I was very curious to know what could be the origin of these people—and why they have been always wandering about. My uncle told me, that ever since the beginning of the fifteenth century, when they were first noticed in Europe, the general idea has been, that they were Egyptians. It is said, that when Egypt was conquered by the Turks, several of the natives refusing to submit, revolted under one Zinganeus, and afterwards dispersed in small parties all over the world.—From their supposed skill in magic, they were well received; and being joined by idlers in every country, they became so troublesome, that measures were taken to expel them from England, France, and Spain. It is a remarkable coincidence, my uncle says, that in Turkey, the gipsies are called Tcheeganes; in Italy, Zingari; and in Germany, Zigeuner; all which seem to be derived from the name of their first leader in Egypt: but, on the other hand, they are sometimes found wandering about in that country, apparently a distinct race from the natives, and without the least affinity to them in features, customs, or language.
Attempts have been made to prove that they have come from India; and it is said, that near the mouth of the Indus there is a people called Zinganès. A learned German also has traced several points of resemblance between the common language of the gipsies, and the dialect of a district in Hindostan; for instance, all words ending in j are feminine in both languages, and both add the article to the end of the word.
These extraordinary creatures, my uncle added, may be found in every country, from the western extremity of Europe to the easternmost parts of Siberia; and in all, preserve their wild strolling habits, their filthy modes of eating, their pretended power of fortune telling, their expertness in petty thefts, and their love of intoxication.—In each country too, they elect a chief, whom they dignify by some high-sounding title, such as king, count, or lord, though never very obedient to his will; and as one set off against their numerous vices, they are generally extremely fond of their children.
3rd.—Mrs. P. has been here now for several days, which have been happy days to all, for she is so pleasing and gentle, and so mild, that all like her.
She told me yesterday one thing, which, though it may look like vanity to repeat, yet I know will gratify you so much, my own dear mamma, that I cannot conceal it. She says, that she thinks me improved in many respects in the few months that have passed since I left her. “Very much in your manner and carriage; and above all,” she added, “you seem to have lost the appearance of indolence that you had. I am rejoiced to see that you have acquired that power of exertion, which is so useful both to young and old—and that you have the will, as well as the power, to conquer little habits that are disagreeable to your friends. I know,” said she, “you will excuse me for saying this; for I feel a real interest in your welfare, and I have myself suffered so much from a foolish indifference to the opinion of others about what I considered trifles, that I am always pleased when I see young people endeavour to avoid the rock on which I split.”
I could not help shewing some surprise at this, for I thought it very unlike her character; and though I did not venture to express any curiosity, I suppose she saw a little in my countenance, for after some more conversation she said, that she would give me a little sketch of her life, because she thought I might derive some advantage from it.
We had not time to begin then—but I hope we shall to-morrow. In the mean time I must not forget to tell you, lest you should think I had lost all honourable principle, that I immediately informed Mrs. P. of the kind of journal which I send to you—and asked her permission to relate to you what she tells me; “but,” said I, “if you disapprove, I will not mention it.” She replied, “you are perfectly welcome to tell her every thing—for I very much disapprove of any confidence being made to a young person that is to be concealed from her mother.”
5th.—There was a lively little discussion last night, on the want of originality in poetical ideas; and on the manner in which the same thought is repeated by one author after another; each altering it, as my uncle said, in the same way that an object is seen through glasses of different colours. Or, said my aunt, with its original strength weakened by each repetition, like the successive reflections of the same object from a number of mirrors. And, though I did not venture it below stairs, you shall have my simile: like the Fata Morgana, where the objects reflected from the surface of the sea are again reflected from the clouds, but less distinct and generally inverted.
The conversation began by my uncle and aunt, and Mrs. P., and by degrees my cousins joined. A great distinction was made between gross plagiarism, and the borrowing a part only of an idea which the author weaves up with something new, and then places in a new light.
My aunt brought, as an example, these lines in the Lady of the Lake.