A History of the Gipsies: with Specimens of the Gipsy Language

by Walter Simson

Sir Walter Scott admits that Bunyan was most probably a “Gipsy reclaimed;” and Mr. Offor, that “his father must have been a Gipsy.”[320] But, with these exceptions, I know not if any writer upon Bunyan has more than hinted at the possibility of even a connexion between him and the Gipsies. It is very easy to account for all this, by the ignorance of the world in regard to the Gipsy tribe, but, above all, by the extreme prejudice of caste which is entertained against it. Does caste exist nowhere but in India? Does an Englishman feel curious to know what caste can mean? In few parts of the world does caste reign so supreme, as it does in Great Britain, towards the Gipsy nation. What is it but the prejudice of caste that has prevented the world from acknowledging Bunyan to have been a Gipsy? The evidence of the fact of his having been a Gipsy is positive enough. Will any one say that he does not believe that Bunyan meant to convey to the world a knowledge of the fact of his being a Gipsy? Or that he does not believe that the tinkers are Gipsies? Has any writer on Bunyan ever taken the trouble to ascertain who the tinkers really are; and that, in consequence of his investigations, he has come to the conclusion that they are not Gipsies? If no writer on the subject of the illustrious dreamer has ever taken that trouble, to what must we attribute the fact but the prejudice of caste? It is caste, and nothing but caste. What is it but the prejudice of caste that has led Lord Macaulay to invent his story about the tinkers? For what he says of the tinkers is a pure invention, or, at best, a delusion, on his part. What is it but the prejudice of caste that has prevented others from saying, plainly, that Bunyan was a Gipsy? It would be more manly if they were to leave Bunyan alone, than receive his works, and damn the man, that is, his blood. It places them on the level of boors, when they allow themselves to be swayed by the prejudices that govern boors. When they speak of, or write about, Bunyan, let them exercise common honesty, and receive both the man and the man’s works: let them not be guilty of petit larceny, or rather, great robbery, in the matter.

Southey, in his life of Bunyan, writes: “John Bunyan has faithfully recorded his own spiritual history. Had he dreamed of being ‘forever known,’ and taking his place among those who may be called the immortals of the earth, he would probably have introduced more details of his temporal circumstances, and the events of his life. But, glorious dreamer as he was, this never entered into his imagination.[321] Less concerning him than might have been expected has been preserved by those of his own sect; and it is not likely that anything more should be recovered from oblivion.” Remarks like these come with a singular grace from a man with so many prejudices as Southey. John Bunyan has told us as much of his history as he dared to do. It was a subject upon which, in some respects, he doubtless maintained a great reserve; for it cannot be supposed that a man occupying so prominent and popular a position, as a preacher and writer, and of so singular an origin, should have had no investigations made into his history, and that of his family; if not by his friends, at least, by his enemies, who seemed to have been capable of doing anything to injure and discredit him. But, very probably, his being a tinker was, with friends and enemies, a circumstance so altogether discreditable, as to render any investigation of the kind perfectly superfluous. In mentioning that much of himself which he did, Bunyan doubtless imagined that the world understood, or would have understood, what he meant, and would, sooner or later, acknowledge the race to which he belonged. And yet it has remained in this unacknowledged state for two centuries since his time. How unreasonable it is to imagine that Bunyan should have said, in as many words, that he was a Gipsy, when the world generally is so apt to become fired with indignation, should we now say that he was one of the race. How applicable are the words of his wife, to Sir Matthew Hale, to the people of the present day: “Because he is a tinker, and a poor man, he is despised, and cannot have justice.”

Had Southey exercised that common sense which is the inheritance of most of Englishmen, and divested himself of this prejudice of caste, which is likewise their inheritance, he never could have had any difficulty in forming a proper idea of Bunyan, and everything concerning him. And the same may be said of any person at the present day. John Bunyan was simply a Gipsy of mixed blood, who must have spoken the Gipsy language in great purity; for, considering the extent to which it is spoken in England, to-day, we can well believe that it was very pure two centuries ago, and that Bunyan might have written works even in that language. But such is the childish prejudice against the name of Gipsy, such the silly incredulity towards the subject, that, in Great Britain, and, I am sorry to say, with some people in America, one has nearly as much difficulty in persuading others to believe in it, as St. Paul had in inducing the Greeks to believe in the resurrection of the dead. Why seemeth it unto thee incredible that Bunyan was a Gipsy? or that Bunyan’s race should now be found in every town, in every village, and, perhaps, in every hamlet, in Scotland, and in every sphere of life?[322]

To a candid and unprejudiced person, it should afford a relief, in thinking of the immortal dreamer, that he should have been a member of this singular race, emerging from a state of comparative barbarism, and struggling upwards, amid so many difficulties, rather than he should have been of the very lowest of our own race; for in that case, there is an originality and dignity connected with him personally, that could not well attach to him, in the event of his having belonged to the dregs of the common natives. Beyond being a Gipsy, it is impossible to say what his pedigree really was. His grandfather might have been an ordinary native, even of fair birth, who, in a thoughtless moment, might have “gone off with the Gipsies;” or his ancestor, on the native side of the house, might have been one of the “many English loiterers” who joined the Gipsies on their arrival in England, when they were “esteemed and held in great admiration;” or he might have been a kidnapped infant; or such a “foreign tinker” as is alluded to in the Spanish Gipsy edicts, and in the Act of Queen Elizabeth, in which mention is made of “strangers,” as distinguished from natural born subjects, being with the Gipsies. The last is most probable, as the name, Bunyan, would seem to be of foreign origin. It is, therefore, very likely, that there was not a drop of common English blood in Bunyan’s veins. John Bunyan belongs to the world at large, and England is only entitled to the credit of the formation of his character. Be all that as it may, Bunyan’s father seems to have been a superior, and therefore important, man in the tribe, from the feet, as Southey says, of his having “put his son to school in an age when very few of the poor were taught to read and write.”

The world never can do justice to Bunyan, unless it takes him up as a Gipsy; nor can the Christian, unless he considers him as being a Gipsy, in Abraham’s bosom. His biographers have not, even in one instance, done justice to him; for, while it is altogether out of the question to call him the “wicked tinker,” the “depraved Bunyan,” it is unreasonable to style him a “blackguard,” as Southey has done. He might have been a blackguard in that sense in which a youth, in a village, is termed a “young blackguard,” for being the ringleader among the boys; or on account of his wearing a ragged coat, and carrying a hairy wallet on his shoulder, which, in a conventional sense, constitute any man, in Great Britain, a blackguard. Bunyan’s sins were confined to swearing, cursing, blaspheming, and lying; and were rather intensely manifested by the impetuosity of his character, or vividly described by the sincerity of his piety, and the liveliness of his genius, than deeply rooted in his nature; for he shook off the habit of swearing, (and, doubtless, that of lying,) on being severely reproved for it, by a loose and ungodly woman. Three of the kindred vices mentioned, (and, we might add the fourth, lying,) more frequently proceed from the influence of bad example and habit, than from anything inherently vicious, in a youth with so many of the good points which characterized Bunyan. His youth was even marked by a tender conscience, and a strong moral feeling; for thus he speaks of himself in “Grace Abounding:” “But this I well remember, that though I could myself sin, with the greatest delight and ease, and also take pleasure in the vileness of my companions, yet, even then, if I had, at any time, seen wicked things in those who professed goodness, it would make my spirit tremble. As, once above all the rest, when I was in the height of vanity, yet hearing one swear that was reckoned for a religious man, it had so great a stroke upon my spirit, that it made my heart ache.” He was the subject of these experiences before he was ten years of age. It is unnecessary to speak of his dancing, ringing bells, and playing at tip-cat and hockey. Now, let us see what was Bunyan’s moral character. He was not a drunkard; and he says: “I know not whether there be such a thing as a woman breathing, under the copes of heaven, but by their apparel, their children, or by common fame, except my wife.” And he continues: “Had not a miracle of precious grace prevented, I had laid myself open even to the stroke of those laws which bring some to disgrace and open shame, before the face of the world.” The meaning of this is, evidently, that he never stole anything; but that it was “by a miracle of precious grace” he was prevented from doing it. In what sense, then, was Bunyan a blackguard? There was never such occasion for him to say of himself, what John Newton said of himself, as a criminal passed him, on the way to the gallows: “There goes John Bunyan, but for the grace of God.” But such was the depth of Bunyan’s piety, that hardly any one thought and spoke more disparagingly of himself than he did; although he would defend himself, with indignation, against unjust charges brought against him; for, however peaceable and humble he might be, he would turn most manfully upon his enemies, when they baited or badgered him. “It began, therefore, to be rumoured, up and down among the people, that I was a witch, a Jesuit, a highwayman, and the like. . . . . I also call those fools and knaves that have thus made it anything of their business to affirm any of these things aforesaid of me, namely, that I have been naught with other women, or the like. . . . My foes have missed their mark in this their shooting at me. I am not the man. I wish that they themselves be guiltless. If all the fornicators and adulterers in England were hanged up by the neck till they be dead, John Bunyan, the object of their envy, would be still alive and well.” The style of his language even indicated the Gipsy; for English Gipsies, as Mr. Borrow justly remarks, speak the English language much better than the natives of the lower classes; for this apparent reason, that they have not the dialect of any particular part of England, which would be, were they always to have resided in a particular place. It must have been more so before the middle of the seventeenth century, upwards of a hundred years after the arrival of the Gipsies in England; for, in acquiring the English language, they would keep clear of many of the rude dialects that so commonly prevail in that country. But Bunyan’s language was, doubtless, drawn principally from the Scriptures.

The illustrious pilgrim had many indignities cast upon him, by the lower and unthinking classes of the population, and by Quakers and strict Baptists. ‘Twas a man like John Owen who knew how to appreciate and respect him; for, said he to Charles II.: “I would readily part with all my learning, could I but preach like the tinker.” And what was it that supported Bunyan, amid all the abuse and obloquy to which he was exposed, as he obeyed the call of God, and preached the gospel, in season and out of season, to every creature around him? When they sneered at his origin, and the occupation from which he had risen, he said: “Such insults I freely bind unto me, as an ornament, among the rest of my reproaches, till the Lord shall wipe them off at his coming.” And again: “The poor Christian hath something to answer them that reproach him for his ignoble pedigree, and shortness of the glory of the wisdom of this world. I fear God. This is the highest and most noble; he hath the honour, the life, and glory that is lasting.”[323]

In Great Britain, the off-scourings of the earth can say who they are, and no prejudices are entertained against them. Half-caste Hindoos, Malays, Hottentots, and Negroes, are “sent home,” to be educated, and made pets of, and have the choice of white women given to them for wives; but the children of a Scottish Christian Gipsy gentleman, or of a Scottish Christian Gipsy gentlewoman, dare not say who they are, were it almost to save their lives. Scottish people will wonder at what caste in India can mean, deplore its existence, and pray to God to remove it, that “the gospel may have free course and be glorified;” yet scowl—silently and sullenly scowl—at the bare mention of John Bunyan having been a Gipsy! Scottish religious journals will not tolerate the idea to appear in their columns! To such people I would say, Offer up no more prayers to Almighty God, to remove caste from India, until they themselves have removed from the land this prejudice of caste, that hangs like an incubus upon so many of their fellow-subjects at home. It is quite time enough to carry such petitions to the Deity, when every Scottish Gipsy can make a return of himself in the census, or proclaim himself a Gipsy at the cross, or from the house-top, if need be; or, at least, after steps have been taken by the public to that end. But some of my countrymen may say: “What are we to do, under the circumstances?” And I reply: “Endeavour to be yourselves, and judge of this subject as it ought to be judged. You can, at least, try to guard against your children acquiring your own prejudices.” To the rising town generation, I would look with more hope to see a better feeling entertained for the name of Gipsy. But I look with more confidence to the English than Scottish people; for this question of “folk” is very apt to rankle and fester in the Scottish mind. I wish, then, that the British, and more especially the Scottish, public should consider itself as cited before the bar of the world, and not only the bar of the world, but the bar of posterity, to plead on the Gipsy question, that it may be seen if this is the only instance in which justice is not to be done to a part of the British population. With the evidence furnished in the present work, I submit the name of Bunyan, as a case in point, to test the principle at issue. Let British people beware how they approach this subject, for there are great principles involved in it. The social emancipation of the Gipsies is a question which British people have to consider for the future.

The day is gone by when it cannot be said who John Bunyan was. In Cowper’s time, his name dare not be mentioned, “lest it should move a sneer.” Let us hope that we are living in happier times. Tinkering was Bunyan’s occupation; his race the Gipsy—a fact that cannot be questioned. His having been a Gipsy adds, by contrast, a lustre to his name, and reflects an immortality upon his character; and he stands out, from among all the men of the latter half of the seventeenth century, in all his solitary grandeur, a monument of the grace of God, and a prodigy of genius. Let us, then, enroll John Bunyan as the first (that is known to the world) of eminent Gipsies, the prince of allegorists, and one of the most remarkable of men and Christians. What others of this race there may be who have distinguished themselves among mankind, are known to God and, it may be, some of the Gipsies. The saintly Doctor to whom I have alluded was one of this singular people; and one beyond question, for his admission of the fact cannot be denied by any one. Any life of John Bunyan, or any edition of his works, that does not contain a record of the fact of his having been a Gipsy, lacks the most important feature connected with the man that makes everything relating to him personally interesting to mankind. It should even contain a short dissertation on the Gipsies, and have, as a frontispiece, a Gipsy’s camp, with all its appurtenances. The reader may believe that such a thing may be seen, and that, perhaps, not before long.

It strikes me as something very singular, that Mr. Borrow, “whose acquaintance with the Gipsy race, in general, dates from a very early period of his life;” who “has lived more with Gipsies than Scotchmen;” and than whom “no one ever enjoyed better opportunities for a close scrutiny of their ways and habits,” should have told us so little about the Gipsies. In all his writings on the Gipsies, he alludes to two mixed Gipsies only—the Spanish half-pay captain, and the English flaming tinman—in a way as if these were the merest of accidents, and meant nothing. He has told us nothing of the Gipsies but what was known before, with the exception, as far as my memory serves me, of the custom of the Spanish Gipsy, dressing her daughter in such a way as to protect her virginity; the existence of the tribe, in a civilized state, in Moscow; and the habit of the members of the race possessing two names; all of which are, doubtless, interesting pieces of information. The Spanish Gipsy marriage ceremony was described, long before him, by Dr. Bright; and Twiss, as far back as 1723, bears testimony to the virtue of Gipsy females, inasmuch as they were not to be procured in any way. Twiss also bears very positive testimony on a point to which Mr. Borrow has not alluded, viz.: the honesty of Spanish Gipsy innkeepers, in one respect, at least, that, although he frequently left his linen, spoons, &c., at their mercy, he never lost an article belonging to him. He alludes, in his travels, to the subject of the Gipsies incidentally; and his testimony is, therefore, worthy of every credit, on the points on which he speaks. In Mr. Borrow’s writings upon the Gipsies, we find only sketches of certain individuals of the race, whom he seems to have fallen in with, and not a proper account of the nation. These writings have done more injury to the tribe than, perhaps, anything that ever appeared on the subject. I have met with Gipsies—respectable young men—who complained bitterly of Mr. Borrow’s account of their race; and they did that with good reason; for his attempt at generalization on the subject of the people, is as great a curiosity as ever I set my eyes upon. How unsatisfactory are Mr. Borrow’s opinions on the Gipsy question, when he speaks of the “decadence” of the race, when it is only passing from its first stage of existence—the tent. This he does in his Appendix to the Romany Rye; and it is nearly all that can be drawn from his writings on the Gipsies, in regard to their future history.

I do not expect to meet among American people, generally, with the prejudice against the name of Gipsy that prevails in Europe; for, in Europe, the prejudice is traditional—a question of the nursery—while, in America, it is derived, for the most part, from novels. American people will, of course, form their own opinion upon the tented or any other kind of Gipsies, as their behaviour warrants; but what prejudice can they have for the Gipsy race as such? As a race, it is, physically, as fine a one as ever came out of Asia; although, at the present day, it is so much mixed with the white blood, as hardly to be observable in many, and absolutely not so in others, who follow the ordinary vocations of other men. What prejudice can Americans have against Gipsy blood as such? What prejudice can they have to the Maryland farmers who have been settled, for at least two generations, near Annapolis, merely because they are Gipsies and speak Gipsy? If there is any people in the world who might be expected to view the subject of the Gipsies dispassionately, it ought to be the people of America; for surely they have prejudices enough in regard to race; prejudices, the object of which is independent of character or condition—something that stares them in the face, and cannot be got rid of. If they have the practical sagacity to perceive the bearings of the Gipsy question, they should at once take it up, and treat it in the manner which the age demands. They have certainly an opportunity of stealing a march upon English people in this matter.