Theory.
To recapitulate, my theory, then, is this:—The Gypsies quitted India at an unknown date, probably taking with them some scores of Indian folk-tales, as they certainly took with them many hundreds of Indian words. By way of Persia and Armenia, they arrived in the Greek-speaking Balkan Peninsula, and tarried there for several centuries, probably disseminating their Indian folk-tales, and themselves picking up Greek folk-tales, as they certainly gave Greek the Rómani word bakht, ‘fortune,’ and borrowed from it paramísi, ‘story,’ and about a hundred more terms. From the Balkan Peninsula they have spread since 1417, or possibly earlier, to Siberia, Norway, Scotland, Wales, Spain, Brazil, and the countries between, everywhere probably disseminating the folk-tales they started with and those they picked up by the way, and everywhere probably adding to their store. Thus, I take it, they picked up the complete Rhampsinitus story in the Balkan Peninsula, and carried it thence to Roumania and Scotland; in [[lxxxiii]]Scotland, if John MacDonald was any sort of a Gypsy, they seem to have picked up ‘Osean after the Feen.’
It is not so smooth and rounded a theory as I hoped to be able to present to folklorists, or as I might easily have made it by suppressing a little here and filling out somewhat there. But at least I have pointed out a few fresh parallels; I have, thanks to Mr. Sampson’s generosity, enriched our stock, not of English folk-tales, but of folk-tales collected in England and Wales;[37] and I have, I hope, stimulated a measure of curiosity in the strange, likeable, uncanny race, whom ‘Hans Breitmann’ has happily designated ‘the Colporteurs of Folklore.’ I let my little theory go reluctantly, but invite the fullest argument and discussion. There is nothing like argument. I was once at a meeting of a Learned Society, where a friend of mine read a most admirable paper. Then uprose another member of that Learned Society, and challenged his every contention. In a rich, sonorous voice he thus began: ‘Max Müller has said (and I agree with Max Müller), that Sanskrit in dying left twins—Chinese and Semitic.’ [[1]]
[1] According to the Spectator (24th December 1897) ten thousand Gypsies wintered in Surrey in 1896–97! [↑]
[2] I shall have frequent occasion to refer to the Gypsy Lore Journal (3 vols. 1888–92), which should in time be one of the libri rarissimi, as the issue was limited to 150 copies, many of which are sure to have perished. There are complete sets, however, at the British Museum, the Bodleian, the Edinburgh Advocates’ Library, Leyden, Berlin, Munich, Cracow, Rome, Madrid, Harvard, and twelve other public libraries. [↑]
[3] Aliqui in the Latin may stand for either some of the Gypsies or some of the townsfolk, more probably the latter. Æneas Sylvius Piccolomini (Pope Pius II.) speaks, a very few years after this, of the Northumbrian women staring at him ‘as in Italy the people stare at an Ethiopian or an Indian.’ [↑]
[4] This passage was cited as far back as 1785 by Jacob Bryant in Archæologia, vii. 393; but another on p. 57 of the Itinerarium has hitherto escaped Gypsiologists. I give it in the original Latin:—‘Item sciendum est, quod in sæpedictis civitatibus [Alexandria and Cairo] de omni secta alia ab illorum viri mulieres lactantes juvenes et cani pravæ venditioni exponuntur ad instar bestiarum; et signanter indiani schismatici et danubiani, qui omnes utriusque sexus in colore cum corvis et carbonibus multum participant; quia hii cum arabis et danubianis semper guerram continuant, atque cum capiuntur redemptione vel venditione evadunt.… Prædicti autem Danubiani, quamvis ab Indianis non sunt figura et colore distincti, tamen ab eis distinguuntur per cicatrices longas quas habent in facie et cognoscuntur; comburunt enim sibi cum ferro ignito facies illas vilissimas terribiliter in longum, credentes se sic flamine [? flammis] baptizari ut dicitur, et a peccatorum sordibus igne purgari. Qui postquam ad legem Machometi fuerunt conversi christianis deteriores sunt Saracenis, sicut et sunt Radiani renegati, et plures molestias inferunt.… Item sciendum, quod in præfatis civitatibus tanta est eorum multitudo, quod nequaquam numerari possunt.’ There is much in this passage that remains obscure; but it seems clear from it that in 1322 there were in Egypt large numbers of captives, male and female, old and young, from the Danubian territories. They were black as crows and coal, and in complexion and features differed little from Indians, except that their faces bore long scars produced by burning (? a kind of tattooing, like that of the Gypsy women in 1427 at Paris on p. xii.). On conversion to Mohammedanism these Danubians were worse to the Christians than the Saracens. Were these Danubians, or some at least of them, Gypsies, prisoners of war, from the Danubian territories? and did some of them buy back their freedom and return to Europe? If so, perhaps one has here an explanation of the hitherto unexplained names ‘Egyptian,’ ‘Gypsy,’ ‘Gitano,’ etc., and of the story told by the western immigrants of 1417–34 of renegacy from the Christian faith. [↑]
[5] E. A. Sophocles in the Introduction to his Greek Lexicon of the Roman and Byzantine Periods (Boston, U.S., 1870, p. 32) regards Mazaris as probably an imaginary character of an anonymous writer of the fourteenth century, according to whom ‘Peloponnesus was at that time inhabited by a mongrel population, the principal elements being Lacedæmonians, Italians, Peloponnesians, Slavs, Illyrians, Egyptians (Αἰγύπτιοι), and Jews.’ [↑]
[6] Of the Gypsies of Cyprus, as indeed those of Crete, Modern Greece, Lesbos, etc., we know practically nil. A writer in the Saturday Review for 12th January 1878, p. 52, quoted, without giving date or source, these words of a Cretan poet:—‘Franks and Saracens, Corsairs and Germans, Turks and Atzingani, they have tried them all, and cannot say who were better, who worse.’ [↑]
[7] According to Captain Newbold, the Gypsies of Syria and Palestine ‘vend charms, philtres, poisons, and drugs of vaunted efficacy’; in 1590 Katherene Roiss, Lady Fowlis, was ‘accusit for sending to the Egyptianis, to haif knawledge of thame how to poysoun the young Laird of Fowlis and the young Lady Balnagoune.’ [↑]
[8] It is just worth noting that St. Columbanus (543–615) was accustomed to celebrate the Eucharist in vessels of bronze (aeris), alleging as a reason for so doing that Our Lord was affixed to the cross by brazen nails.—Smith’s Dict. Christ. Antiqs., s.v. Chalice. [↑]
[9] Cf. supra, p. xi., line 13. [↑]
[10] Information supplied by M. Omont of the Bibliothèque Nationale at Paris, and by Prof. von Dobschütz of Jena, shows that the komodromos passage is to be found in neither of these two MSS. It has still to be sought for, then. [↑]
[11] In his Beiträge zur Kenntniss der deutschen Zigeuner (Halle, 1894, pp. 5–6), Herr Richard Pischel maintains, as it seems to me, successfully, that the ‘Bemische [[xxxii]]lute’ (Boehmische Leute) at Würzburg between 1372 and 1400 were real Bohemians and not Gypsies. [↑]
[12] No Greek loan-word has more interest for us than paramísi or paramísa, a story (Mod. Gk. παραμύθι). It occurs in the dialects of the Roumanian, Hungarian, Bohemian, Polish, German, and English Gypsies. I heard it myself first in 1872 near Oxford, from old Lolli Buckland, in the curious sense of stars:—‘As you kistas kérri ke-ráti, réia, túti’ll dik the paramíshis vellin’ avri adré the leeline’ (As you ride home this evening, sir, you’ll see the stars coming out in the darkness). How she came to apply the word thus, I cannot say, perhaps from the mere jingle of stars and stories, perhaps from the notion of the stars foretelling the future. Again, in 1879, from one of the Boswells, I heard the verb páramis, ‘to talk scandal, tell tales.’ And lastly, Mr. Sampson got paramissa in its proper sense of ‘story’ from the old tinker Philip Murray, who, though no Gypsy himself, had an unrivalled knowledge of Gypsydom and Rómani (Gyp. Lore Jour., iii. 77). [↑]
[13] In Chronicles of a Virgin Fortress (1896), Mr. W. V. Herbert gives an extraordinary story of one of the Stanleys, who, forced to fly Hampshire for some offence, found his way to Bulgaria, and as ‘Istanli’ became a Gypsy chieftain and public executioner of Widdin about 1874. Tom Taylor’s returned ‘lag’ of p. xvii recurs also to memory, and John Lee, the Gypsy recruit of ‘John Company,’ from whom on the outward voyage in 1805 Lieut. Francis Irvine of the Bengal Native Infantry took down a Rómani vocabulary of 138 words (Trans. Lit. Soc. Bombay, 1819). [↑]
[14] In 1894 there was a small band of Bosnian Gypsies at St. Jean de Luz on their way to Spain. They were evidently well-off. [↑]
[15] The tented Gypsies in Calabria in May 1777, described in Henry Swinburne’s Travels in the Two Sicilies (2nd ed. ii. 168–172), were almost certainly [[xli]]not Italian Gypsies, but Caldarari. Borrow speaks of the foreign excursions of the Hungarian Gypsies, which frequently endure for three or four years, and extend to France, even to Rome (The Zincali, 1841, i. 13); and Adriano Colocci tells in Gli Zingari (Turin, 1889), p. 181, how in the Apennines of Fossato he encountered Hungarian Gypsies who seemed quite at home there, as also how at Kadi Köi in Asia Minor he had discourse with a band of Neapolitan Gypsies. [↑]
[16] Against this statement I must set what was quite a typical remark of an English Gypsy, a Boswell:—‘That’s a thing, sir, I should be disdainful of, to be júvalo’ (verminous). [↑]
[17] Query, Solomon Jones? Jones I know for a real Gypsy surname. [↑]
[18] I take some little pride in having myself been a means of preserving two of our best—I had almost said, our only two really good—English folk-tales. These are ‘Cap o’ Rushes’ and ‘Tom Tit Tot,’ which were told by an old Suffolk servant to Miss Lois Fison when a child, and which she communicated to Nos. 23 and 43 of a series of ‘Suffolk Notes and Queries,’ edited by me for the Ipswich Journal in 1876–77. Thence my friend, Mr. Clodd, unearthed them a dozen years afterwards; and on the latter he has just issued a masterly monograph. [↑]
[19] The London tinker’s story, however, seems more closely to resemble ‘The Claricaune’ in Crofton Croker’s Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland (ed. by Thos. Wright, N.D. pp. 98–112). [↑]
[20] Since writing this, I have learned, through the kindness of Mr. Rufus B. Richardson of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, that ‘nothing remains of Paspati’s collections except a few notes, which will be brought out in a new edition of his works.’ [↑]
[21] Cf. the Indian story of ‘Prince Lionheart and his Three Friends’ (F. A. Steel’s Wide-awake Stories, p. 59):—‘In front of the horse lies a heap of bones, and in front of the dog a heap of grass,’ etc. [↑]
[22] The notes of that story are unfortunately lost, but it is a version of Grimm’s No. 36, ‘The Wishing-table, the Gold-ass, and the Cudgel in the Sack,’ Basile’s first tale in the Pentamerone (1637), etc. No European folk-tale is more widely spread than this in India, where we find ‘The Story of Foolish Sachuli’ (Maive Stokes’s Indian Fairy-tales, p. 27), ‘The Indigent Brahman’ (Rev. Lal Behari Day’s Folk-tales of Bengal, p. 53), and ‘The Jackal, the Barber, and the Brahman’ (Mary Frere’s Old Deccan Days, p. 174). A fragment of the story comes into our Slovak-Gypsy one of ‘The Old Soldier’ (No. 60). [↑]
[23] See for this Celtic secret jargon the article ‘Shelta,’ by Mr. J. Sampson, in vol. ix. of Chambers’s Encyclopædia (1892), p. 389. [↑]
[24] So I had written when I learned, through the kindness of Lord Archibald Campbell, that John MacDonald the younger, known variously as ‘John Fyne,’ ‘Long John,’ and ‘Baboon,’ got a cottage on the Argyll estate, but was never either a keeper or an under-keeper in the Duke’s employ. He was, however, a keeper for a short while on the neighbouring estate of Ardkinlas. ‘Long John,’ writes Lord Archibald, ‘as far as I know, had no Rómani. His daughters still tramp the country.’ I may add here that Mr. Arthur Morgan, of the Crofters’ Commission, who knows the Highlands as few, is strongly of opinion that the tinkers are not Celts: ‘the Highlanders never regard them as such.’ This though they speak Gaelic, but much intermixed with odd words. [↑]
[25] Kounavine apart, we have but one hint of story-telling by Gypsies in Asia. In Blackwood’s for March 1891, pp. 388–9, the late Mr. Theodore Bent had an article on an archæological tour in ‘Cilicia Aspera,’ a district lying on the southern slopes of the Taurus Mountains, in which was this passage: ‘Periodically a travelling tinker comes among them [the mountain tribes], the great newsmonger of the mountain. He chooses a central spot to pitch his tent, and the most wonderful collection of decrepit copper utensils is soon brought from the neighbouring tents and piled around. He usually brings with him a young assistant to look after the mule and blow the bellows; and with nitre heated at his fire he mends the damaged articles, gossiping the while, and filling the minds of the simple Yourouks who stand around with wonderful tales, not always within the bounds of veracity. When his work is done, he removes to another central point, and after he has amassed as many fees as his mule can carry, for they usually pay in cheese and butter, he returns to his town, and realises a handsome profit.’ I have not seen a small work on the Yourouks by M. Tsakyroglou (Athens, 1891), giving their popular songs, etc. [↑]
[26] Not unique; occurs also in Wratislaw’s Bohemian story, No. 2, p. 21. But I let the lines stand for a warning against the vanity of dogmatising. [↑]
[27] According to the Archduke Josef’s great Czigány Nyelvatan (1888), p. 342, ‘chronological reasons force us to the conclusion that Solario was not a Gypsy. He came by the name of Zingaro as being the son of a travelling smith (farrier), and as having himself first engaged in that calling.… Since the Gypsies only made their appearance in Italy in 1422, it is clear that Solario could not be of Gypsy parentage.’ If it could be proved that Italy in 1382 had its travelling smiths, called Zingari, it would be clear that then there were Italian Gypsies. A similar instance of arguing from a foregone conclusion occurs in the remark of a German lexicographer of 1749, that, ‘the common people gave the name Zihegan to land-tramps before Gypsies ever were heard of.’ The said Zihegan could not of course be Gypsies, because Gypsies were then non-existent. [↑]
[28] Some one will be sure to point out, if I do not, that most or all of these incidents occur also in non-Gypsy European folk-tales, and that therefore they are not peculiar to the Gypsies. Precisely: that is a possible confirmation of my theory. [↑]
[29] To which add the slang pal, a comrade, from the Rómani, pral, brother. [↑]
[30] I have discussed the subject-matter of the last two pages more fully in my paper, ‘The Influence of the Gypsies on the Superstitions of the English Folk’ (Trans. Internat. Folklore Congress, 1891, pp. 292–308). [↑]
[31] That, however, is a vulgar error; the Gypsies are one of the purest races in Europe. [↑]
[32] I have sometimes wondered, what if a folklorist, making a little tour in Wales, in a Welsh inn-garden had come on a venerable Welsh harper, playing ancient Welsh airs, and speaking Welsh more fluently than English? He would have drawn him, of course, for folk-tales, and lo! a perfect mine of them—long, unpublished stories, all about magic snuff-boxes and magic balls of yarn, the kings of the mice and the frogs and the fowls of the air, griffins of the greenwood, [[lxxvi]]golden apples and golden castles, sleeping princesses, and all the rest of it. ‘Eureka!’ that folklorist would have shouted, and straightway meditated a new Welsh Mabinogion. Welsh—Celtic—not at all necessarily; his old Welsh bard might have been just John Roberts the Gypsy. [↑]
[33] It is a great pity Mr. Curtin has not specified when, where, and from whom he got his stories; all we are told is that they were collected by him ‘personally in the West of Ireland, in Kerry, Galway, and Donegal, during the year 1887.’ It is almost incomprehensible that he never alludes once to Campbell’s collection. [↑]
[34] These two birds, which recur also in Norse, Swedish, and German versions of the story (Orient und Occ. ii. 108–9), at once recall the parrot and the mainá in ‘The Bél-Princess’ (Maive Stokes’s Indian Fairy Tales, pp. 149–150) whose discourse revives the prince’s recollections. See also p. 412 of Mrs. Steel’s Wide-awake Stories. [↑]
[35] For an excursus, of true German erudition, on Gypsies and hedgehogs, see R. Pischel’s Beiträge zur Kenntniss der deutschen Zigeuner (Halle, 1894, pp. 26–30). He shows that hedgehogs are a Gypsy delicacy from Wales to Odessa, and that the Gypsies probably brought the taste from the foothills of the Himalayas, where hedgehogs are plentiful. [↑]
[36] ‘Γυφτικά,’ says Hahn in a footnote. ‘The sedentary Gypsies as a rule are smiths, therefore Gypsy and Locksmith are synonymous in the towns.’ [↑]
[37] Only four years ago Mr. Joseph Jacobs wrote: ‘It is at any rate clear, that the only considerable addition to our folklore knowledge in these isles must come from the Gaelic area.’ And since then a folklorist has expressed himself in the Athenæum as ‘pretty certain that as to complete stories of any length there are none such to be found in Wales at the present day.’ [↑]
GYPSY FOLK-TALES
CHAPTER I
TURKISH-GYPSY STORIES
No. 1.—The Dead Man’s Gratitude[1]
A king had three sons. He gave the youngest a hundred thousand piastres; he gave the same to the eldest son and to the middle one. The youngest arose, he took the road; wherever he found poor folk he gave money; here, there, he gave it away; he spent the money. His eldest brother went, had ships built to make money. And the middle one went, had shops built. They came to their father.
‘What have you done, my son?’
‘I have built ships.’
To the youngest, ‘You, what have you done?’
‘I? every poor man I found, I gave him money; and for poor girls I paid the cost of their marriage.’
The king said, ‘My youngest son will care well for the poor. Take another hundred thousand piastres.’
The lad departed. Here, there, he spent his money; twelve piastres remained to him. Some Jews dug up a corpse and beat it.
‘What do you want of him, that you are beating him?’
‘Twelve piastres we want of him.’
‘I’ll give you them if you will let him be.’
He gave the money, they let the dead man be. He arose and departed. As the lad goes the dead man followed him. ‘Where go you?’ the dead man asked.
‘I am going for a walk.’
‘I’ll come too; we’ll go together; we will be partners.’ [[2]]
‘So be it.’
‘Come, I will bring you to a certain place.’
He took and brought him to a village. There was a girl, takes a husband, lies with him; by dawn next day the husbands are dead.
‘I will hide you somewhere; I will get you a girl; but we shall always be partners.’
He found the girl (a dragon came out of her mouth).
‘And this night when you go to bed, I too will lie there.’
He took his sword, he went near them. The lad said, ‘That will never do. If you want her, do you take the girl.’
‘Are we not partners? You, do you sleep with her; I also, I will sleep here.’
At midnight he sees the girl open her mouth; the dragon came forth; he drew his sword; he cut off its three heads; he put the heads in his bosom; he lay down; he fell asleep. Next morning the girl arose, and sees the man her husband living by her side. They told the girl’s father. ‘To-day your daughter has seen dawn break with her husband.’
‘That will be the son-in-law,’ said the father.
The lad took the girl; he is going to his father.
‘Come,’ said the dead man, ‘let’s divide the money.’
They fell to dividing it.
‘We have divided the money; let us also divide your wife.’
The lad said, ‘How divide her? If you want her, take her.’
‘I won’t take her; we’ll divide.’
‘How divide?’ said the lad.
The dead man said, ‘I, I will divide.’
The dead man seized her; he bound her knees. ‘Do you catch hold of one foot, I’ll take the other.’
He raised his sword to strike the girl. In her fright the girl opened her mouth, and cried, and out of her mouth fell a dragon. The dead man said to the lad, ‘I am not for a wife, I am not for any money. These dragon’s heads are what devoured the men. Take her; the girl shall be yours, the money shall be yours. You did me a kindness; I also have done you one.’
‘What kindness did I do you?’ asked the lad.
‘You took me from the hands of the Jews.’ [[3]]
The dead man departed to his place, and the lad took his wife, went to his father.
In his introduction to the Pantschatantra (Leip. 1859), i. 219–221, Benfey cites an Armenian version of this story that is practically identical. Compare also the English ‘Sir Amadas’ (c. 1420), first printed in Weber’s Metrical Romances (Edinb. 1810, iii. 243–275); Straparola (1550) XI. 2 (‘The Simpleton,’ summarised in Grimm, ii. 480); ‘The Follower’ or ‘The Companion’ of Asbjörnsen (Dasent’s Tales from the Fjeld, p. 68), on which Andersen founded his ‘Travelling Companion’; ‘The Barra Widow’s Son’ (Campbell’s Tales of the West Highlands, No. 32, ii. 110); Hahn, ii. 320; Cosquin, i. 208, 214; Hinton Knowles’ Folk-tales of Kashmir, pp. 39–40; Wratislaw’s Sixty Slavonic Folk-tales, No. 18 (Polish); and especially Reinhold Köhler in Orient und Occident (1864, ii. 322–9, and iii. 93–103). What should be of special interest to English folklorists, is that Asbjörnsen’s ‘Follower’ forms an episode in our earliest version (Newcastle-on-Tyne, 1711) of ‘Jack the Giant-killer.’ Cf. pp. 67–71 of J. O. Halliwell’s Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales (1849), where we get the redemption of a dead debtor (who is not grateful), a witch-lady who visits an evil spirit, and the cutting off of that evil spirit’s head by a comrade clad in a coat of darkness. The resemblance has never been noticed between the folk-tale and the Book of Tobit, where Tobit shows his charity by burying the dead; the archangel Raphael plays the part of the ‘Follower’ (in both ‘Sir Amadas’ and the Russian version the Grateful Dead returns as an angel); Sara, Tobias’s bride, has had seven husbands slain by Asmodeus, the evil spirit, before they had lain with her; Raguel, Sara’s father, learns of Tobias’s safety on the morning after their marriage; Tobias offers half his goods to Raphael; and Raphael then disappears. The story of Tobit has certainly passed into Sicilian folklore, borrowed straight, it would seem, from the Apocrypha, as ‘The History of Tobià and Tobiòla’ (Laura Gonzenbach’s Sicil. Märchen, No. 89, ii. 177); but the Apocryphal book itself is plainly a corrupt version of the original folk-tale.
Madame Darmesteter’s Life of Renan (1897), contains at p. 251 the following passage:—‘That night he told us the story of the Babylonian Tobias. Rash and young, this Chaldæan brother of our Tobit, discouraged by the difficult approaches of prosperity, had entered into partnership with a demi-god or Demon, who made all his schemes succeed and pocketed fifty per cent. upon the profits. The remaining fifty sufficed to make Tobias as rich as Oriental fancy can imagine. The young man fell in love, married his bride, and brought her home. On the threshold stood the Demon: “How about my fifty per cent?” The Venus d’Ille, you see, was not born yesterday. From the dimmest dawn of time sages have taught us not to trust the gods too far.’
Unluckily there seems to be no authority whatever for this alleged Chaldæan version, which should obviously come closer to the folk-tale than to the Book of Tobit. At least, Professor Sayce writes word:—‘The passage in Madame Darmesteter’s Life of Renan must be based [[4]]on an error, for no such story—so far as I know—has ever been found on a cuneiform tablet. It may have originated in a mistranslation of one of the contract-tablets; but if so, the mistranslation must have appeared in some obscure French publication, perhaps a newspaper, which I have not seen.’ Alack! and yet our folk-tale remains perhaps the oldest current folk-tale in the world.