Observing an ancient-looking parrot in a gaudy cage, I ventured to ask if it belonged to the family. “Bless your life,” replied the Queen, “we have had that ’ere bird for more than fifteen years. It knows our ways, and can talk Romany. But it only speaks when the spirit moves it.” Just at that moment Poll was in one of her most taciturn moods, and could not be induced to open her beak, but no doubt, like the traditional bird of that ilk, she thought the more.
“Have you any history of your tribe or biographical records of yourself?” I inquired; to which his Majesty pathetically answered: “Unfortunately I have not. Ah, if I had only got one-half the accounts that the Scotch reporters put in about us, they would be worth any money to me just now. However, I have given some particulars to a gentleman who is going to put it in a little book for me.”
“Are you permitted to do any trafficking here?” “Well, yes, a little. Mr. Bapty allows us to sell a few fancy baskets, if we like.”
“And then perhaps the ladies do not offer insuperable objections to have their palms crossed?” To this soft impeachment the gipsy monarch only returned a knowing wink, as much as to say, “Why should we not humour the whims of our fair visitors.”
Extract from the “Liverpool Review,” June 26th, 1886.
The gipsies are still the rage at the Exhibition, and each day King Smith and his Royal consort receive the homage of well-dressed crowds of lady admirers. With the prestige gained by the patronage of Queen Victoria, they come with confidence before a credulous public, and so far their levees have been pecuniarily successful. Their cleanly and well ordered encampment was visited this week by the Mayor and Mayoress, who were much interested, if not edified, by their interviews with these ultra respectable Bohemians. Selling little fancy baskets is ostensibly the only traffic carried on by the olive complexioned family; but this is not their only stock-in-trade. It is surprising to witness the large number of graudes dames who enter the tent for the sole object of having their fortunes told. This strange curiosity was supposed to exist only amongst domestic servants, but Mary Jane’s mistress seems quite as anxious to dive into the mysteries of the future. Many ladies feel ashamed to patronise chiromancy in the Exhibition, but have asked for private appointments with her Majesty Mrs. Smith. Not a few in their eagerness to penetrate into futurity conquer their natural timidity, and boldly enter. In such cases it is an amusing spectacle to observe the furtive manner in which the operation is conducted, and how the fair ones make a hurried exit as if conscious of having done something very foolish and ridiculous. As a rule it is the Queen whose palm is crossed, but some young mashers prefer having their fortunes told by one of the princesses.
Extract from the “Glasgow Weekly Mail,” Saturday, May 21, 1892.
GIPSY KING IN GLASGOW.
IN A TENT OF ISHMAEL.
Lord Rosebery’s statement last Friday, in the St. Andrew’s Halls, that there were 138,000 vagrants in Scotland, persons who did nothing but roam the country and admire the scenery, induced me to pay the Gipsy King, Mr. George, a visit. His Majesty, with family, are presently located in Glasgow, in Great Western road. I found Mr. Smith in his tent, a large and commodius structure, some eight feet in height, the frame of strong ash girders covered with a dark purple cloth. The place answering to the kitchen is near the entrance, and the family had just finished breakfast a few minutes before I put in an appearance. They do not sit on chairs at meals, but squat in tailor-like fashion on the floor, and in the same attitude that I have seen American Indians do in their wigwams. The members of the Smith family are dark-eyed and dark-haired. The women have the true Zingara beauty of face, olive-tinted forehead, sharp glittering eyes, and their black hair, that peculiar metallic hue which one sees on the wings of the dusky raven. The women are fond of jewellery, heavy earrings fall on their necks, and their small copper-coloured hands sparkle with rings. A collie bitch, a cat, and a canary were the only animals about the hut. No part of the show ground is kept so scrupulously clean as that allocated to the Gipsies.