, coin si deya? + Mande’s pukker’d tute drey Romanes; + Knau pukker tute mande. + + Petulengro minro dado, + Purana minri deya! + Tatchey Romany si men— + Mande’s pukker’d tute drey Romanes, + Ta tute’s pukker’d mande. + +The first three lines of the above ballad are perhaps the oldest specimen +of English Gypsy at present extant, and perhaps the purest. They are at +least as old as the time of Elizabeth, and can pass among the Zigany in +the heart of Russia for Ziganskie. The other lines are not so ancient. +The piece is composed in a metre something like that of the ancient +Sclavonian songs, and contains the questions which two strange Gypsies, +who suddenly meet, put to each other, and the answers which they return. + + + + +ROMANO LAVO-LIL—WORD-BOOK OF THE ROMANY + + +In using the following Vocabulary the Continental manner of pronouncing +certain vowels will have to be observed: thus _ava_ must be pronounced +like _auva_, according to the English style; _ker_ like _kare_, _miro_ +like _meero_, _zi_ like _zee_, and _puro_ as if it were written _pooro._ + + + +A + + +ABRI, _ad. prep._ Out, not within, abroad: soving abri, sleeping abroad, +not in a house. _Celtic_, Aber (the mouth or outlet of a river). + +Acai / Acoi, _ad._ Here. + +Adje, _v. n._ To stay, stop. _See_ Atch, az. + +Adrey, _prep._ Into. + +Ajaw, _ad._ So. _Wallachian_, Asha. + +Aladge, _a._ Ashamed. _Sans._ Latch, laj. + +Aley, _ad._ Down: soving aley, lying down; to kin aley, to buy off, +ransom. _Hun._ Ala, alat. + +Amande, _pro. pers. dat._ To me. + +An, _v. a. imp._ Bring: an lis opré, bring it up. + +Ana, _v._ a. Bring. _Sans._ Ani. + +Ando, _prep._ In. + +Anglo, _prep._ Before. + +Apasavello, _v. n._ I believe. + +Apopli, _ad._ Again. _Spanish Gypsy_, Apala (after). _Wal._ Apoi +(then, afterwards). + +Apré, _ad. prep._ Up: kair lis apré, do it up. _Vid._ Opré. + +Aranya / Araunya, _s._ Lady. _Hungarian Gypsy_, Aranya. _See_ Rawnie. + +Artav / Artavello, _v. a._ To pardon, forgive. _Wal._ Ierta. _Span. +Gyp._ Estomar. + +Artapen, _s._ Pardon, forgiveness. + +Artáros. Arthur. + +Asā / Asau, _ad._ Also, likewise, too: meero pal asau, my brother also. + +Asarlas, _ad._ At all, in no manner. + +Asa. An affix used in forming the second person singular of the present +tense; _e.g._ camasa, thou lovest. + +Astis, _a._ Possible, it is possible: astis mangué, I can; astis lengué, +they can. + +Ashā / Ashaw, _ad._ So: ashaw sorlo, so early. _Wal._ Asha. _See_ +Ajaw. + +Atch, _v. n._ To stay, stop. + +Atch opré. Keep up. + +Atraish, _a. part._ Afraid. _Sans._ Tras (to fear), atrāsït +(frightened). _See_ Traish. + +Av, _imperat._ of Ava, to come: av abri, come out. + +Ava, _ad._ Yes. _Sans._ Eva. + +Ava, _v. a._ To come. + +Avata acoi. Come thou here. + +Avali, _ad._ Yes. _Wal._ Aieva (really). + +Avava. An affix by which the future tense of a verb is formed, _e.g._ +mor-avava, I will kill. _See_ Vava. + +Aukko, _ad._ Here. + +Az, _v. n._ To stay. + + + +B + + +BAL, _s._ Hair. _Tibetian_, Bal (wool). _Sans._ Bala (hair). + +Baleneskoe, _a._ Hairy. + +Balormengro. A hairy fellow; Hearne, the name of a Gypsy tribe. + +Balanser, _s._ The coin called a sovereign. + +Ballivas, _s._ Bacon. _Span. Gyp._ Balibá. + +Bangalo, _a._ Devilish. _See_ Beng, bengako. + +Bango, _a._ Left, sinister, wrong, false: bango wast, the left hand; to +saulohaul bango, like a plastra-mengro, to swear bodily like a Bow-street +runner. _Sans._ Pangu (lame). _Hun._ Pang, pangó (stiff, lazy, +paralysed). + +Bar, _s._ A stone, a stoneweight, a pound sterling. _Span. Gyp._ Bar. +_Hun. Gyp._ Bar. _Hindustani_, Puthur. _Wal._ Piatre. _Fr._ Pierre. +_Gr. βάρος_ (weight). + +Bareskey, _a._ Stony. + +Bark, _s._ Breast, woman’s breast. + +Bas / Base, _s._ Pound sterling. _Wal._ Pes (a weight, burden). + +Bas-engro, _s._ A shepherd. _Run._ Bacso. + +Bashadi, _s._ A fiddle. + +Bata, _s._ A bee. _Sans._ Pata. + +Bau, _s._ Fellow, comrade. _See_ Baw. + +Baul, _s._ Snail. _See_ Bowle. + +Baulo, _s._ Pig, swine. The proper meaning of this word is anything +swollen, anything big or bulky. It is connected with the English bowle +or bole, the trunk of a tree; also with bowl, boll, and belly; also with +whale, the largest of fish, and wale, a tumour; also with the Welsh +_bol_, a belly, and _bala_, a place of springs and eruptions. It is +worthy of remark that the English word pig, besides denoting the same +animal as _baulo_, is of the same original import, being clearly derived +from the same root as big, that which is bulky, and the Turkish _buyuk_, +great, huge, vast. + +Baulie-mas, _s._ Pork, swine’s flesh. + +Bavano. Windy, broken-winded. + +Bavol, _s._ Wind, air. _Sans._ Pavana. _See_ Beval. + +Bavol-engro, _s._ A wind-fellow; figurative name for a ghost. + +Baw, bau, _s._ Fellow, comrade: probably the same as the English +country-word baw, bor. _Ger._ Bauer. Av acoi, baw, Come here, fellow. +Boer, in Wallachian, signifies a boyard or lord. + +Beano, _part. pass._ Born. + +Beano abri. Born out of doors, like a Gypsy or vagrant. + +Bebee, _s._ Aunt. _Rus._ Baba (grandmother, old woman, hag); Baba Yagā, +the female demon of the Steppes. + +Beng / Bengui, _s._ Devil. _Sans._ Pangka (mud). According to the +Hindu mythology, there is a hell of mud; the bengues of the Gypsies seem +to be its tenants. + +Bengako tan, _s._ Hell. Lit. place belonging to devils. + +Bengeskoe potan. Devil’s tinder, sulphur. + +Bengeskoe / Benglo, _a._ Devilish. + +Bengree, _s._ Waistcoat. _Span. Gyp._ Blani. _Wal._ (Blāni fur). + +Berro, béro, _s._ A ship, a hulk for convicts. _Span. Gyp._ Bero, las +galeras, the galleys; presidio, convict garrison. + +Ber-engro, _s._ A sailor. + +Bero-rukh, _s._ A mast. + +Bersh / Besh, _s._ A year. _Sans._ Varsha. He could cour drey his +besh, he could fight in his time. + +Bershor, _pl._ Years. + +Besh, _v. n._ To sit: beshel, he sits. + +Beshaley / Beshly, Gypsy name of the Stanley tribe. + +Besh-engri, _s._ A chair. _See_ Skammen. + +Beti, _a._ Little, small. + +Beval, _s._ Wind. _See_ Bavol. + +Bi, _prep._ Without: bi luvvu, without money. + +Bicunyie, _a._ Alone, undone: meklis _or_ mukalis bicunyie, let it +alone. + +Bikhin / Bin _v. a._ To sell. _Hin._ Bikna. + +Bikhnipen, _s._ Sale. + +Birk, _s._ Woman’s breast. _See_ Bark. + +Bis, _a._ Twenty. + +Bisheni, _s._ The ague. + +Bitch / Bitcha, _v. a._ To send. _Sans._ Bis, bisa. + +Bitched / Bitcheno, _part. pass._ Sent + +Bitcheno pawdel. Sent across, transported. + +Bitti, _s. a._ Small, piece, a little. This word is not true Gypsy. + +Bloen / Blowing, A cant word, but of Gypsy origin, signifying a sister in +debauchery, as Pal denotes a brother in villainy. It is the Plani and +Beluñi of the Spanish Gypsies, by whom sometimes Beluñi is made to +signify queen; _e.g._ Beluñi de o tarpe (tem opré), the Queen of Heaven, +the Virgin. Blower is used by Lord Byron, in his ‘Don Juan.’ Speaking +of the highwayman whom the Don shoots in the vicinity of London, he says +that he used to go to such-and-such places of public resort with—his +blowen. + +Bob, _s._ A bean. _Wal._ Bob: _pl._ bobbis, bobs. + +Boccalo, _a._ Hungry: boccalé pers, hungry bellies. + +Bokht, _s._ Luck, fortune: kosko bokht, good luck. _Sans._ Bhãgya. +_Pers._ Bakht. + +Bokra, _s._ A sheep. _Hun._ Birka. + +Bokra-choring. Sheep-stealing. + +Bokkar-engro, _s._ A shepherd: bokkar-engro drey, the dude, man in the +moon. + +Bokkari-gueri, _s._ Shepherdess. + +Bokkeriskoe, _a._ Sheepish, belonging to a sheep: bokkeriskey piré, +sheep’s feet. + +Bolla, _v. a._ To baptize. + +Bonnek, _s._ Hold: lel bonnek, to take hold. + +Booko, _s._ Liver. _See_ Bucca. + +Bolleskoe divvus. Christmas-day; _query_, baptismal day. _Wal._ Botez +(baptism). + +Bollimengreskoenaes. After the manner of a Christian. + +Boogones, _s._ Smallpox, pimples. _See_ Bugnior. + +Bor, _s._ A hedge. + +Boona, _a._ Good. _Lat._ Bonus. _Wal._ Boun. + +Booty, _s._ Work. + +Bori, _a. fem._ Big with child, enceinte. + +Booty, _v. a._ To work, labour. + +Boro, _a._ Great, big. _Hin._ Bura. _Mod. Gr. βαρὺς_ (heavy). + +Borobeshemeskeguero, _s._ Judge, _great-sitting-fellow_. + +Boro Gav. London, big city. _See_ Lundra. + +Boronashemeskrutan. Epsom race-course. + +Bosh, _s._ Fiddle. _Pers._ [Persian which cannot be reproduced] Bazee, +baz (play, joke), whence the English cant word ‘bosh.’ _See_ Bashadi. + +Boshomengro, _s._ Fiddler. + +Bosno / Boshno, _s._ A cock, male-bird. _Sans._ Puchchin. _Wal._ Bosh +(testicle). _Gaelic_, Baois (libidinousness). + +Boshta, _s._ A saddle. + +Bostaris, _s._ A bastard. + +Bovalo, _a._ Rich. _Sans._ Bala (strong). + +Bowle, _s._ Snail. _See_ Baul. + +Brishen / Brisheno, _s._ Rain. _Hun. Gyp._ Breshino. _Sans._ Vrish. +_Mod. Gr. βρέξιμον_. + +Brisheneskey, _a._ Rainy: brisheneskey rarde, a rainy night; +brisheneskey chiros, a time of rain. _Mod. Gr. καιρὸς βροχερός_. + +Bucca, _s._ Liver. _Sans._ Bucca (heart). _Wal._ Phikat. + +Bucca naflipen, _s._ Liver-complaint. + +Buchee, _s._ Work, labour. _See_ Butsi. + +Buddigur, _s._ A shop. _Span._ Bodega. + +Buddikur divvus, _s._ Shopping-day: Wednesday, Saturday. + +Bugnes / Bugnior, _s. pl._ Smallpox, blisters. _Gael._ Boc (a pimple), +bolg (a blister), bolgach (small-pox). _Wal._ Mougour (a bud). _Fr._ +Bourgeon. + +Buklo, _a._ Hungry: buklo tan, hungry spot, a common. _Hun. Gyp._ Buklo +tan (a wilderness). + +Bul, _s._ Rump, buttock. + +Bungshoror / Bungyoror, _s. pl._ Corks. + +Busnis / Busnior, _s. pl._ Spurs, prickles. _Mod. Gr. βάσανοω_ (pain, +torment). + +Buroder, _ad._ More: _ad._ ne buroder, no more. + +Bute, _a. ad._ Much, very. _Hin._ Būt. + +Butsi / Buty, _s._ Work, labour. + +Butying. Working. + + + +C + + +CAEN / Cane, _v. n._ To stink. + +Caenipen / Canipen, _s_. A stench. + +Caeninaflipen, _s._ Stinking sickness, the plague, gaol-fever. The old +cant word Canihen, signifying the gaol-fever, is derived from this Gypsy +term. + +Candelo / Cannelo, _a._ Stinking: cannelo mas, stinking meat. _Sans._ +Gandha (smell). + +Callico / Collico, _s._ To-morrow, also yesterday: collico sorlo, +to-morrow morning. _Sans._ Kalya. _Hin._ Kal (to-morrow, yesterday). + +Cana, _ad._ Now: cana sig, now soon. _See_ Kanau, knau. + +Cam, _s._ The sun. _Hin._ Khan. _Heb._ Khama (the sun), kham (heat). + +Cam. To wish, desire, love. + +Cam / Camello / Camo, _v. a._ To love. _Sans._ Cama (love). Cupid; +from which Sanscrit word the Latin Amor is derived. + +Cambori / Cambri, _a._ Pregnant, big with child. + +Camlo / Caumlo, Lovel, name of a Gypsy tribe. Lit. amiable. With this +word the English “comely” is connected. + +Camo-mescro, _s._ A lover; likewise the name Lovel. + +Can, _s._ The sun. + +Can, _s._ An ear. _See_ Kaun. + +Cana, _ad._ Now: cana sig, now soon. _See_ Kanau. + +Canáfi / Canapli, Turnip. + +Canairis. A Gypsy name. + +Canior / Caunor, _s. pl._ Pease. + +Canni. A hen. _Span. Gyp._ Cañi. _Hun. Gyp._ Cackni. _Gael._ Cearc. + +Cannis. Hens. + +Cappi, _s._ Booty, gain, fortune: to lel cappi, to acquire booty, make a +capital, a fortune. + +Cas, _s._ Hay: cas-stiggur, haystack; cas kairing, hay-making. + +Cas, _s._ Cheese. _Lat._ Caseus. This word is used by the pikers or +tramps, as well as by the Gypsies. _See_ Kael. + +Catches / Catsau, _s. pl._ Scissors. _Hun._ Kasza. _Wal._ Kositsie +(sickle). _Mod._ _Gr. κόσα_. _Rus._ Kosa. + +Cato, _prep._ To; more properly From. _Hun. Gyp._ Cado. _Wal._ Katre +(towards). + +Cavo, _pron. dem._ This. + +Cavocoi. This here. + +Cavocoiskoenoes. In this manner. + +Caur, _v. a._ To filch, steal in an artful manner by bending down. +_Heb._ [Hebrew which cannot be reproduced] Cara, incurvavit se. _Eng._ +Cower. + +Cayes, _s._ Silk. _Pers_. [Persian which cannot be reproduced] _Span. +Gyp._ Quequesa. _Sans._ Kauseya. + +Chal, _s._ Lad, boy, son, fellow. Connected with this word is the +Scottish Chiel, the Old English Childe, and the Russian Chelovik. _See_ +Romani chal. + +Cháro, _s._ Plate, dish. + +Chavali, _s.f._ Girl, damsel. + +Chavi, _s.f._ Child, girl, daughter. + +Cham, _s._ Leather: chameskie rokunies, leather breeches. _Sans._ +Charma (skin). + +Chavo, _s. m._ Child, son: _pl._ chaves. Cheaus is an old French +hunting term for the young ones of a fox. + +Charos / Cheros, _s._ Heaven. _Wal._ Cher. + +Chauvo, _s._ _See_ Chavo. + +Chaw, _s._ Grass. + +Chawhoktamengro, _s._ Grasshopper. _See_ Hokta. + +Chee, _a._ No, none: chee butsi, no work. _See_ Chi, chichi. + +Chericlo, _s._ Bird. _See_ Chiriclo. + +Chiricleskey tan, _s._ Aviary, birdcage. + +Chi, _s.f._ Child, daughter, girl: Romany chi, Gypsy girl. + +Chi / Chichi / Chiti, _s._ Nothing. + +Chin, _v. a._ To cut: chin lis tuley, cut it down. _Sans._ Chun (to cut +off). _Hin._ Chink. _Gaelic_, Sgian (a knife). + +Chin the cost. To cut the stick; to cut skewers for butchers and pegs +for linen-lines, a grand employment of the Gypsy fellows in the +neighbourhood of London. + +China-mengri, _s.f._ A letter; a thing incised, marked, written in. + +China-mengro, _s._ Hatchet. Lit. cutting-thing. + +Chinipen, _s._ A cut. + +Ching / Chingaro, _v. a._ To fight, quarrel. + +Chinga-guero, _s._ A warrior. + +Chingaripen, _s._ War, strife. _Sans._ Sangara. + +Chingring, _part. pres._ Fighting, quarrelling. + +Chik, _s._ Earth, dirt. _Span. Gyp._ Chique. _Hin._ Chikkar. + +Chiklo, _a._ Dirty. + +Chiriclo, _s. m._ Bird. _Hin._ Chiriya. + +Chiricli, _s.f._ Hen-bird. + +Chiros, _s._ Time. _Mod. Gr. καιρὸς_. + +Chiv / Chiva / Chuva, _v. a._ To cast, fling, throw, place, put: chiv +lis tuley, fling it down; chiv oprey, put up. _Rus._ Kyio (to forge, +cast iron). _Sans._ Kship. + +Chiving tulipen prey the chokkars. Greasing the shoes. + +Chofa, _s.f._ Petticoat. + +Chohawni, _s._ Witch. _See_ Chovahano. + +Chohawno, _s._ Wizard. + +Chok, _s._ Watch, watching. + +Chok-engro, _s._ Watchman. + +Chok, _s._ Shoe: chokkor, chokkors, shoes. _Hun._ Czókó (wooden shoe). + +Choko-mengro. Shoemaker. + +Choka, _s._ Coat. + +Chokni / Chukni, _s._ Whip. _Wal._ Chokini (a strap, leather). _Hun._ +Csakany (a mace, sledge hammer). _Hun. Gyp._ Chokano (a staff). _Wal._ +Chokan, chokinel (a hammer). + +Chukni wast, _s._ The whip-hand, the mastery. + +Chollo, _a. s._ Whole. + +Chomany, _s._ Something. _Span. Gyp._ Cormuñi (some); chimoni +(anything). _Wal._ Chineba (some one). For every chomany there’s a lav +in Romany: there’s a name in Gypsy for everything. + +Chong, _s._ Knee. _Hun._ Czomb. _Sans._ Chanu. _Lat._ Genu. + +Chongor, _pl._ Knees. + +Choom / Choomava, _v. a._ To kiss. _Sans._ Chumb. Choomande, kiss me. +_Span. Gyp._ Chupendi (a kiss), a corruption of Choomande. + +Choomia, _s._ A kiss. + +Choomo-mengro, one of the tribe Boswell. + +Choon, _s._ Moon. _Hun. Gyp._ Chemut. _Sans._ Chandra. + +Choot, _s._ Vinegar. _See_ Chute. + +Chore, _v. a._ To steal. _Sans._ Chur. + +Chore, _s._ Thief. _Hin._ Chor. + +Chories, _pl_. Thieves. + +Chor-dudee-mengri, _s. Κλεφτοφάναρον_ (thieves’ lantern, dark lantern). + +Choredo, a. Poor, poverty stricken. _Sans._ Dāridra. + +Choredi, _fem_. of Choredo. + +Choriness, _s._ Poverty. + +Choro, _a._ Poor. _Span. Gyp._ Chororo. _Hin._ Shor. + +Chovahan, _v. a._ To bewitch. + +Chovahani / Chowián, _s.f._ Witch. + +Chovahano, _s._ Wizard. + +Choveno, _a._ Poor, needy, starved. Perhaps derived from the Russian +Tchernoe (black, dirty, wretched); or from the Hungarian Csunya (hateful, +frightful); whence the Chungalo of the Hungarian, and also of the Spanish +Gypsies. + +Choveni, _fem_. of Choveno. + +Choveno ker, _s._ Workhouse, poorhouse. + +Chukkal, _s._ Dog. _Span. Gyp._ Chuquel. _Sans._ Kukkura. _Basque_, +Chacurra. _See_ Juggal. + +Chumba, _s._ Bank, hill. _Russ._ Xolm (a hill). + +Chungarava / Chungra, _v. a._ To spit. _Wal._ Ckouina. _Hun. Gyp._ +Chudel (he spits). + +Churi, _s._ Knife. _Sans._ Chhuri. _Hin._ Churi. + +Churi-mengro, _s._ Knife-grinder, cutler. + +Churo-mengro, _s._ A soldier, swordsman. + +Chute, _s._ Vinegar. _Mod. Gr. ζύδι_. _Wal._ Otset. + +Chute-pavi, _s._ Cyder; perhaps a crab-apple. Lit. vinegar-apple. + +Chuvvenhan, _s._ Witch. _See_ Chovahani. + +Cinerella. Female Gypsy name. + +Cocal, _s._ Bone. _Mod. Gr. κοκκαλον_, + +Cocalor, _pl._ Bones. + +Coco / Cocodus, _s._ Uncle. _Hin._ Caucau. + +Cocoro / Cocoros, _a. pro._ Alone, self: tu cocoro, thyself. + +Coin, _pro. interrog._ Who? _Hin._ Kaun. + +Collor, _s. pl._ Shillings: dui collor a crookos, two shillings a week. +In Spanish Germania or cant, two ochavos, or farthings, are called: dui +_calés._ + +Comorrus, _s._ A room, hall. _Hun._ Kamara. _Hin._ Cumra. _Ger._ +Kammer. + +Cong, congl, _v. a._ To comb. + +Congli / Congro, _s.f._ A comb. _Sans._ Kanagata. + +Congri, _s.f._ A church. + +Coor / Coorava, _v. a._ To fight. _Irish_, Comhrac [courac]. _Welsh_, +Curaw (to beat). + +Coorapen, _s._ Fight, a beating: I shall lel a curapen, I shall get a +beating. + +Cooroboshno, _s._ A fighting cock. + +Cooromengro, _s._ Fighter, boxer, soldier. + +Coppur, _s._ Blanket. _Rus._ Kovér (a carpet). _Wal._ Kovor, _id._ + +Corauni / Corooni, _s._ A crown: mekrauliskie corauni, royal crown. +_Wal._ Coroan. + +Cori, _s._ Thorn. Membrum virile. _Span._ Carajo [caraco]. _Gascon_, +Quirogau. + +Coro / Coru, _s._ Pot, pitcher, cup: coru levinor, cup of ale; boro +coro, a quart. _Span. Gyp._ Coro. _Hin._ Gharã. + +Coro-mengro, _s._ Potter. + +Coro-mengreskey tem. Staffordshire. + +Corredo, _a._ Blind. _Span. Gyp._ Corroro. _Pers._ کور _Wal._ Kior +(one-eyed). + +Cosht / Cost, _s._ Stick. _Sans._ Kāshtha. + +Cost-engres, _s. pl._ Branch-fellows, people of the New Forest, +Stanleys. + +Coshtno, _a._ Wooden. + +Covar / Covo, _s._ Thing: covars, things; covar-bikhning-vardo, a +caravan in which goods are carried about for sale. + +Crafni, _s._ Button. _Ger._ Knopf. + +Crafni-mengro, _s._ Buttonmaker. + +Creeor, _s. pl._ Ants, pismires. _Span. Gyp._ Ocrianse (the ant), +quiria (ant). + +Cricni / Crookey / Crookauros / Crookos, _s._ Week. _See_ Curco. + +Cuesni, _s._ Basket. _See_ Cushnee. + +Culvato (Gypsy name). Claude. + +Curaken, _s._ Fighting. _See_ Coorapen. + +Curepen, _s._ Trouble, affliction: curepenis, afflictions. + +Curkey / Curko, _s._ Week, Sunday. _Mod. Gr. κυριακὴ_. + +Curlo, _s._ Throat. _Pers._ گلو Chin his curlo, cut his throat. + +Curlo-mengri, _s._ A ruff, likewise a pillow; anything belonging to the +throat or neck. + +Cushnee / Cushni / Cusnee, _s._ Basket. _Wal._ Koshnitse. + +Cuttor, _s._ A piece, a guinea-piece: dui cuttor, two guineas; will you +lel a cuttor, will you take a bit? sore in cuttors, all in rags. + + + +D + + +DAD, _s._ Father. _Welsh_, Tâd. _Wal._ Tat. _Rus. Gyp._ Dad. + +Dado, _s._ Father. _Rus. Gyp._ Dado. + +Dand, _s._ Tooth. _Sans._ Danta. + +Danior, _pl._ Teeth. + +Dand, _v. a._ To bite. + +Daya / Dieya, _s._ Mother, properly nurse. _Sans._ Dhayas (fostering). +_Pers._ [Persian which cannot be reproduced] Daya. _Mod. Gr. θεῖα_. +_Rus. Gyp._ Daia. _Wal._ Doika. + +Deav, _v. a._ Give. _Sans._ Dā. _Wal._ Da. + +Del. He gives. + +Del-engro, _s._ A kicking-horse. + +Del-oprey, _v. a._ To read. + +Denne, _ad._ Than. + +Der. An _affix_, by which the _comparative_ is formed; _e.g._ Wafodu, +bad: wafodúder than dovor, worse than they. + +Desch, _a._ Ten. _Sans._ Dasan. _Wal._ Zetche. + +Desh ta yeck. Eleven. + +Desh ta dui. Twelve. + +Desh ta trin. Thirteen. + +Desh ta store. Fourteen. + +Desh ta pansch. Fifteen. + +Desh ta sho. Sixteen. + +Desh ta eft. Seventeen. + +Deshko. Eighteen (?): deshko hori, eighteenpence; properly, Desh ta octo +hori. + +Devel, _s._ God. _Sans._ Deva. _Lith._ Dēwas. _Lat._ Deus. _See_ +Dibble, Dovvel, Dubbel. + +Develeskoe, _s._ Holy, divine. _Sans._ Deva. + +Deyed, _pret._ of Deav. He gave. + +Dibble, _s._ God. _See_ Devel. + +Dic / Dico, _v. n._ To look: dic tuley, look down; dicking misto, +looking well. _Sans._ Iksh (to see, look). _Gaelic_, Dearcam (to see); +dearc (eye). + +Dickimengro, _s._ Overlooker, overseer. + +Dicking hev, _s._ A window, seeing-hole. + +Die, _s._ Mother. _Rus. Gyp._ Die. _See_ Daya. + +Dikkipen, _s._ Look, image. _Sans._ Driksha (aspect). _Welsh_, Drych +(aspect). + +Diklo, _s._ Cloth, sheet, shift. + +Dinnelo, _s._ A fool, one possessed by the devil. _Wal._ Diniele (of +the devil); louat diniele (possessed by the devil). + +Dinneleskoe, _a._ Foolish. + +Dinneleskoenoes. Like a fool. + +Dinnelipénes, _s. pl._ Follies, nonsense. + +Diverous. A Gypsy name. + +Diviou, _a._ Mad: jawing diviou, going mad. _Sans._ Déva (a god, a +fool). + +Diviou-ker, _s._ Madhouse. + +Diviou kokkodus Artáros. Mad Uncle Arthur. + +Divvus, _s._ Day. _Sans._ Divasa. + +Divveskoe / Divvuskoe, _a._ Daily: divvuskoe morro, daily bread. + +Diximengro, _s._ Overseer. _See_ Dickimengro. + +Dook, _v. a._ To hurt, bewitch: dook the gry, bewitch the horse. _Wal._ +Deokira (to fascinate, bewitch). _See_ Duke, dukker. + +Dooriya / Dooya, _s._ Sea. _Pers._ دریا _Irish_, Deire (the deep). +_Welsh_, Dwr (water). _Old Irish_, Dobhar. + +_Dooriya durril_, _s._ Currant, plum. Lit. Sea-berry. + +Dooriya durrileskie guyi, _s._ Plum pudding. + +Dori, _s._ Thread, lace: kaulo dori, black lace. _Hin._ Dora. + +Dosch / Dosh, _s._ Evil, harm: kek dosh, no harm. _Sans._ Dush (bad). + +Dosta, _s._ Enough. _Wal._ Destoul. _Rus._ Dostaet (it is +sufficient). _See_ Dusta. + +Dou, _imp._ Give: dou mande, give me. _See_ Deav. + +Dou dass. Cup and saucer. _See_ Dui das. + +Dovo, _pro. dem._ That: dovó si, that’s it. + +Dovor. Those, they: wafodúder than dovor, worse than they. + +Dov-odoy / Dovoy-oduvva, _ad._ Yonder. + +Dov-odoyskoenaes. In that manner. + +Doovel, _s._ God. _See_ Duvvel. + +Drab / Drav, _s._ Medicine, poison. _Pers_. [Persian which cannot be +reproduced] Daru. _Wal._ Otrav. + +Drab-engro / Drav-engro, _s._ A pothecary, poison-monger. + +Drab, _v. a._ To poison. _Wal_. Otribi. + +Drey, _prep._ In. + +Dubble, _s._ God: my dearie Dubbleskey, for my dear God’s sake. + +Dude, _s._ The moon. + +Dudee, _s._ A light, a star. _Sans._ Dyuti. + +Dude-bar, _s._ Diamond, light-stone. + +Drom, _s._ Road. _Wal._ Drom. _Mod. Gr. δρόμος_. + +Drom-luring, _s._ Highway robbery. + +Dui, _a._ Two. + +Duito, _s._ Second. + +Duito divvus, _s._ Tuesday. Lit. Second day. + +Dui das / Dui tas, _s._ Cup and saucer. + +Duke, _v. a._ To hurt, bewitch. _Sans._ Duhkha (pain). _Heb._ Dui +(languor, deadly faintness). + +Dukker, _v. a._ To bewitch, tell fortunes. _Wal._ Deokiea (to +fascinate, enchant). + +Dukker drey my vast. Tell my fortune by my hand. + +Dukkering, _s._ Fortune-telling. _Wal._ Deokiere (fascination). _Mod. +Gr. τύχη_ (fortune). + +Dukkipen, _s._ Fortune-telling. + +Dukker, _v. n._ To ache: my sherro dukkers, my head aches. _See_ Duke, +dukker. + +Dum / Dumo, _s._ Black. _Pers._ [Persian which cannot be reproduced] +(tail). + +Dur, _ad._ Far. _Sans._ Dur. _Pers._ دور + +Dur-dicki mengri, _s._ Telescope. Lit. far-seeing-thing. + +Durro, _ad._ Far. + +Durro-der, _ad._ Farther. + +Durriken, _s._ Fortune-telling. + +Durril, _s._ Any kind of berry, a gooseberry in particular. + +Durrilau / Durilyor, _pl._ Berries. + +Durrileskie guyi, _s._ Gooseberry pudding. + +Dusta, _a. s._ Enough, plenty: dusta foky, plenty of people. _See_ +Dosta. + +Duvvel, _s._ God. + + + +E + + +EANGE, _s._ Itch. + +Ebyok, _s._ The sea. _Sans._ Aapa (water). _Wal._ Ape. + +Eft, _a._ Seven. Few of the English Gypsies are acquainted with this +word; consequently, the generality, when they wish to express the number +seven, without being understood by the Gorgios or Gentiles, say Dui trins +ta yeck, two threes and one. + +En. A kind of _genitive particle_ used in compound words, being placed +between a noun and the particle ‘gro’ or ‘guero,’ which signifies a +possessor, or that which governs a thing or has to do with it: _e.g._ +lav-en-gro, a linguist or man of words, lit. word-of-fellow; wesh-en-gro, +a forester, or one who governs the wood; gurush-en-gre, things costing a +groat, lit. groat-of-things. + +Engri. A _neuter affix_, composed of the particles ‘en’ and ‘gro,’ much +used in the formation of figurative terms for things for which there are +no positive names in English Gypsy: for example, yag-engri, a fire-thing, +which denotes a gun; poggra-mengri, a breaking-thing or mill; ‘engri’ is +changed into ‘mengri’ when the preceding word terminates in a vowel. + +Engro. A _masculine affix_, used in the formation of figurative names; +for example, kaun-engro, an ear-fellow, or creature with ears, serving to +denote a hare; ruk-engro, or ruko-mengro, a tree-fellow, denoting a +squirrel; it is also occasionally used in names for inanimate objects, as +pov-engro, an earth-thing or potato. _See_ Guero. + +Escunyo, _s._ A wooden skewer, a pin. _Span. Gyp._ Chingabar (a pin). + +Escunyes, _pl._ Skewers. + +Escunye-mengro, _s._ A maker of skewers. + +Eskoe, _fem._ Eskie. A particle which affixed to a noun turns it into an +adjective: _e.g._ Duvel, God; duveleskoe, divine. It seems to be derived +from the _Wal._ Esk, Easkie. + +Eskey. An _affix_ or _postposition_, signifying, for the sake of: _e.g._ +Mi-dubble-eskey, for God’s sake. + +Ever-komi, _ad._ Evermore. + + + +F + + +FAKE, _v. a._ To work, in a dishonest sense; to steal, pick pockets. + +Fakement, _s._ A robbery, any kind of work: a pretty fakement that, a +pretty piece of work. A scoundrel—you ratfelo fakement, you precious +scoundrel; a man of any kind—he’s no bad fakement after all; a girl, St. +Paul’s Cathedral—what a rinkeny fakement, what a pretty girl, what a +noble church. + +Fashono, _a._ False, fashioned, made up. _Wal._ Fatche (to make); fatze +(face, surface). + +Fashono wangustis. Pretended gold rings, made in reality of brass or +copper. + +Fashono wangust engre. Makers of false rings. + +Fenella. A female Gypsy name. + +Ferreder, _a._ Better, more. _Gaelic_, Feairde. + +Fetér, _ad._ Better. _Pers._ بهتر _Span. Gyp._ Fetér. + +Figis, _s._ Fig. + +Figis-rookh, _s._ Fig-tree. + +Filisen, _s._ Country-seat. + +Fino, _a._ Fine. This word is not pure Gypsy: fino covar, a fine thing. + +Floure, _s._ Flower; a female Gypsy name. + +Fordel, _v. a._ Forgive; generally used for Artav, or Artavello, _q.v._, +and composed of the English ‘for’ and the Gypsy ‘del.’ + +Fordias / Fordios, _part. pass._ Forgiven. + +Foros, _s._ City. _See_ Vauros. + +Ful, _s._ Dung: ful-vardo, muck cart. + +Fuzyanri, _s._ Fern. _Hun._ Füz (willow), fácska (a shrub), füszár (a +stem). + + + +G + + +GAD, _s._ A shirt: pauno gad, a clean shirt. + +Gare, _v. n._, _v. a._ To take care, beware; to hide, conceal. _Sans._ +Ghar, to cover. + +Garridan. You hid: luvvu sor garridan, the money which you hid. + +Garrivava, _v. a._ I hide or shall hide, take care: to gare his +nangipen, to hide his nakedness. + +Gav, _s._ A town, village. _Pers._ [Persian which cannot be reproduced] + +Gav-engro, _s._ A constable, village officer, beadle, citizen. + +Gillie, _s._ A song. _Sans._ Khëli. + +Gillies. Songs. Sometimes used to denote newspapers; because these last +serve, as songs did in the old time, to give the world information of +remarkable events, such as battles, murders, and robberies. + +Gilyava. I sing, or shall sing. _Hin._ Guywuya. _Mod. Gr. κοιλαδῶ_. + +Gin, _v. a._ To count, reckon. _Sans._ Gan. _Hin._ Ginna. + +Ginnipen, _s._ A reckoning. + +Giv, _s._ Wheat. _Sans._ Yava (barley). _See_ Jobis. + +Giv-engro, _s._ Wheat-fellow, figurative name for farmer. + +Giv-engro ker, _s._ Farmhouse. + +Giv-engro puv, _s._ Farm. + +Godli, _s._ A warrant, perhaps hue and cry. _See_ Gudlie. _Span. Gyp._ +Gola (order). + +Gono, _s._ A sack. _Hin._ Gon. + +Gorgio, _s._ A Gentile, a person who is not a Gypsy; one who lives in a +house and not in a tent. It is a modification of the Persian word +[Persian which cannot be reproduced] Cojia, which signifies a gentleman, +a doctor, a merchant, etc. _Span. Gyp._ Gacho. + +Gorgiken rat. Of Gentile blood. + +Gorgie, _s._ A female Gentile or Englishwoman. + +Gorgikonaes, _ad._ After the manner of the Gentiles. + +Gooee, _s._ Pudding. _See_ Guyi. + +Gran, _s._ A barn: I sov’d yeck rarde drey a gran, I slept one night +within a barn (Gypsy song). + +Gran-wuddur, _s._ A barn door. + +Gran-wuddur-chiriclo. Barn-door fowl. + +Grasni / Grasnakkur, _s._ Mare, outrageous woman: what a grasni shan tu, +what a mare you are! Grasnakkur is sometimes applied to the _mayor_ of a +town. + +Grestur / Gristur, _s._ A horse. _Span. Gyp._ Gras, graste. + +Gry, _s._ A horse. _Sans._ Kharu. _Hin._ Ghora. _Irish_ and _Scottish +Gaelic_, Greadh. + +Gry-choring, _s._ Horse-stealing. + +Gry-engro, _s._ Horse-dealer. + +Gry-nashing. Horse-racing. + +Gudlee / Godli, _s._ Cry, noise, shout. _Hin._ Ghooloo. _Irish_, Gúl. +_Rus._ Gyl=gool (shout); Gólos (voice). + +Grommena / Grovena / Grubbena, _s._ and _v._ Thunder, to thunder. +_Sans._ Garjana. _Rus._ Groin (thunder). _Heb._ Ream, raemah. +_Gaelic_, Gairm (a cry). + +Gudlo, _a._, _s._ Sweet; honey, sugar. + +Gudlo-pishen, _s._ Honey-insect, bee. _See_ Bata. + +Gué. An _affix_, by which the dative case is formed: _e.g._ Man, I; +mangué, to me. + +Guero, _s._ A person, fellow, that which governs, operates. _Sans._ +Kãra (a maker). _Pers._ [Persian which cannot be reproduced] _Welsh_, +Gwr (a man). In the Spanish cant language, Guro signifies an alguazil, a +kind of civil officer. _See_ Engro. + +Gueri, _s.f._ Female person, virgin: Mideveleskey gueri Mary, Holy +Virgin Mary. + +Gush / Gurush / Gurushi, _a._ Groat: gurushengri, a groat’s worth. + +Guveni, _s._ Cow. _Sans._ Go. + +Guveni-bugnior, _s._ Cow-pox. + +Guveno, _s._ A bull. _Sans._ Gavaya. _Gaelic_, Gavuin, gowain +(year-old calf). + +Guyi, _s._ Pudding, black pudding. _Hin._ Gulgul. _Span. Gyp._ Golli. + +Guyi-mengreskie tan, _s._ Yorkshire. Lit. pudding-eaters’ country; in +allusion to the puddings for which Yorkshire is celebrated. + + + +H + + +HA / Haw, _v. a._ To eat. + +Habben, _s._ Food, victuals. + +Hal, _v. a._ To eat: mande can’t hal lis, I can’t eat it. _Sans._ Gala. + +Hanlo, _s._ A landlord, innkeeper. _Span. Gyp._ Anglanó. + +Hatch, _v. a._ To burn, light a fire. + +Hatchipen, _s._ A burning. + +Hatch, _v. n._ To stay, stop. _See_ Adje, atch, az. + +Hatchi-witchu, _s._ A hedgehog. This is a compound word from the _Wal._ +Aritche, a hedgehog, and the Persian Besha, a wood, and signifies +properly the prickly thing of the wood. In Spanish Gypsy, one of the +words for a pig or hog is Eriche, evidently the Wallachian Aritche, a +hedgehog. + +Hekta, _s._ Haste: kair hekta, make haste; likewise a leap. _See_ +Hokta. _Sans._ Hat’ha (to leap). + +Heres / Heris, _s. pl._ Legs. _Span. Gyp._ Jerias. Coshtni herri (a +wooden leg). + +Hetavava, _v. a._ To slay, beat, hit, carry off, plunder: if I can lel +bonnek of tute hetavava tute, if I can lay hold of you I will slay you. +_Heb._ Khataf (rapuit). _Sans._ Hat’ha (to ill-use, rapere). + +Hev, _s._ Hole: pawnugo hev, a water hole, a well; hev, a window; +hevior, windows. _Sans._ Avata. + +Heviskey, _a._ Full of holes: heviskey tan, a place full of holes. + +Hin, _s._ Dirt, ordure. _Mod. Gr. χυτὸν_. _Wal._ Gounoiou. _Irish_, +Gaineamh (sand). + +Hin, _v. a._ To void ordure. _Sans._ Hanna. _Mod. Gr. χύνω_. + +Hindity-mengré / Hindity-mescré, _s. pl._ Irish. Dirty, sordid fellows. + +Hoffeno, _s._ A liar. + +Hok-hornie-mush, s. A policeman. Partly a cant word. + +Hokka, _v. n._ To lie, tell a falsehood: hokka tute mande, if you tell +me a falsehood. + +Hokkano, _s._ A lie. _Sans._ Kuhanã (hypocrisy). + +Hokta, _v. a._ To leap, jump. _See_ Hekta. + +Hokta-mengro, _s._ Leaper, jumper. + +Hoofa, _s._ A cap. + +Hor / Horo, _s._ A penny. _Span. Gyp._ Corio an ochavo (or farthing). + +Horry, _s. pl._ Pence: shohorry, showhawry, sixpence. + +Horsworth, _s._ Pennyworth. + +Horkipen, _s._ Copper. _Hun. Gyp._ Harko. + +Huffeno, _s._ A liar. _See_ Hoffeno. + +Hukni, _s._ Ringing the changes, the fraudulent changing of one thing +for another. + + + +I + + +I, _pro._ She, it. + +I. A _feminine_ and _neuter termination_: _e.g._ Yag engr_i_, a +fire-thing or gun; coin _si_, who is she? so _si_, what is it? + +Inna / Inner, _prep._ In, within: inner Lundra, in London. _Span. Gyp._ +Enré. + +Iouzia, _s._ A flower. + +Is, _conj._ If; it is affixed to the verb—e.g. Dikiomis, if I had seen. + +Iv, _s._ Snow. _Hun. Gyp._ Yiv. _Span. Gyp._ Give. + +Iv-engri / Ivi-mengri, _s._ Snow-thing, snowball. + +Iuziou, _a._ Clean. _Mod. Gr. ὑγιὴς_ (sound, healthy). _See_ Roujio. + + + +J + + +JAL. To go, walk, journey. This verb is allied to various words in +different languages signifying movement, course or journey:—to the +Sanscrit Il, ila, to go; to the Russian Gulliat, to stroll, to walk +about; to the Turkish Iel, a journey; to the Jol of the Norse, and the +Yule of the Anglo-Saxons, terms applied to Christmas-tide, but which +properly mean the circular journey which the sun has completed at that +season: for what are Jol and Yule but the Ygul of the Hebrews? who call +the zodiac ‘Ygul ha mazaluth,’ or the circle of the signs. It is, +moreover, related to the German Jahr and the English Year, radically the +same words as Jol, Yule, and Ygul, and of the same meaning—namely, the +circle travelled by the sun through the signs. + +Já, _v. imp._ Go thou! + +Jal amande. I shall go. + +Jal te booty. Go to work. + +Jalno / Java / Jaw, v.a. I go. _Sans._ Chara. + +Jas, jasa. Thou goest: tute is jasing, thou art going. + +Jal, 3_rd pers. pres._ He goes. + +Jalla, _f._ She goes. + +Jalno ando pawni, _v. a._ I swim. Lit. I go in water. + +Jaw, _ad._ So: jaw si, so it is. _See_ Ajaw, asá, ashá. + +Jib, _s._ Tongue. _Sans._ Jihva. + +Jib, _v. n._ To live, to exist. _Sans._ Jiv. _Rus._ Jit. +_Lithuanian_, Gywenu. + +Jibben, _s._ Life, livelihood. _Sans._ Jivata (life), Jivika +(livelihood). _Rus._ Jivot, Tchivot. + +Jivvel, _v. n._ He lives: kai jivvel o, where does he live? + +Jin / Jinava, _v. n._ To know. _Sans._ Jna. + +Jinnepen, _s._ Wisdom, knowledge. _Sans._ Jnapti (understanding). + +Jinney-mengro, _s._ A knowing fellow, a deep card, a Grecian, a wise +man, a philosopher. + +Jinney-mengreskey rokrapénes. Sayings of the wise: the tatcho drom to be +a jinney-mengro is to dick and rig in zi, the true way to be a wise man +is to see and bear in mind. + +Jongar, _v. n._ To awake. _Sans._ Jagri. _Hin._ Jugana. + +Jôbis, _s._ Oats. _Sans._ Java (barley). _Wal._ Obia. _See_ Giv. + +Joddakaye, _s._ Apron; anything tied round the middle or hips. _Sans._ +Kata (the hip, the loins), Kataka (a girdle). + +Ju, _s._ A louse. _Sans._ Yuka. + +Juvalo, _a._ Lousy. + +Juvior, _s. pl._ Lice. + +Juggal / Jukkal, _s._ Dog. _Sans._ Srigãla (jackal). + +Jukkalor. Dogs. + +Jukkaelsti cosht, _s._ Dog-wood; a hard wood used for making skewers. + +Juva / Juvali, Woman, wife. + +Juvli, _s._ Girl. _See_ Chavali. + + + +K + + +KAEL, _s._ Cheese. + +Kaes, _s._ Cheese. + +Kah / Kai, _ad._ Where: kai tiro ker, where’s your house? kai si the +churi, where is the knife? _Sans._ Kva. + +Kair, _v. a._ To do. _Sans._ Kri, to do; kara (doing). + +Kair misto. To make well, cure, comfort. + +Kairipen, _s._ Work, labour. _Sans._ Karman. + +Kakkaratchi, _s._ Magpie; properly a raven. _Mod. Gr. κορακαζ_. + +Kanau / Knau, _ad._ Now. + +Karring. Crying out, hawking goods. _Span. Gyp._ Acarar (to call). +_See_ Koring. + +Kaulo, _a._ Black. _Sans._ Kãla. _Arab._ [Arabic which cannot be +reproduced] + +Kaulo chiriclo, _s._ A blackbird. + +Kaulo cori, _s._ A blackthorn. + +Kaulo durril, _s._ Blackberry. + +Kaulo Gav, _s._ Black-town, Birmingham. + +Kaulo guero, _s._ A black, negro. + +Kaulo guereskey tem, _s._ Negroland, Africa. + +Kaulo-mengro, _s._ A blacksmith. + +Kaulo ratti. Black blood, Gypsy blood: kaulo ratti adrey leste, he has +Gypsy blood in his veins. + +Kaun, _s._ An ear. _Sans._ Karna. + +Kaun-engro, _s._ An ear-fellow, thing with long ears; a figurative name +for a hare. + +Ke, _prep._ Unto. Likewise a _postposition_—_e.g._ lenké, to them. + +Keir / Ker, _s._ A house. _Sans._ Griha. + +Ker / Kerey / Ken, _ad._ Home, homeward: java keri, I will go home. + +Keir-poggring. House-breaking. + +Keir-rakli, _s._ A housemaid. + +Kek, _ad. a._ No, none, not: kek tatcho, it is not true. + +Kekkeno, _a._ None, not any: kekkeni pawni, no water. + +Kekkeno mushe’s poov, _s._ No man’s land; a common. + +Kekkauvi, _s.f._ Kettle. _Mod. Gr. κακκάβη_. + +Kekkauviskey saster, _s._ Kettle-iron; the hook by which the kettle is +suspended over the fire. + +Kekko, _ad._ No, it is not, not it, not he. + +Kekkomi. No more. _See_ Komi, Ever-komi. + +Kek-cushti. Of no use; no good. _See_ Koshto. + +Kem, _s._ The sun. _See_ Cam. + +Ken. A _particle_ affixed in English Gypsy to the name of a place +terminating in a vowel, in order to form a genitive; _e.g._ Eli_ken_ bori +congri, the great church of Ely. _See_ En. + +Ken, _s._ A house, properly a nest. _Heb._ [Hebrew which cannot be +reproduced] Kin. + +Kenyor, _s. pl._ Ears. _See_ Kaun. + +Ker / Kerava _v. a._ To do; make: kair yag, make a fire. _Sans._ Kri. +_Pers._ [Persian which cannot be reproduced] _Gaelic_, Ceaird (a trade), +ceard (a tinker). _Lat._ Cerdo (a smith). English, Char, chare (to work +by the day). + +Kerdo. He did. + +Kedast, 2_nd pers. pret._ Thou didst. + +Kedo, _part. pass._ Done. + +Kerri-mengro, _s._ Workman. + +Kerrimus, s. Doing, deed: mi-Doovel’s kerrimus, the Lord’s doing. +_Sans._ Karman (work). + +Kerrit, _p. pass._ Cooked, boiled. Anglo-Indian word, Curried. _Fr._ +Cuire. _Gaelic_, Greidh (to cook victuals). + +Kettaney, _ad._ Together. _Wal._ Ketziba (many). _See_ Kisi. + +Kidda, _v. a._ To pluck. + +Kil, _v. a._ To dance, play. _Hin._ Kelná. _Sans._ Kshvel. + +Killi-mengro, _s._ A dancer, player. + +Kil, _s._ Butter. + +Kin, _v. a._ To buy: kinning and bikkning, buying and selling. _Heb._ +Kana (he bought). + +Kin aley. To ransom, redeem, buy off. + +Kinnipen, _s._ A purchase. + +Kinnipen-divvus, _s._ Purchasing-day, Saturday. + +Kindo, _a._ Wet. + +Kipsi, _s._ Basket. _Span. Gyp._ Quicia. + +Kinyo. Tired. _Span. Gyp._ Quiñao. + +Kisaiya. A female Gypsy name. + +Kisi, _ad._ How much, to what degree: kisi puro shan tu, how old are +you? _Wal._ Kitze. _Span. Gyp._ Quichi. _Sans._ Kati (how many?) + +Kisseh / Kissi, _s._ A purse. _Sans._ Kosa. _Pers._ [Persian which +cannot be reproduced] + +Kistur, _v. a._ To ride. _Wal._ Keleri. + +Kistri-mengro / Kistro-mengro, _s._ Rider, horseman. + +Kitchema, _s._ Public-house, inn. _Hun._ Korcsma. _Wal._ Keirtchumie. + +Kitchema-mengro, _s._ Innkeeper. + +Klism / Klisn, _s._ A key. _Rus._ Cliotche. _Mod. Gr. κλείσμα_ +(shutting up). + +Klism-engri, _s._ A lock. Lit. key-thing. + +Klism-hev, _s._ A keyhole. + +Klop, _s._ A gate, seemingly a cant word; perhaps a bell. _Wal._ +Klopot. + +Kokkodus. Uncle: kokkodus Artáros, Uncle Arthur. + +Komi, _adv._ More: ever-komi, evermore. + +Koosho, _a._ Good: kooshi gillie, a good song. _Sans._ Kusala. + +Kora / Kore, _v. a._ To riot. _Wal._ Kiorei (to cry out, bawl, make a +tumult). _Heb._ Kara (he convoked, cried out). + +Koring, _part. pres._ Rioting. _Heb._ Kirivah (proclamation). + +Kora-mengro, _s._ A rioter. + +Kore, _v. a._ To hawk goods about, to cry out, to proclaim. + +Koring lil, _s._ Hawking-licence. + +Koring chiriclo, _s._ The cuckoo. + +Koshto, _a._ Good. _Pers._ خوب + +Koshtipen, _s._ Goodness, advantage, profit: kek koshtipen in dukkering +knau, it is of no use to tell fortunes now. + +Kosko, _a._ Good. + +Koskipen, _s._ Goodness. + +Krallis, _s._ King. _Rus._ Korol. _Hun._ Király. _Wal._ Kraiu. + +Kushto, _a._ Good: kushto si for mangui, I am content. + + + +L + + +LA, _pro. pers._ Her; accusative of ‘i’ or ‘ yoi,’ she. + +Laki, _pro. poss._ Her: laki die, her mother. + +Lasa / Lasar, With her; instrumental case of ‘i.’ + +Later. From her; ablative of ‘i.’ + +Lati. Genitive of ‘i’; frequently used as the accusative—e.g. cams tu +lati, do you love her? + +Lang / Lango, a. Lame. _Sans._ Lang. _Pers._ [Persian which cannot be +reproduced] Lenk. + +Lashi / Lasho, Louis. _Hungarian_, Lajos, Lazlo. Scotch, Lesley. + +Latch, _v. a._ To find. _Wal._ Aphla. + +Lav, _s._ Word. _Sans_. Lapa (to speak). _Eng._ Lip. + +Lavior, _pl._ Words. + +Lav-chingaripen, _s._ Dispute, word-war. + +Lav-engro, _s._ Word-master, linguist. + +Len, _pro. pers. pl._ To them: se len, there is to them, the have. + +Lendar, _ablative_. From them. + +Lende / Lunde, _gen. and acc._ Of them, them. + +Lensar. With them. + +Lengué, _pro. poss._ Their: lengue tan, their tent. + +Les, _pro. pers._ To him; dative of ‘yo,’ he: pawno stadj se les, he has +a white hat. + +Lescro, _pro. poss._ His, belonging to him: lescro prala, his brother. + +Leste. Of him, _likewise_ him; genitive and accusative of ‘yo.’ + +Lester. From him. + +Leste’s. His: leste’s wast, his hand; properly, lescro wast. + +Lesti. Her _or_ it: pukker zi te lesti, tell her your mind; he can’t +rokkra lesti, he can’t speak it. + +Leav / Ley, _v. a._ To take. _Wal._ Loua. + +Lel. He takes. + +Lel cappi. Get booty, profit, capital. + +Lennor, _s._ Summer, spring. + +Levinor, _s._ Ale; drinks in which there is wormwood. _Heb._ Laenah +(wormwood). _Irish_, Lion (ale). + +Levinor-ker, _s._ Alehouse. + +Levinor-engri. Hop. Lit. ale-thing. + +Levinor-engriken tem. Kent. Lit. hop-country. + +Li, _pron._ It: dovo se li, that’s it. + +Lidan, _v. a._ You took; 2_nd pers. pret._ of Ley. + +Lil, _s._ Book; a letter or pass. _Hun._ Level. _Sans._ Likh (to +write). _Hindustani_, Likhan (to write). + +Lillai, _s._ Summer. _Hun. Gyp._ Nilei. + +Linnow, _part. pass._ Taken, apprehended. + +Lis, _pro. dat._ To it: adrey lis, in it. + +Lollo / Lullo, _a._ Red. _Pers._ [Persian which cannot be reproduced] +Lal. + +Lolle bengres, _s. pl._ Red waistcoats, Bow Street runners. + +Lollo matcho, _s._ Red herring. Lit. red fish. + +Lolli plaishta, _s._ A red cloak. + +Lolli, _s._ A farthing. + +Lon / Lun, _s._ Salt. _Sans._ Lavana. _Hin._ Lon. + +Lou, _pro._ It: oprey-lou, upon it. _Wal._ Lou. + +Loure, _v. a._ To steal. _See_ Luripen. + +Lubbeny, _s._ Harlot. _Rus._ Liabodieitza (adultress), liobodeinoe +(adulterous). _Sans._ Lúbha (to inflame with lust, to desire). The +English word Love is derived from this Sanscrit root. + +Lubbenipen, _s._ Harlotry. + +Lubbenified. Become a harlot. + +Lundra. London. _Mod. Gr. Λόνδρα_. + +Luripen, _s._ Robbery, a booty. Lit. a seizure. _Wal._ Luare (seizure, +capture), Louarea Parizouloui (the capture of Paris). + +Lutherum, _s._ Sleep, repose, slumber. + +Luvvo, _s._ Money, currency. _Rus._ Lóvok (convenient, handy, quick, +agile). In Spanish Gypsy, a real (small coin) is called Quelati, a thing +which dances, from Quelar, to dance. + +Luvvo-mengro, _s._ Money-changer, banker. + +Luvvo-mengro-ker, _s._ Banker’s house, bank. + + + +M + + +MÁ, _ad._ Not; only used before the imperative: má muk, let not. +_Sans._ Mã. _Pers._ [Persian which cannot be reproduced] + +Maas, _s._ _Sans._ Mansa Mans. _Rus._ Maso. _See_ Mas. + +Maas-engro / Maaso-mengro, _s._ Butcher. + +Mailla, _s._ Ass, donkey. _Wal._ Megaroul. _Sans._ Baluya. + +Mailla and posh. Ass and foal. + +Malleco, _a._ False. + +Malúno / Maloney, _s._ Lightning. _Rus._ Mólnïya. + +Mam, _s._ Mother. _Wal._ Moume. _Welsh_, Mam. _Irish and Scottish +Gaelic_, Muime (a nurse). + +Man, _pron. pers._ I; very seldom used. _Hin._ Muen. + +Mande, _pron. pers. oblique_ of Man; generally used instead of the +nominative Man. + +Mander. Ablative of Man, from me: jã mander, go from me. + +Mande’s. My. Mande’s wast, my hand; used improperly for miro. + +Mangue. Dative of Man, to me; sometimes used instead of the nominative. + +Mansa. With me. + +Mang, _v. a._ To beg. _Hin._ Mangna. _Sans._ Mãrg. + +Mango-mengro, _s._ A beggar. + +Mangipen, _s._ The trade of begging. _Sans._ Mãrgana (begging). + +Manricley, _s._ A cake. _Span. Gyp._ Manricli. + +Manush, _s._ Man. _Sans._ Mãnasha. _Span. Gyp._ Manus. _See_ Monish. + +Manushi, _s._ Woman, wife. _Sans._ Manushi. + +Maricli, _s._ A cake. _See_ Maricley. + +Mash, _s._ Umbrella. A cant word. + +Matcho, _s._ A fish. _Sans._ Matsya. _Hin._ Muchee. + +Matcheneskoe Gav. Yarmouth. Lit. the fishy town. + +Matcheneskoe guero, _s._ A fisherman. + +Matchka, _s.f._ A cat. _Hun._ Macska. + +Matchko, _s. m._ A he-cat. + +Mattipen, _s._ Drunkenness. _Sans._ Matta (to be intoxicated). _Mod. +Gr. Μέθη_ (intoxication). _Welsh_, Meddwy (to intoxicate). + +Matto, _a._ Drunk, intoxicated. _Welsh_, Meddw. + +Matto-mengro, _s._ Drunkard. + +Mea, _s._ Mile: dui mear, two miles. _Wal._ Mie. + +Mea-bar, _s._ Milestone. + +Medisin, _s._ Measure, bushel. _Sans._ Mãna. + +Mek, _v. n._ Leave, let: meklis, leave off, hold your tongue, have done. +_Sans._ Moksh. + +Men, _pr._ We; _pl._ of Man. + +Men, _s._ Neck. _Gaelic_, Muineal. _Welsh_, Mwng. _Mandchou_, Meifen. + +Men-pangushi, _s._ Neckcloth. _See_ Pangushi. + +Mengro. A word much used in composition. _See_ Engro and Mescro. + +Mensalli, _s._ A table. _Wal._ Masi. + +Mer / Merava, _v. n._ To die. _Sans._ Mri. + +Merricley, _s._ A cake. _See_ Manricley. + +Merripen, _s._ Death. _Sans._ Mara. + +Merripen, _s._ Life, according to the Gypsies, though one feels inclined +to suppose that the real signification of the word is Death; it may, +however, be connected with the Gaulic or Irish word Mairam, to endure, +continue, live long: Gura’ fada mhaireadh tu! may you long endure, long +life to you! In Spanish Gypsy Merinao signifies an immortal. + +Mescro. A _particle_ which, affixed to a verb, forms a substantive +masculine:—_e.g._ Camo, I love; camo-mescro, a lover. Nash, to run; +nashi-mescro, a runner. It is equivalent to Mengro, _q.v._ + +Messalli, _s._ A table. _Wal._ Masi. + +Mestipen, _s._ Life, livelihood, living, fortune, luck, goodness. +_Span. Gyp._ Mestipen, bestipen. _Wal._ Viatsie. + +Mi, _pron._ I, my. + +Mi cocoro, _pron. poss._ I myself, I alone. + +Mi dearie Dubbeleskey. For my dear God’s sake. + +Mi develeskie gueri, _s.f._ A holy female. + +Mi develeskie gueri Mary. Holy Virgin Mary. + +Mi develeskoe Baval Engro. Holy Ghost. + +Mi dubbelungo, _a._ Divine. + +Mi duvvelungo divvus, _s._ Christmas Day. + +Millior, _s._ Miles; panj millior, five miles. + +Minge / Mintch, _s._ Pudendum muliebre. + +Miro, _pron. poss._ My, mine. + +Miri, _pron. poss. f._ My, mine. + +Misto / Mistos, _ad._ Well. + +Misto dusta. Very well. + +Mistos amande. I am glad. + +Mitch, _s._ _See_ Minge. + +Mizella. Female Gypsy name. + +Mokkado, _a._ Unclean to eat. _Wal._ Mourdar (dirty). + +Monish, _s._ Man. _See_ Manush. + +Mol, _s._ Wine. _See_ Mul. + +Mollauvis, _s._ Pewter. + +Moomli, _s._ Candle, taper. _See_ Mumli. + +Moomli-mengro, _s._ Candlestick, lantern. + +Moar, _v. a._ To grind. _See_ Morro. + +More / Morava, _v. a._ To kill, slay. _Sans._ Mri. _Wal._ Omori. + +Moreno, _part. pass._ Killed, slain. + +More, _v. a._ To shave, shear. _Hun. Gyp._ Murinow. + +Mormusti, _s.f._ Midwife. _Wal._ Maimoutsi. _Rus._ Mameichka (nurse). + +Moro, _pron. poss._ Our: moro dad, our father. + +Morro, _s._ Bread. Lit. that which is ground. _See_ Moar. _Span. +Gyp._ Manro. _Hun. Gyp._ Manro, also Gheum: sin gheum manro, gheum is +manro (bread). _Rus. Gyp._ Morroshka (a loaf). + +Morro-mengro, _s._ A baker. + +Mort, _s._ Woman, concubine; a cant word. + +Mosco / Moshko, A fly. _Lat._ Musca. _Wal._ Mouskie. _Span. Gyp._ +Moscabis (fly-blown, stung with love, picado, enamorado). + +Moskey, _s._ A spy: to jal a moskeying, to go out spying. _Fr._ +Mouchard. + +Mufta, _s.f._ Box, chest. _See_ Muktar. + +Mui, _s._ Face, mouth: lollo leste mui, his face is red. _Sans._ Mukha +(face, mouth). _Fr._ Mot (a word). _Provenzal_, Mo. + +Muk, _v. n._ To leave, let. _See_ Mek. + +Mukkalis becunye. Let it be. + +Muktar / Mukto, _s._ Box, chest. + +Mul, _s._ Wine. _Pers._ Mul. + +Mul divvus. Christmas Day. Lit. wine day. + +Mul-engris, _s. pl._ Grapes: mul-engri tan, vineyard. + +Mulleni muktar, _s._ Coffin. Lit. dead-chest. + +Mullodustie mukto. _Id._ + +Mulleno hev, _s._ Grave. + +Mulleno kêr, _s._ Sepulchre, cemetery. + +Mullo, _s._, _a._ Dead man, dead. + +Mullo mas, _s._ Dead meat; flesh of an animal not slain, but which died +alone. + +Mumli, _s.f._ Candle. + +Mumli-mescro, _s._ Chandler. + +Munjee, _s._ A blow on the mouth, seemingly a cant word. _Hin._ Munh, +mouth. _Ger._ Mund. + +Murces / Mursior, _s. pl._ Arms. _Span. Gyp._ Murciales. + +Muscro, _s._ Constable. _See_ Muskerro. + +Mush, _s._ Man. _Rus._ Mouge. _Finnish_, Mies. _Tibetian_, Mi. +_Lat._ Mas (a male). + +Mushi, _s._ Woman. + +Mushipen, _s._ A little man, a lad. _Toulousian_, Massip (a young man), +massipo (a young woman). + +Muskerro, _s._ Constable. + +Muskerriskoe cost, _s._ Constable’s staff. + +Mutra, _s._ Urine. + +Mutrava, _v. a._ To void urine. _Sans._ Mutra. + +Mutra-mengri, _s._ Tea. + +Mutzi, _s._ Skin. _Span. Gyp._ Morchas. + +Mutzior, _s. pl._ Skins. + + + +N + + +NA, _ad._ Not. + +Naflipen, _s._ Sickness. _Span. Gyp._ Nasallipen. _Mod. Gr. νόσευμα_. + +Naflo, _a._ Sick. + +Nai. Properly Na hi, there is not: nai men chior, we have no girls. + +Naior, _s. pl._ Nails of the fingers or toes. _Mod. Gr. νύχι_. + +Nangipen, _s._ Nakedness. + +Nango, _a._ Naked. + +Narilla / Narrila, A female Gypsy name. + +Nash, _v. a._ To run. _Span. Gyp._ Najar. + +Nashimescro, _s._ Runner, racer. + +Nashimescro-tan, _s._ Race-course. + +Nash, _v. a._ To lose, destroy, to hang. _Sans._ Nasa. _Span. Gyp._ +Najabar (to lose). _Sans._ Nakha (to destroy). _Eng._ Nacker (a killer +of old horses). + +Nashado, _part. pret._ Lost, destroyed, hung. + +Nashimescro, _s._ Hangman. + +Nashko, _part. pass._ Hung: nashko pré rukh, hung on a tree. + +Nasho, _part. pass._ Hung. + +Nástis, _a._ Impossible. _See_ Astis. + +Nav, _s._ Name. _Hun._ Nev. + +Naval, _s._ Thread. _Span. Gyp._ Nafre. + +Naes / Nes, _postpos._ According to, after the manner of: gorgikonaes, +after the manner of the Gentiles; Romano-chalugo-naes, after the manner +of the Gypsies. + +Ne, _ad._ No, not: ne burroder, no more; ne riddo, not dressed. + +Nevo, _a._ New. + +Nevi, _a. fem._ New: nevi tud from the guveni, new milk from the cow. + +Nevey Rukhies. The New Forest. Lit. new trees. + +Nevi Wesh. The New Forest. + +Nick, _v. a._ To take away, steal. _Span. Gyp._ Nicabar. + +Nick the cost. To steal sticks for skewers and linen-pegs. + +Nogo, _s._ Own, one’s own; nogo dad, one’s own father; nogo tan, one’s +own country. + +Nok, _s._ Nose. _Hin._ Nakh. + +Nok-engro, _s._ A glandered horse. Lit. a nose-fellow. + +Nokkipen, _s._ Snuff. + + + +O + + +O, _art. def._ The. + +O, _pron._ He. + +Odoi, _ad._ There. _Hun._ Ott, oda. + +Oduvvu, _pron. dem._ That. _Span. Gyp._ Odoba. + +Olevas / Olivas / Olivor, _s. pl._ Stockings. _Span. Gyp._ Olibias. +_Wal._ Chorapul. + +Opral / Opré / Oprey, _prep._ Upon, above. _Wal._ Pre, asoupra. + +Or. A plural termination; for example, Shock, a cabbage, _pl._ shock-or. +It is perhaps derived from Ouri, the plural termination of Wallachian +neuter nouns ending in ‘e.’ + +Ora, _s.f._ A watch. _Hun._ Ora. + +Ora, _s._ An hour: so si ora, what’s o’clock? + +Orlenda. Gypsy female name. _Rus._ Orlitza (female eagle). + +Os. A common termination of Gypsy nouns. It is frequently appended by +the Gypsies to English nouns in order to disguise them. + +Owli, _ad._ Yes. _See_ Avali. + + + +P + + +PA, _prep._ By: pá mui, by mouth. _Rus._ Po. + +Padlo, _ad._ Across: padlo pawnie, across the water, transported. + +Pahamengro, _s._ Turnip. + +Pailloes, _s._ Filberts. + +Pal, _s._ Brother. + +Pal of the bor. Brother of the hedge, hedgehog. + +Palal, _prep. ad._ Behind, after, back again: av palal, come back, come +again: palal the welgorus, after the fair. _Mod. Gr. πάλιν_ (again). +_Rus._ Opiat (_id._). + +Pali, _ad._ Again, back. + +Pand, _v. a._ To bind. _Sans._ Bandh. + +Pandipen, _s._ Pinfold, prison, pound. + +Pandlo, _part. pass._ Bound, imprisoned, pounded. + +Pand opre, _v. a._ To bind up. + +Pandlo-mengro, _s._ Tollgate, thing that’s shut. + +Pangushi, _s.f._ Handkerchief. + +Pãni, _s._ Water. _See_ Pawni. + +Panishey shock, _s._ Watercress. Lit. water-cabbage. _See_ Shok. + +Panj, _a._ Five. _See_ Pansch. + +Pani-mengro, _s._ Sailor, waterman. + +Panni-mengri, _s._ Garden. + +Panno, _s._ Cloth. _Lat._ Pannus. _Wal._ Penzie. + +Pansch, _s._ Five. _Hin._ Panch. + +Pappins / Pappior, _s. pl._ Ducks. _Mod. Gr. πάρια_. + +Paracrow, _v. a._ To thank: paracrow tute, I thank you. + +Parava / Parra, _v. a._ To change, exchange. _See_ Porra. + +Parriken, _s._ Trust, credit. _Mod. Gr. παρακαταθήκη_ (trusted goods). + +Parno, _a._ White. _See_ Pauno. + +Pas, _s._ Half. _See_ Posh. + +Pasherro, _s._ Halfpenny; _pl._ pasherie. _Pers._ [Persian which cannot +be reproduced] Pasheez (a farthing). + +Pas-more, _v. a._ Half-kill. + +Patch, _s._ Shame. _Span. Gyp._ Pachi, modesty, virginity. _Sans._ +Putchã. + +Patnies, _s. pl._ Ducks. + +Patrin, _s._ A Gypsy trail; handfuls of leaves or grass cast by the +Gypsies on the road, to denote to those behind the way which they have +taken. + +Pattin, _s._ A leaf. _Span. Gyp._ Patia. _Sans._ Patra. + +Pattinor. Leaves. + +Paub / Paubi, _s._ An apple. _Hung. Gyp._ Paboy. + +Paub tan, _s._ Orchard. + +Pauno, _a._ White. _Sans._ Pandu. _Gaelic_, Ban. + +Pauno gad. Clean shirt. + +Pauno sherro. Grey head, white head. + +Pauno, _s._ Flour. Lit. what is white. The Latin ‘panis’ seems to be +connected with this word. + +Pauno-mengro, _s._ A miller, white fellow. + +Pauno-mui, _s._ Pale face; generally applied to a vain, foolish girl, +who prefers the company of the pallid Gentiles to that of the dark +Romans. + +Pauvi, _s._ An apple. + +Pauvi-pãni, _s._ Cyder, apple-water. + +Pawdel, _ad._ Across, over: pawdel puve and pawni, across land and +water; pawdel the chumba, over the hill. + +Pawnee / Pawni, _s._ Water. _Sans._ Pãniya. _Hin._ Panie. _Eng._ +Pond. _See_ Pāni. + +Pawnugo, _a._ Watery: pawnugo hev, water-hole, well. + +Pazorrhus, _part. pass._ Indebted. _See_ Pizarris. + +Péava, _v. a._ To drink. _Sans._ Pã. + +Péa-mengri, _s._ Tea-pot. _Wal._ Bea. Lit. drinking thing. + +Peeapen, _s._ Health: ako’s your peeapen! here’s your health! + +Pea-mengro, _s._ Drunkard. + +Pedloer, _s._ Nuts; _prop._ Acorns. _Pers._ Peleed. + +Peerdie, _s._ Female tramper. + +Peerdo, _s._ Male tramper. + +Pek’d / Pekt, _part. pass._ Roasted. _Span. Gyp._ Peco. _Sans._ Pãka +(cooking). _Pers._ Pekhtan. _Rus._ Petsch (oven). + +Pele, _s. pl._ Testicles. _Sans._ P’hala. + +Pelengo gry / Pelengro gry, _s._ Stone-horse. + +Pen, a _particle_ affixed to an adjective or a verb when some property or +quality, affection or action is to be expressed, the termination of the +first word being occasionally slightly modified: for example, Kosko, +good, koskipen, goodness; Tatcho, true, tatchipen, truth; Camo, I love, +camipen, love; Chingar, to fight, chingaripen, war. It is of much the +same service in expressing what is abstract and ideal as Engro, Mescro, +and Engri are in expressing what is living and tangible. It is sometimes +used as a diminutive, _e.g._ Mushipen, a little fellow. + +Pen, _s._ Sister. + +Pen / Penav, _v. a._ To say, speak. _Wal._ Spoune. + +Penchava, _v. n._ To think. _Pers._ Pendashten. _Sans._ Vi-cit. + +Penliois, _s._ Nuts. _See_ Pedloer. + +Per, _s._ Belly. + +Per, _v. n._ To fall. _Span. Gyp._ Petrar. _Sans._ Pat. + +Per tuley. To fall down. + +Perdo, _a._ Full. _Sans._ Purva, to fill. + +Pes / Pessa, _v. a._ To pay. _Span. Gyp._ Plaserar. _Rus._ Platit. +_Wal._ Pleti. _Hun._ Fizetni. + +Pes apopli. To repay. + +Petul, _s._ A horse-shoe. _Mod. Gr. πέταλον_. _Wal._ Potkoavie. +_Heb._ Bedel (tin). + +Petul-engro, _s._ Horseshoe-maker, smith, tinker; the name of a Gypsy +tribe. + +Pi, _v. a._ To drink. _Sans._ Piva (drinking). _See_ Peava. + +Pias, _s._ Fun. _Mod. Gr. παίζω_ (to play). + +Pikkis / Pikkaris, _s. pl._ Breasts. _See_ Birk, bark. _Wal._ Piept. + +Pikko, _s._ Shoulder. + +Pios, _part. pass._ Drunken. Only employed when a health is drunk: +_e.g._ aukko tu pios adrey Romanes, your health is drunk in Romany. + +Píre, _s. pl._ Feet. + +Pirè, _s. pl._ Trampers. + +Pire-gueros, _s. pl._ Travellers, trampers. Lit. foot-fellows. + +Pireni, _s.f._ Sweetheart. + +Pireno, _s. m._ Sweetheart. + +Piro, _v. a._ To walk: pirel, he walks. + +Piro-mengro, _s._ Walker. + +Pirry, _s._ Pot, boiler. This is a west-country Gypsy word. _Span. +Gyp._ Piri. _Sans._ Pithara, pãtra. + +Pishen, _s._ Flea, any kind of insect: guldo pishen, honey-insect, bee, +honey. + +Pivli, _s._ A widow. + +Pivlo, _s._ A widower. + +Pivley-gueri, _s._ A widowed female. + +Pivley-guero, _s._ A widowed fellow. + +Pivley-raunie, _s._ A widow lady. + +Piya-mengro, _s._ Drunkard. _See_ Pea-mengro. + +Pizarris / Pizaurus, _part. pass._ Trusted, credited, in debt. _Sans._ +Vishvas (to trust). _Wal._ Se bizoui (to trust, to credit). _Mod. Gr. +πιστευθίες_ (he who has been credited). _Span. Gyp._ Bisarar (to owe), +bisauras (debts), pista (an account). + +Pizarri-mengro, _s._ A trusted person, a debtor. + +Plakta, _s._ Sheet: bero-rukiskie plakta, a ship’s sail. + +Plashta, _s._ Cloak: lolli plashta, red cloak. _Span. Gyp._ Plata. +Plakta and plashta are probably both derived from the Wallachian postat, +a sheet. + +Plastra, _v. a._ To run. + +Plastra lesti. Run it; run for your life. + +Plastra-mengro, _s. a._ A Bow Street runner, a pursuer. In Spanish +Gypsy, Plastañi means a company which pursues robbers. + +Poggado, _part. pass._ Broken. + +Poggado bavol-engro, _s._ Broken-winded horse. + +Poggado habben, _s._ Broken victuals. + +Poggra, _v. a._ To break. _Wal._ Pokni. + +Poggra-mengri, _s._ A mill. Lit. a breaking thing. + +Poknies, _s._ Justice of the peace. _Rus._ Pokoio (to pacify). + +Pokiniskoe ker, _s._ House of a justice of the peace. + +Pooshed / Poosheno, _part. pass._ Buried: mulo ta poosheno, dead and +buried. + +Por, _s._ Feather. _Pers._ Par. _Sans._ Parna. + +Por-engro, _s._ Pen-master, penman, one able to write. + +Por-engri-pen, _s._ Penmanship, writing. + +Porior, _s. pl._ Feathers. + +Pordo, _a._ Heavy. _Wal._ Povarie (a weight). _Lat._ Pondus. + +Porra, _v. a._ To exchange. + +Posh, _s._ Half. + +Posherro / Poshoro, _s._ Halfpenny. + +Possey-mengri, _s._ Pitchfork; improperly used for any fork. The +literal meaning is a straw-thing; a thing used for the removal of straw. +_See_ Pus. + +Potan, _s._ Tinder. _Wal._ Postabh (sheet, cloth). _Sans._ Pata +(cloth). + +Poov / Pov, _s._ Earth, ground. _Sans._ Bhu. + +Poov, _v._ To poov a gry, to put a horse in a field at night. + +Pov-engro, _s._ An earth thing, potato. + +Pov-engreskoe, _a._ Belonging to the potato. + +Povengreskoe gav. Potato town—Norwich. + +Povengreskoe tem. Potato country—Norfolk. + +Povo-guero, _s._ Mole, earth-fellow. + +Praio, _a._ Upper: praio tem, upper country, heaven. _Span. Gyp._ Tarpe +(heaven). _See_ Opré. + +Prala, _s._ Brother. + +Pude, _v. a._ To blow. + +Pude-mengri, _s._ Blowing thing, bellows. + +Pudge, _s._ Bridge. _Wal._ Pod, podoul. _Pers._ Pul. _Sans._ Pāli. + +Pukker, _v. a._ To tell, declare, answer, say, speak. _Span. Gyp._ +Pucanar (to proclaim). _Hin._ Pukar, pukarnar. + +Pur, _s._ Belly. _See_ Per. + +Pureno, _a._ Ancient, old: pureno foky, the old people. _Sans._ Purvya +(ancient). + +Puro, _a._ Old. _Sans._ Purã. + +Puro dad, _s._ Grandfather. + +Purrum, _s._ Leek, onion. _Lat._ Porrum. + +Purrum / Purrun, _n. pr._ Lee, or Leek; the name of a numerous Gypsy +tribe in the neighbourhood of London. _Wal._ Pur (onion). _Lat._ +Porrum. _Sans._ Purãna (ancient). + +Pus, _s._ Straw. _Sans._ Busa, chaff. + +Putch, _v. a._ To ask. _Hin._ Puchhna. + +Putsi, _s._ Purse, pocket. _Sans._ Putã, pocket. _Wal._ Pountsi. _Old +cant_, Boung. + +Putsi-lil, _s._ Pocket-book. + +Puvvo, _s._ Earth, ground. _See_ Poov. + +Puvvesti churi, _s. a._ Plough. + + + +R + + +RAIA, _s._ Gentleman, lord. _See_ Rye. + +Rak, _v. n._ To beware, take care; rak tute, take care of yourself. +_Sans._ Raksh (to guard, preserve). + +Rakli, _s.f._ Girl. + +Raklo, _s._ Boy, lad. + +Ran, _s._ Rod: ranior, rods. _Sans._ Ratha (cane, ratan). + +Rarde, _s._ Night. _Sans._ Rātri. + +Rardiskey, _a._ Nightly. + +Rardiskey kair poggring, _s._ Housebreaking by night, burglary. + +Rashengro, _s._ Clergyman. + +Rashi, _s._ Clergyman, priest. _Sans._ Rishi (holy person). + +Rashieskey rokkring tan, _s._ Pulpit. + +Ratcheta, _s._ A goose, duck. _See_ Retsa. + +Ratti, _s._ Blood. _Sans._ Rudhira. + +Ratniken chiriclo, _s._ Nightingale. + +Rawnie, _s._ Lady. + +Rawniskie dicking gueri, _s._ Lady-like looking woman. + +Rawniskie tatti naflipen, _s._ The lady’s fever, maladie de France. + +Retza, _s._ Duck. _Wal._ Rierzoiou. _See_ Rossar-mescro. _Hun._ +Récze. + +Reyna. A female Gypsy name. + +Riddo, _part. pass._ Dressed. _Span. Gyp._ Vriardao. + +Rig / Riggur / Riggurava, _v. a._ To bear, carry, bring. + +Rig in zi. To remember, bear in mind. + +Rig to zi. To bring to mind. + +Rinkeno, _a._ Handsome. + +Rivipen, _s._ Dress. Lit. linen clothes, women’s dress. _Wal._ Ruphe. +_Mod. Gr. ῥάπτης_ (a tailor). In Spanish Gypsy clothes are called +Goneles, from the Wallachian Khainele. + +Rodra, _v. a._ To search, seek. + +Roi, _s._ Spoon. + +Rokra, _v. a._ To talk, speak. _Rus._ Rek (he said). _Lat._ Loquor. + +Rokrenchericlo, _s._ Parrot, magpie. + +Rokrenguero, _s._ A lawyer, talker. _Gaelic_, Racaire (a chatterer). + +Rokrengueriskey gav. Talking fellows’ town—Norwich. + +Rokunyes, _s._ Trousers, breeches. _Hun. Gyp._ Roklia (gown). _Mod. +Gr. ῤόχρν_ (cloth). + +Rom, _s._ A husband. _Sans._ Rama (a husband), Rama (an incarnation of +Vishnu), Rum (to sport, fondle). _Lat._ Roma (City of Rama). _Gaelic_, +Rom (organ of manhood). _Eng._ Ram (aries, male sheep). _Heb._ Ream +(monoceros, unicorn). + +Rommado, _part. pass. s._ Married, husband. + +Romm’d, _part. pass._ Married. + +Romano Chal / Romany Chal, A Gypsy fellow, Gypsy lad. _See_ Chal. + +Romani chi. Gypsy lass, female Gypsy. + +Romanes / Romany, Gypsy language. + +Romaneskoenaes. After the Gypsy fashion. _Wal._ Roumainesk (Roumainean, +Wallachian.) + +Romano Rye / Romany Rye, Gypsy gentleman. + +Romipen, _s._ Marriage. + +Rook / Rukh, _s._ Tree. _Sans._ Vriksha. _Hun. Gyp._ Rukh. _Span. +Gyp._ Erucal (an _olive-tree_). + +Rookeskey cost. Branch of a tree. + +Rooko-mengro, _s._ Squirrel. Lit. tree-fellow. + +Roshto, _a._ Angry. _Wal._ Resti (to be angry). + +Rossar-mescro, _s._ Gypsy name of the tribe Heron, or Herne. Lit. +duck-fellow. + +Roujiou, _a._ Clean. _See_ Iuziou. + +Rove, _v. n._ To weep. _Sans._ Rud. + +Rup, _s._ Silver. _Sans._ Raupya. _Hin._ Rupee. + +Rupenoe, _a._ Silver: rupenoe péa-mengri, silver tea-pots. + +Ruslipen, _s._ Strength. + +Ruslo, _a._ Strong. _Mod. Gr. ῥῶσω_ (roborabo). _Rus._ Rosluy (great, +huge of stature). _Hun._ Erö (strength), erös (strong). + +Rye, _s._ A lord, gentleman. _Sans._ Raj, Rayã. + +Ryeskoe, _a._ Gentlemanly. + +Ryeskoe dicking guero. Gentlemanly looking man. + +Ryoriskey rokkaring keir, _s._ The House of Commons. _Lit._ the +gentlemen’s talking house. + + + +S + + +SACKI. Name of a Gypsy man. + +Sainyor, _s._ Pins. _Span. Gyp._ Chingabar (a pin). + +Sal, _v. n._ To laugh; properly, he laughs. _Span. Gyp._ Asaselarse. +_Sans._ Has. + +Salla. She laughs. + +Salivaris, _s.f._ Bridle. _See_ Sollibari. + +Sap / Sarp, _s._ Snake, serpent. _Wal._ Sharpelé. _Span. Gyp._ +Chaplesca. + +Sappors, _s. pl._ Snakes. + +Sap drey chaw. A snake in the grass: sap drey bor, a snake in the hedge. + +Sapnis, _s._ Soap. _Mod. Gr. σαποῦνι_. _Wal._ Sipoun. + +Sar, _postpos._, _prepos._ With: mensar, with us; sar amande, with me. + +Sar, _conjunct._ As. + +Sar, _ad._ How. + +Sar shin, How are you? Sar shin, meero rye? Sar shin, meeri rawnie? +How are you, sir? How are you, madam? + +Sas. If it were. _See_ Is. + +Sas, _s._ Nest. _See_ Tass. + +Sarla, _s._ Evening: koshti sarla, good evening. _See_ Tasarla. _Wal._ +Seara. _Mod. Gr. σίδηρον_. + +Saster, _s._ Iron. + +Saster-mengri, _s._ A piece of iron worn above the knee by the +skewer-makers whilst engaged in whittling. + +Saster-mengro, _s._ Ironmonger. + +Sasters, sastris. Nails: chokkiskey sastris, shoe-nails. + +Sau, _adv._ How. + +Sau kisi. How much? + +Saulohaul / Sovlehaul, _v. a._ To swear. + +Saulohaul bango. To swear falsely. + +Sauloholomus, _s._ Oath. _Span. Gyp._ Solája (a curse). _Arab._ +[Arabic which cannot be reproduced] Salat (prayer). _Lat._ Solemnis. +_Fr._ Serment. _Wal._ Jourirnint (oath). + +Savo, _pron._ Who, that, which. + +Saw, _v. n._ I laugh. Sawschan tu, you laugh. + +Scamp. Name of a small Gypsy tribe. _Sans._ Kshump (to go). + +Scourdilla, _s.f._ Platter. _Lat._ Scutella. + +Scunyes / Scunyor, _s. pl._ Pins, skewers. _See_ Escunyes. + +Se, 3_rd pers. sing. pres._ Is, there is: kosko guero se, he is a good +fellow; se les, there is to him, he has. + +Shab, _v. a._ Cut away, run hard, escape. _Hun._ Szabni. This word is +chiefly used by the tobair coves, or vagrants. + +Shan. You are, they are. _See_ Shin. + +Shauvo, _v._ To get with child. _See_ Shuvvli. + +Shehaury. Sixpence. _See_ Shohaury. + +Shello, _s._ Rope. _Span. Gyp._ Jele. + +Shello-hokta-mengro, _s._ Rope-dancer. + +Sher-engro, _s._ A head-man, leader of a Gypsy tribe. + +Sher-engri, _s._ A halter. + +Shero, _s._ A head. _Pers._ سر + +Sherro’s kairipen, _s._ Learning, head-work. + +Sheshu, _s._ Hare, rabbit. _See_ Shoshoi. + +Sherrafo, _a._ Religious, converted. _Arab._ Sherif. + +Shilleno / Shilleró / Shillo, _a._ Cold: shillo chik, cold ground. + +Shillipen, _s._ Cold. + +Shin. Thou art: sar shin, how art thou? + +Sho, _s._ Thing. + +Sho, _a._ Six. + +Shohaury, _s._ Sixpence. + +Shok, _s._ Cabbage: shockor, cabbages. _Span. Gyp._ Chaja. + +Shom, _v._ 1_st pers. pres._ I am. Used in the pure Roman tongue to +express necessity: _e.g._ shom te jav, I must go. _Lat._ Sum. _Hun. +Gyp._ Hom. + +Shoob, _s._ Gown. _Rus._ Shoob. _See_ Shubbo. + +Shoon, _v. n._ To hear. _Pers._ Shiniden. _Sans._ Sru. + +Shoonaben, _s._ Hearing, audience. To lel shoonaben of the covar, to +take hearing of the matter. + +Shoshoi, _s._ A hare or rabbit, but generally used by the Gypsies for +the latter. _Sans._ Sasa (a hare or rabbit). _Hun. Gyp._ Shoshoi. + +Shubbo, _s._ A gown. _Rus._ Shoob. _Wal._ Djoube. + +Shubley patnies, _s. pl._ Geese. + +Shun. A female Gypsy name. + +Shuvvali, _a._ Enceinte, with child. + +Si, 3_rd pers. sing. pres._ It is, she is: tatchipen si, it is truth; +coin si rawnie, who is the lady? sossi your nav, what is your name? + +Sicovar, _ad._ Evermore, eternally. _Hun. Gyp._ Sekovar. + +Si covar ajaw. So it is. + +Sig, _ad._ Quick, soon: cana sig, now soon. _Span. Gyp._ Singó. _Hun._ +Sietö. + +Sig, _s._ Haste. + +Sikkér, _v. a._ To show: sikker-mengri, a show. + +Simen, _s. a._ Equal, alike. _Sans._ Samãna. + +Simen. We are, it is we. _Wal._ Semeina (to resemble). + +Simmeno, _s._ Broth. _See_ Zimmen. + +Simmer, _v. a._ Pledge, pawn. + +Simmery-mengré, _s. pl._ Pawnbrokers. + +Sis. Thou art: misto sis riddo, thou art well dressed. + +Siva, _v. a._ To sew. _Sans._ Siv. + +Siva-mengri, _s._ A needle, sewing-thing. + +Siva-mengri, _s._ Sempstress. + +Siva-mengro, _s._ Tailor. + +Skammen, _s._ Chair. _Wal._ Skaun. _Mod. Gr. σκαμνί_. + +Skammen-engro, _s._ Chair-maker. + +Skraunior, _s. pl._ Boots. + +Slom / Slum, _v. a._ Follow, trace, track. _Rus._ Sliedovat. + +Smentini, _s._ Cream. _Wal._ Zmentenie. _Rus._ Smetána. + +So, _pron. rel._ Which, what: so se tute’s kairing, what are you doing? + +Sollibari, _s._ Bridle. _Mod. Gr. συλληβάρι_. + +Sonakey / Sonneco, _s._ Gold. _Sans._ Svarna. + +Sore / Soro, _a._ All, every. _Sans._ Sarva. + +Sorlo, _a._ Early. _Arab._ [Arabic which cannot be reproduced] Sohr, +Sahr (morning, day-break). _Wal._ Zorile. + +Soro-ruslo, _a._ Almighty. Dad soro-ruslo, Father Almighty. + +Se se? Who is it? + +So si? What is it? So si ora, what’s o’clock? + +Soskey, _ad._ Wherefore, for what. + +Sovaharri, _s._ Carpet, blanket. + +Sove, _v. n._ To sleep. _Hun. Gyp._ Sovella (he sleeps). _Span. Gyp._ +Sobelar (to sleep). _Danish_, Sove (to sleep). + +Sove tuley. To lie down. + +Sovie, _s._ Needle. _See_ Su. + +Soving aley. Lying down to sleep. + +Spikor, _s. pl._ Skewers. _Wal._ Spik. + +Spinyor, _s. pl._ Carrots. + +Spinyor, _s. pl._ Pins. _Span. Gyp._ Chingabar (a pin). + +Stadj, _s._ Hat. + +Stanya / Stanye, _s._ A stable. _Hun._ Sanya. _Wal._ Staula, steiníe +(sheepfold). + +Stanya-mengro, _s._ Groom, stable-fellow. + +Stardo, _part. pass._ Imprisoned. + +Staripen, _s._ Prison. + +Staro-mengro, _s._ Prisoner. + +Stannyi / Staunyo, _s._ A deer. + +Stiggur, _s._ Gate, turnpike. _Old cant_, Giger (a door). + +Stiggur-engro, _s._ Turnpike-keeper. + +Stor, _a._ Four. + +Storey, _s._ Prisoner. + +Stuggur, _s._ A stack. + +Su, _s._ Needle. _Hun._ Tü. + +Subie / Subye, _s._ Needle: subye ta naval, needle and thread. + +Sueti, _s._ People. _Lithuanian_, Swetas. + +Sungella, _v._ It stinks. + +Sutta / Suttur / Suta, _s._ Sleep. _Sans._ Subta (asleep). _Hin._ +Sutta (sleeping). _Lat._ Sopitus. + +Suttur-gillie, _s._ Sleep-song, lullaby. + +Swegler / Swingle, _s._ Pipe. + +Syeira. A female Gypsy name. + + + +T + + +TÃ, _conj._ And. + +Talleno, _a._ Woollen: talleno chofa, woollen or flannel petticoat. + +Tan, _s._ Place, tent. _Hun._ Tanya. + +Tard / Tardra, _v. a._ To raise, build, pull, draw: the kair is tardrad +opré, the house is built; tard the chaw opré, pull up the grass. _Hin._ +Tornã (to pluck). _Wal._ Tratze. _Gaelic_, Tarruinn. + +Tardra-mengre. Hop-pickers. + +Tas, _s._ Cup, nest of a bird. _See_ Dui tas, doo das. + +Tasarla / Tasorlo, _s._ To-morrow. Lit. to-early. _See_ Sorlo. + +Tasarla, _s._ The evening. This word must not be confounded with the +one which precedes it; the present is derived from the Wallachian Seari +(evening), whilst the other is from the Arabic Sohr, Sahar (morning). + +Tassa-mengri, _s._ A frying-pan. _See_ Tattra-mengri. + +Tatchipen, _s._ Truth. _Sans._ Satyata. + +Tatcho, _a._ True. _Sans._ Sat. + +Tatti-pãni / Tatti-pauni, _s._ Brandy. Lit. hot water. + +Tatti-pen, _s._ Heat. + +Tatto, _a._ Hot, warm. _Sans._ Tapta. Tap (to be hot). _Gaelic_, +Teth. + +Tatto yeck, _s._ A hot un, or hot one; a stinging blow given in some +very sensitive part. + +Tattra-mengri, _s._ A frying-pan. + +Tawno _m._ / Tawnie _f._, _a._ Little, small, tiny. _Sans._ Tarana +(young). _Wal._ Tienir (young). _Lat._ Tener. _Span. Gyp._ Chinoro. + +Tawnie yecks, _s. pl._ Little ones, grandchildren. + +Te, _prep._ To: te lesti, to her; this word is not properly Gypsy. + +Te, _conjunct._ That: te jinnen, that they may know, an optative word; O +beng te poggar his men, may the devil break his neck. _Wal._ Ci. + +Tel, _v. a. imp._ Hold: tel te jib, hold your tongue. + +Tem, _s._ Country. + +Temeskoe, _a._ Belonging to a country. + +Temno, _a._ Dark. _Rus._ Temnoy. _Sans._ Tama (darkness). + +Ten, _s._ _See_ Tan. + +Tikno, _s._ A child. _Mod. Gr. τέκνον_. + +Tikno, _a._ Small, little. _Span. Gyp._ Chinoro. _Lat._ Tener. + +Tippoty, _a._ Malicious, spiteful: tippoty drey mande, bearing malice +against me. + +Tiro, _pron._ Thine. + +Tobbar, _s._ The _Road_; a Rapparee word. Boro-tobbarkillipen (the Game +of High Toby—highway robbery). _Irish_, Tobar (a source, fountain). + +Tornapo. Name of a Gypsy man. + +Tororo, _s._ A poor fellow, a beggar, a tramp. _Sans._ Daridrã. + +Tove, _v. a._ To wash: tovipen, washing. _Sans._ Dhav. + +Toving divvus, _s._ Washing day, Monday. + +Traish, _v. a._ To frighten, terrify: it traishes mande, it frightens +me. + +Trihool, _s._ Cross: Mi doveleskoe trihool, holy cross. _Span. Gyp._ +Trijul. _Hin._ Trisool. + +Trin, _a._ Three. + +Tringrosh / Tringurushee, Shilling. Lit. three groats. + +Tringurushengre, _s. pl._ Things costing a shilling. + +Tringush, _s._ Shilling. + +Trito, _a._ Third. _Sans._ Tritïya. + +Trufféni. Female Gypsy name: Trufféni Kaumlo, Jack Wardomescrés dieyas +nav—Truffeni Lovel, the name of John Cooper’s mother. _Mod. Gr. +Τρυφωνία_. + +Truppior, _s. pl._ Stays. + +Trupo, _s._ Body. _Wal._ Troup. _Rus._ Trup + +Trushni, _s._ Faggot. + +Trusno, _a._ Thirsty, dry. _Sans._ Trishnaj. + +Tu, _pron._ Thou: shoon tu, dieya! do thou hear, mother! + +Tud, _s._ Milk. _Sans._ Duh (to milk). + +Tudlo gueri. Milkmaid. + +Tug, _a._ Sad, afflicted. + +Tugnipen, _s._ Affliction. + +Tugnis amande. Woe is me; I am sad. + +Tugno, _a._ Sad, mournful. + +Tulé / Tuley, _prep._ Below, under: tuley the bor, under the hedge. +_Slavonian_, dóly. + +Tulipen, _s._ Fat, grease. + +Tulo, _a._ Fat. + +Tute, _pron._ Accusative of Tu; generally used instead of the +nominative. + +Tuv, _s._ Smoke, tobacco. + +Tuvalo / Tuvvalo, _a._ Smoky. _Span. Gyp._ Chibaló (a cigar). + + + +V + + +VANGUS, _s._ Finger. _Sans._ Angula. + +Vangustri, _s._ Ring. _Sans._ Angulika, anguri. _See_ Wangustri. + +Vaneshu, _s._ Nothing. From the Wallachian Ba nitchi, not at all. + +Var, _s._ Flour: var-engro, a miller. _See_ Waro. + +Vardo, _s._ Cart. _See_ Wardo. + +Vassavo / Vassavy, _a._ Bad, evil. + +Vast, _s._ Hand. + +Vava. An _affix_, by which the future of a verb is formed, as Heta-vava. +It seems to be the Wallachian Wa-fi, he shall or will be. + +Vellin, _s._ A bottle. + +Vauros, _s._ A city. _Hun._ Város. _Sans._ Puri. _Hin._ Poor. _Wal._ +Orash. + +Vénor / Vennor, Bowels, entrails. _See_ Wendror, + + + +W + + +WAFO, _a._ Another. _Sans._ Apara. + +Wafo divvus, _s._ Yesterday. Lit. the other day. + +Wafo tem. Another country, foreign land. + +Wafo temeskoe mush, _s._ A foreigner, another countryman. + +Wafo tem-engre. Foreigners. + +Wafodu / Wafudo, _a._ Bad, evil. + +Wafodúder. Worse: wafodúder than dovor, worse than they. + +Wafodu-pen, _s._ Wickedness. + +Wafodu guero, _s._ The Evil One, Satan. + +Wafodu tan, _s._ Hell, bad place. + +Wangar, _s._ Coals, charcoal. _Sans._ Angara. _See_ Wongar. + +Wangustri, _s._ Ring. + +Warda, _v._ To guard, take care: warda tu coccorus, take care of +yourself. + +Wardo, _s._ Cart. _Sans._ Pattra. + +Wardo-mescro, _s._ Carter, cartwright, cooper, name of a Gypsy tribe. + +Waro, _s._ Flour. + +Waro-mescro, _s._ Miller. + +Wast, _s._ Hand. _See_ Vast. Wastrors, hands. _Gaelic_, Bas (the palm +of the hand). + +Weggaulus / Welgorus / Welgaulus, _s._ A fair. _Wal._ Bieltchiou. + +Wel, _v. a._ He comes; from Ava. Sometimes used imperatively; _e.g._ +Wel adrey, come in. + +Welling páli. Coming back, returning from transportation. + +Wen, _s._ Winter. + +Wendror, _s. pl._ Bowels, inside. _Wal._ Pentetche. _Lat._ Venter. + +Wentzelow. Name of a Gypsy man. + +Werriga, _s._ Chain. _Rus._ Veriga. _Wal._ Verigie (bolt). + +Wesh, _s._ Forest, wood. _Pers._ [Persian which cannot be reproduced] + +Wesh-engro, _s._ Woodman, gamekeeper. + +Weshen-juggal, _s._ Fox. Lit. dog of the wood. + +Woddrus / Wuddrus, _s._ Bed. _Hun. Gyp._ Patos. _Wal._ Pat. The +Spanish Gypsies retain the pure Indian word Charipé. + +Wongar, _s._ Coal. Also a term for money; probably because Coal in the +cant language signifies money. _See_ Wangar. + +Wongar-camming mush, _s._ A miser. Lit. one who loves coal. + +Wuddur, _s._ Door. _Span. Gyp._ Burda. _Wal._ Poartie. + +Wuddur-mescro, _s._ Doorkeeper. + +Wust, _v. a._ To cast, throw. + +Wusto-mengro, _s._ Wrestler, hurler. + + + +Y + + +YACK, _s._ Eye. _Sans._ Akshi. _Germ._ Auge. _Rus._ Oko. +_Lithuanian_, Akis. _Lat._ Oculus. + +Yackor. Eyes. + +Yag, _s._ Fire. _Sans._ Agni. _Rus._ Ogon. _Lithuanian_, Ugnis. +_Lat._ Ignis. _Irish_, An (water, fire). + +Yag-engri, _s._ Gun, fire-thing. + +Yag-engro / Yago-mengro, _s._ Gamekeeper, sportsman, fireman. + +Yag-kairepénes, _s._ Fireworks. + +Yag-vardo, _s._ Fire-car, railroad carriage. + +Yarb, _s._ Herb. + +Yarb-tan, _s._ Garden. + +Yeck, _a._ One. _Sans._ Eka. _Hin._ Yak. + +Yeckoro, _a._ Only: yeckoro chavo, only son. + +Yeckorus, _ad._ Once. + +Yo, _pron._ He. + +Yoi, _pron._ She. Sometimes used for La or Las, her; _e.g._ Mande +putch’d yoi, I asked _she_, her. + +Yokki, _a._ Clever, expert: a yokki juva, a yokki woman—a female expert +at filching, ringing the changes, telling fortunes, and other Gypsy arts. +_Sans._ Yoga (artifice, plan), Yuj (to combine, put together, plan). + +Yora, _s._ Hour. _See_ Ora. + +Yoro, _s._ An egg. _Wal._ Ou. + + + +Z + + +ZI, _s._ The heart, mind. _Hun._ Sziv. _Sans._ Dhi. + +Zimmen, _s._ Broth. _Wal._ Zmenteni (cream). + +Zoomi, _s. f._ Broth, soup. _Mod. Gr. ζουμὶ_. _Wal._ Zamie (juice). + +Zingaro. A Gypsy, a person of mixed blood, one who springs from various +races, a made-up person. _Sans._ Sangkara, compositus (made-up). + + + + +RHYMED LIST OF GYPSY VERBS + + + To dick and jin, + To bikn and kin; + To pee and hal, + And av and jal; + To kair and poggra, + Shoon and rokra; + To caur and chore, + Heta and cour, + Moar and more, + To drab and dook, + And nash on rook; + To pek and tove, + And sove and rove, + And nash on poove; + To tardra oprey, + And chiv aley; + To pes and gin, + To mang and chin, + To pootch and pukker, + Hok and dukker; + To besh and kel, + To del and lel, + And jib to tel; + Bitch, atch, and hatch, + Roddra and latch; + To gool and saul, + And sollohaul; + To pand and wustra, + Hokta and plastra, + Busna and kistur, + Maila and grista; + To an and riggur; + To pen and sikker, + Porra and simmer, + Chungra and chingra, + Pude and grommena, + Grovena, gruvena; + To dand and choom, + Chauva and rom, + Rok and gare, + Jib and mer + With camova, + And paracrova, + Apasavello + And mekello, + And kitsi wasror, + Sore are lavior, + For kairing chomany, + In jib of Romany. + + + + +BETIE ROKRAPENES +LITTLE SAYINGS + + + If foky kek jins bute, + Mà sal at lende; + For sore mush jins chomany + That tute kek jins. + + Whatever ignorance men may show, + From none disdainful turn; + For every one doth something know + Which you have yet to learn. + + + +BETIE ROKRAPENES + + +So must I ker, daiya, to ker tute mistos? + +It is my Dovvel’s kerrimus, and we can’t help asarlus. + +Mi Dovvel opral, dick tuley opré mande. + +If I could lel bonnek tute, het-avava tute. + +Misto kedast tute. + +Dovey si fino covar, ratfelo jukkal, sas miro. + + * * * * * + +The plastra-mengro sollohaul’d bango. + +Me camava jaw drey the Nevi Wesh to dick the purey Bare-mescrey. + +You jin feter dovey oduvu. + +Will you pes for a coro levinor? + +Mā pi kekomi. + +Mā rokra kekomi. + +Bori shil se mande. + +Tatto tu coccori, pen. + +Kekkeno pawni dov odoi. + +Sore simensar si men. + + * * * * * + +Tatto ratti se len. + +Wafudu lavior you do pen, miry deary Dovvel. + +Kair pias to kair the gorgies sal. + +Nai men chior. + +So se drey lis? + +Misto sis riddo. + +Muk man av abri. + +Ma kair jaw. + +Si covar ajaw. + +An men posseymengri. + +Colliko sorlo me deavlis. + +Pukker zi te lesti. + +Soving lasa. + +Tatto si can. + +Mande kinyo, nastis jalno durroder. + +Mã muk de gorgey jinnen sore lidan dovvu luvvu so garridan. + +Dui trins ta yeck ta pas. + +Pes apopli. + +Chiv’d his vast adrey tiro putsi. + +Penchavo chavo savo shan tu. + + * * * * * + +I’d sooner shoon his rokrapen than shoon Lally gil a gillie. + +Kekkeno jinava mande ne burreder denne chavo. + +Aukko tu pios adrey Romanes. + + +LITTLE SAYINGS + + +What must I do, mother, to make you well? + +It is my God’s doing, and we can’t help at all. + + * * * * * + +My God above, look down upon me! + +If I could get hold of you, I would slay you. + +Thou hast done well. + +That is a fine thing, you bloody dog, if it were mine. + +The Bow-street runner swore falsely. + +I will go into the New Forest to see the old Stanleys. + +You know better than that. + +Will you pay for a pot of ale? + +Don’t drink any more. + +Do not speak any more. + +I have a great cold. + +Warm thyself, sister. + +There is no water there. + +We are all relations: all who are with us are ourselves. + +They have hot blood. + +Evil words you do speak, O my dear God. + +Make fun, to make the Gentiles laugh. + +I have no girls. + +What is in it? + +Thou art well dressed. + +Let me come out. + +Don’t do so. + +The thing is so: so it is. + +Bring me a fork. + +To-morrow morning I will give it. + +Tell her your mind. + +Sleeping with her. + +The sun is hot. + +I am tired, I can go no farther. + +Don’t let the Gentiles know all the money you took which you hid. + +Seven pound ten. + +Pay again. + +Put his hand into your pocket. + +The boy is thinking who you are. + + * * * * * + +I would rather hear him speak than hear Lally sing. + +I know no more than a child. + +Here’s your health in Romany! + + + + +COTORRES OF MI-DIBBLE’S LIL CHIV’D ADREY ROMANES +PIECES OF SCRIPTURE CAST INTO ROMANY + + +THE FIRST DAY +Genesis i. 1, 2, 3, 4 + + + DREY the sherripen Midibble kair’d the temoprey tá the puv; + Tá the puv was chungalo, tá chichi was adrey lis; + Tá temnopen was oprey the mui of the boro put. + Tá Midibble’s bavol-engri besh’d oprey the pánior; + Tá Midibble penn’d: Mook there be dute! tá there was dute. + Tá Midibble dick’d that the doot was koosho-koshko. + Tá Midibble chinn’d enrey the dute tá the temnopen; + Tá Midibble kor’d the dute divvus, tá the temnopen kor’d yo rarde; + Tá the sarla, tá the sorlo were yeckto divvus. + + + +THE FIFTH DAY +Genesis i. 20, 21, 22, 23 + + + THEN Midibble penn’d; Mook sore the panior + Chinn tairie jibbing engris bute dosta, + Tá prey puv be bute dosta chiricles + To vol adrey the rek of the tarpe. + + Then Midibble kair’d the borie baulo-matches, + Tá sore covar that has jibbing zi adreylis, + The bute, bute tairie covars drey the panior + Sore yeck drey its genos kair’d Midibble, + + The chiricles that vol adrey the tarpe + Sore yeck drey its genos kair’d he lende: + Then Midibble dick’d that sore was koosho-koshko, + And he chiv’d his koshto rokrapen opreylen: + + Penn’d Midibble: Dey ye frute ever-komi, + Ever-komi be burreder your nummer, + Per with covars the panior tá durior, + Tá prey puv be burreder the chiricles! + + Then was sarla tá sorlo panschto divvus. + + + +THE CREATION OF MAN +Genesis i. 27, 28 + + + THEN Mi-dibble kair’d Manoo drey his dikkipen, + Drey Mi-dibble’s dikkipen kair’d he leste; + Mush and mushi kair’d Dibble lende + And he chiv’d his koshto rokrapen opreylen: + + Penn’d Mi-dibble: Dey ye frute ever-komi, + Ever-komi be burreder your nummer; + Per with chauves and chiyor the puvo + And oprey sore the puvo be krallior, + + Oprey the dooiya and its matches, + And oprey the chiricles of the tarpé, + And oprey soro covar that’s jibbing + And peers prey the mui of the puvo. + + + +THE LORD’S PRAYER + + +MEERY dearie Dad, sauvo jivves drey the tem oprey, be sharrafo teero nav, +te awel teero tem, be kedo sore so caumes oprey ye poov, sar kairdios +drey the tem oprey. Dey man to divvus meery divvuskey morro; tá for-dey +mande mande’s pizzaripenes, sar mande fordeava wafor mushes lende’s +pizzaripenes; mã mook te petrav drey kek tentacionos, but lel mande abri +from sore wafodupen; for teero se o tem, Mi-dibble, teero o ruslopen, tá +yi corauni knaw tá ever-komi. Si covar ajaw. + + + +THE APOSTLES’ CREED + + +APASAVELLO drey Mi-dovel; Dad sore-ruslo savo kerdo o praio tem, tá cav +acoi tulēy: tá drey lescro yekkero Chauvo Jesus Christus moro erray, +beano of wendror of Mi-develeskey Geiry Mary; was curredo by the wast of +Poknish Pontius Pilatos; was nash’d oprey ye Trihool; was mored, and +chived adrey ye puve; jall’d tulēy ye temno drom ke wafudo tan, bengeskoe +starriben; tá prey ye trito divvus jall’d yo oprey ke koshto tan, +Mi-dovels ker; beshel yo knaw odoy prey Mi-dovels tatcho wast, Dad +sore-ruslo; cad odoy avellava to lel shoonapen oprey jibben and merripen; +Apasavello drey Mi-dibbleskey Ducos; drey the Bori Mi-develesky Bollisky +Congri; that sore tatcho fokey shall jib in mestepen kettaney; that +Mi-dibble will fordel sore wafudopenes; that soror mulor will jongor, and +there will be kek merripen asarlus. Si covar ajaw. Avali. + + + + +THE LORD’S PRAYER IN THE GYPSY DIALECT OF TRANSYLVANIA + + +MIRO gulo Devel, savo hal oté ando Cheros, te avel swuntunos tiro nav; te +avel catari tiro tem; te keren saro so cames oppo puv, sar ando Cheros. +Dé man sekhonus miro diveskoe manro, ta ierta mangue saro so na he +plaskerava tuke, sar me ierstavava wafo manuschengue saro so na +plaskerelen mangue. Ma muk te petrow ando chungalo camoben; tama lel man +abri saro doschdar. Weika tiro sin o tem, tiri yi potea, tiri yi +proslava akana ta sekovar. + +Te del amen o gulo Del eg meschibo pa amara choribo. + +Te vas del o Del amengue; te n’avel man pascotia ando drom, te na hoden +pen mandar. + + Ja Develehi! + Az Develehi! + Ja Develeskey! + Az Develeskey! + Heri Devlis! + + * * * * * + +My sweet God, who art there in Heaven, may thy name come hallowed; may +thy kingdom come hither; may they do all that thou wishest upon earth, as +in Heaven. Give me to-day my daily bread, and forgive me all that I +cannot pay thee, as I shall forgive other men all that they do not pay +me. Do not let me fall into evil desire; but take me out from all +wickedness. For thine is the kingdom, thine the power, thine the glory +now and ever. + +May the sweet God give us a remedy for our poverty. + +May God help us! May no misfortune happen to me in the road, and may no +one steal anything me. + + Go with God! + Stay with God! + Go, for God’s sake! + Stay, for God’s sake! + By God! + + + +LIL OF ROMANO JINNYPEN +BOOK OF THE WISDOM OF THE EGYPTIANS + + +LIL OF ROMANO JINNYPEN + + +THE tawno fokey often putches so koskipen se drey the Romano jib? Mande +pens ye are sore dinneles; bute, bute koskipen se adrey lis, ta dusta, +dosta of moro foky would have been bitcheno or nash’d, but for the puro, +choveno Romano jib. A lav in Romany, penn’d in cheeros to a tawnie +rakli, and rigg’d to the tan, has kair’d a boro kisi of luvvo and wafor +covars, which had been chor’d, to be chived tuley pov, so that when the +muskerres well’d they could latch vanisho, and had kek yeckly to muk the +Romano they had lell’d opré, jal his drom, but to mang also his artapen. + +His bitchenipenskie cheeros is knau abri, and it were but kosko in leste +to wel ken, if it were yeckly to lel care of lescri puri, choveny romady; +she’s been a tatchi, tatchi romady to leste, and kek man apasavello that +she has jall’d with a wafu mush ever since he’s been bitcheno. + +When yeck’s tardrad yeck’s beti ten oprey, kair’d yeck’s beti yag anglo +the wuddur, ta nash’d yeck’s kekauvi by the kekauviskey saster oprey lis, +yeck kek cams that a dikkimengro or muskerro should wel and pen: so’s +tute kairing acai? Jaw oprey, Romano juggal. + +Prey Juliken yeckto Frydivvus, anglo nango muyiskie staunyi naveni +kitchema, prey the chong opral Bororukeskoe Gav, drey the Wesh, tute +dickavavasa bute Romany foky, mushor ta juvar, chalor ta cheiar. + +Jinnes tu miro puro prala Rye Stanniwix, the puro rye savo rigs a +bawlo-dumo-mengri, ta kair’d desh ta stor mille barior by +covar-plastring? + +He jall’d on rokkring ta rokkring dinneleskoenaes till mande pukker’d +leste: if tute jasas on dovodoiskoenaes mande curavava tute a tatto yeck +prey the nok. + +You putches mande so si patrins. Patrins are Romany drom sikkering +engris, by which the Romany who jal anglo muk lende that wels palal jin +the drom they have jall’d by: we wusts wastperdes of chaw oprey the puv +at the jalling adrey of the drom, or we kairs sar a wangust a trihool +oprey the chik, or we chins ranior tuley from the rukhies, and chivs +lende oprey drey the puv aligatas the bor; but the tatcho patrin is +wast-perdes of leaves, for patrin or patten in puro Romano jib is the uav +of a rukheskoe leaf. + +The tatcho drom to be a jinney-mengro is to shoon, dick, and rig in zi. + +The mush savo kek se les the juckni-wast oprey his jib and his zi is keck +kosko to jal adrey sweti. + +The lil to lel oprey the kekkeno mushe’s puvior and to keir the choveno +foky mer of buklipen and shillipen, is wusted abri the Raioriskey +rokkaring ker. + +The nav they dins lati is Bokht drey Cuesni, because she rigs about a +cuesni, which sore the rardies when she jals keri, is sure to be perdo of +chored covars. + +Cav acoi, pralor, se the nav of a lil, the sherrokairipen of a puro +kladjis of Roumany tem. The Borobeshemescrotan, or the lav-chingaripen +between ye jinneynengro ta yi sweti; or the merripenskie rokrapen chiv’d +by the zi oprey the trupo. + +When the shello was about his men they rigg’d leste his artapen, and +muk’d leste jal; but from dovo divvus he would rig a men-pangushi +kekkomi, for he penn’d it rigg’d to his zee the shello about his men. + +Jack Vardomescro could del oprey dosta to jin sore was oprey the mea-bars +and the drom-sikkering engris. + +The Romano drom to pek a chiriclo is to kair it oprey with its porior +drey chik, and then to chiv it adrey the yag for a beti burroder than a +posh ora. When the chik and the hatch’d porior are lell’d from the +chiriclesky trupos, the per’s chinn’d aley, and the wendror’s wusted +abri, ’tis a hobben dosta koshto for a crallissa to hal without lon. + +When Gorgio mushe’s merripen and Romany Chal’s merripen wels kettaney, +kek kosto merripen see. + +Yeckorus he pukker’d mande that when he was a bis beschengro he mored a +gorgio, and chived the mulo mas tuley the poov; he was lell’d oprey for +the moripen, but as kekkeno could latch the shillo mas, the pokiniuses +muk’d him jal; he penn’d that the butsi did not besh pordo pré his zi for +bute chiros, but then sore on a sudden he became tugnis and atraish of +the mulo gorgio’s bavol-engro, and that often of a rarde, as he was +jalling posh motto from the kitchema by his cocoro, he would dick over +his tatcho pikko and his bango pikko, to jin if the mulo mush’s +bavol-engro was kek welling palal to lel bonnek of leste. + + * * * * * + +Does tute jin the Romano drom of lelling the wast? + +Avali, prala. + +Sikker mande lis. + +They kairs it ajaw, prala. + +A chorredo has burreder peeas than a Romany Chal. + + * * * * * + +Tute has shoon’d the lav pazorrus. Dovodoy is so is kored gorgikonaes +“Trusted.” Drey the puro cheeros the Romano savo lelled lovvu, or wafor +covars from lescro prala in parriken, ta kek pess’d leste apopli, could +be kair’d to buty for leste as gry, mailla or cost-chinnimengro for a +besh ta divvus. To divvus kek si covar ajaw. If a Romano lelled lovvu +or wafu covars from meero vast in parriken, ta kek pessed mande apopli, +sar estist for mande te kair leste buty as gry, mailla, or +cost-chinnimengro for mande for yek divvus, kek to pen for sore a besh? + +Do you nav cavacoi a weilgorus? Ratfelo rinkeno weilgorus cav acoi: you +might chiv lis sore drey teero putsi. + +Kek jinnipenskey covar sé to pen tute’s been bango. If tute pens tute’s +been bango, foky will pen: Estist tute’s a koosho koshko mushipen, but +tatchipé a ratfelo dinnelo. + + * * * * * + +Car’s tute jibbing? + +Mande’s kek jibbing; mande’s is atching, at the feredest; mande’s a +pirremengri, prala! + + * * * * * + +Cauna Romany foky rokkerelan yeck sar wafu penelan pal ta pen; cauna dado +or deya rokkerelan ke lendes chauves penelan meero chauvo or meeri chi; +or my child, gorgikonaes, to ye dui; cauna chauves rokkerelan te dad or +deya penelan meero dad or meeri deya! + +Meero dado, soskey were creminor kair’d? Meero chauvo, that puvo-baulor +might jib by haIling lende. Meero dado, soskey were puvobaulor kair’d? +Meero chauvo, that tute and mande might jib by lelling lende. Meero +dado, soskey were tu ta mande kair’d? Meero chauvo, that creminor might +jib by halling mende. + +Sore giv-engres shan dinneles. When they shoons a gav-engro drey the tem +pen: Dov-odoy’s a fino grye! they pens: Kekkeno grye se; grasni si; +whether the covar’s a grasni or kekkeni. Kek jinellan the dinneles that +a grasni’s a grye, though a grye is kek a grasni. + +Kekkeni like Romano Will’s rawnie for kelling drey a chauro. + +Cauna Constance Petulengri merr’d she was shel tã desch beshor puri. + + * * * * * + +Does tute jin Rawnie Wardomescri? + +Mande jins lati misto, prala. + +Does tute cam lati? + +Mande cams lati bute, prala; and mande has dosta, dosta cheeros penn’d to +the wafor Romany Chals, when they were rokkering wafudo of lati: She’s a +rawnie; she lels care of sore of you; if it were kek for lati, you would +sore jal to the beng. + +So kerella for a jivipen? + +She dukkers, prala; she dukkers. + +Can she dukker misto? + +There’s kekkeny Romany juva tuley the can for dukkering sar Rawnie +Wardomescri; nastis not to be dukker’d by lati; she’s a tatchi chovahan; +she lels foky by the wast and dukkers lende, whether they cams or kek. + + * * * * * + +Kek koskipen si to jal roddring after Romany Chals. When tute cams to +dick lende nestist to latch yeck o’ lende; but when tute’s penching o’ +wafor covars tute dicks o’ lende dosta dosta. + +Mande will sollohaul neither bango nor tatcho against kekkeno; if they +cams to latch abri chomoni, muk lende latch it abri their cokkoré. + +If he had been bitcheno for a boro luripen mande would have penn’d chi; +but it kairs mande diviou to pentch that he was bitcheno, all along of a +bori lubbeny, for trin tringurishis ta posh. + +When he had kair’d the moripen, he kair’d sig and plastrar’d adrey the +wesh, where he gared himself drey the hev of a boro, puro rukh; but it +was kek koskipen asarlus; the plastra-mengres slomm’d his piré sore along +the wesh till they well’d to the rukh. + + * * * * * + +Sau kisi foky has tute dukker’d to divvus? + +Yeck rawnie coccori, prala; dov ody she wels palal; mande jins lati by +the kaulo dori prey laki shubba. + +Sau bute luvvu did she del tute? + +Yeck gurush, prala; yeck gurush coccoro. The beng te lilly a truppy! + +Shoon the kosko rokkrapen so Micail jinney-mengro penn’d ke Rawnie +Trullifer: Rawnie Trollopr, you must jib by your jibben: and if a base se +tukey you must chiv lis tuley. + + * * * * * + +Can you rokkra Romanes? + +Avali, prala! + +So si Weshenjuggalslomomengreskeytemskey tudlogueri? + +Mande don’t jin what you pens, prala. + +Then tute is kek Romano lavomengro. + + +BOOK OF THE WISDOM OF THE EGYPTIANS + + +THE young people often ask: What good is there in the Romany tongue? I +answers: Ye are all fools! There is plenty, plenty of good in it, and +plenty, plenty of our people would have been transported or hung, but for +the old, poor Roman language. A word in Romany said in time to a little +girl, and carried to the camp, has caused a great purse of money and +other things, which had been stolen, to be stowed underground; so that +when the constables came they could find nothing, and had not only to let +the Gypsy they had taken up go his way, but also to beg his pardon. + +His term of transportation has now expired, and it were but right in him +to come home, if it were only to take care of his poor old wife: she has +been a true, true wife to him, and I don’t believe that she has taken up +with another man ever since he was sent across. + +When one’s pitched up one’s little tent, made one’s little fire before +the door, and hung one’s kettle by the kettle-iron over it, one doesn’t +like that an inspector or constable should come and say: What are you +doing here? Take yourself off, you Gypsy dog. + +On the first Friday of July, before the public-house called the +Bald-faced Stag, on the hill above the town of the great tree in the +Forest, you will see many Roman people, men and women, lads and lasses. + +Do you know my old friend Mr. Stanniwix, the old gentleman that wears a +pigtail, and made fourteen thousand pounds by smuggling? + +He went on talking and talking foolishness till I said to him: If you +goes on in that ’ere way I’ll hit you a hot ’un on the nose. + +You ask me what are _patrins_. _Patrin_ is the name of the signs by +which the Gypsies who go before show the road they have taken to those +who follow behind. We flings handfuls of grass down at the head of the +road we takes, or we makes with the finger a cross-mark on the ground, we +sticks up branches of trees by the side the hedge. But the true patrin +is handfuls of leaves flung down; for _patrin_ or _patten_ in old Roman +language means the leaf of a tree. + +The true way to be a wise man is to hear, see, and bear in mind. + +The man who has not the whip-hand of his tongue and his temper is not fit +to go into company. + +The Bill to take up the no-man’s lands (comons), and to make the poor +people die of hunger and cold, has been flung out of the House of +Commons. + +The name they gives her is “Luck in a basket,” because she carries about +a basket, which every night, when she goes home, is sure to be full of +stolen property. + +This here, brothers, is the title of a book, the head-work of an old king +of Roumany land: the Tribunal, or the dispute between the wise man and +the world: or, the death-sentence passed by the soul upon the body. + +When the rope was about his neck they brought him his pardon, and let him +go; but from that day he would wear a neck-kerchief no more, for he said +it brought to his mind the rope about his neck. + +Jack Cooper could read enough to know all that was upon the milestones +and the sign-posts. + +The Roman way to cook a fowl is to do it up with its feathers in clay, +and then to put it in fire for a little more than half an hour. When the +clay and the burnt feathers are taken from the fowl, the belly cut open, +and the inside flung out, ’tis a food good enough for a queen to eat +without salt. + +When the Gentile way of living and the Gypsy way of living come together, +it is anything but a good way of living. + +He told me once that when he was a chap of twenty he killed a Gentile, +and buried the dead meat under ground. He was taken up for the murder, +but as no one could find the cold meat, the justices let him go. He said +that the job did not sit heavy upon his mind for a long time, but then +all of a sudden he became sad, and afraid of the dead Gentile’s ghost; +and that often of a night, as he was coming half-drunk from the +public-house by himself, he would look over his right shoulder and over +his left shoulder, to know if the dead man’s ghost was not coming behind +to lay hold of him. + + * * * * * + +Do you know the Gypsy way of taking the hand? + +Aye, aye, brother. + +Show it to me. + +They does it _so_, brother. + + * * * * * + +A tramp has more fun than a Gypsy. + +You have heard the word _pazorrus_. That is what is called by the +Gentiles “trusted,” or in debt. In the old time the Roman who got from +his brother money or other things on trust, and did not pay him again, +could be made to work for him as horse, ass, or wood cutter for a year +and a day. At present the matter is not so. If a Roman got money, or +other things, from my hand on credit, and did not repay me, how could I +make him labour for me as horse, ass, or stick-cutter for one day, not to +say for a year? + +Do you call this a fair? A very pretty fair is this: you might put it +all into your pocket. + +It is not a wise thing to say you have been wrong. If you allow you have +been wrong, people will say: You may be a very honest fellow, but are +certainly a very great fool. + + * * * * * + +Where are you living? + +Mine is not living; mine is staying, to say the best of it; I am a +traveller, brother! + + * * * * * + +When Roman people speak to one another, they say brother and sister. +When parents speak to their children, they say, my son, or my daughter, +or my child, _gorgiko_-like, to either. When children speak to their +parents, they say, my father, or my mother. + +My father, why were worms made? My son, that moles might live by eating +them. My father, why were moles made? My son, that you and I might live +by catching them. My father, why were you and I made? My son, that +worms might live by eating us. + +All farmers are fools. When they hear a citizen in the country say: +That’s a fine horse! they say: ’Tis no horse, ’tis a mare; whether the +thing’s a horse or not. The simpletons don’t know that a mare’s a horse, +though a horse is not a mare. + +No one like Gypsy Will’s wife for dancing in a platter. + +When Constance Smith died, she was a hundred ten years old. + + * * * * * + +Do you know Mrs. Cooper? + +I knows her very well, brother. + +Do you like her? + +I loves her very much, brother; and I have often, often said to the other +Gypsies, when they speaking ill of her: She’s a gentlewoman; takes care +of all of you; if it were not for her, you would all go to the devil. + +What does she do for a living? + +She tells fortunes, brother; she tells fortunes. + +Is she a good hand at fortune-telling? + +There’s no Roman woman under the sun so good at fortune-telling as Mrs. +Cooper; it is impossible not to have your fortune told by her; she’s a +true witch; she takes people by the hand, and tells their fortunes, +whether they will or no. + + * * * * * + +’Tis no use to go seeking after Gypsies. When you wants to see them ’tis +impossible to find one of them; but when you are thinking of other +matters you see plenty, plenty of them. + +I will swear neither falsely nor truly against any one; if they wishes to +find out something, let them find it out themselves. + +If he had been transported for a great robbery, I would have said +nothing; but it makes me mad to think that he has been sent away, all +along of a vile harlot, for the value of three-and-sixpence. + +When he had committed the murder he made haste, and ran into the wood, +where he hid himself in the hollow of a great old tree; but it was no use +at all; the runners followed his track all along the forest till they +came to the tree. + +How many fortunes have you told to-day? + +Only one lady’s, brother; yonder she’s coming back; I knows her by the +black lace on her gown. + + * * * * * + +How much money did she give you? + +Only one groat, brother; only one groat. May the devil run away with her +bodily! + + * * * * * + +Hear the words of wisdom which Mike the Grecian said to Mrs. Trullifer: +Mrs. Trollopr, you must live by your living; and if you have a pound you +must spend it. + +Can you speak Romany? + +Aye, aye, brother! + +What is Weshenjuggalslomomengreskeytemskeytudlogueri? + +I don’t know what you say, brother. + +Then you are no master of Romany. + + + + +ROMANE NAVIOR OF TEMES AND GAVIOR +GYPSY NAMES OF CONTRIES AND TOWNS + +Baulo-mengreskey tem Swineherds’ country, Hampshire +Bitcheno padlengreskey tem Transported fellows’ country, + Botany Bay +Bokra-mengreskey tem Shepherds’ country, Sussex +Bori-congriken gav Great church town, York +Boro-rukeneskey gav Great tree town, Fairlop +Boro gueroneskey tem Big fellows’ country, + Northumberland +Chohawniskey tem Witches’ country, Lancashire +Choko-mengreskey gav Shoemakers’ town, Northampton +Churi-mengreskey gav Cutlers’ town, Sheffield +Coro-mengreskey tem Potters’ country, Staffordshire +Cosht-killimengreskey tem Cudgel players’ country, Cornwall +Curo-mengreskey gav Boxers’ town, Nottingham +Dinelo tem Fools’ country, Suffolk +Giv-engreskey tem Farmers’ country, Buckinghamshire +Gry-engreskey gav Horsedealers’ town, Horncastle +Guyo-mengreskey tem Pudding-eaters’ country, + Yorkshire +Hindity-mengreskey tem Dirty fellows’ country, Ireland +Jinney-mengreskey gav Sharpers’ town, Manchester +Juggal-engreskey gav Dog-fanciers’ town, Dudley +Juvlo-mengreskey tem Lousy fellows’ country, Scotland +Kaulo gav The black town, Birmingham +Levin-engriskey tem Hop country, Kent +Lil-engreskey gav Book fellows’ town, Oxford +Match-eneskey gav Fishy town, Yarmouth +Mi-develeskey gav My God’s town, Canterbury +Mi-krauliskey gav Royal town, London +Nashi-mescro gav Racers’ town, Newmarket +Pappin-eskey tem Duck country, Lincolnshire +Paub-pawnugo tem Apple-water country, + Herefordshire +Porrum-engreskey tem Leek-eaters’ country, Wales +Pov-engreskey tem Potato country, Norfolk +Rashayeskey gav Clergyman’s town, Ely +Rokrengreskey gav Talking fellows’ town, Norwich +Shammin-engreskey gav Chairmakers’ town, Windsor +Tudlo tem Milk country, Cheshire +Weshen-eskey gav Forest town, Epping +Weshen-juggal-slommo-mengreskey Fox-hunting fellows’ country, +tem Leicestershire +Wongareskey gav Coal town, Newcastle +Wusto-mengresky tem Wrestlers’ country, Devonshire + +THOMAS ROSSAR-MESCRO, OR THOMAS HERNE + + +THOMAS ROSSAR-MESCRO + + +PREY Juniken bis diuto divvus, drey the besh yeck mille ochto shel +shovardesh ta trin, mande jaw’d to dick Thomas Rossar-mescro, a puro +Romano, of whom mande had shoon’d bute. He was jibbing drey a tan naveno +Rye Groby’s Court, kek dur from the Coromengreskoe Tan ta +Bokkar-engreskey Wesh. When mande dick’d leste he was beshing prey the +poov by his wuddur, chiving misto the poggado tuleskey part of a skammin. +His ker was posh ker, posh wardo, and stood drey a corner of the tan; kek +dur from lesti were dui or trin wafor ker-wardoes. There was a wafudo +canipen of baulor, though mande dick’d kekkeney. I penn’d “Sarshin?” in +Romany jib, and we had some rokrapen kettaney. He was a boro mush, as +mande could dick, though he was beshing. But though boro he was kek +tulo, ta lescré wastes were tarney sar yek rawnie’s. Lollo leste mui sar +yeck weneskoe paub, ta lescro bal rather lollo than parno. Prey his +shero was a beti stadj, and he was kek wafudo riddo. On my putching +leste kisi boro he was, ta kisi puro, he penn’d that he was sho piré sore +but an inch boro, ta enyovardesh ta dui besh puro. He didn’t jin to +rokkra bute in Romano, but jinn’d almost sore so mande rokkar’d te leste. +Moro rokkrapen was mostly in gorgiko jib. Yeck covar yecklo drey lescro +drom of rokkring mande pennsch’d kosko to rig in zi. In tan of penning +Romany, sar wafor Romany chals, penn’d o Roumany, a lav which sig, sig +rigg’d to my zi _Roumain_, the tatcho, puro nav of the Vallackiskie jib +and foky. He seem’d a biti aladge of being of Romany rat. He penn’d +that he was beano drey the Givengreskey Tem, that he was kek tatcho +Romano, but yeckly posh ta posh: lescro dado was Romano, but lescri daya +a gorgie of the Lilengreskoe Gav; he had never camm’d bute to jib +Romaneskoenaes, and when tarno had been a givengreskoe raklo. When he +was boro he jall’d adrey the Lilengrotemskey militia, and was desh ta +stor besh a militia curomengro. He had jall’d bute about Engli-tem and +the juvalo-mengreskey, Tem, drey the cheeros of the puri chingaripen, and +had been adrey Monseer-tem, having volunteered to jal odoy to cour agen +the parley-woo gueros. He had dick’d Bordeaux and the boro gav Paris. +After the chingaripen, he had lell’d oprey skamminengring, and had jall’d +about the tem, but had been knau for buter than trianda beshor jibbing in +Lundra. He had been romado, but his romadi had been mullee bute, bute +cheeros; she had dinn’d leste yeck chavo, so was knau a heftwardesh +beshengro, dicking bute puroder than yo cocoro, ta kanau lying naflo of a +tatti naflipen drey yeck of the wardes. He penn’d that at yeck cheeros +he could kair dosta luvvu by skammin-engring, but kanau from his bori +puripen could scarcely kair yeck tringurushee a divvus. “Ladjipen si,” I +penn’d, “that a mush so puro as tute should have to booty.” “Kosko zi! +kosko zi!” he penn’d; “Paracrow Dibble that mande is dosta ruslo to +booty, and that mande has koskey camomescres; I shan’t be tugnis to jib +to be a shel beshengro, though tatchipen si if mande was a rye mande +would kair kek booty.” His chaveskoe chavo, a trianda ta pansch +beshengro, well’d kanau ta rokkar’d mansar. He was a misto dicking ta +rather misto riddo mush, sar chimouni jinneymengreskey drey lescro mui. +He penn’d that his dadeskoe dad was a fino puro mush, savo had dick’d +bute, and that dosta, dosta foky well’d odoy to shoon lescré rokkrapenes +of the puro cheeros, of the Franciskie ta Amencanskie chingaripenes, and +of what yo had dick’d drey wafu tems. That tatchipen to pen there was a +cheeros when his drom was dur from kosko, for that he camm’d to cour, +sollohaul ta kair himself motto, but that kanau he was a wafu mush, that +he had muk’d sore curopen and wafudo rokkrapen, and, to corauni sore, was +yeck tee-totaller, yo cocoro having kair’d leste sollohaul that he would +pi kekomi neither tatti panie nor levinor: that he jall’d sore the +curques either to congri or Tabernacle, and that tho’ he kek jinn’d to +del oprey he camm’d to shoon the Miduveleskoe lil dell’d oprey to leste; +that the panishkie ryor held leste drey boro camopen, and that the +congriskoe rashi, and oprey sore Dr. P. of the Tabernacle had a boro +opinionos of leste, ta penn’d that he would hal the Miduveleskoe habben +sar moro Araunyo Jesus drey the kosko tem opral. Mande putch’d whether +the Romany Chals well’d often to dick leste? He penn’d that they well’d +knau and then to pen Koshto divvus and Sarshin? but dov’ odoy was sore; +that neither his dadeskoe dad nor yo cocoro camm’d to dick lende, because +they were wafodu foky, perdo of wafodupen and bango camopen, ta oprey +sore bute envyous; that drey the wen they jall’d sore cattaney to the +ryor, and rokkar’d wafodu of the puno mush, and pukker’d the ryor to let +lester a coppur which the ryor had lent leste, to kair tatto his choveno +puro truppo drey the cheeros of the trashlo shillipen; that tatchipen si +their wafodupen kaired the puro mush kek dosh, for the ryor pukker’d +lende to jal their drom and be aladge of their cocoré, but that it was +kek misto to pensch that yeck was of the same rat as such foky. After +some cheeros I dinn’d the puro mush a tawno cuttor of rupe, shook leste +by ye wast, penn’d that it would be mistos amande to dick leste a +shel-beshengro, and jaw’d away keri. + + +THOMAS HERNE + + +ON the twenty-second day of June, in the year one thousand eight hundred +and sixty-three, I went to see Thomas Herne, an old Gypsy, of whom I had +heard a great deal. He was living at a place called Mr. Groby’s Court, +not far from the Potteries and the Shepherd’s Bush. When I saw him, he +was sitting on the ground by his door, mending the broken bottom of a +chair. His house was half-house half-waggon, and stood in a corner of +the court; not far from it were two or three other waggon-houses. There +was a disagreeable smell of hogs, though I saw none. I said, “How you +do?” in the Gypsy tongue, and we had discourse together. He was a tall +man, as I could see, though he was sitting. But, though tall, he was not +stout, and his hands were small as those of a lady. His face was as red +as a winter apple, and his hair was rather red than grey. He had a small +hat on his head, and he was not badly dressed. On my asking him how tall +he was, and how old, he said that he was six foot high, all but an inch, +and that he was ninety-two years old. He could not talk much Gypsy, but +understood almost all that I said to him. Our discourse was chiefly in +English. One thing only in his manner of speaking I thought worthy of +remembrance. Instead of saying Romany, like other Gypsies, he said +Roumany, a word which instantly brought to my mind Roumain, the genuine, +ancient name of the Wallachian tongue and people. He seemed to be rather +ashamed of being of Gypsy blood. He told me that he was born in +Buckinghamshire, that he was no true Gypsy, but only half-and-half: his +father was a Gypsy, but his mother was a Gentile of Oxford; he had never +had any particular liking for the Gypsy manner of living, and when little +had been a farmer’s boy. When he grew up he enlisted into the Oxford +militia, and was fourteen years a militia soldier. He had gone much +about England and Scotland in the time of the old war, and had been in +France, having volunteered to go thither to fight against the French. He +had seen Bordeaux and the great city of Paris. After war he had taken up +chair-making, and had travelled about the country, but had been now for +more than thirty years living in London. He had been married, but his +wife had long been dead. She had borne him a son, who was now a man +seventy years of age, looking much older than himself, and at present +lying sick of a burning fever in one of the caravans. He said that at +one time he could make a good deal of money by chair-making, but now from +his great age could scarcely earn a shilling a day. “What a shame,” said +I, “that a man so old as you should have to work at all!” “Courage! +courage!” he cried; “I thank God that I am strong enough to work, and +that I have good friends; I shan’t be sorry to live to be a hundred years +old, though true it is that if I were a gentleman I would do no work.” +His grandson, a man of about five-and-thirty, came now and conversed with +me. He was a good-looking and rather well-dressed man, with something of +a knowing card in his countenance. He said that his grandfather was a +fine old man, who had seen a great deal, and that a great many people +came to hear his stories of the old time, of the French and American +wars, and of what he had seen in other countries. That, truth to say, +there was a time when his way was far from commendable, for that he loved +to fight, swear, and make himself drunk; but that now he was another man, +that he had abandoned all fighting and evil speaking, and, to crown all, +was a tee-totaller, he himself having made him swear that he would no +more drink either gin or ale: that he went every Sunday either to church +or Tabernacle, and that, though he did not know how to read, he loved to +hear the holy book read to him; that the gentlemen of the parish +entertained a great regard for him, and that the church clergyman and, +above all, Dr. P. of the Tabernacle had a high opinion of him, and said +that he would partake of the holy banquet with our Lord Jesus in the +blessed country above. On my inquiring whether the Gypsies came often to +see him, he said that they came now and then to say “Good day” and “How +do you do?” but that was all; that neither his grandfather nor himself +cared to see them, because they were evil people, full of wickedness and +left-handed love, and, above all, very envyous; that in the winter they +all went in a body to the gentlemen and spoke ill of the old man, and +begged the gentlemen to take from him a blanket which the gentlemen had +lent him to warm his poor old body with in the time of the terrible cold; +that it is true their wickedness did the old man no harm, for the +gentlemen told them to go away and be ashamed of themselves, but that it +was not pleasant to think that one was of the same blood as such people. +After some time I gave the old man a small piece of silver, shook him by +the hand, said that I should be glad to see him live to be a hundred, and +went away home. + + + + +KOKKODUS ARTARUS + + +DREY the puro cheeros there jibb’d a puri Romani juva, Sinfaya laki nav. +Tatchi Romani juva i; caum’d to rokkra Romany, nav’d every mush kokkodus, +ta every mushi deya. Yeck chavo was láki; lescro nav Artáros; dinnelo or +diviou was O; romadi was lesgué; but the rommadi merr’d, mukking leste +yeck chávo. Artáros caum’d to jal oprey the drom, and sikker his +nangipen to rawnies and kair muior. At last the ryor chiv’d leste drey +the diviou ker. The chávo jibb’d with his puri deya till he was a desch +ta pantsch besh engro. Yeck divvus a Romani juva jalling along the drom +dick’d the puri juva beshing tuley a bor roving: What’s the matter, +Sinfaya, pukker’d i? + + My chavo’s chavo is lell’d oprey, deya. + What’s he lell’d oprey for? + For a meila and posh, deya. + Why don’t you jal to dick leste? + I have nash’d my maila, deya. + O má be tugni about your maila; jal and dick leste. + +I don’t jin kah se, deya! diviou kokkodus Artáros jins, kek mande. Ah +diviou, diviou, jal amande callico. + + + + +MANG, PRALA +BEG ON, BROTHER + + +MANG, PRALA + + +ROMANO chavo was manging sar bori gudli yeck rye te del les pasherro. +Lescri deya so was beshing kek dur from odoy penn’d in gorgikey rokrapen: +Meklis juggal, ta av acoi! ma kair the rye kinyo with your gudli! and +then penn’d sig in Romany jib: Mang, Prala, mang! Ta o chavo kair’d ajaw +till the rye chiv’d les yeck shohaury. + + * * * * * + +[Something like the following little anecdote is related by the Gypsies +in every part of Continental Europe.] + + +BEG ON, BROTHER + + +A GYPSY brat was once pestering a gentleman to give him a halfpenny. The +mother, who was sitting nigh, cried in English: Leave off, you dog, and +come here! don’t trouble the gentleman with your noise; and then added in +Romany: Beg on, brother! and so the brat did, till the gentleman flung +him a sixpence. + + + + +ENGLISH GYPSY SONGS + + +WELLING KATTANEY: THE GYPSY MEETING + + + COIN si deya, coin se dado? + Pukker mande drey Romanes, + Ta mande pukkeravava tute. + + Rossar-mescri minri deya! + Vardo-mescro minro dado! + Coin se dado, coin si deya? + Mande’s pukker’d tute drey Romanes; + Knau pukker tute mande. + + Petuiengro minro dado! + Purana minri deya! + Tatchey Romany si men— + Mande’s pukker’d tute drey Romanes, + Ta tute’s pukker’d mande. + + +THE GYPSY MEETING + + + WHO’S your mother, who’s your father? + Do thou answer me in Romany, + And I will answer thee. + + A Hearne I have for mother! + A Cooper for my father! + Who’s your father, who’s your mother? + I have answer’d thee in Romany, + Now do thou answer me. + + A Smith I have for father! + A Lee I have for mother! + True Romans both are we— + For I’ve answer’d thee in Romany, + And thou hast answer’d me. + + + +LELLING CAPPI: MAKING A FORTUNE + + + “AV, my little Romany chel! + Av along with mansar! + Av, my little Romany chel! + Koshto si for mangue.” + + “I shall lel a curapen, + If I jal aley; + I shall lel a curapen + From my dear bebee.” + + “I will jal on my chongor, + Then I’ll pootch your bebee. + ‘O my dear bebee, dey me your chi, + For koshto si for mangue.’ + + “‘Since you pootch me for my chi, + I will dey you lati.’” + Av, my little Romany chel! + We will jal to the wafu tem: + + “I will chore a beti gry, + And so we shall lel cappi.” + “Kekko, meero mushipen, + For so you would be stardo; + + “But I will jal a dukkering, + And so we shall lel cappi.” + “Koshto, my little Romany chel! + Koshto si for mangue.” + + +MAKING A FORTUNE + + + “COME along, my little gypsy girl, + Come along, my little dear; + Come along, my little gypsy girl— + We’ll wander far and near.” + + “I should get a leathering + Should I with thee go; + I should get a leathering + From my dear aunt, I trow.” + + “I’ll go down on my two knees, + And I will beg your aunt. + ‘O auntie dear, give me your child; + She’s just the girl I want!’ + + “‘Since you ask me for my child, + I will not say thee no!’ + Come along, my little gypsy girl! + To another land we’ll go: + + “I will steal a little horse, + And our fortunes make thereby.” + “Not so, my little gypsy boy, + For then you’d swing on high; + + “But I’ll a fortune-telling go, + And our fortunes make thereby.” + “Well said, my little gypsy girl, + You counsel famously.” + + +LELLING CAPPI +No.2 + + + “AV, my little Rumni chel, + Av along with mansar; + We will jal a gry-choring + Pawdle across the chumba. + + “I’ll jaw tuley on my chongor + To your deya and your bebee; + And I’ll pootch lende that they del + Tute to me for romadi.” + + “I’ll jaw with thee, my Rumni chal, + If my dye and bebee muk me; + But choring gristurs traishes me, + For it brings one to the rukie. + + “’Twere ferreder that you should ker, + Petuls and I should dukker, + For then adrey our tanney tan, + We kek atraish may sova.” + + “Kusko, my little Rumni chel, + Your rokrapen is kusko; + We’ll dukker and we’ll petuls ker + Pawdle across the chumba. + + “O kusko si to chore a gry + Adrey the kaulo rarde; + But ’tis not kosko to be nash’d + Oprey the nashing rukie.” + + +MAKING A FORTUNE +No.2 + + + “COME along, my little gypsy girl, + Come along with me, I pray! + A-stealing horses we will go, + O’er the hills so far away. + + “Before your mother and your aunt + I’ll down upon my knee, + And beg they’ll give me their little girl + To be my Romadie.” + + “I’ll go with you, my gypsy boy, + If my mother and aunt agree; + But a perilous thing is horse-stealinge, + For it brings one to the tree. + + “’Twere better you should tinkering ply, + And I should fortunes tell; + For then within our little tent + In safety we might dwell.” + + “Well said, my little gypsy girl, + I like well what you say; + We’ll tinkering ply, and fortunes tell + O’er the hills so far away. + + “’Tis a pleasant thing in a dusky night + A horse-stealing to go; + But to swing in the wind on the gallows-tree, + Is no pleasant thing, I trow.” + + + +THE DUI CHALOR + + + DUI Romany Chals were bitcheney, + Bitcheney pawdle the bori pawnee. + Plato for kawring, + Lasho for choring + The putsi of a bori rawnee. + + And when they well’d to the wafu tem, + The tem that’s pawdle the bori pawnee, + Plato was nasho + Sig, but Lasho + Was lell’d for rom by a bori rawnee. + + You cam to jin who that rawnie was, + ’Twas the rawnie from whom he chor’d the putsee: + The Chal had a black + Chohauniskie yack, + And she slomm’d him pawdle the bori pawnee. + + +THE TWO GYPSIES + + + TWO Gypsy lads were transported, + Were sent across the great water. + Plato was sent for rioting, + And Louis for stealing the purse + Of a great lady. + + And when they came to the other country, + The country that lies across the great water, + Plato was speedily hung, + But Louis was taken as a husband + By a great lady. + + You wish to know who was the lady, + ’Twas the lady from whom he stole the purse: + The Gypsy had a black and witching eye, + And on account of that she followed him + Across the great water. + + + +MIRO ROMANY CHl + + + AS I was a jawing to the gav yeck divvus + I met on the drom miro Romany chi; + I pootch’d las whether she come sar mande, + And she penn’d tu sar wafo rommadis; + O mande there is kek wafo romady, + So penn’d I to miro Romany chi, + And I’ll kair tute miro tatcho romadi + If you but pen tu come sar mande. + + +MY ROMAN LASS + + + AS I to the town was going one day + My Roman lass I met by the way; + Said I: Young maid, will you share my lot? + Said she: Another wife you’ve got. + Ah no! to my Roman lass I cried: + No wife have I in the world so wide, + And you my wedded wife shall be + If you will consent to come with me. + + + +AVA, CHI + + + HOKKA tute mande + Mande pukkra bebee + Mande shauvo tute— + Ava, Chi! + + +YES, MY GIRL + + + IF to me you prove untrue, + Quickly I’ll your auntie tell + I’ve been over-thick with you— + Yes, my girl, I will. + + + +THE TEMESKOE RYE + + + PENN’D the temeskoe rye to the Romany chi, + As the choon was dicking prey lende dui: + Rinkeny tawni, Romany rawni, + Mook man choom teero gudlo mui. + + +THE YOUTHFUL EARL + + + SAID the youthful earl to the Gypsy girl, + As the moon was casting its silver shine: + Brown little lady, Egyptian lady, + Let me kiss those sweet lips of thine. + + + +CAMO-GILLIE + + + PAWNIE birks + My men-engni shall be; + Yackors my dudes + Like ruppeney shine: + Atch meery chi! + Mā jal away: + Perhaps I may not dick tute + Kek komi. + + +LOVE-SONG + + + I’D choose as pillows for my head + Those snow-white breasts of thine; + I’d use as lamps to light my bed + Those eyes of silver shine: + O lovely maid, disdain me not, + Nor leave me in my pain: + Perhaps ’twill never be my lot + To see thy face again. + + + +TUGNIS AMANDE + + + I’M jalling across the pāni— + A choring mas and morro, + Along with a bori lubbeny, + And she has been the ruin of me. + + I sov’d yeck rarde drey a gran, + A choring mas and morro, + Along with a bori lubbeny, + And she has been the ruin of me. + + She pootch’d me on the collico, + A choring mas and morro, + To jaw with lasa to the show, + For she would be the ruin of me. + + And when I jaw’d odoy with lasa, + A choring mas and morro, + Sig she chor’d a rawnie’s kissi, + And so she was the ruin of me. + + They lell’d up lata, they lell’d up mande, + A choring mas and morro, + And bitch’d us dui pawdle pãni, + So she has been the ruin of me. + + I’m jalling across the pāni, + A choring mas and morro, + Along with a bori lubbeny, + And she has been the ruin of me. + + +WOE IS ME + + + I’M sailing across the water, + A-stealing bread and meat so free, + Along with a precious harlot, + And she has been the ruin of me. + + I slept one night within a barn, + A-stealing bread and meat so free, + Along with a precious harlot, + And she has been the ruin of me. + + Next morning she would have me go, + A-stealing bread and meat so free, + To see with her the wild-beast show, + For she would be the ruin of me. + + I went with her to see the show, + A-stealing bread and meat so free, + To steal a purse she was not slow, + And so she was the ruin of me. + + They took us up, and with her I, + A-stealing bread and meat so free: + Am sailing now to Botany, + So she has been the ruin of me. + + I’m sailing across the water, + A-stealing bread and meat so free, + Along with a precious harlot, + And she has been the ruin of me. + + + +THE RYE AND RAWNIE + + + THE rye he mores adrey the wesh + The kaun-engro and chiriclo; + You sovs with leste drey the wesh, + And rigs for leste the gono. + + Oprey the rukh adrey the wesh + Are chiriclo and chiricli; + Tuley the rukh adrey the wesh + Are pireno and pireni. + + +THE SQUIRE AND LADY + + + THE squire he roams the good greenwood, + And shoots the pheasant and the hare; + Thou sleep’st with him in good green wood, + And dost for him the game-sack bear. + + I see, I see upon the tree + The little male and female dove; + Below the tree I see, I see + The lover and his lady love. + + + +ROMANY SUTTUR GILLIE + + + JAW to sutturs, my tiny chal; + Your die to dukker has jall’d abri; + At rarde she will wel palal + And tute of her tud shall pie. + + Jaw to lutherum, tiny baw! + I’m teerie deya’s purie mam; + As tute cams her tud canaw + Thy deya meerie tud did cam. + + +GYPSY LULLABY + + + SLEEP thee, little tawny boy! + Thy mother’s gone abroad to spae, + Her kindly milk thou shalt enjoy + When home she comes at close of day. + + Sleep thee, little tawny guest! + Thy mother is my daughter fine; + As thou dost love her kindly breast, + She once did love this breast of mine. + + + +SHARRAFI KRALYISSA + + + FINOR coachey innar Lundra, + Bonor coachey innar Lundra, + Finor coachey, bonor coachey + Mande dick’d innar Lundra. + + Bonor, finor coachey + Mande dick’d innar Lundra + The divvus the Kralyissa jall’d + To congri innar Lundra. + + +OUR BLESSED QUEEN + + + COACHES fine in London, + Coaches good in London, + Coaches fine and coaches good + I did see in London. + + Coaches good and coaches fine + I did see in London, + The blessed day our blessed Queen + Rode to church in London. + + + +PLASTRA LESTI + + + GARE yourselves, pralor! + Mã pee kek-komi! + The guero’s welling— + Plastra lesti! + + +RUN FOR IT! + + + UP, up, brothers! + Cease your revels! + The Gentile’s coming— + Run like devils! + + + + +FOREIGN GYPSY SONGS + + + OY die-la, oy mama-la oy! + Cherie podey mangue penouri. + + _Russian Gypsy Song_. + + + +THE ROMANY SONGSTRESS +FROM THE RUSSIAN GYPSY + + + HER temples they are aching, + As if wine she had been taking; + Her tears are ever springing, + Abandoned is her singing! + She can neither eat nor nest + With love she’s so distress’d; + At length she’s heard to say: + “Oh here I cannot stay, + Go saddle me my steed, + To my lord I must proceed; + In his palace plenteously + Both eat and drink shall I; + The servants far and wide, + Bidding guests shall run and ride. + And when within the hall the multitude I see, + I’ll raise my voice anew, and sing in Romany.” + + + +L’ERAJAI + + + UN erajai + Sinaba chibando un sermon; + Y lle falta un balicho + Al chindomar de aquel gao, + Y lo chanelaba que los Cales + Lo abian nicabao; + Y penela l’erajai, “Chaboró! + Guillate a tu quer + Y nicabela la peri + Que terela el balicho, + Y chibela andro + Una lima de tun chaborí, + Chabori, + Una lima de tun chabori.” + + +THE FRIAR +FROM THE SPANISH GYPSY + + + A FRIAR + Was preaching once with zeal and with fire; + And a butcher of the town + Had lost a flitch of bacon; + And well the friar knew + That the Gypsies it had taken; + So suddenly he shouted: “Gypsy, ho! + Hie home, and from the pot! + Take the flitch of bacon out, + The flitch good and fat, + And in its place throw + A clout, a dingy clout of thy brat, + Of thy brat, + A clout, a dingy clout of thy brat.” + + + +MALBRUN +FROM THE SPANISH GYPSY VERSION + + + CHALÓ Malbrun chingarár, + Birandón, birandón, birandéra! + Chaló Malbrun chingarár; + No sé bus truterá! + No sé bus truterá! + + La romi que le caméla, + Birandón, birandón, birandéra! + La romi que le camela + Muy curepeñada está, + Muy curepeñada está. + + S’ardéla á la felichá, + Birandón, birandón, birandéra! + S’ardéla á la felichá + Y baribu dur dicá, + Y baribu dur dicá. + + Dicá abillar su burno, + Birandón, birandón, birandéra! + Dicá abillar su burno, + En ropa callardá, + En ropa callardá. + + “Burno, lacho quirbó; + Birandón, birandón, birandéra! + Burno, lacho quiribó, + Que nuevas has diñar? + Que nuevas has diñar?” + + “Las nuevas que io térelo, + Birandón, birandón, birandéra! + Las nuevas que io terélo + Te haran orobar, + Te haran orobar. + + “Meró Malbrun mi eráy, + Birandón, birandón, birandéra! + Meró Malbrun mi eráy + Meró en la chingá, + Meró en la chingá. + + “Sinaba á su entierro, + Birandón, birandón, birandéra! + Sinaba á su entierro + La plastani sará, + La plastani sará. + + “Seis guapos jundunáres, + Birandón, birandón, birandéra! + Seis guapos jundunáres + Le lleváron cabañar, + Le lleváron cabañar. + + “Delante de la jestári, + Birandón, birandón, birandéra! + Delante de la jestári + Chaló el sacristá, + Chaló el sacristá. + + “El sacristá delante, + Birandón, birandón, birandéra! + El sacristá delante, + Y el errajai palá, + Y el errajai palá. + + “Al majaro ortaláme, + Birandón, birandón, birandéra! + Al majaro ortaláme + Le lleváron cabañar, + Le lleváron cabañar. + + “Y oté le cabañáron + Birandón, birandón, birandéra! + Y oté le cabañáron + No dur de la burdá, + No dur de la burdá. + + “Y opré de la jestári + Birandón, birandón, birandéra! + Guillabéla un chilindróte; + Sobá en paz, sobá! + Sobá en paz, sobá!” + + +MALBROUK + + + MALBROUK is gone to the wars, + Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra! + Malbrouk is gone to the wars; + He’ll never return no more! + He’ll never return no more! + + His lady-love and darling, + Birrandon, birrandón, birrandéra + His lady-love and darling + His absence doth deplore, + His absence doth deplore. + + To the turret’s top she mounted, + Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra! + To the turret’s top she mounted + And look’d till her eyes were sore, + And look’d till her eyes were sore. + + She saw his squire a-coming, + Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra! + She saw his squire a-coming; + And a mourning suit he wore, + And a mourning suit he wore. + + “O squire, my trusty fellow; + Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra! + O squire, my trusty fellow, + What news of my soldier poor? + What news of my soldier poor?” + + “The news which I bring thee, lady, + Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra! + The news which I bring thee, lady, + Will cause thy tears to shower, + Will cause thy tears to shower. + + “Malbrouk my master’s fallen, + Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra! + Malbrouk my master’s fallen, + He fell on the fields of gore, + He fell on the fields of gore. + + “His funeral attended, + Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra! + His funeral attended + The whole reg’mental corps, + The whole reg’mental corps. + + “Six neat and proper soldiers, + Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra! + Six neat and proper soldiers + To the grave my master bore, + To the grave my master bore. + + “The parson follow’d the coffin, + Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra! + The parson follow’d the coffin, + And the sexton walk’d before, + And the sexton walk’d before. + + “They buried him in the churchyard, + Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra! + They buried him in the churchyard, + Not far from the church’s door, + Not far from the church’s door. + + “And there above his coffin, + Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra! + There sings a little swallow: + Sleep there, thy toils are o’er, + Sleep there, thy toils are o’er.” + + + + +THE ENGLISH GYPSIES + + +TUGNEY BESHOR + + + THE Romany Chals + Should jin so bute + As the Puro Beng + To scape of gueros + And wafo gorgies + The wafodupen. + + They lels our gryor, + They lels our wardoes, + And wusts us then + Drey starripenes + To mer of pishens + And buklipen. + + Cauna volélan + Muley pappins + Pawdle the len + Men artavàvam + Of gorgio foky + The wafodupen. + Ley teero sollohanloinus opreylis! + + +SORROWFUL YEARS + + + The wit and the skill + Of the Father of ill, + Who’s clever indeed, + If they would hope + With their foes to cope + The Romany need. + + Our horses they take, + Our waggons they break, + And us they fling + Into horrid cells, + Where hunger dwells + And vermin sting. + + When the dead swallow + The fly shall follow + Across the river, + O we’ll forget + The wrongs we’ve met, + But till then O never: + Brother, of that be certain. + + + +THEIR HISTORY + + +THE English Gypsies call themselves Romany Chals and Romany Chies, that +is, Sons and Daughters of Rome. When speaking to each other, they say +“Pal” and “Pen”; that is, brother and sister. All people not of their +own blood they call “Gorgios,” or Gentiles. Gypsies first made their +appearance in England about the year 1480. They probably came from +France, where tribes of the race had long been wandering about under the +names of Bohemians and Egyptians. In England they pursued the same kind +of merripen {174} which they and their ancestors had pursued on the +Continent. They roamed about in bands, consisting of thirty, sixty, or +ninety families, with light, creaking carts, drawn by horses and donkeys, +encamping at night in the spots they deemed convenient. The women told +fortunes at the castle of the baron and the cottage of the yeoman; +filched gold and silver coins from the counters of money-changers; caused +the death of hogs in farmyards, by means of a stuff called drab or drao, +which affects the brain, but does not corrupt the blood; and subsequently +begged, and generally obtained, the carcases. The men plied tinkering +and brasiery, now and then stole horses, and occasionally ventured upon +highway robbery. The writer has here placed the Chies before the Chals, +because, as he has frequently had occasion to observe, the Gypsy women +are by far more remarkable beings than the men. It is the Chi and not +the Chal who has caused the name of Gypsy to be a sound awaking wonder, +awe, and curiosity in every part of the civilised world. Not that there +have never been remarkable men of the Gypsy race both abroad and at home. +Duke Michael, as he was called, the leader of the great Gypsy horde which +suddenly made its appearance in Germany at the beginning of the fifteenth +century, was no doubt a remarkable man; the Gitano Condre, whom Martin +del Rio met at Toledo a hundred years afterwards, who seemed to speak all +languages, and to be perfectly acquainted with the politics of all the +Courts of Europe, must certainly have been a remarkable man; so, no +doubt, here at home was Boswell; so undoubtedly was Cooper, called by the +gentlemen of the Fives Court—poor fellows! they are all gone now—the +“wonderful little Gypsy”;—but upon the whole the poetry, the sorcery, the +devilry, if you please to call it so, are vastly on the side of the +women. How blank and inanimate is the countenance of the Gypsy man, even +when trying to pass off a foundered donkey as a flying dromedary, in +comparison with that of the female Romany, peering over the wall of a +par-yard at a jolly hog! + + Sar shin Sinfye? + Koshto divvus, Romany Chi! + So shan tute kairing acoi? + + Sinfye, Sinfye! how do you do? + Daughter of Rome, good day to you! + What are you thinking here to do? + +After a time the evil practices of the Gypsies began to be noised about, +and terrible laws were enacted against people “using the manner of +Egyptians”—Chies were scourged by dozens, Chals hung by scores. +Throughout the reign of Elizabeth there was a terrible persecution of the +Gypsy race; far less, however, on account of the crimes which they +actually committed, than from a suspicion which was entertained that they +harboured amidst their companies priests and emissaries of Rome, who had +come to England for the purpose of sowing sedition and inducing the +people to embrace again the old discarded superstition. This suspicion, +however, was entirely without foundation. The Gypsies call each other +brother and sister, and are not in the habit of admitting to their +fellowship people of a different blood and with whom they have no +sympathy. There was, however, a description of wandering people at that +time, even as there is at present, with whom the priests, who are +described as going about, sometimes disguised as serving-men, sometimes +as broken soldiers, sometimes as shipwrecked mariners, would experience +no difficulty in associating, and with whom, in all probability, they +occasionally did associate—the people called in Acts of Parliament sturdy +beggars and vagrants, in the old cant language Abraham men, and in the +modern Pikers. These people have frequently been confounded with the +Gypsies, but are in reality a distinct race, though they resemble the +latter in some points. They roam about like the Gypsies, and, like them, +have a kind of secret language. But the Gypsies are a people of Oriental +origin, whilst the Abrahamites are the scurf of the English body +corporate. The language of the Gypsies is a real language, more like the +Sanscrit than any other language in the world; whereas the speech of the +Abrahamites is a horrid jargon, composed for the most part of low English +words used in an allegorical sense—a jargon in which a stick is called a +crack; a hostess, a rum necklace; a bar-maid, a dolly-mort; brandy, rum +booze; a constable, a horny. But enough of these Pikers, these +Abrahamites. Sufficient to observe that if the disguised priests +associated with wandering companies it must have been with these people, +who admit anybody to their society, and not with the highly exclusive +race the Gypsies. + +For nearly a century and a half after the death of Elizabeth the Gypsies +seem to have been left tolerably to themselves, for the laws are almost +silent respecting them. Chies, no doubt, were occasionally scourged for +cauring, that is filching gold and silver coins, and Chals hung for +grychoring, that is horse-stealing; but those are little incidents not +much regarded in Gypsy merripen. They probably lived a life during the +above period tolerably satisfactory to themselves—they are not an +ambitious people, and there is no word for glory in their language—but +next to nothing is known respecting them. A people called Gypsies are +mentioned, and to a certain extent treated of, in two remarkable +works—one a production of the seventeenth, the other of the eighteenth +century—the first entitled the ‘English Rogue, or the Adventures of +Merriton Latroon,’ the other the ‘Life of Bamfield Moore Carew’; but +those works, though clever and entertaining, and written in the raciest +English, are to those who seek for information respecting Gypsies +entirely valueless, the writers having evidently mistaken for Gypsies the +Pikers or Abrahamites, as the vocabularies appended to the histories, and +which are professedly vocabularies of the Gypsy language, are nothing of +the kind, but collections of words and phrases belonging to the +Abrahamite or Piker jargon. At the commencement of the last century, and +for a considerable time afterwards, there was a loud cry raised against +the Gypsy women for stealing children. This cry, however, was quite as +devoid of reason as the suspicion entertained of old against the Gypsy +communities of harbouring disguised priests. Gypsy women, as the writer +had occasion to remark many a long year ago, have plenty of children of +their own, and have no wish to encumber themselves with those of other +people. A yet more extraordinary charge was, likewise, brought against +them—that of running away with wenches. Now, the idea of Gypsy women +running away with wenches! Where were they to stow them in the event of +running away with them? and what were they to do with them in the event +of being able to stow them? Nevertheless, two Gypsy women were burnt in +the hand in the most cruel and frightful manner, somewhat about the +middle of the last century, and two Gypsy men, their relations, sentenced +to be hanged, for running away with a certain horrible wench of the name +of Elizabeth Canning, who, to get rid of a disgraceful burden, had left +her service and gone into concealment for a month, and on her return, in +order to account for her absence, said that she had been run away with by +Gypsies. The men, however, did not undergo their sentence; for, ere the +day appointed for their execution arrived, suspicions beginning to be +entertained with respect to the truth of the wench’s story, they were +reprieved, and, after a little time, the atrocious creature, who had +charged people with doing what they neither did nor dreamt of doing, was +tried for perjury, convicted, and sentenced to transportation. Yet so +great is English infatuation that this Canning, this Elizabeth, had a +host of friends, who stood by her, and swore by her to the last, and +almost freighted the ship which carried her away with goods, the sale of +which enabled her to purchase her freedom of the planter to whom she was +consigned, to establish herself in business, and to live in comfort, and +almost in luxury, in the New World during the remainder of her life. + +But though Gypsies have occasionally experienced injustice; though +Patricos and Sherengroes were hanged by dozens in Elizabeth’s time on +suspicion of harbouring disguised priests; though Gypsy women in the time +of the Second George, accused of running away with wenches, were scorched +and branded, there can be no doubt that they live in almost continual +violation of the laws intended for the protection of society; and it may +be added, that in this illegal way of life the women have invariably +played a more important part than the men. Of them, amongst other +things, it may be said that they are the most accomplished swindlers in +the world, their principal victims being people of their own sex, on +whose credulity and superstition they practise. Mary Caumlo, or Lovel, +was convicted a few years ago at Cardiff of having swindled a surgeon’s +wife of eighty pounds, under pretence of propitiating certain planets by +showing them the money. Not a penny of the booty was ever recovered by +the deluded victim; and the Caumli, on leaving the dock, after receiving +sentence of a year’s imprisonment, turned round and winked to some +_brother_ or _sister_ in court, as much as to say: “_Mande has gared the +luvvu_; _mande is kek atugni for the besh’s starripen_”—“I have hid the +money, and care nothing for the year’s imprisonment.” Young Rawnie P. of +N., the daughter of old Rawnie P., suddenly disappeared with the whole +capital of an aged and bedridden gentlewoman, amounting to nearly three +hundred pounds, whom she had assured that if she were intrusted with it +for a short time she should be able to gather certain herbs, from which +she could make decoctions, which would restore to the afflicted +gentlewoman all her youthful vigour. Mrs. Townsley of the Border was +some time ago in trouble at Wick, only twenty-five miles distant from +Johnny Groat’s House, on a charge of fraudulently obtaining from a +fisherman’s wife one shilling, two half-crowns, and a five-pound note by +promising to untie certain witch-locks, which she had induced her to +believe were entwined in the meshes of the fisherman’s net, and would, if +suffered to remain, prevent him from catching a single herring in the +Firth. These events occurred within the last few years, and are +sufficiently notorious. They form a triad out of dozens of a similar +kind, in some of which there are features so odd, so strangely droll, +that indignation against the offence is dispelled by an irresistible +desire to laugh. + +But Gypsyism is declining, and its days are numbered. There is a force +abroad which is doomed to destroy it, a force which never sleepeth either +by day or night, and which will not allow the Roman people rest for the +soles of their feet. That force is the Rural Police, which, had it been +established at the commencement instead of towards the middle of the +present century, would have put down Gypsyism long ago. But, recent as +its establishment has been, observe what it has produced. Walk from +London to Carlisle, but neither by the road’s side, nor on heath or +common, will you see a single Gypsy tent. True Gypsyism consists in +wandering about, in preying upon the Gentiles, but not living amongst +them. But such a life is impossible in these days; the Rural Force will +not permit it. “It is a hard thing, brother,” said old Agamemnon Caumlo +to the writer, several years ago; “it is a hard thing, after one has +pitched one’s little tent, lighted one’s little fire, and hung one’s +kettle by the kettle-iron over it to boil, to have an inspector or +constable come up, and say, ‘What are you doing here? Take yourself off, +you Gypsy dog!’” A hard thing, indeed, old Agamemnon; but there is no +help for it. You must e’en live amongst the Gorgios. And for years past +the Gypsies have lived amongst the Gorgios, and what has been the result? +They do not seem to have improved the Gentiles, and have certainly not +been improved by them. By living amongst the Gentiles they have, to a +certain extent, lost the only two virtues they possessed. Whilst they +lived apart on heaths and commons, and in shadowy lanes, the Gypsy women +were paragons of chastity, and the men, if not exactly patterns of +sobriety, were, upon the whole, very sober fellows. Such terms, however, +are by no means applicable to them at the present day. Sects and castes, +even of thieves and murderers, can exist as long as they have certain +virtues, which give them a kind of respect in their own eyes; but, losing +those virtues, they soon become extinct. When the salt loses its savour, +what becomes of it? The Gypsy salt has not altogether lost its savour, +but that essential quality is every day becoming fainter, so that there +is every reason to suppose that within a few years the English Gypsy +caste will have disappeared, merged in the dregs of the English +population. + + + + +GYPSY NAMES + + +THERE are many curious things connected with the Gypsies, but perhaps +nothing more so than what pertains to their names. They have a double +nomenclature, each tribe or family having a public and a private name, +one by which they are known to the Gentiles, and another to themselves +alone. Their public names are quite English; their private ones +attempts, some of them highly singular and uncouth, to render those names +by Gypsy equivalents. Gypsy names may be divided into two classes, names +connected with trades, and surnames or family names. First of all, +something about trade names. + +There are only two names of trades which have been adopted by English +Gypsies as proper names, Cooper and Smith: these names are expressed in +the English Gypsy dialect by _Vardo-mescro_ and _Petulengro_. The first +of these renderings is by no means a satisfactory one, as _Vardo-mescro_ +means a cartwright, or rather a carter. To speak the truth, it would be +next to impossible to render the word ‘cooper’ into English Gypsy, or +indeed into Gypsy of any kind; a cooper, according to the common +acceptation of the word, is one who makes pails, tubs, and barrels, but +there are no words in Gypsy for such vessels. The Transylvanian Gypsies +call a cooper a _bedra-kero_ or pail-maker, but _bedra_ is not Gypsy, but +Hungarian, and the English Gypsies might with equal propriety call a +cooper a _pail-engro_. On the whole the English Gypsies did their best +when they rendered ‘cooper’ into their language by the word for +‘cartwright.’ + +_Petulengro_, the other trade name, is borne by the Gypsies who are known +to the public by the English appellation of Smith. It is not very easy +to say what is the exact meaning of _Petulengro_: it must signify, +however, either horseshoe-fellow or tinker: _petali_ or _petala_ +signifies in Gypsy a horseshoe, and is probably derived from the Modern +Greek _πέταλον_; _engro_ is an affix, and is either derived from or +connected with the Sanscrit _kara_, to make, so that with great +feasibility _Petulengro_ may be translated horseshoe-maker. But _bedel_ +in Hebrew means ‘tin,’ and as there is little more difference between +_petul_ and _bedel_ than between _petul_ and _petalon_, _Petulengro_ may +be translated with almost equal feasibility by tinker or tin-worker, more +especially as tinkering is a principal pursuit of Gypsies, and to _jal +petulengring_ signifies to go a-tinkering in English Gypsy. Taken, +however, in either sense, whether as horseshoe-maker or tin-worker (and, +as has been already observed, it must mean one or the other), +_Petulengro_ may be considered as a tolerably fair rendering of the +English Smith. + +So much for the names of the Gypsies which the writer has ventured to +call the trade names; now for those of the other class. These are +English surnames, and for the most part of a highly aristocratic +character, and it seems at first surprising that people so poor and +despised as Gypsies should be found bearing names so time-honoured and +imposing. There is, however, a tolerable explanation of the matter in +the supposition that on their first arrival in England the different +tribes sought the protection of certain grand powerful families, and were +permitted by them to locate themselves on their heaths and amid their +woodlands, and that they eventually adopted the names of their patrons. +Here follow the English names of some of the principal tribes, with the +Romany translations or equivalents:— + +BOSWELL.—The proper meaning of this word is the town of Bui. The initial +_Bo_ or _Bui_ is an old Northern name, signifying a colonist or settler, +one who tills and builds. It was the name of a great many celebrated +Northern _kempions_, who won land and a home by hard blows. The last +syllable, _well_, is the French _ville_: Boswell, Boston, and Busby all +signify one and the same thing—the town of Bui—the _well_ being French, +the _ton_ Saxon, and the _by_ Danish; they are half-brothers of Bovil and +Belville, both signifying fair town, and which ought to be written +Beauville and Belville. The Gypsies, who know and care nothing about +etymologies, confounding _bos_ with _buss_, a vulgar English verb not to +be found in dictionaries, which signifies to kiss, rendered the name +Boswell by _Chumomisto_, that is, Kisswell, or one who kisses +well—_choom_ in their language signifying to kiss, and _misto_ +well—likewise by _choomomescro_, a kisser. Vulgar as the word _buss_ may +sound at present, it is by no means of vulgar origin, being connected +with the Latin _basio_ and the Persian _bousè_. + +GREY.—This is the name of a family celebrated in English history. The +Gypsies who adopted it, rendered it into their language by _Gry_, a word +very much resembling it in sound, though not in sense, for _gry_, which +is allied to the Sanscrit _ghora_, signifies a horse. They had no better +choice, however, for in Romany there is no word for grey, any more than +there is for green or blue. In several languages there is a difficulty +in expressing the colour which in English is called grey. In Celtic, for +instance, there is no definite word for it; _glas_, it is true, is used +to express it, but _glas_ is as frequently used to express green as it is +to express grey. + +HEARNE, HERNE.—This is the name of a family which bears the heron for its +crest, the name being either derived from the crest, or the crest from +the name. There are two Gypsy renderings of the _word_—_Rossar-mescro_ +or _Ratzie-mescro_, and _Balorengre_. _Rossar-mescro_ signifies +duck-fellow, the duck being substituted for the heron, for which there is +no word in Romany. The meaning of _Balor-engre_ is hairy people; the +translator or translators seeming to have confounded Hearne with +‘haaren,’ old English for hairs. The latter rendering has never been +much in use. + +LEE.—The Gypsy name of this tribe is _Purrum_, sometimes pronounced +_Purrun_. The meaning of _Purrurn_ is an onion, and it may be asked what +connection can there be between Lee and onion? None whatever: but there +is some resemblance in sound between Lee and leek, and it is probable +that the Gypsies thought so, and on that account rendered the name by +_Purrum_, which, if not exactly a leek, at any rate signifies something +which is cousin-german to a leek. It must be borne in mind that in some +parts of England the name Lee is spelt Legh and Leigh, which would hardly +be the case if at one time it had not terminated in something like a +guttural, so that when the Gypsies rendered the name, perhaps nearly four +hundred years ago, it sounded very much like ‘leek,’ and perhaps was +Leek, a name derived from the family crest. At first the writer was of +opinion that the name was _Purrun_, a modification of _pooro_, which in +the Gypsy language signifies old, but speedily came to the conclusion +that it must be _Purrum_, a leek or onion; for what possible reason could +the Gypsies have for rendering Lee by a word which signifies old or +ancient? whereas by rendering it by _Purrum_, they gave themselves a +Gypsy name, which, if it did not signify Lee, must to their untutored +minds have seemed a very good substitute for Lee. The Gypsy word +_pooro_, old, belongs to Hindostan, and is connected with the Sanscrit +_pura_, which signifies the same. _Purrum_ is a modification of the +Wallachian _pur_, a word derived from the Latin _porrum_, an onion, and +picked up by the Gypsies in Roumania or Wallachia, the natives of which +region speak a highly curious mixture of Latin and Sclavonian. + +LOVEL.—This is the name or title of an old and powerful English family. +The meaning of it is Leo’s town, Lowe’s town, or Louis’ town. The +Gypsies, who adopted it, seem to have imagined that it had something to +do with love, for they translated it by _Camlo_ or _Caumlo_, that which +is lovely or amiable, and also by _Camomescro_, a lover, an amorous +person, sometimes used for ‘friend.’ _Camlo_ is connected with the +Sanscrit _Cama_, which signifies love, and is the appellation of the +Hindoo god of love. A name of the same root as the one borne by that +divinity was not altogether inapplicable to the Gypsy tribe who adopted +it: _Cama_, if all tales be true, was black, black though comely, a +_Beltenebros_, and the Lovel tribe is decidedly the most comely and at +the same time the darkest of all the Anglo-Egyptian families. The faces +of many of them, male and female, are perfect specimens of black beauty. +They are generally called by the race the _Kaulo Camloes_, the Black +Comelies. And here, though at the risk of being thought digressive, the +writer cannot forbear saying that the darkest and at one time the +comeliest of all the _Caumlies_, a celebrated fortune-teller, and an old +friend of his, lately expired in a certain old town, after attaining an +age which was something wonderful. She had twenty-one brothers and +sisters, and was the eldest of the family, on which account she was +called “Rawnie P., pooroest of bis ta dui,” Lady P.—she had married out +of the family—eldest of twenty-two. + +MARSHALL.—The name Marshall has either to do with marshal, the title of a +high military personage, or marches, the borders of contiguous countries. +In the early Norman period it was the name of an Earl of Pembroke. The +Gypsies who adopted the name seem in translating it to have been of +opinion that it was connected with marshes, for they rendered it by +_mokkado tan engre_, fellows of the wet or miry place, an appellation +which at one time certainly became them well, for they are a northern +tribe belonging to the Border, a country not very long ago full of mosses +and miry places. Though calling themselves English, they are in reality +quite as much Scotch as English, and as often to be found in Scotland as +the other country, especially in Dumfriesshire and Galloway, in which +latter region, in Saint Cuthbert’s churchyard, lies buried ‘the old man’ +of the race,—Marshall, who died at the age of 107. They sometimes call +themselves _Bungyoror_ and _Chikkeneymengre_, cork-fellows and china +people, which names have reference to the occupations severally followed +by the males and females, the former being cutters of bungs and corks, +and the latter menders of china. + +STANLEY.—This is the name or title of an ancient English family +celebrated in history. It is probably descriptive of their original +place of residence, for it signifies the stony lea, which is also the +meaning of the Gaelic _Auchinlech_, the place of abode of the Scottish +Boswells. It was adopted by an English Gypsy tribe, at one time very +numerous, but at present much diminished. Of this name there are two +renderings into Romany; one is _Baryor_ or _Baremescre_, stone-folks or +stonemasons, the other is _Beshaley_. The first requires no comment, but +the second is well worthy of analysis, as it is an example of the strange +blunders which the Gypsies sometimes make in their attempts at +translation. When they rendered Stanley by _Beshaley_ or _Beshley_, they +mistook the first syllable _stan_ for ‘stand,’ but for a very good reason +rendered it by _besh_, which signifies ‘to sit, and the second for a word +in their own language, for _ley_ or _aley_ in Gypsy signifies ‘down,’ so +they rendered Stanley by _Beshley_ or _Beshaley_, which signifies ‘sit +down.’ Here, of course, it will be asked what reason could have induced +them, if they mistook _stan_ for ‘stand,’ not to have rendered it by the +Gypsy word for ‘stand’? The reason was a very cogent one, the want of a +word in the Gypsy language to express ‘stand’; but they had heard in +courts of justice witnesses told to stand down, so they supposed that to +stand down was much the same as to sit down, whence their odd rendering +of Stanley. In no dialect of the Gypsy, from the Indus to the Severn, is +there any word for ‘stand,’ though in every one there is a word for +‘sit,’ and that is _besh_, and in every Gypsy encampment all along the +vast distance, _Beshley_ or _Beshaley_ would be considered an invitation +to sit down. + +So much for the double-name system in use among the Gypsies of England. +There is something in connection with the Gypsies of Spain which +strangely coincides with one part of it—the translation of names. Among +the relics of the language of the Gitanos or Spanish Gypsies are words, +some simple and some compound, which are evidently attempts to translate +names in a manner corresponding to the plan employed by the English +Romany. In illustration of the matter, the writer will give an analysis +of _Brono Aljenicato_, the rendering into Gitano of the name of one +frequently mentioned in the New Testament, and once in the Apostles’ +Creed, the highly respectable, but much traduced individual known to the +English public as Pontius Pilate, to the Spanish as Poncio Pilato. The +manner in which the rendering has been accomplished is as follows: +_Poncio_ bears some resemblance to the Spanish _puente_, which signifies +a bridge, and is a modification of the Latin _pons_, and _Pilato_ to the +Spanish _pila_, a fountain, or rather a stone pillar, from the top of +which the waters of a fountain springing eventually fall into a stone +basin below, the two words—the _Brono Aljenicato_—signifying +bridge-fountain, or that which is connected with such a thing. Now this +is the identical, or all but the identical, way in which the names Lee, +Lovel, and Stanley have been done into English Romany. A remarkable +instance is afforded in this Gitano Scripture name, this _Brono +Aljenicato_, of the heterogeneous materials of which Gypsy dialects are +composed: _Brono_ is a modification of a Hindoo or Sanscrit, _Aljenicato_ +of an Arabic root. _Brono_ is connected with the Sanscrit _pindala_, +which signifies a bridge, and _Aljenicato_ is a modification of the Gypsy +_aljenique_, derived from the Arabic _alain_, which signifies the +fountain. But of whatever materials composed, a fine-sounding name is +this same _Brono Aljenicato_, perhaps the finest sounding specimen of +Spanish Gypsy extant, much finer than a translation of Pontius Pilate +would be, provided the name served to express the same things, in +English, which _Poncio Pilato_ serves to express in Spanish, for then it +would be _Pudjico Pani_ or Bridgewater; for though in English Gypsy there +is the word for a bridge, namely _pudge_, a modification of the Persian +_pul_, or the Wallachian _podul_, there is none for a fountain, which can +be only vaguely paraphrased by _pani_, water. + + + + +FORTUNE-TELLING + + +GYPSY women, as long as we have known anything of Gypsy history, have +been arrant fortune-tellers. They plied fortune-telling about France and +Germany as early as 1414, the year when the dusky bands were first +observed in Europe, and they have never relinquished the practice. There +are two words for fortune-telling in Gypsy, _bocht_ and _dukkering_. +_Bocht_ is a Persian word, a modification of, or connected with, the +Sanscrit _bagya_, which signifies ‘fate.’ _Dukkering_ is the +modification of a Wallaco-Sclavonian word signifying something spiritual +or ghostly. In Eastern European Gypsy, the Holy Ghost is called +_Swentuno Ducos_. + +Gypsy fortune-telling is much the same everywhere, much the same in +Russia as it is in Spain and in England. Everywhere there are three +styles—the lofty, the familiar, and the homely; and every Gypsy woman is +mistress of all three and uses each according to the rank of the person +whose _vast_ she _dukkers_, whose hand she reads, and adapts the luck she +promises. There is a ballad of some antiquity in the Spanish language +about the _Buena Ventura_, a few stanzas of which translated will convey +a tolerable idea of the first of these styles to the reader, who will +probably with no great reluctance dispense with any illustrations of the +other two:— + + Late rather one morning + cIn summer’s sweet tide, + Goes forth to the Prado + Jacinta the bride: + + There meets her a Gypsy + So fluent of talk, + And jauntily dressed, + On the principal walk. + + “O welcome, thrice welcome, + Of beauty thou flower! + Believe me, believe me, + Thou com’st in good hour.” + + Surprised was Jacinta; + She fain would have fled; + But the Gypsy to cheer her + Such honeyed words said: + + “O cheek like the rose-leaf! + O lady high-born! + Turn thine eyes on thy servant, + But ah, not in scorn. + + “O pride of the Prado! + O joy of our clime! + Thou twice shalt be married, + And happily each time. + + “Of two noble sons + Thou shalt be the glad mother, + One a Lord Judge, + A Field-Marshal the other.” + +Gypsy females have told fortunes to higher people than the young Countess +Jacinta: _Modor_—of the Gypsy quire of Moscow—told the fortune of +Ekatarina, Empress of all the Russias. The writer does not know what the +Ziganka told that exalted personage, but it appears that she gave perfect +satisfaction to the Empress, who not only presented her with a diamond +ring—a Russian diamond ring is not generally of much value—but also her +hand to kiss. The writer’s old friend, Pepíta, the Gitana of Madrid, +told the _bahi_ of Christina, the Regentess of Spain, in which she +assured her that she would marry the son of the King of France, and +received from the fair Italian a golden ounce, the most magnificent of +coins, a guerdon which she richly merited, for she nearly hit the mark, +for though Christina did not marry the son of the King of France, her +second daughter was married to a son of the King of France, the Duke of +M-, one of the three claimants of the crown of Spain, and the best of the +lot; and Britannia, the Caumli, told the good luck to the Regent George +on Newmarket Heath, and received ‘foive guineas’ and a hearty smack from +him who eventually became George the Fourth—no bad fellow by the by, +either as regent or king, though as much abused as Pontius Pilate, whom +he much resembled in one point, unwillingness to take life—the _sonkaypè_ +or gold-gift being, no doubt, more acceptable than the _choomapé_ or +kiss-gift to the Beltenebrosa, who, if a certain song be true, had no +respect for _gorgios_, however much she liked their money:— + + Britannia is my nav; + I am a Kaulo Camlo; + The gorgios pen I be + A bori chovahaunie; + And tatchipen they pens, + The dinneleskie gorgies, + For mande chovahans + The luvvu from their putsies. + + Britannia is my name; + I am a swarthy Lovel; + The Gorgios say I be + A witch of wondrous power; + And faith they speak the truth, + The silly, foolish fellows, + For often I bewitch + The money from their pockets. + +Fortune-telling in all countries where the Gypsies are found is +frequently the prelude to a kind of trick called in all Gypsy dialects by +something more or less resembling the Sanscrit _kuhana_; for instance, it +is called in Spain _jojana_, _hokano_, and in English _hukni_. It is +practised in various ways, all very similar; the defrauding of some +simple person of money or property being the object in view. Females are +generally the victims of the trick, especially those of the middle class, +who are more accessible to _the poor woman_ than those of the upper. One +of the ways, perhaps the most artful, will be found described in another +chapter. + + + +THE HUKNI + + +THE Gypsy makes some poor simpleton of a lady believe that if the latter +puts her gold into her hands, and she makes it up into a parcel, and puts +it between the lady’s feather-bed and mattress, it will at the end of a +month be multiplied a hundredfold, provided the lady does not look at it +during all that time. On receiving the money she makes it up into a +brown paper parcel, which she seals with wax, turns herself repeatedly +round, squints, and spits, and then puts between the feather-bed and +mattress—not the parcel of gold, but one exactly like it, which she has +prepared beforehand, containing old halfpence, farthings, and the like; +then, after cautioning the lady by no means to undo the parcel before the +stated time, she takes her departure singing to herself:— + + O dear me! O dear me! + What dinnelies these gorgies be. + +The above artifice is called by the English Gypsies the _hukni_, and by +the Spanish _hokhano baro_, or the great lie. _Hukni_ and _hokano_ were +originally one and the same word; the root seems to be the Sanscrit +_huhanã_, lie, trick, deceit. + + + +CAURING + + +THE Gypsy has some queer, old-fashioned gold piece; this she takes to +some goldsmith’s shop, at the window of which she has observed a basin +full of old gold coins, and shows it to the goldsmith, asking him if he +will purchase it. He looks at it attentively, and sees that it is of +very pure gold; whereupon he says that he has no particular objection to +buy it; but that as it is very old it is not of much value, and that he +has several like it. “Have you indeed, Master?” says the Gypsy; “then +pray show them to me, and I will buy them; for, to tell you the truth, I +would rather buy than sell pieces like this, for I have a great respect +for them, and know their value: give me back my coin, and I will compare +any you have with it.” The goldsmith gives her back her coin, takes his +basin of gold from the window, and places it on the counter. The Gypsy +puts down her head, and pries into the basin. “Ah, I see nothing here +like my coin,” says she. “Now, Master, to oblige me, take out a handful +of the coins and lay them on the counter; I am a poor, honest woman, +Master, and do not wish to put my hand into your basin. Oh! if I could +find one coin like my own, I would give much money for it; _barributer_ +than it is worth.” The goldsmith, to oblige the poor, simple, foreign +creature (for such he believes her to be), and, with a considerable hope +of profit, takes a handful of coins from the basin and puts them upon the +counter. “I fear there is none here like mine, Master,” says the Gypsy, +moving the coins rapidly with the tips of her fingers. “No, no, there is +not one here like mine—_kek yeck_, _kek yeck_—not one, not one. Stay, +stay! What’s this, what’s this? _So se cavo_, _so se cavo_? Oh, here +is one like mine; or if not quite like, like enough to suit me. Now, +Master, what will you take for this coin?” The goldsmith looks at it, +and names a price considerably above the value; whereupon she says: “Now, +Master, I will deal fairly with you: you have not asked me the full value +of the coin by three three-groats, three-groats, three-groats; by _trin +tringurushis_, _tringurushis_, _tringurushis_. So here’s the money you +asked, Master, and three three-groats, three shillings, besides. God +bless you, Master! You would have cheated yourself, but the poor woman +would not let you; for though she is poor she is honest”: and thus she +takes her leave, leaving the goldsmith very well satisfied with his +customer—with little reason, however, for out of about twenty coins which +he laid on the counter she had filched at least three, which her brown +nimble fingers, though they seemingly scarcely touched the gold, +contrived to convey up her sleeves. This kind of pilfering is called by +the English Gypsies _cauring_, and by the Spanish _ustilar pastesas_, or +stealing with the fingers. The word _caur_ seems to be connected with +the English _cower_, and the Hebrew _kãra_, a word of frequent occurrence +in the historical part of the Old Testament, and signifying to bend, +stoop down, _incurvare_. + + + + +METROPOLITAN GYPSYRIES + + +WANDSWORTH, 1864 + + +WHAT may be called the grand Metropolitan Gypsyry is on the Surrey side +of the Thames. Near the borders of Wandsworth and Battersea, about a +quarter of a mile from the river, is an open piece of ground which may +measure about two acres. To the south is a hill, at the foot of which is +a railway, and it is skirted on the north by the Wandsworth and Battersea +Road. This place is what the Gypsies call a _kekkeno mushes puv_, a no +man’s ground; a place which has either no proprietor, or which the +proprietor, for some reason, makes no use of for the present. The houses +in the neighbourhood are mean and squalid, and are principally inhabited +by artisans of the lowest description. This spot, during a considerable +portion of the year, is the principal place of residence of the +Metropolitan Gypsies, and of other people whose manner of life more or +less resembles theirs. During the summer and autumn the little plain, +for such it is, is quite deserted, except that now and then a wretched +tent or two may be seen upon it, belonging to some tinker family, who +have put up there for a few hours on their way through the metropolis; +for the Gypsies are absent during summer, some at fairs and races, the +men with their cocoa-nuts and the women busy at fortune-telling, or at +suburban places of pleasure—the former with their donkeys for the young +cockneys to ride upon, and the latter as usual _dukkering_ and +_hokkering_, and the other travellers, as they are called, roaming about +the country following their particular avocations, whilst in the autumn +the greater part of them all are away in Kent, getting money by picking +hops. As soon, however, as the rains, the precursors of winter, descend, +the place begins to be occupied, and about a week or two before Christmas +it is almost crammed with the tents and caravans of the wanderers; and +then it is a place well worthy to be explored, notwithstanding the +inconvenience of being up to one’s ankles in mud, and the rather +appalling risk of being bitten by the Gypsy and travelling dogs tied to +the tents and caravans, in whose teeth there is always venom and +sometimes that which can bring on the water-horror, for which no European +knows a remedy. The following is an attempt to describe the odd people +and things to be met with here; the true Gypsies, and what to them +pertaineth, being of course noticed first. + +On this plain there may be some fifteen or twenty Gypsy tents and +caravans. Some of the tents are large, as indeed it is highly necessary +that they should be, being inhabited by large families—a man and his +wife, a grandmother a sister or two and half a dozen children, being, +occasionally found in one; some of them are very small, belonging to poor +old females who have lost their husbands, and whose families have +separated themselves from them, and allow them to shift for themselves. +During the day the men are generally busy at their several avocations, +_chinning the cost_, that is, cutting the stick for skewers, making pegs +for linen-lines, _kipsimengring_ or basket-making, tinkering or +braziering; the children are playing about, or begging halfpence by the +road of passengers; whilst the women are strolling about, either in +London or the neighbourhood, engaged in fortune-telling or swindling. Of +the trades of the men, the one by far the most practised is _chinning the +cost_, and as they sit at the door of the tents, cutting and whittling +away, they occasionally sweeten their toil by raising their voices and +singing the Gypsy stanza in which the art is mentioned, and which for +terseness and expressiveness is quite equal to anything in the whole +circle of Gentile poetry: + + Can you rokra Romany? + Can you play the bosh? + Can you jal adrey the staripen? + Can you chin the cost? + + Can you speak the Roman tongue? + Can you play the fiddle? + Can you eat the prison-loaf? + Can you cut and whittle? + +These Gypsies are of various tribes, but chiefly Purruns, Chumomescroes +and Vardomescroes, or Lees, Boswells and Coopers, and Lees being by far +the most numerous. The men are well made, active fellows, somewhat below +the middle height. Their complexions are dark, and their eyes are full +of intelligence; their habiliments are rather ragged. The women are +mostly wild-looking creatures, some poorly clad, others exhibiting not a +little strange finery. There are some truly singular beings amongst +those women, which is more than can be said with respect to the men, who +are much on a level, and amongst whom there is none whom it is possible +to bring prominently out, and about whom much can be said. The women, as +has been already observed, are generally out during the day, being +engaged in their avocations abroad. There is a very small tent about the +middle of the place; it belongs to a lone female, whom one frequently +meets wandering about Wandsworth or Battersea, seeking an opportunity to +_dukker_ some credulous servant-girl. It is hard that she should have to +do so, as she is more than seventy-five years of age, but if she did not +she would probably starve. She is very short of stature, being little +more than five feet and an inch high, but she is wonderfully strongly +built. Her head is very large, and seems to have been placed at once +upon her shoulders without any interposition of neck. Her face is broad, +with a good-humoured expression upon it, and in general with very little +vivacity; at times, however, it lights up, and then all the Gypsy beams +forth. Old as she is, her hair, which is very long, is as black as the +plumage of a crow, and she walks sturdily, though with not much +elasticity, on her short, thick legs, and, if requested, would take up +the heaviest man in Wandsworth or Battersea and walk away with him. She +is, upon the whole, the oddest Gypsy woman ever seen; see her once and +you will never forget her. Who is she? you ask. Who is she? Why, Mrs. +Cooper, the wife of Jack Cooper, the fighting Gypsy, once the terror of +all the Light Weights of the English Ring; who knocked West Country Dick +to pieces, and killed Paddy O’Leary, the fighting pot-boy, Jack Randall’s +pet. Ah, it would have been well for Jack if he had always stuck to his +true, lawful Romany wife, whom at one time he was very fond of, and whom +he used to dress in silks and satins, and best scarlet cloth, purchased +with the money gained in his fair, gallant battles in the Ring! But he +did not stick to her, deserting her for a painted Jezebel, to support +whom he sold his battles, by doing which he lost his friends and backers; +then took from his poor wife all he had given her, and even plundered her +of her own property, down to the very blankets which she lay upon; and +who finally was so infatuated with love for his paramour that he bore the +blame of a crime which she had committed, and in which he had no share, +suffering ignominy and transportation in order to save her. Better had +he never deserted his _tatchie romadie_, his own true Charlotte, who, +when all deserted him, the painted Jezebel being the first to do so, +stood by him, supporting him with money in prison, and feeing counsel on +his trial from the scanty proceeds of her _dukkering_. All that happened +many years ago; Jack’s term of transportation, a lengthy one, has long, +long been expired, but he has not come back, though every year since the +expiration of his servitude he has written her a letter, or caused one to +be written to her, to say that he is coming, that he is coming; so that +she is always expecting him, and is at all times willing, as she says, to +re-invest him with all the privileges of a husband, and to beg and +_dukker_ to support him if necessary. A true wife she has been to him, a +_tatchie romadie_, and has never taken up with any man since he left her, +though many have been the tempting offers that she has had, connubial +offers, notwithstanding the oddity of her appearance. Only one wish she +has now in this world, the wish that he may return; but her wish, it is +to be feared, is a vain one, for Jack lingers and lingers in the +_Sonnakye Tem_, golden Australia, teaching, it is said, the young +Australians to box, tempted by certain shining nuggets, the produce of +the golden region. It is pleasant, though there is something mournful in +it, to visit Mrs. Cooper after nightfall, to sit with her in her little +tent after she has taken her cup of tea, and is warming her tired limbs +at her little coke fire, and hear her talk of old times and things: how +Jack courted her ’neath the trees of Loughton Forest, and how, when tired +of courting, they would get up and box, and how he occasionally gave her +a black eye, and how she invariably flung him at a close; and how they +were lawfully married at church, and what a nice man the clergyman was, +and what funny things he said both before and after he had united them; +how stoutly West Country Dick contended against Jack, though always +losing; how in Jack’s battle with Paddy O’Leary the Irishman’s head in +the last round was truly frightful, not a feature being distinguishable, +and one of his ears hanging down by a bit of skin; how Jack vanquished +Hardy Scroggins, whom Jack Randall himself never dared fight. Then, +again, her anecdotes of Alec Reed, cool, swift-hitting Alec, who was +always smiling, and whose father was a Scotchman, his mother an +Irishwoman, and who was born in Guernsey; and of Oliver, old Tom Oliver, +who seconded Jack in all his winning battles, and after whom he named his +son, his only child, Oliver, begotten of her in lawful wedlock, a good +and affectionate son enough, but unable to assist her, on account of his +numerous family. Farewell, Mrs. Cooper, true old Charlotte! here’s a +little bit of silver for you, and a little bit of a _gillie_ to sing: + + Charlotta is my nav, + I am a puro Purrun; + My romado was Jack, + The couring Vardomescro. + He muk’d me for a lubbeny, + Who chor’d a rawnie’s kissi; + He penn’d ’twas he who lell’d it, + And so was bitched pawdel. + + Old Charlotte I am called, + Of Lee I am a daughter; + I married Fighting Jack, + The famous Gypsy Cooper. + He left me for a harlot, + Who pick’d a lady’s pocket; + He bore the blame to save her, + And so was sent to Bot’ny. + +Just within the bounds of the plain, and close by the road, may +occasionally be seen a small caravan of rather a neat appearance. It +comes and goes suddenly, and is seldom seen there for more than three +days at a time. It belongs to a Gypsy female who, like Mrs. Cooper, is a +remarkable person, but is widely different from Mrs. Cooper in many +respects. Mrs. Cooper certainly does not represent the _beau ideal_ of a +Gypsy female, this does—a dark, mysterious, beautiful, terrible creature! +She is considerably above the middle height, powerfully but gracefully +made, and about thirty-seven years of age. Her face is oval, and of a +dark olive. The nose is Grecian, the cheek-bones rather high; the eyes +somewhat sunk, but of a lustrous black; the mouth small, and the teeth +exactly like ivory. Upon the whole the face is exceedingly beautiful, +but the expression is evil—evil to a degree. Who she is no one exactly +knows, nor what is her name, nor whether she is single woman, wife, or +widow. Some say she is a foreign Gypsy, others from Scotland, but she is +neither—her accent is genuine English. What strikes one as most singular +is the power she possesses of appearing in various characters—all Romany +ones it is true, but so different as seemingly to require three distinct +females of the race to represent them: sometimes she is the staid, quiet, +respectable Gypsy; sometimes the forward and impudent; at others the +awful and sublime. Occasionally you may see her walking the streets +dressed in a black silk gown, with a black silk bonnet on her head; over +her left arm is flung a small carpet, a sample of the merchandise which +is in her caravan, which is close at hand, driven by a brown boy; her +address to her customers is highly polite; the tones of her voice are +musical, though somewhat deep. At Fairlop, on the first Friday of July, +in the evening, she may be found near the Bald-faced Hind, dressed in a +red cloak and a large beaver; her appearance is bold and reckless—she is +_dukkering_ low tradesmen and servant girls behind the trees at sixpence +a head, or is bandying with the voice of a raven slang and obscenity with +country boors, or with the blackguard butcher-boys who throng in from +Whitechapel and Shoreditch to the Gypsy Fair. At Goodwood, a few weeks +after, you may see her in a beautiful half-riding dress, her hair +fantastically plaited and adorned with pearls, standing beside the +carriage of a Countess, telling the fortune of her ladyship with the +voice and look of a pythoness. She is a thing of incongruities; an +incomprehensible being! nobody can make her out; the writer himself has +tried to make her out but could not, though he has spoken to her in his +deepest Romany. It is true there is a certain old Gypsy, a friend of +his, who thinks he has made her out. “Brother,” said he one day, “why +you should be always going after that woman I can’t conceive, unless +indeed you have lost your wits. If you go after her for her Romany you +will find yourself in the wrong box: she may have a crumb or two of +Romany, but for every crumb that she has I am quite sure you have a +quartern loaf. Then as for her beauty, of which it is true she has +plenty, and for which half a dozen Gorgios that I knows of are running +mad, it’s of no use going after her for that, for her beauty she keeps +for her own use and that of her master the Devil; not but that she will +sell it—she’s sold it a dozen times to my certain knowledge—but what’s +the use of buying a thing, when the fool who buys it never gets it, never +has the ‘joyment of it, brother? She is _kek tatcho_, and that’s what I +like least in her; there’s no trusting her, neither Gorgio nor Romano can +trust her: she sells her _truppos_ to a Rye-gorgio for five _bars_, and +when she has got them, and the Gorgio, as he has a right to do, begins to +_kelna lasa_, she laughs and asks him if he knows whom he has to deal +with; then if he _lels bonnek of lati_, as he is quite justified in +doing, she whips out a _churi_, and swears if he doesn’t leave off she +will stick it in his _gorlo_. Oh! she’s an evil mare, a _wafodu grasni_, +though a handsome one, and I never looks at her, brother, without saying +to myself the old words: + + “Rinkeno mui and wafodu zee + Kitzi’s the cheeros we dicks cattanē.” + + A beautiful face and a black wicked mind + Often, full often together we find. + +Some more particular account than what has been already given of the +habitations of these Wandsworth Gypsies, and likewise of their way of +life, will perhaps not be unacceptable here. + +To begin with the tents. They are oblong in shape and of very simple +construction, whether small or great. Sticks or rods, called in the +Gypsy language _ranior_, between four and five feet in length, and +_croming_ or bending towards the top, are stuck in the ground at about +twenty inches from each other, a rod or two being omitted in that part +where the entrance is intended to be. The _cromes_ or bends serve as +supporters of a roof, and those of the side rods which stand over against +one another are generally tied together by strings. These rods are +covered over with coarse brown cloths, pinned or skewered together; those +at the bottom being fastened to the ground by pegs. Around the tent is +generally a slight embankment, about two or three inches high, or a +little trench about the same depth, to prevent water from running into +the tent in time of rain. Such is the tent, which would be exactly like +the Indian wigwam but for the cloth which forms the covering: the Indians +in lieu of cloth using bark, which they carry about with them in all +their migrations, though they leave the sticks standing in the ground. + +The furniture is scanty. Like the Arabs, the Gypsies have neither chairs +nor tables, but sit cross-legged, a posture which is perfectly easy to +them, though insufferable to a Gorgio, unless he happens to be a tailor. +When they eat, the ground serves them for a board, though they +occasionally spread a cloth upon it. Singularly enough, though they have +neither chairs nor tables, they have words for both. Of pots, pans, +plates, and trenchers, they have a tolerable quantity. Each grown-up +person has a _churi_, or knife, with which to cut food. Eating-forks +they have none, and for an eating-fork they have no word, the term +_pasengri_ signifying a straw- or pitch-fork. Spoons are used by them +generally of horn, and are called _royis_. They have but two culinary +articles, the _kekkauvi_ and _pirry_, kettle and boiler, which are +generally of copper, to which, however, may perhaps be added the +_kekkauviskey saster_, or kettle-iron, by which the kettle and boiler are +hung over the fire. As a fireplace they have a large iron pan on three +legs, with holes or eyes in the sides, in order that the heat of the fire +may be cast around. Instead of coals they use coke, which emits no flame +and little smoke, and casts a considerable heat. Every tent has a pail +or two, and perhaps a small cask or barrel, the proper name for which is +_bedra_, though it is generally called _pāni-mengri_, or thing for water. +At the farther end of the tent is a mattress, with a green cloth, or +perhaps a sheet spread upon it, forming a kind of couch, on which +visitors are generally asked to sit down:—_Av adrey_, _Romany Rye_, _av +adrey ta besh aley pawdle odoy_! Come in, Gypsy gentleman (said a polite +Gypsy one day to the writer); come in and sit down over yonder! They +have a box or two in which they stow away their breakable articles and +whatever things they set any particular value upon. Some of them have +small feather-beds, and they are generally tolerably well provided with +blankets. + +The caravans are not numerous, and have only been used of late years by +any of the English Gypsy race. The caravan called by the Gypsies _keir +vardo_, or waggon-house, is on four wheels, and is drawn by a horse or +perhaps a couple of donkeys. It is about twelve feet long by six broad +and six high. At the farther end are a couple of transverse berths, one +above the other, like those in the cabin of a ship; and a little way from +these is a curtain hanging by rings from an iron rod running across, +which, when drawn, forms a partition. On either side is a small glazed +window. The most remarkable object is a stove just inside the door, on +the left hand, with a metal chimney which goes through the roof. This +stove, the Gypsy term for which is _bo_, casts, when lighted, a great +heat, and in some cases is made in a very handsome fashion. Some +caravans have mirrors against the sides, and exhibit other indications of +an aiming at luxury, though in general they are dirty, squalid places, +quite as much as or perhaps more than the tents, which seem to be the +proper and congenial homes of the Gypsies. + +The mode of life of these people may be briefly described. They have two +regular meals—breakfast and supper. The breakfast consists of tea, +generally of the best quality, bread, butter, and cheese; the supper, of +tea and a stew. In spring time they occasionally make a kind of tea or +soup of the tender leaves of a certain description of nettle. This +preparation, which they call _dandrimengreskie zimmen_, or the broth of +the stinging-thing, is highly relished by them. They get up early, and +go to bed betimes. After breakfast the men sit down to _chin the cost_, +to mend chairs or make baskets; the women go forth to _hok_ and _dukker_, +and the children to beg, or to go with the donkeys to lanes and commons +to watch them, whilst they try to fill their poor bellies with grass and +thistles. These children sometimes bring home _hotchiwitches_, or +hedgehogs, the flesh of which is very sweet and tender, and which their +mothers are adepts at cooking. + +The Gypsies, as has been already observed, are not the sole occupiers of +Wandsworth grounds. Strange, wild guests are to be found there, who, +without being Gypsies, have much of Gypsyism in their habits, and who far +exceed the Gypsies in number. To pass them by without notice would be +unpardonable. They may be divided into three classes: Chorodies, +Kora-mengre, and Hindity-mengre. Something about each:— + +The Chorodies are the legitimate descendants of the rogues and outcasts +who roamed about England long before its soil was trodden by a Gypsy +foot. They are a truly detestable set of beings; both men and women +being ferocious in their appearance, and in their conversation horrible +and disgusting. They have coarse, vulgar features, and hair which puts +one wonderfully in mind of refuse flax, or the material of which mops are +composed. Their complexions, when not obscured with grime, are rather +fair than dark, evidencing that their origin is low, swinish Saxon, and +not gentle Romany. Their language is the frowsiest English, interlarded +with cant expressions and a few words of bastard Romany. They live in +the vilest tents, with the exception of two or three families, who have +their abode in broken and filthy caravans. They have none of the +comforts and elegancies of the Gypsies. They are utterly destitute of +civility and good manners, and are generally squalid in their dress, +though the women sometimes exhibit not a little dirty tawdriness. The +trades of the men are tinkering and basket-making, and some few “peel the +stick.” The women go about with the articles made by their husbands, or +rather partners, and sometimes do a little in the fortune-telling +line—pretty prophetesses! The fellows will occasionally knock a man down +in the dark, and rob him; the women will steal anything they can +conveniently lay their hands on. Singular as it may seem to those not +deeply acquainted with human nature, these wretches are not without a +kind of pride. “We are no Gypsies—not we! no, nor Irish either. We are +English, and decent folks—none of your rubbish!” The Gypsies hold them, +and with reason, in supreme contempt, and it is from them that they got +their name of Chorodies, not a little applicable to them. _Choredo_, in +Gypsy, signifies a poor, miserable person, and differs very little in +sound from two words, one Sanscrit and the other Hebrew, both signifying, +like the Gypsy term, something low, mean, and contemptible. + +Kora-mengre are the lowest of those hawkers who go about the country +villages and the streets of London, with caravans hung about with various +common articles, such as mats, brooms, mops, tin pans and kettles. These +low hawkers seem to be of much the same origin as the Chorodies, and are +almost equally brutal and repulsive in their manners. The name +Kora-mengre is Gypsy, and signifies fellows who cry out and shout, from +their practice of shouting out the names of their goods. The word +_kora_, or _karra_, is by no means bad Hebrew: _kora_, in the Holy +Language, signifies he cried out, called, or proclaimed: and a partridge +is called in Hebrew _kora_, from its continually crying out to its young, +when leading them about to feed. _Koran_, the name of the sacred book of +the Mahomedans, is of the same root. + +Lastly come the Hindity-mengre, or Filthy People. This term has been +bestowed upon the vagrant Irish by the Gypsies, from the dirty ways +attributed to them, though it is a question whether the lowest Irish are +a bit more dirty in their ways than the English Chorodies, or indeed so +much, and are certainly immeasurably superior to them in many respects. +There are not many of them here, seldom more than two families, and +sometimes, even during the winter, not a single Irish tent or cart is to +be seen. The trade they ostensibly drive is tinkering, repairing old +kettles, and making little pots and pans of tin. The one, however, on +which they principally depend, is not tinkering, but one far more +lucrative, and requiring more cleverness and dexterity; they make false +rings, like the Gypsy smiths, the _fashiono vangustengre_ of old, and +whilst speaking Celtic to one whom they deem their countryman, have no +hesitation in acknowledging themselves to be “Cairdean droich oir,” +workers of false gold. The rings are principally made out of old brass +buttons; those worn by old Chelsea pensioners being considered the very +best for the purpose. Many an ancient Corporal Trim, alter having spent +all his money at the public-house, and only become three-parts boozy, has +been induced by the Hindity-mengro to sell all his buttons at the rate of +three-halfpence a-piece, in order to have wherewithal to make himself +thoroughly royal. Each of these Hindity-mengre has his blow-pipe, and +some of them can execute their work in a style little inferior to that of +a first-rate working goldsmith. The rings, after being made, are rubbed +with a certain stuff out of a phial, which gives them all the appearance +of gold. This appearance, however, does not long endure, for after +having been worn two or three months, the ring loses its false appearance +entirely, and any one can see that it is worthless metal. A good many of +these rings are disposed of at good prices by the Hindity women, the +wives of these false-gold workers, to servant girls and the wives of +small shopkeepers, and not a few, at a lower rate, to certain gentry who +get their livelihood by the honourable profession of _ring-dropping_. + +What is ring-dropping? + +Ring-dropping is this. A gentleman overtakes you as you are walking in +some quiet street, passes by you, and at the distance of some fifteen +yards stops, and stooping down, seemingly picks up something, which he +inspects, and then uttering a “Dear me!” he turns to you, and says, “Sir, +we have been fortunate to-day. See! I have picked up this valuable!” +He then shows you a small case, in which is a large ring, seemingly of +the finest gold, with a little label attached to it, on which is marked +£2 15s. “Now, sir,” he continues, “I said _we_ were fortunate, because +as we were close to each other, I consider you as much entitled to gain +by this windfall as myself. I’ll tell you how it shall be: the price of +the ring, which was probably dropped by some goldsmith’s man, is, as you +see, two pound fifteen; however, as I am in a hurry, you shall only give +me a quid, a pound, and then the valuable shall be all your own; it shall +indeed, sir!” And then he stares you in the face. Such is +ring-dropping, to which many silly but greedy individuals, fall victims; +giving a pound for a fine-looking ring, which, however, with its scarlet +case—for the case is always of a scarlet colour—is not worth sixpence. +The best thing you can do in such a case is to put your thumb to your +nose, flattening your hand and sticking out your fingers far apart, +moving on at the same time, or to utter the cabalistic word “hookey”; in +either case the ring-dropper will at once drop astern, with a +half-stifled curse, for he knows that he has to do with “no flat,” and +that you are “awake to his little game.” Doing so is much better than +moving rapidly on, and affecting to take no notice of him, for then he +will infallibly follow you to the end of the street, offering you the +ring on more reasonable terms at every step, perhaps concluding at last, +as a ring-dropper once did to the writer, “I’ll tell you what, sir; as I +am in a hurry, and rather hard up, you shall have the valuable for a +bull, for a crown; you shall indeed, sir, so help me—” + +Three of the most famous of the Hindity smiths have been immortalised by +the Gypsies in the following bit of verse: + + Mickie, Huwie and Larry, + Trin Hindity-mengre fashiono vangust-engre. + + Mickie, Huwie and Larry bold, + Three Irish brothers, as I am told, + Who make false rings, that pass for gold. + +Of these _fashiono-vangust_ brothers, the most remarkable is Mike—Old +Mike, as he is generally called. He was born in the county Kerry, and +educated at a hedge-school, where he learned to read and write English, +after a fashion, and acquired the seventeen letters of the Irish +alphabet, each of which is named after a particular tree. Leaving school +he was apprenticed to a blacksmith, from whom he ran away, and enlisted +into the service of that illustrious monarch, George the Third, some of +whose battles he had the honour of fighting in the Peninsula and France. +Discharged from the army at the Peace, with the noble donation of thirty +shillings, or one month’s pay, he returned to Ireland, took to himself a +wife, and commenced tinker. Becoming dissatisfied with his native soil +he passed over to England, and settling for some time at “Brummagem,” +took lessons from certain cunning smiths in the art of making _fashiono +vangusties_. The next forty years of his life he spent in wandering +about Britain, attended by his faithful partner, who not only disposed of +his tin articles and false rings, but also bore him seventeen children, +all of whom are alive, somewhere or other, and thriving too, one of them +indeed having attained to the dignity of American senator. Some of his +adventures, during his wanderings, were in the highest degree +extraordinary. Of late years he has chiefly resided in the vicinity of +London, spending his winters at Wandsworth, and his summers on the Flats, +near Epping Forest; in one or the other of which places you may see Old +Mike on a Sunday evening, provided the weather is tolerably fine, seated +near his little caravan, with his wife by his side—not the wife who bore +him the seventeen children, who has been dead for some years, but his +second wife, a nice, elderly Irish _ban_ from the county of Cork, who can +tell fortunes, say her prayers in Irish, and is nearly as good a hand at +selling her lord and master’s tin articles and false rings as her +predecessor. Lucky for Mike that he got such a second partner! and +luckier still that at his age of seventy-nine he retains all his +faculties, and is able to work for his daily bread, with at least the +skill and cunning of his two brothers, both of whom are much younger men +than himself, whose adventures have been somewhat similar to his own, and +who, singularly enough, have come to live near him in his latter days. +Both these brothers are highly remarkable men. Huwie is the most +civil-spoken person in or about London, and Larry a man of the most +terrible tongue, and perhaps the most desperate fighter ever seen; always +willing to attack half a dozen men, if necessary, and afraid of no one in +the world, save one—Mike, old Mike, who can tame him in his fiercest +moods by merely holding up his finger. Oh, a truly remarkable man is old +Mike! and a pleasure and an advantage it is to any one of a philosophical +mind to be acquainted with him, and to listen to him. He is much more +than _a fashiono-vangust-engro_. Amongst other things he is a +theologian—Irish theologian—and quite competent to fill the chair of +theology at the University of Maynooth. He can tell you a great many +things connected with a certain person, which, with all your research, +you would never find in Scripture. He can tell you how the Saviour, when +hanging on the cross, became athirst, and told St. Peter, who stood at +the foot of it, to fetch Him a cup of water from a dirty puddle in the +neighbourhood, and how St. Peter—however, better not relate the legend, +though a highly curious one. Then he can repeat to you blessed verses, +as he calls them, by dozens; not of David, but of one quite as good, as +he will tell you, namely, Timothy O’Sullivan; and who, you will say, was +Timothy O’Sullivan? Why, Ty Gaelach, to be sure. And who was Ty +Gaelach? An Irish peasant-poet of the last century, who wrote spiritual +songs, some of them by no means bad ones, and who was called Gaelach, or +Gael, from his abhorrence of the English race and of the English +language, of which he scarcely understood a word. Then is Ty Irish for +Timothy? Why, no! though very stupidly supposed to be so. Ty is Teague, +which is neither Greek nor Irish, but a glorious old Northern name, +carried into Ireland by the brave old heathen Danes. Ty or Teague is the +same as Tycho. Ty or Teague Gaelach is as much as to say Tycho Gaelach; +and Tycho Brahe is as much as to say Teague Brahe. + + + +THE POTTERIES, 1864 + + +THE second great Gypsyry is on the Middlesex side of the river, and is +distant about three miles, as the crow flies, from that of Wandsworth. +Strange as it may seem, it is not far distant from the most fashionable +part of London; from the beautiful squares, noble streets, and thousand +palaces of Tyburnia, a region which, though only a small part of the +enormous metropolis, can show more beautiful edifices, wealth, elegance, +and luxury, than all foreign capitals put together. After passing +Tyburnia, and going more than halfway down Notting Hill, you turn to the +right, and proceed along a tolerably genteel street till it divides into +two, one of which looks more like a lane than a street, and which is on +the left hand, and bears the name of Pottery Lane. Go along this lane, +and you will presently find yourself amongst a number of low, +uncouth-looking sheds, open at the sides, and containing an immense +quantity of earthen chimney-pots, pantiles, fancy-bricks, and similar +articles. This place is called the Potteries, and gives the name of +Pottery Lane to the lane through which you have just passed. A dirty +little road goes through it, which you must follow, and presently turning +to your left, you will enter a little, filthy street, and going some way +down it, you will see, on your right hand, a little, open bit of ground, +chock-full of crazy, battered caravans of all colours—some yellow, some +green, some red. Dark men, wild-looking, witch-like women, and +yellow-faced children are at the doors of the caravans, or wending their +way through the narrow spaces left for transit between the vehicles. You +have now arrived at the second grand Gypsyry of London—you are amongst +the Romany Chals of the Potteries, called in Gypsy the _Koromengreskoe +Tan_, or the place of the fellows who make pots; in which place certain +Gypsies have settled, not with the view of making pots, an employment +which they utterly eschew, but simply because it is convenient to them, +and suits their fancy. + +A goodly collection of Gypsies you will find in that little nook, crowded +with caravans. Most of them are Tatchey Romany, real Gypsies, +“long-established people, of the old order.” Amongst them are +Ratzie-mescroes, Hearnes, Herons, or duck-people; Chumo-mescroes or +Bosvils; a Kaulo Camlo (a Black Lovel) or two, and a Beshaley or Stanley. +It is no easy thing to find a Stanley nowadays, even in the Baulo Tem, or +Hampshire, which is the proper home of the Stanleys, for the Bugnior, +pimples or small-pox, has of late years made sad havoc amongst the +Stanleys; but yonder tall old gentlewoman, descending the steps of a +caravan, with a flaming red cloak and a large black beaver bonnet, and +holding a travelling basket in her hand, is a Tatchey Beshaley, a +“genuine” Stanley. The generality, however, of “them Gyptians” are +Ratzie-mescroes, Hearnes, or duck-people; and, speaking of the Hearnes, +it is but right to say that he who may be called the Gypsy Father of +London, old Thomas Ratzie-mescro, or Hearne, though not exactly residing +here, lives close by in a caravan, in a little bit of a yard over the +way, where he can breathe more freely, and be less annoyed by the brats +and the young fellows than he would be in yonder crowded place. + +Though the spot which it has just been attempted to describe, may be +considered as the head-quarters of the London Gypsies, on the Middlesex +side of the Thames, the whole neighbourhood, for a mile to the north of +it, may to a certain extent be considered a Gypsy region—that is, a +district where Gypsies, or gentry whose habits very much resemble those +of Gypsies, may at any time be found. No metropolitan district, indeed, +could be well more suited for Gypsies to take up their abode in. It is a +neighbourhood of transition; of brickfields, open spaces, poor streets +inhabited by low artisans, isolated houses, sites of intended tenements, +or sites of tenements which have been pulled down; it is in fact a mere +chaos, where there is no order and no regularity; where there is nothing +durable, or intended to be durable; though there can be little doubt that +within a few years order and beauty itself will be found here, that the +misery, squalidness, and meanness will have disappeared, and the whole +district, up to the railroad arches which bound it on the west and north, +will be covered with palaces, like those of Tyburnia, or delightful +villas, like those which decorate what is called Saint John’s Wood. At +present, however, it is quite the kind of place to please the Gypsies and +wandering people, who find many places within its bounds where they can +squat and settle, or take up their quarters for a night or two without +much risk of being interfered with. Here their tents, cars, and caravans +may be seen amidst ruins, half-raised walls, and on patches of unenclosed +ground; here their children may, throughout the day, be seen playing +about, flinging up dust and dirt, some partly naked, and others entirely +so; and here, at night, the different families, men, women, and children, +may be seen seated around their fires and their kettles, taking their +evening meal, and every now and then indulging in shouts of merriment, as +much as to say,— + + What care we, though we be so small? + The tent shall stand when the palace shall fall; + +which is quite true. The Gypsy tent must make way for the palace, but +after a millennium or two, the Gypsy tent is pitched on the ruins of the +palace. + +Of the open spaces above mentioned, the most considerable is one called +Latimer’s Green. It lies on the north-western side of the district, and +is not far from that place of old renown called the Shepherd’s Bush, +where in the good ancient times highwaymen used to lurk for the purpose +of pouncing upon the travellers of the Oxford Road. It may contain about +five or six acres, and, though nominally under the control of trustees, +is in reality little more than a “no man’s ground,” where anybody may +feed a horse, light a fire, and boil a kettle. It is a great resort of +vagrant people, less of Gypsies than those who call themselves +travellers, and are denominated by the Gypsies Chorodies, and who live +for the most part in miserable caravans, though there is generally a +Gypsy tent or two to be seen there, belonging to some Deighton or Shaw, +or perhaps Petulengro, from the Lil-engro Tan, as the Romany call +Cambridgeshire. Amidst these Chorody caravans and Gypsy tents may +frequently be seen the _ker-vardo_, the house on wheels, of one who, +whenever he takes up his quarters here, is considered the cock of the +walk, the king of the place. He is a little under forty years of age, +and somewhat under five feet ten inches in height. His face is +wonderfully like that of a mastiff of the largest size, particularly in +its jowls; his neck is short and very thick, and must be nearly as strong +as that of a bull; his chest is so broad that one does not like to say +how broad it is; and the voice which every now and then proceeds from it +has much the sound of that of the mighty dog just mentioned; his arms are +long and exceedingly muscular, and his fists huge and bony. He wears a +low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat, a coarse blue coat with short skirts, +leggings, and high-lows. Such is the _kral o’ the tan_, the _rex loci_, +the cock of the green. But what is he besides? Is he Gypsy, _Chorody_, +or _Hindity mush_? I say, you had better not call him by any one of +those names, for if you did he would perhaps hit you, and then, oh dear! +That is Mr. G. A., a travelling horse-dealer, who lives in a caravan, and +finds it frequently convenient to take up his abode for weeks together on +Latimer’s Green. He is a thorough-bred Englishman, though he is married +to a daughter of one of the old, sacred Gypsy families, a certain Lurina +Ratziemescri, duck or heron female, who is a very handsome woman, and who +has two brothers, dark, stealthy-looking young fellows, who serve with +almost slavish obedience their sister’s lord and husband, listening +uncomplainingly to his abuse of Gypsies, whom, though he lives amongst +them and is married to one by whom he has several children, he holds in +supreme contempt, never speaking of them but as a lying, thievish, +cowardly set, any three of whom he could beat with one hand; as perhaps +he could, for he is a desperate pugilist, and has three times fought in +“the ring” with good men, whom, though not a scientific fighter, he beat +with ease by dint of terrible blows, causing them to roar out. He is +very well to do in the world; his caravan, a rather stately affair, is +splendidly furnished within; and it is a pleasure to see his wife, at +Hampton Court races, dressed in Gypsy fashion, decked with real gems and +jewels and rich gold chains, and waited upon by her dark brothers dressed +like dandy pages. How is all this expense supported? Why, by +horsedealing. Mr. G. is, then, up to all kinds of horsedealers’ tricks, +no doubt. Aye, aye, he is up to them, but he doesn’t practise them. He +says it’s of no use, and that honesty is the best policy, and he’ll stick +to it; and so he does, and finds the profit of it. His traffic in +horses, though confined entirely to small people, such as +market-gardeners, travellers, show-folks, and the like, is very great; +every small person who wishes to buy a horse, or to sell a horse, or to +swop a horse, goes to Mr. G., and has never reason to complain, for all +acknowledge that he has done the fair thing by them; though all agree +that there is no overreaching him, which indeed very few people try to +do, deterred by the dread of his manual prowess, of which a Gypsy once +gave to the writer the following _striking_ illustration:—“He will jal +oprey to a gry that’s wafodu, prawla, and coure leste tuley with the +courepen of his wast.” (He will go up to a vicious horse, brother, and +knock him down with a blow of his fist.) + +The arches of the railroad which bounds this region on the west and north +serve as a resort for Gypsies, who erect within them their tents, which +are thus sheltered in summer from the scorching rays of the sun, and in +winter from the drenching rain. In what close proximity we sometimes +find emblems of what is most rude and simple, and what is most artificial +and ingenious! For example, below the arch is the Gypsy donkey-cart, +whilst above it is thundering the chariot of fire which can run across a +county in half an hour. The principal frequenters of these arches are +Bosvils and Lees; the former are chiefly tinkers, and the latter +_esconyemengres_, or skewer-makers. The reason for this difference is +that the Bosvils are chiefly immigrants from the country, where there is +not much demand for skewers, whereas the Lees are natives of the +metropolis or the neighbourhood, where the demand for skewers has from +time immemorial been enormously great. It was in the shelter of one of +these arches that the celebrated Ryley Bosvil, the Gypsy king of +Yorkshire, breathed his last a few years ago. + + + +THE MOUNT + + +BEFORE quitting the subject of Metropolitan Gypsies there is another +place to which it will be necessary to devote a few words, though it is +less entitled to the appelation of Gypsyry than rookery. It is situated +in the East of London, a region far more interesting to the ethnologist +and the philologist than the West, for there he will find people of all +kinds of strange races,—the wildest Irish; Greeks, both Orthodox and +Papistical; Jews, not only Ashkenazim and Sephardim, but even Karaite; +the worst, and consequently the most interesting, description of Germans, +the sugar-bakers; lots of Malays; plenty of Chinamen; two or three dozen +Hottentots, and about the same number of Gypsies, reckoning men, women, +and children. Of the latter, and their place of abode, we have now only +to do, leaving the other strange, odd people to be disposed of on some +other occasion. + +Not far from Shoreditch Church, and at a short distance from the street +called Church Street, on the left hand, is a locality called Friars’ +Mount, but generally for shortness called The Mount. It derives its name +from a friary built upon a small hillock in the time of Popery, where a +set of fellows lived in laziness and luxury on the offerings of foolish +and superstitious people, who resorted thither to kiss and worship an +ugly wooden image of the Virgin, said to be a first-rate stick at +performing miraculous cures. The neighbourhood, of course, soon became a +resort for vagabonds of every description, for wherever friars are found +rogues and thieves are sure to abound; and about Friars’ Mount, +highwaymen, coiners, and Gypsies dwelt in safety under the protection of +the ministers of the miraculous image. The friary has long since +disappeared, the Mount has been levelled, and the locality built over. +The vice and villainy, however, which the friary called forth still cling +to the district. It is one of the vilest dens of London, a grand resort +for housebreakers, garotters, passers of bad money, and other +disreputable people, though not for Gypsies; for however favourite a +place it may have been for the Romany in the old time, it no longer finds +much favour in their sight, from its not affording open spaces where they +can pitch their tents. One very small street, however, is certainly +entitled to the name of a Gypsy street, in which a few Gypsy families +have always found it convenient to reside, and who are in the habit of +receiving and lodging their brethren passing through London to and from +Essex and other counties east of the metropolis. There is something +peculiar in the aspect of this street, not observable in that of any of +the others, which one who visits it, should he have been in Triana of +Seville, would at once recognise as having seen in the aspect of the +lanes and courts of that grand location of the Gypsies of the Andalusian +capital. + +The Gypsies of the Mount live much in the same manner as their brethren +in the other Gypsyries of London. They _chin the cost_, make skewers, +baskets, and let out donkeys for hire. The chief difference consists in +their living in squalid houses, whilst the others inhabit dirty tents and +caravans. The last Gypsy of any note who resided in this quarter was +Joseph Lee; here he lived for a great many years, and here he died, +having attained the age of ninety. During his latter years he was +generally called Old Joe Lee, from his great age. His wife or partner, +who was also exceedingly old, only survived him a few days. They were +buried in the same grave, with much Gypsy pomp, in the neighbouring +churchyard. They were both of pure Gypsy blood, and were generally known +as the Gypsy king and queen of Shoreditch. They left a numerous family +of children and grandchildren, some of whom are still to be found at the +Mount. This old Joe Lee in his day was a celebrated horse and donkey +witch—that is, he professed secrets which enabled him to make any +wretched animal of either species exhibit for a little time the spirit +and speed of “a flying drummedary.” He was illustriously related, and +was very proud on that account, especially in being the brother’s son of +old James, the _cauring mush_, whose exploits in the filching line will +be remembered as long as the venerable tribe of Purrum, or Lee, continues +in existence. + + + + +RYLEY BOSVIL + + +RYLEY Bosvil was a native of Yorkshire, a country where, as the Gypsies +say, “there’s a deadly sight of Bosvils.” He was above the middle +height, exceedingly strong and active, and one of the best riders in +Yorkshire, which is saying a great deal. He was a thorough Gypsy, versed +in all the arts of the old race, had two wives, never went to church, and +considered that when a man died he was cast into the earth, and there was +an end of him. He frequently used to say that if any of his people +became Gorgios he would kill them. He had a sister of the name of Clara, +a nice, delicate, interesting girl, about fourteen years younger than +himself, who travelled about with an aunt; this girl was noticed by a +respectable Christian family, who, taking a great interest in her, +persuaded her to come and live with them. She was instructed by them in +the rudiments of the Christian religion, appeared delighted with her new +friends, and promised never to leave them. After the lapse of about six +weeks there was a knock at the door; a dark man stood before it who said +he wanted Clara. Clara went out trembling, had some discourse with the +man in an unknown tongue, and shortly returned in tears, and said that +she must go. “What for?” said her friends. “Did you not promise to stay +with us?” “I did so,” said the girl, weeping more bitterly; “but that +man is my brother, who says I must go with him, and what he says must +be.” So with her brother she departed, and her Christian friends never +saw her again. What became of her? Was she made away with? Many +thought she was, but she was not. Ryley put her into a light cart, drawn +by “a flying pony,” and hurried her across England, even to distant +Norfolk, where he left her, after threatening her, with three Gypsy women +who were devoted to him. With these women the writer found her one night +encamped in a dark wood, and had much discourse with her, both on +Christian and Egyptian matters. She was very melancholy, bitterly +regretted having been compelled to quit her Christian friends, and said +that she wished she had never been a Gypsy. The writer, after exhorting +her to keep a firm grip of her Christianity, departed, and did not see +her again for nearly a quarter of a century, when he met her on Epsom +Downs, on the Derby day when the terrible horse Gladiateur beat all the +English steeds. She was then very much changed, very much changed +indeed, appearing as a full-blown Egyptian matron, with two very handsome +daughters flaringly dressed in genuine Gypsy fashion, to whom she was +giving motherly counsels as to the best means to _hok_ and _dukker_ the +gentlefolks. All her Christianity she appeared to have flung to the +dogs, for when the writer spoke to her on that very important subject, +she made no answer save by an indescribable Gypsy look. On other matters +she was communicative enough, telling the writer, amongst other things, +that since he saw her she had been twice married, and both times very +well, for that her first husband, by whom she had the two daughters whom +the writer “kept staring at,” was a man every inch of him, and her +second, who was then on the Downs grinding knives with a machine he had, +though he had not much manhood, being nearly eighty years old, had +something much better, namely a mint of money, which she hoped shortly to +have in her own possession. + +Ryley, like most of the Bosvils, was a tinker by profession; but, though +a tinker, he was amazingly proud and haughty of heart. His grand +ambition was to be a great man among his people, a Gypsy King. To this +end he furnished himself with clothes made after the costliest Gypsy +fashion: the two hinder buttons of the coat, which was of thick blue +cloth, were broad gold pieces of Spain, generally called ounces; the +fore-buttons were English “spaded guineas”; the buttons of the waistcoat +were half-guineas, and those of the collar and the wrists of his shirt +were seven-shilling gold pieces. In this coat he would frequently make +his appearance on a magnificent horse, whose hoofs, like those of the +steed of a Turkish sultan, were cased in shoes of silver. How did he +support such expense? it may be asked. Partly by driving a trade in +_wafodu luvvu_, counterfeit coin, with which he was supplied by certain +honest tradespeople of Brummagem; partly and principally by large sums of +money which he received from his two wives, and which they obtained by +the practice of certain arts peculiar to Gypsy females. One of his wives +was a truly remarkable woman: she was of the Petulengro or Smith tribe; +her Christian name, if Christian name it can be called, was Xuri or +Shuri, and from her exceeding smartness and cleverness she was generally +called by the Gypsies Yocky Shuri,—that is, smart or clever Shuri, +_yocky_ being a Gypsy word, signifying ‘clever.’ She could _dukker_—that +is, tell fortunes—to perfection, by which alone during the racing season +she could make a hundred pounds a month. She was good at the _big hok_, +that is, at inducing people to put money into her hands, in the hope of +its being multiplied; and, oh dear! how she could _caur_—that is, filch +gold rings and trinkets from jewellers’ cases; the kind of thing which +the Spanish Gypsy women call _ustilar pastesas_, filching with the hands. +Frequently she would disappear, and travel about England, and Scotland +too, _dukkering_, _hokking_, and _cauring_, and after the lapse of a +month return and deliver to her husband, like a true and faithful wife, +the proceeds of her industry. So no wonder that the Flying Tinker, as he +was called, was enabled to cut a grand appearance. He was very fond of +hunting, and would frequently join the field in regular hunting costume, +save and except that, instead of the leather hunting-cap, he wore one of +fur with a gold band around it, to denote that though he mixed with +Gorgios he was still a Romany-chal. Thus equipped and mounted on a +capital hunter, whenever he encountered a Gypsy encampment he would +invariably dash through it, doing all the harm he could, in order, as he +said, to let the _juggals_ know that he was their king and had a right to +do what he pleased with his own. Things went on swimmingly for a great +many years, but, as prosperity does not continue for ever, his dark hour +came at last. His wives got into trouble in one or two expeditions, and +his dealings in _wafodu luvvu_ began to be noised about. Moreover, by +his grand airs and violent proceedings he had incurred the hatred of both +Gorgios and Gypsies, particularly of the latter, some of whom he had +ridden over and lamed for life. One day he addressed his two wives:— + + “The Gorgios seek to hang me, + The Gypsies seek to kill me: + This country we must leave.” + + _Shuri_. + + “I’ll jaw with you to heaven, + I’ll jaw with you to Yaudors— + But not if Lura goes.” + + _Lura_. + + “I’ll jaw with you to heaven, + And to the wicked country, + Though Shuri goeth too.” + + _Ryley_. + + “Since I must choose betwixt ye, + My choice is Yocky Shuri, + Though Lura loves me best.” + + _Lura_. + + “My blackest curse on Shuri! + Oh, Ryley, I’ll not curse you, + But you will never thrive.” + +She then took her departure with her cart and donkey, and Ryley remained +with Shuri. + + _Ryley_. + + “I’ve chosen now betwixt ye; + Your wish you now have gotten, + But for it you shall smart.” + +He then struck her with his fist on the cheek, and broke her jawbone. +Shuri uttered no cry or complaint, only mumbled: + + “Although with broken jawbone, + I’ll follow thee, my Ryley, + Since Lura doesn’t jal.” + +Thereupon Ryley and Yocky Shuri left Yorkshire, and wended their way to +London, where they took up their abode in the Gypsyry near the Shepherd’s +Bush. Shuri went about _dukkering_ and _hokking_, but not with the +spirit of former times, for she was not quite so young as she had been, +and her jaw, which was never properly cured, pained her much. Ryley went +about tinkering, but he was unacquainted with London and its +neighbourhood, and did not get much to do. An old Gypsy-man, who was +driving about a little cart filled with skewers, saw him standing in a +state of perplexity at a place where four roads met. + + _Old Gypsy_. + + “Methinks I see a brother! + Who’s your father? Who’s your mother? + And what may be your name?” + + _Ryley_. + + “A Bosvil was my father; + A Bosvil was my mother; + And Ryley is my name.” + + _Old Gypsy_. + + “I’m glad to see you, brother! + I am a Kaulo Camlo. {247a} + What service can I do?” + + _Ryley_. + + “I’m jawing petulengring, {247b} + But do not know the country; + Perhaps you’ll show me round.” + + _Old Gypsy_. + + “I’ll sikker tute, prala! + I’m bikkening esconyor; {247c} + Av, av along with me!” + +The old Gypsy showed Ryley about the country for a week or two, and Ryley +formed a kind of connection, and did a little business. He, however, +displayed little or no energy, was gloomy and dissatisfied, and +frequently said that his heart was broken since he had left Yorkshire. + +Shuri did her best to cheer him, but without effect. Once, when she bade +him get up and exert himself, he said that if he did it would be of +little use, and asked her whether she did not remember the parting +prophecy of his other wife that he would never thrive. At the end of +about two years he ceased going his rounds, and did nothing but smoke +under the arches of the railroad, and loiter about beershops. At length +he became very weak, and took to his bed; doctors were called in by his +faithful Shuri, but there is no remedy for a bruised spirit. A Methodist +came and asked him, “What was his hope?” “My hope,” said he, “is that +when I am dead I shall be put into the ground, and my wife and children +will weep over me.” And such, it may be observed, is the last hope of +every genuine Gypsy. His hope was gratified. Shuri and his children, of +whom he had three—two stout young fellows and a girl—gave him a +magnificent funeral, and screamed, shouted, and wept over his grave. +They then returned to the “Arches,” not to divide his property amongst +them, and to quarrel about the division, according to Christian practice, +but to destroy it. They killed his swift pony—still swift, though +twenty-seven years of age—and buried it deep in the ground, without +depriving it of its skin. They then broke the caravan and cart to +pieces, making of the fragments a fire, on which they threw his bedding, +carpets, curtains, blankets, and everything which would burn. Finally, +they dashed his mirrors, china, and crockery to pieces, hacked his metal +pots, dishes and what-not to bits, and flung the whole on the blazing +pile. Such was the life, such the death, and such were the funeral +obsequies of Ryley Bosvil, a Gypsy who will be long remembered amongst +the English Romany for his buttons, his two wives, his grand airs, and +last, and not least, for having been the composer of various stanzas in +the Gypsy tongue, which have plenty of force, if nothing else, to +recommend them. One of these, addressed to Yocky Shuri, runs as follows: + + Tuley the Can I kokkeney cam + Like my rinkeny Yocky Shuri: + Oprey the chongor in ratti I’d cour + For my rinkeny Yocky Shuri! + +Which may be thus rendered: + + Beneath the bright sun, there is none, there is none, + I love like my Yocky Shuri: + With the greatest delight, in blood I would fight + To the knees for my Yocky Shuri! + + + + +KIRK YETHOLM + + +THERE are two Yetholms—Town Yetholm and Kirk Yetholm. They stand at the +distance of about a quarter of a mile from each other, and between them +is a valley, down which runs a small stream, called the Beaumont River, +crossed by a little stone bridge. Of the town there is not much to be +said. It is a long, straggling place, on the road between Morbuttle and +Kelso, from which latter place it is distant about seven miles. It is +comparatively modern, and sprang up when the Kirk town began to fall into +decay. Kirk Yetholm derives the first part of its name from the church, +which serves for a place of worship not only for the inhabitants of the +place, but for those of the town also. The present church is modern, +having been built on the site of the old kirk, which was pulled down in +the early part of the present century, and which had been witness of many +a strange event connected with the wars between England and Scotland. It +stands at the entrance of the place, on the left hand as you turn to the +village after ascending the steep road which leads from the bridge. The +place occupies the lower portion of a hill, a spur of the Cheviot range, +behind which is another hill, much higher, rising to an altitude of at +least 900 feet. At one time it was surrounded by a stone wall, and at +the farther end is a gateway overlooking a road leading to the English +border, from which Kirk Yetholm is distant only a mile and a quarter; the +boundary of the two kingdoms being here a small brook called Shorton +Burn, on the English side of which is a village of harmless, simple +Northumbrians, differing strangely in appearance, manner, and language +from the people who live within a stone’s throw of them on the other +side. + +Kirk Yetholm is a small place, but with a remarkable look. It consists +of a street, terminating in what is called a green, with houses on three +sides, but open on the fourth, or right side to the mountain, towards +which quarter it is grassy and steep. Most of the houses are ancient, +and are built of rude stone. By far the most remarkable-looking house is +a large and dilapidated building, which has much the appearance of a +ruinous Spanish _posada_ or _venta_. There is not much life in the +place, and you may stand ten minutes where the street opens upon the +square without seeing any other human beings than two or three women +seated at the house doors, or a ragged, bare-headed boy or two lying on +the grass on the upper side of the Green. It came to pass that late one +Saturday afternoon, at the commencement of August, in the year 1866, I +was standing where the street opens on this Green, or imperfect square. +My eyes were fixed on the dilapidated house, the appearance of which +awakened in my mind all kinds of odd ideas. “A strange-looking place,” +said I to myself at last, “and I shouldn’t wonder if strange things have +been done in it.” + +“Come to see the Gypsy toon, sir?” said a voice not far from me. + +I turned, and saw standing within two yards of me a woman about forty +years of age, of decent appearance, though without either cap or bonnet. + +“A Gypsy town, is it?” said I; “why, I thought it had been Kirk Yetholm.” + +_Woman_.—“Weel, sir, if it is Kirk Yetholm, must it not be a Gypsy toon? +Has not Kirk Yetholm ever been a Gypsy toon?” + +_Myself_.—“My good woman, ‘ever’ is a long term, and Kirk Yetholm must +have been Kirk Yetholm long before there were Gypsies in Scotland, or +England either.” + +_Woman_.—“Weel, sir, your honour may be right, and I dare say is; for +your honour seems to be a learned gentleman. Certain, however, it is +that Kirk Yetholm has been a Gypsy toon beyond the memory of man.” + +_Myself_.—“You do not seem to be a Gypsy.” + +_Woman_.—“Seem to be a Gypsy! Na, na, sir! I am the bairn of decent +parents, and belong not to Kirk Yetholm, but to Haddington.” + +_Myself_.—“And what brought you to Kirk Yetholm?” + +_Woman_.—“Oh, my ain little bit of business brought me to Kirk Yetholm, +sir.” + +_Myself_.—“Which is no business of mine. That’s a queer-looking house +there.” + +_Woman_.—“The house that your honour was looking at so attentively when I +first spoke to ye? A queer-looking house it is, and a queer kind of man +once lived in it. Does your honour know who once lived in that house?” + +_Myself_.—“No. How should I? I am here for the first time, and after +taking a bite and sup at the inn at the town over yonder I strolled +hither.” + +_Woman_.—“Does your honour come from far?” + +_Myself_.—“A good way. I came from Strandraar, the farthest part of +Galloway, where I landed from a ship which brought me from Ireland.” + +_Woman_.—“And what may have brought your honour into these parts?” + +_Myself_.—“Oh, my ain wee bit of business brought me into these parts.” + +“Which wee bit of business is nae business of mine,” said the woman, +smiling. “Weel, your honour is quite right to keep your ain counsel; +for, as your honour weel kens, if a person canna keep his ain counsel it +is nae likely that any other body will keep it for him. But to gae back +to the queer house, and the queer man that once ’habited it. That man, +your honour, was old Will Faa.” + +_Myself_.—“Old Will Faa!” + +_Woman_.—“Yes. Old Will Faa, the Gypsy king, smuggler, and innkeeper; he +lived in that inn.” + +_Myself_.—“Oh, then that house has been an inn?” + +_Woman_.—“It still is an inn, and has always been an inn; and though it +has such an eerie look it is sometimes lively enough, more especially +after the Gypsies have returned from their summer excursions in the +country. It’s a roaring place then. They spend most of their +sleight-o’-hand gains in that house.” + +_Myself_.—“Is the house still kept by a Faa?” + +_Woman_.—“No, sir; there are no Faas to keep it. The name is clean dead +in the land, though there is still some of the blood remaining.” + +_Myself_.—“I really should like to see some of the blood.” + +_Woman_.—“Weel, sir, you can do that without much difficulty; there are +not many Gypsies just now in Kirk Yetholm; but the one who they say has +more of his blood than any one else happens to be here. I mean his +grandbairn—his daughter’s daughter; she whom they ca’ the ‘Gypsy Queen o’ +Yetholm,’ and whom they lead about the toon once a year, mounted on a +cuddy, with a tin crown on her head, with much shouting, and with mony a +barbaric ceremony.” + +_Myself_.—“I really should like to see her.” + +_Woman_.—“Weel, sir, there’s a woman behind you, seated at the doorway, +who can get your honour not only the sight of her, but the speech of her, +for she is one of the race, and a relation of hers; and, to tell ye the +truth, she has had her eye upon your honour for some time past, expecting +to be asked about the qeeen, for scarcely anybody comes to Yetholm but +goes to see the queen; and some gae so far as to say that they merely +crowned her queen in hopes of bringing grist to the Gypsy mill.” + +I thanked the woman, and was about to turn away, in order to address +myself to the other woman seated on the step, when my obliging friend +said, “I beg your pardon, sir, but before ye go I wish to caution you, +when you get to the speech of the queen, not to put any speerings to her +about a certain tongue or dialect which they say the Gypsies have. All +the Gypsies become glum and dour as soon as they are spoken to about +their language, and particularly the queen. The queen might say +something uncivil to your honour, should you ask her questions about her +language.” + +_Myself_.—“Oh, then the Gypsies of Yetholm have a language of their own?” + +_Woman_.—“I canna say, sir; I dinna ken whether they have or not; I have +been at Yetholm several years, about my ain wee bit o’ business, and +never heard them utter a word that was not either English or broad +Scotch. Some people say that they have a language of their ain, and +others say that they have nane, and moreover that, though they call +themselves Gypsies, they are far less Gypsy than Irish, a great deal of +Irish being mixed in their veins with a very little of the much more +respectable Gypsy blood. It may be sae, or it may be not; perhaps your +honour will find out. That’s the woman, sir, just behind ye at the door. +Gud e’en. I maun noo gang and boil my cup o’tay.” + +To the woman at the door I now betook myself. She was seated on the +threshold, and employed in knitting. She was dressed in white, and had a +cap on her head, from which depended a couple of ribbons, one on each +side. As I drew near she looked up. She had a full, round, smooth face, +and her complexion was brown, or rather olive, a hue which contrasted +with that of her eyes, which were blue. + +“There is something Gypsy in that face,” said I to myself, as I looked at +her; “but I don’t like those eyes.” + +“A fine evening,” said I to her at last. + +“Yes, sir,” said the woman, with very little of the Scotch accent; “it is +a fine evening. Come to see the town?” + +“Yes,” said I; “I am come to see the town. A nice little town it seems.” + +“And I suppose come to see the Gypsies, too,” said the woman, with a half +smile. + +“Well,” said I, “to be frank with you, I came to see the Gypsies. You +are not one, I suppose?” + +“Indeed I am,” said the woman, rather sharply, “and who shall say that I +am not, seeing that I am a relation of old Will Faa, the man whom the +woman from Haddington was speaking to you about; for I heard her mention +his name?” + +“Then,” said I, “you must be related to her whom they call the Gypsy +queen.” + +“I am, indeed, sir. Would you wish to see her?” + +“By all means,” said I. “I should wish very much to see the Gypsy +queen.” + +“Then I will show you to her, sir; many gentlefolks from England come to +see the Gypsy queen of Yetholm. Follow me, sir!” + +She got up, and, without laying down her knitting-work, went round the +corner, and began to ascend the hill. She was strongly made, and was +rather above the middle height. She conducted me to a small house, some +little way up the hill. As we were going, I said to her, “As you are a +Gypsy, I suppose you have no objection to a _coro_ of _koshto levinor_?” +{259} + +She stopped her knitting for a moment, and appeared to consider, and then +resuming it, she said hesitatingly, “No, sir, no! None at all! That is, +not exactly!” + +“She is no true Gypsy, after all,” said I to myself. + +We went through a little garden to the door of the house, which stood +ajar. She pushed it open, and looked in; then, turning round, she said: +“She is not here, sir; but she is close at hand. Wait here till I go and +fetch her.” She went to a house a little farther up the hill, and I +presently saw her returning with another female, of slighter build, lower +in stature, and apparently much older. She came towards me with much +smiling, smirking, and nodding, which I returned with as much smiling and +nodding as if I had known her for threescore years. She motioned me with +her hand to enter the house. I did so. The other woman returned down +the hill, and the queen of the Gypsies entering, and shutting the door, +confronted me on the floor, and said, in a rather musical, but slightly +faltering voice: + +“Now, sir, in what can I oblige you?” + +Thereupon, letting the umbrella fall, which I invariably carry about with +me in my journeyings, I flung my arms three times up into the air, and in +an exceedingly disagreeable voice, owing to a cold which I had had for +some time, and which I had caught amongst the lakes of Loughmaben, whilst +hunting after Gypsies whom I could not find, I exclaimed: + +“Sossi your nav? Pukker mande tute’s nav! Shan tu a mumpli-mushi, or a +tatchi Romany?” + +Which, interpreted into Gorgio, runs thus: + +“What is your name? Tell me your name! Are you a mumping woman, or a +true Gypsy?” + +The woman appeared frightened, and for some time said nothing, but only +stared at me. At length, recovering herself, she exclaimed, in an angry +tone, “Why do you talk to me in that manner, and in that gibberish? I +don’t understand a word of it.” + +“Gibberish!” said I; “it is no gibberish; it is Zingarrijib, Romany +rokrapen, real Gypsy of the old order.” + +“Whatever it is,” said the woman, “it’s of no use speaking it to me. If +you want to speak to me, you must speak English or Scotch.” + +“Why, they told me as how you were a Gypsy,” said I. + +“And they told you the truth,” said the woman; “I am a Gypsy, and a real +one; I am not ashamed of my blood.” + +“If yer were a Gyptian,” said I, “yer would be able to speak Gyptian; but +yer can’t, not a word.” + +“At any rate,” said the woman, “I can speak English, which is more than +you can. Why, your way of speaking is that of the lowest vagrants of the +roads.” + +“Oh, I have two or three ways of speaking English,” said I; “and when I +speaks to low wagram folks, I speaks in a low wagram manner.” + +“Not very civil,” said the woman. + +“A pretty Gypsy!” said I; “why, I’ll be bound you don’t know what a +_churi_ is!” + +The woman gave me a sharp look; but made no reply. + +“A pretty queen of the Gypsies!” said I; “why, she doesn’t know the +meaning of _churi_!” + +“Doesn’t she?” said the woman, evidently nettled; “doesn’t she?” + +“Why, do you mean to say that you know the meaning of _churi_?” + +“Why, of course I do,” said the woman. + +“Hardly, my good lady,” said I; “hardly; a _churi_ to you is merely a +_churi_.” + +“A _churi_ is a knife,” said the woman, in a tone of defiance; “a _churi_ +is a knife.” + +“Oh, it is,” said I; “and yet you tried to persuade me that you had no +peculiar language of your own, and only knew English and Scotch: _churi_ +is a word of the language in which I spoke to you at first, Zingarrijib, +or Gypsy language; and since you know that word, I make no doubt that you +know others, and in fact can speak Gypsy. Come; let us have a little +confidential discourse together.” + +The woman stood for some time, as if in reflection, and at length said: +“Sir, before having any particular discourse with you, I wish to put a +few questions to you, in order to gather from your answers whether it is +safe to talk to you on Gypsy matters. You pretend to understand the +Gypsy language: if I find you do not, I will hold no further discourse +with you; and the sooner you take yourself off the better. If I find you +do, I will talk with you as long as you like. What do you call +that?”—and she pointed to the fire. + +“Speaking Gyptianly?” said I. + +The woman nodded. + +“Whoy, I calls that _yog_.” + +“Hm,” said the woman: “and the dog out there?” + +“Gyptian-loike?” said I. + +“Yes.” + +“Whoy, I calls that a _juggal_.” + +“And the hat on your head?” + +“Well, I have two words for that: a _staury_ and a _stadge_.” + +“_Stadge_,” said the woman, “we call it here. Now what’s a gun?” + +“There is no Gypsy in England,” said I, “can tell you the word for a gun; +at least the proper word, which is lost. They have a +word—_yag-engro_—but that is a made-up word signifying a fire-thing.” + +“Then you don’t know the word for a gun,” said the Gypsy. + +“Oh dear me! Yes,” said I; “the genuine Gypsy word for a gun is +_puschca_. But I did not pick up that word in England, but in Hungary, +where the Gypsies retain their language better than in England: _puschca_ +is the proper word for a gun, and not _yag-engro_, which may mean a +fire-shovel, tongs, poker, or anything connected with fire, quite as well +as a gun.” + +“_Puschca_ is the word, sure enough,” said the Gypsy. “I thought I +should have caught you there; and now I have but one more question to ask +you, and when I have done so, you may as well go; for I am quite sure you +cannot answer it. What is _Nokkum_?” + +“_Nokkum_,” said I; “_nokkum_?” + +“Aye,” said the Gypsy; “what is _Nokkum_? Our people here, besides their +common name of Romany, have a private name for themselves, which is +_Nokkum_ or _Nokkums_. Why do the children of the Caungri Foros call +themselves _Nokkums_?” + +“_Nokkum_,” said I; “_nokkum_? The root of _nokkum_ must be _nok_, which +signifieth a nose.” + +“A-h!” said the Gypsy, slowly drawing out the monosyllable, as if in +astonishment. + +“Yes,” said I; “the root of _nokkum_ is assuredly _nok_, and I have no +doubt that your people call themselves _Nokkum_ because they are in the +habit of _nosing_ the Gorgios. _Nokkums_ means _Nosems_.” + +“Sit down, sir,” said the Gypsy, handing me a chair. “I am now ready to +talk to you as much as you please about _Nokkum_ words and matters, for I +see there is no danger. But I tell you frankly that had I not found that +you knew as much as, or a great deal more than, myself, not a hundred +pounds, nor indeed all the money in Berwick, should have induced me to +hold discourse with you about the words and matters of the Brown children +of Kirk Yetholm.” + +I sat down in the chair which she handed me; she sat down in another, and +we were presently in deep discourse about matters _Nokkum_. We first +began to talk about words, and I soon found that her knowledge of Romany +was anything but extensive; far less so, indeed, than that of the +commonest English Gypsy woman, for whenever I addressed her in regular +Gypsy sentences, and not in _poggado jib_, or broken language, she would +giggle and say I was too deep for her. I should say that the sum total +of her vocabulary barely amounted to three hundred words. Even of these +there were several which were not pure Gypsy words—that is, belonging to +the speech which the ancient Zingary brought with them to Britain. Some +of her bastard Gypsy words belonged to the cant or allegorical jargon of +thieves, who, in order to disguise their real meaning, call one thing by +the name of another. For example, she called a shilling a ‘hog,’ a word +belonging to the old English cant dialect, instead of calling it by the +genuine Gypsy term _tringurushi_, the literal meaning of which is three +groats. Then she called a donkey ‘asal,’ and a stone ‘cloch,’ which +words are neither cant nor Gypsy, but Irish or Gaelic. I incurred her +vehement indignation by saying they were Gaelic. She contradicted me +flatly, and said that whatever else I might know I was quite wrong there; +for that neither she nor any one of her people would condescend to speak +anything so low as Gaelic, or indeed, if they possibly could avoid it, to +have anything to do with the poverty-stricken creatures who used it. It +is a singular fact that, though principally owing to the magic writings +of Walter Scott, the Highland Gael and Gaelic have obtained the highest +reputation in every other part of the world, they are held in the +Lowlands in very considerable contempt. There the Highlander, elsewhere +“the bold Gael with sword and buckler,” is the type of poverty and +wretchedness; and his language, elsewhere “the fine old Gaelic, the +speech of Adam and Eve in Paradise,” is the designation of every +unintelligible jargon. But not to digress. On my expressing to the +Gypsy queen my regret that she was unable to hold with me a regular +conversation in Romany, she said that no one regretted it more than +herself, but that there was no help for it; and that slight as I might +consider her knowledge of Romany to be, it was far greater than that of +any other Gypsy on the Border, or indeed in the whole of Scotland; and +that as for the _Nokkums_, there was not one on the Green who was +acquainted with half a dozen words of Romany, though the few words they +had they prized high enough, and would rather part with their heart’s +blood than communicate them to a stranger. + +“Unless,” said I, “they found the stranger knew more than themselves.” + +“That would make no difference with them,” said the queen, “though it has +made a great deal of difference with me. They would merely turn up their +noses, and say they had no Gaelic. You would not find them so +communicative as me; the _Nokkums_, in general, are a dour set, sir.” + +Before quitting the subject of language it is but right to say that +though she did not know much Gypsy, and used cant and Gaelic terms, she +possessed several words unknown to the English Romany, but which are of +the true Gypsy order. Amongst them was the word _tirrehi_, or +_tirrehai_, signifying shoes or boots, which I had heard in Spain and in +the east of Europe. Another was _calches_, a Wallachian word signifying +trousers. Moreover, she gave the right pronunciation to the word which +denotes a man not of Gypsy blood, saying _gajo_, and not _gorgio_, as the +English Gypsies do. After all, her knowledge of Gentle Romany was not +altogether to be sneezed at. + +Ceasing to talk to her about words, I began to question her about the +Faas. She said that a great number of the Faas had come in the old time +to Yetholm, and settled down there, and that her own forefathers had +always been the principal people among them. I asked her if she +remembered her grandfather, old Will Faa, and received for answer that +she remembered him very well, and that I put her very much in mind of +him, being a tall, lusty man, like himself, and having a skellying look +with the left eye, just like him. I asked her if she had not seen queer +folks at Yetholm in her grandfather’s time. “_Dosta dosta_,” said she; +“plenty, plenty of queer folk I saw at Yetholm in my grandfather’s time, +and plenty I have seen since, and not the least queer is he who is now +asking me questions.” “Did you ever see Piper Allen?” said I; “he was a +great friend of your grandfather’s.” “I never saw him,” she replied; +“but I have often heard of him. He married one of our people.” “He did +so,” said I, “and the marriage-feast was held on the Green just behind +us. He got a good, clever wife, and she got a bad, rascally husband. +One night, after taking an affectionate farewell of her, he left her on +an expedition, with plenty of money in his pocket, which he had obtained +from her, and which she had procured by her dexterity. After going about +four miles he bethought himself that she had still some money, and +returning crept up to the room in which she lay asleep, and stole her +pocket, in which were eight guineas; then slunk away, and never returned, +leaving her in poverty, from which she never recovered.” I then +mentioned Madge Gordon, at one time the Gypsy queen of the Border, who +used, magnificently dressed, to ride about on a pony shod with silver, +inquiring if she had ever seen her. She said she had frequently seen +Madge Faa, for that was her name, and not Gordon; but that when she knew +her, all her magnificence, beauty, and royalty had left her; for she was +then a poor, poverty-stricken old woman, just able with a pipkin in her +hand to totter to the well on the Green for water. Then with much +nodding, winking, and skellying, I began to talk about _Drabbing bawlor_, +_dooking gryes_, _cauring_, and _hokking_, and asked if them ’ere things +were ever done by the _Nokkums_: and received for answer that she +believed such things were occasionally done, not by the _Nokkums_, but by +other Gypsies, with whom her people had no connection. + +Observing her eyeing me rather suspiciously, I changed the subject; +asking her if she had travelled much about. She told me she had, and +that she had visited most parts of Scotland, and seen a good bit of the +northern part of England. + +“Did you travel alone?” said I. + +“No,” said she; “when I travelled in Scotland I was with some of my own +people, and in England with the Lees and Bosvils.” + +“Old acquaintances of mine,” said I; “why only the other day I was with +them at Fairlop Fair, in the Wesh.” + +“I frequently heard them talk of Epping Forest,” said the Gypsy; “a nice +place, is it not?” + +“The loveliest forest in the world!” said I. “Not equal to what it was, +but still the loveliest forest in the world, and the pleasantest, +especially in summer; for then it is thronged with grand company, and the +nightingales, and cuckoos, and Romany _chals_ and _chies_. As for +Romany-chals there is not such a place for them in the whole world as the +Forest. Them that wants to see Romany-chals should go to the Forest, +especially to the Bald-faced Hind on the hill above Fairlop, on the day +of Fairlop Fair. It is their trysting-place, as you would say, and there +they musters from all parts of England, and there they whoops, dances, +and plays; keeping some order nevertheless, because the _Rye_ of all the +Romans is in the house, seated behind the door:— + + Romany Chalor + Anglo the wuddur + Mistos are boshing; + Mande beshello + Innar the wuddur + Shooning the boshipen.” + + Roman lads + Before the door + Bravely fiddle; + Here I sit + Within the door + And hear them fiddle. + +“I wish I knew as much Romany as you, sir,” said the Gypsy. “Why, I +never heard so much Romany before in all my life.” + +She was rather a small woman, apparently between sixty and seventy, with +intelligent and rather delicate features. Her complexion was darker than +that of the other female; but she had the same kind of blue eyes. The +room in which we were seated was rather long, and tolerably high. In the +wall, on the side which fronted the windows which looked out upon the +Green, were oblong holes for beds, like those seen in the sides of a +cabin. There was nothing of squalor or poverty about the place. + +Wishing to know her age, I inquired of her what it was. She looked +angry, and said she did not know. + +“Are you forty-nine?” said I, with a terrible voice, and a yet more +terrible look. + +“More,” said she, with a smile; “I am sixty-eight.” + +There was something of the gentlewoman in her: on my offering her money +she refused to take it, saying that she did not want it, and it was with +the utmost difficulty that I persuaded her to accept a trifle, with +which, she said, she would buy herself some tea. + +But withal there was _hukni_ in her, and by that she proved her Gypsy +blood. I asked her if she would be at home on the following day, for in +that case I would call and have some more talk with her, and received for +answer that she would be at home and delighted to see me. On going, +however, on the following day, which was Sunday, I found the garden-gate +locked and the window-shutters up, plainly denoting that there was nobody +at home. + +Seeing some men lying on the hill, a little way above, who appeared to be +observing me, I went up to them for the purpose of making inquiries. +They were all young men, and decently though coarsely dressed. None wore +the Scottish cap or bonnet, but all the hat of England. Their +countenances were rather dark, but had nothing of the vivacious +expression observable in the Gypsy face, but much of the dogged, sullen +look which makes the countenances of the generality of the Irish who +inhabit London and some other of the large English towns so disagreeable. +They were lying on their bellies, occasionally kicking their heels into +the air. I greeted them civilly, but received no salutation in return. + +“Is So-and-so at home?” said I. + +“No,” said one, who, though seemingly the eldest of the party, could not +have been more than three-and-twenty years of age; “she is gone out.” + +“Is she gone far?” said I. + +“No,” said the speaker, kicking up his heels. + +“Where is she gone to?” + +“She’s gone to Cauldstrame.” + +“How far is that?” + +“Just thirteen miles.” + +“Will she be at home to-day?” + +“She may, or she may not.” + +“Are you of her people?” said I. + +“No-h,” said the fellow, slowly drawing out the word. + +“Can you speak Irish?” + +“No-h; I can’t speak Irish,” said the fellow, tossing up his nose, and +then flinging up his heels. + +“You know what _arragod_ is?” said I. + +“No-h!” + +“But you know what _ruppy_ is?” said I; and thereupon I winked and +nodded. + +“No-h;” and then up went the nose, and subsequently the heels. + +“Good day,” said I; and turned away; I received no counter-salutation; +but, as I went down the hill, there was none of the shouting and laughter +which generally follow a discomfited party. They were a hard, sullen, +cautious set, in whom a few drops of Gypsy blood were mixed with some +Scottish and a much larger quantity of low Irish. Between them and their +queen a striking difference was observable. In her there was both fun +and cordiality; in them not the slightest appearance of either. What was +the cause of this disparity? The reason was they were neither the +children nor the grandchildren of real Gypsies, but only the remote +descendants, whereas she was the granddaughter of two genuine Gypsies, +old Will Faa and his wife, whose daughter was her mother; so that she +might be considered all but a thorough Gypsy; for being by her mother’s +side a Gypsy, she was of course much more so than she would have been had +she sprung from a Gypsy father and a Gentile mother; the qualities of a +child, both mental and bodily, depending much less on the father than on +the mother. Had her father been a Faa, instead of her mother, I should +probably never have heard from her lips a single word of Romany, but +found her as sullen and inductile as the _Nokkums_ on the Green, whom it +was of little more use questioning than so many stones. + +Nevertheless, she had played me the _hukni_, and that was not very +agreeable; so I determined to be even with her, and by some means or +other to see her again. Hearing that on the next day, which was Monday, +a great fair was to be held in the neighbourhood of Kelso, I determined +to go thither, knowing that the likeliest place in all the world to find +a Gypsy at is a fair; so I went to the grand cattle-fair of St. George, +held near the ruined castle of Roxburgh, in a lovely meadow not far from +the junction of the Teviot and Tweed; and there sure enough, on my third +saunter up and down, I met my Gypsy. We met in the most cordial +manner—smirks and giggling on her side, smiles and nodding on mine. She +was dressed respectably in black, and was holding the arm of a stout +wench, dressed in garments of the same colour, who she said was her +niece, and a _rinkeni rakli_. The girl whom she called _rinkeni_ or +handsome, but whom I did not consider handsome, had much of the +appearance of one of those _Irish_ girls, born in London, whom one so +frequently sees carrying milk-pails about the streets of the metropolis. +By the bye, how is it that the children born in England of Irish parents +account themselves Irish and not English, whilst the children born in +Ireland of English parents call themselves not English but Irish? Is it +because there is ten times more nationality in Irish blood than in +English? After the smirks, smiles, and salutations were over, I inquired +whether there were many Gypsies in the fair. “Plenty,” said she, “plenty +Tates, Andersons, Reeds, and many others. That woman is an +Anderson—yonder is a Tate,” said she, pointing to two common-looking +females. “Have they much Romany?” said I. “No,” said she, “scarcely a +word.” “I think I shall go and speak to them,” said I. “Don’t,” said +she; “they would only be uncivil to you. Moreover, they have nothing of +that kind—on the word of a _rawnie_ they have not.” + +I looked in her eyes; there was nothing of _hukni_ in them, so I shook +her by the hand; and through rain and mist, for the day was a wretched +one, trudged away to Dryburgh to pay my respects at the tomb of Walter +Scott, a man with whose principles I have no sympathy, but for whose +genius I have always entertained the most intense admiration. + + + + +FOOTNOTES + + +{11a} A Christian. + +{11b} A fox. + +{174} “Merripen” means life, and likewise death; even as “collico” means +to-morrow as well as yesterday, and perhaps “sorlo,” evening as well as +morning. + +{247a} A Black Lovel. + +{247b} Going a-tinkering. + +{247c} I’ll show you about, brother! I’m selling skewers. + +{259} A cup of good ale. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROMANO LAVO-LIL*** + + +******* This file should be named 2733-0.txt or 2733-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/3/2733 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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