INTRODUCTION (continued 2)

‘He went to his brothers. “Good-day to you, brothers. You fancied I should perish. If you acted fairly by me, toss your arrows up in the air, and they will fall before you; but if unfairly, then they will fall on your heads.” All four tossed up their arrows, and they stood in a row. His fell right before him, and theirs fell on their heads, and they died.’

‘The Seer’ (No. 23) offers a variant:—

‘And he said, “Good-day to you, brothers. You fancied I had perished. You have pronounced your own doom. Come out with me, and toss your swords up in the air. If you acted fairly by me, it will fall before you; but if unfairly, it will fall on your head.” The three of them tossed up their swords, and that of the youngest fell before him, but theirs fell on their head, and they died.’

‘The emperor there was dead, and they took his crown and put it in the church; whosever head the crown falls on, he shall be emperor. And men of all ranks came into the church; and the three boys came. And the eldest went before, and slipped into the church; and the crown floated on to his head “We have a new emperor.” They raised him shoulder-high, and clad him in royal robes.’

The episode is reminiscent of ‘Excalibur’ in the old Arthurian legend. The story in which it occurs is identical with Hahn’s No. 36, but there the episode is wholly wanting. The multiplication of such seemingly unique Gypsy stories and incidents would certainly favour a belief in the originality of the Gypsies, would suggest that some at least of their stories are at first-hand, and not derived from Greeks, Roumans, Slavs, Teutons, or Celts.

Still, nothing would surprise me less than to come on non-Gypsy versions of one or all of these stories or incidents. The great mass of the collection can be paralleled from Grimm, Asbjörnsen, Hahn, Campbell, Cosquin, etc. Thus my No. 63 is Grimm’s ‘Our Lady’s Child’ (No. 3); No. 57 his ‘Youth who went forth to learn what Fear was’ (No. 4); No. 2 his ‘Faithful John’ (No. 6); No. 21 his ‘Valiant Little Tailor’ (No. 20); No. 38 his ‘Devil with the Three Golden Hairs’ (No. 29); No. 47 his ‘Robber Bridegroom’ (No. 40); No. 70 his ‘Frederick and Catherine’ (No. 59); No. 25 his ‘Two Brothers’ (No. 60); No. 68 his ‘Little Peasant’ (No. 61); No. 59 his ‘Brother Lustig’ (No. 81) and ‘Old Man made Young again’ (No. 147); No. 32 his ‘King of the Golden Mountains’ (No. 92); No. 17 his ‘Three Little Birds’ (No. 96); Nos. 55 and 73 his ‘Water of Life’ (No. 97); No. 43 his ‘Skilful Huntsman’ (No. 111); No. 25 his ‘Ferdinand the Faithful’ (No. 126); No. 41 his ‘Shoes that were danced to Pieces’ (No. 133); Nos. 20 and 58 his ‘Strong Hans’ (No. 166); and Nos. 11 and 12 his ‘Master Thief’ (No. 192); besides which his ‘Cinderella’ (No. 21), ‘Godfather Death’ (No. 44), and ‘The Sole’ (No. 172) are known to be current among the Gypsies. The Gypsies, then, by the showing even of our present meagre store of Gypsy folk-tales, have over ten per cent. of Grimm’s entire collection.

Which are the better, the Gypsy versions, or the non-Gypsy versions, can only be definitely determined when we can feel pretty sure of possessing the best Gypsy versions procurable. Take, for example, our story of ‘The Vampire’ (No. 5). The wretched Hungarian-Gypsy version of Dr. Friedrich Müller (1869) could not for a moment compare with Ralston’s fine Russian story of ‘The Fiend,’ but the Roumanian-Gypsy version of Barbu Constantinescu (1878) quite well can. The standard of Gypsy folk-tales should clearly be taken from the best, not the poorest, specimens; and the standard by that rule is high. Indeed, ‘The Red King and the Witch’ to me appears as good as anything in the whole field of folklore; and ‘Ashypelt,’ ‘The Jealous Husband,’ and half a dozen more of my collection seem only less good than it. But, of course, one’s own geese are all swans.

Literary Sources.

A curious point about these Gypsy stories is that in three or four of them one recognises an incident or a whole plot which, unless it be Gypsy, the Gypsies would seem to have derived from books. Here, for instance, are two parallel passages from No. 120 of the Gesta Romanorum and from the Bukowina-Gypsy story of ‘The Seer’ (No. 23):—

Gesta. Gypsy Tale.

Where to bend his steps he knew not, but arising, and fortifying himself with the sign of the Cross, he walked along a certain path until he reached a deep river, over which he must pass. But he found it so bitter and hot, that it even separated the flesh from the bones. Full of grief, he conveyed away a small quantity of that water, and when he had proceeded a little further, felt hungry. A tree, upon which hung the most tempting food, incited him to eat; he did so, and immediately became a leper. He gathered also a little of the fruit, and conveyed it with him. After travelling for some time, he arrived at another stream, whose virtue was such that it restored the flesh to his feet; and eating of a second tree, he was cleansed of his leprosy. The youngest went into the woods, and he was hungry, and he found an apple-tree with apples, and he ate an apple, and two stag’s horns grew. And he said, ‘What God has given me I will bear.’ And he went onward, and crossed a stream, and the flesh fell away from him. And he kept saying, ‘What God has given me I will bear. Thanks be to God.’ And he went further, and found another apple-tree. And he said, ‘I will eat one more apple, even though two more horns shall grow.’ When he ate it, the horns dropped off. And he went further, and again found a stream. And he said, ‘God, the flesh has fallen from me, now my bones will waste away; but even though they do, yet will I go.’ And he crossed the stream; his flesh grew fairer than ever.

Questions of Date.

Sometimes, however, a date does seem to preclude the notion that the dissemination of this or that folk-tale can have been due to Gypsies. The ‘Grateful Dead,’ the first of our collection, is a case in point. The Turkish-Gypsy version is excellent—as good, indeed, as any known to me; but the story seems to have been current in England as early, at any rate, as 1420—the date assigned to the metrical romance of ‘Sir Amadas.’ Again, according to Mr. Jacobs’ More Celtic Fairy Tales, p. 229, ‘the most curious and instructive parallel to Campbell’s West Highland tale of “Mac Iain Direach” [= our No. 75] is that afforded by the Arthurian romance of Walewein or Gawain, now only extant in Dutch, which, as Professor W. P. Ker has pointed out in Folk-Lore, v. 121, exactly corresponds to the popular tale, and thus carries it back in Celtdom to the early twelfth century at the latest.’ Only, how from Celtdom has the story wandered to the Polish Gypsies of Galicia, whose tale of ‘The Golden Bush and the Good Hare’ (No. 49) is clearly identical?

Indian Parallels.

I raise these objections myself, knowing that, if I did not, some one else would certainly do so, with the gleeful remark, ‘Down goes the silly theory of the dispersion of folk-tales by Gypsies.’ By no means, necessarily. The theory may be inapplicable in these and in other cases; but what will the folklorists make of another Polish-Gypsy story, the ‘Tale of a Foolish Brother and of a Wonderful Bush’ (No. 45)? Of it we find a variant in the Welsh-Gypsy story of ‘The Dragon’ (No. 61), and a most unmistakable version in the Indian fairy-tale of ‘The Monkey Prince’ (Maive Stokes, No. 10, p. 41). The connection, indeed, between the Gypsy and the Indian folk-tale seems scarcely less obvious than that between páni, water, in Rómani, and páni, water, in Hindustani. This, I think, must be granted; but what, then, of the non-Gypsy versions, cited on p. 161, from Russia, Norway, and Sicily? Or take the Turkish-Gypsy story of ‘Baldpate’ (No. 2). It is identical, on the one hand, with Grimm’s ‘Faithful John’ (No. 6) and many more European versions, and, on the other hand, with the latter half of ‘Phakir Chand’ (Lal Behari Day’s Folk-tales of Bengal, pp. 39–52). Is it not possibly the link between them? And may not similar links be discernible in these eight parallels, where the notes on the Gypsy tales will supply the exact references:—

Indian. Gypsy. European.

1. The Son of Seven Mothers, etc. = The Bad Mother (No. 8), etc. = The Blue Belt (Norse), etc.

2. The Boy with the Moon on his Forehead, etc. = It all comes to Light (No. 17), etc. = Grimm’s Three Little Birds, etc.

3. Prince Lionheart, etc. = Mare’s Son (No. 20), etc. = Grimm’s Strong Hans, etc.

4. Valiant Vicky, the Brave Weaver, etc. = The Deluded Dragon (No. 21), etc. = Grimm’s Valiant Little Tailor, etc.

5. The Two Brothers, etc. = The Hen that laid Diamonds (No. 25). = Grimm’s Two Brothers, etc.

6. The Weaver as Vishnu (Sansk.). = The Winged Hero (No. 26). = Andersen’s Flying Trunk, etc.

7. The Two Bhûts, etc. = The Rich and the Poor Brother (No. 30), etc. = Grimm’s Two Travellers, etc.

8. Story cited by Ralston. = The Witch (No. 50), etc. = Cosquin’s Chatte Blanche, etc.

Tokens of Recent Diffusion.

Sometimes, however, it seems to me, we get sure tokens of recent diffusion. Thus in the folk-tales to which Sir George Cox, Professor de Gubernatis, and their fellow-mythologists assign a prehistoric antiquity, one of the commonest incidents is where the hero and heroine, flying from a demon, magician, or ogre (the heroine’s father often), transform themselves into a church and priest. We find the incident in Lorraine, Brittany, Picardy, many parts of both Germany and Italy, the Tyrol, Transylvania, Hungary, Croatia, Russia, Spain, Portugal, and Brazil, as well as among the Gypsies of Turkey, the Bukowina, and Galicia (cf. Cosquin, i. 106; and my own pp. 127, 196). What was the prehistoric form of the church? Was it a tope, a stone circle, something of the kind? That well may be. But how comes it that the development of the prehistoric form has in all these widely-separated countries reached exactly the same stage, and there stopped? Why has not the stone circle become in one case a stone-heap with a stone-breaker, in another a pound with a horse in it, in a third a field with a rubbing-post? Why always the modern Christian notion of a church? But the difficulty vanishes if one may suppose that the Gypsies, starting from the Balkan Peninsula at a date when churches were familiar objects, which a pursuer would naturally pass, carried with them the modern version of the story to Russia, Spain, and the other countries in which it is told to-day. Similarly, in Gypsy stories, and in stories current in countries wide apart, one finds such incidents as the hero falling in love through a portrait, the hero playing cards with the devil, the hero carrying a Bellerophon letter, the hero looking through an all-seeing telescope. Such stories in their original form may be of indefinable antiquity; but the recurrence of their developed form amongst Slavs and Teutons and Celts would seem to be due to recent transmission, unless one is prepared to maintain that our primæval Aryan ancestors were acquainted with portrait-painting, with playing-cards, with the art of writing, and with telescopes.

The Anthropological Theory.

In his Introduction to Mrs. Hunt’s admirable translation of Grimm, Mr. Andrew Lang thus expounded his ‘Anthropological’ theory of folk-tales:—

‘As to the origin of the wild incidents in Household Tales, let any one ask himself this question: Is there anything in the frequent appearance of cannibals, in kinship with animals, in magic, in abominable cruelty, that would seem unnatural to a savage? Certainly not; all these things are familiar to his world. Do all these things occur on almost every page of Grimm? Certainly they do. Have they been natural and familiar incidents to the educated German mind during the historic age? No one will venture to say so. These notions, then, have survived in peasant tales from the time when the ancestors of the Germans were like Zulus or Maoris or Australians.’

Gypsy Savagery.

Gypsy Migrations.

In the Academy for 11th June 1887 Mr. Lang objected: ‘Can M. Cosquin show that South Siberia and Zanzibar got their contes by oral transmission from India within the historical period? This is doubtful; but it seems still more unlikely that tales which originated in India could have reached Barra and Uist in the Hebrides, and Zululand, and the Samoyeds—not to mention America—by oral transmission, and all within the historical period.’ My pp. xv–xviii and xxxv–xlv furnish a fairly good answer to much of this objection, for they show that during the last three centuries recent immigrants from India, possessed of folk-tales, have been passing to and fro between Lorraine and Italy, Scotland and North America, Portugal and Africa and Brazil, Poland and Siberia, Spain and Louisiana, the Basque Country and Africa, Hungary and Italy, Germany, Belgium, France, Spain, and Algeria, the Balkan Peninsula and Scandinavia, Italy and Asia Minor, Corfu and Corsica, the Levant and Liverpool, Hungary and Scotland. But, indeed, Mr. Lang’s objection was, in part at least, answered already, by the discovery in Scandinavia, Orkney, and Lancashire of thousands of Cufic coins of the ninth and tenth centuries. For where coins could journey from Bagdad, so also of course could folk-tales.

I remember once in an English parsonage being shown a ‘cannibal fork.’ I do not think I rushed to the conclusion that the parson’s grandmother had been a ghoul; no, I rather fancy there was talk of a son or a brother who was a missionary somewhere, perhaps in the South Sea Islands. And I remember also how a Suffolk vicar unearthed a Romano-British cemetery. One of his most treasured finds was a pair of brass compasses: ‘Marvellous,’ he would point out, ‘how like they are to our own.’ ‘As well they may be,’ old Mrs. C—— remarked to me (she was the daughter of a former vicar), ‘for I can quite well remember my poor brother John losing them.’

Gypsy Originality.

There is at least one other story in Mr. Jacobs’ collection that may be Gypsy, not English. This is ‘The Three Feathers,’ which, Mrs. Gomme tells me, was collected from some Deptford hop-pickers by a lady now in America. Not all hop-pickers are Gypsies, but a goodly proportion are, as I know from old walks among Kentish and Surrey hop-gardens. ‘The Three Feathers’ is a variant of Laura Gonzenbach’s Sicilian story of ‘Feledico and Epomata’ (No. 55, i. 251), of an incident in Campbell’s Gaelic story of ‘The Battle of the Birds’ (No. 2, i. 36, 50), of one in Kennedy’s Irish story of ‘The Brown Bear of Norway’ (p. 63), and of one in the Norse story of ‘The Master-maid.’

Gaelic and Welsh-Gypsy Stories.

Now, of ‘The Battle of the Birds’ we have a Welsh-Gypsy version, ‘The Green Man of Noman’s Land’ (No. 62), lacking, it is true, this episode, which may be an interpolation in the Gaelic story, but unmistakably identical with the Gaelic story, of which, however, it forms only a fragment. In the Gaelic version the hero is set four tasks by the heroine’s father, in the Gypsy version five tasks, as follows:—

Gaelic. Welsh-Gypsy.

To cleanse a byre, uncleansed for seven years. Heroine does it. Father taxes him with having been helped. To clean a stable. Heroine does it. Father accuses him of receiving help. He denies it.

Wanting. To fell a forest before mid-day (cf. Polish-Gypsy story of ‘The Witch,’ p. 188). Heroine does it. Same denial.

To thatch byre with birds’ down—birds with no two feathers of one colour. Heroine does it. He denies help. To thatch barn with one feather only of each bird. Heroine does it.

To climb a very lofty fir-tree beside a loch, and fetch down magpie’s five eggs. He climbs it on a ladder of heroine’s fingers, but in his haste her little finger is left on top of tree. To climb glass mountain in middle of lake, and fetch egg of bird that lays one only. He wishes heroine’s shoe a boat, and they reach mountain. He wishes her finger a ladder, but steps over the last rung, and her finger is broken. She warns him to deny help.

To select at the dance the youngest of the three sisters all dressed alike. He knows her by the absence of the little finger. To guess which of the three daughters is which, as they fly three times over castle in form of birds. Forewarned by heroine, he names them correctly.

The story, of course, is a very widespread one. We have a Sanskrit version of it on the one hand, and on the other an African Negro version from Jamaica, with many more referred to in the notes on two other Gypsy versions—one from the Bukowina, ‘Made over to the Devil’ (No. 34), and the other from Galicia, ‘The Witch’ (No. 50). But in the Gaelic and in the Gypsy version there are two special points to be noted. The first is that the almost absolute identity of the tasks imposed seems to preclude the idea that the likeness between the two versions can be explained by their being derived from a common original, three or four thousand years old. The second point is that in some respects the Gypsy version is decidedly the better of the two: the fir-tree beside a loch cannot compare with the glass mountain in the middle of the lake; and the selection of the youngest daughter at the dance is inferior to the selection of her as she flies in bird-shape over the castle.

Other Parallels.

Resemblances only less strongly marked are observable between Campbell’s two stories of ‘The Shifty Lad’ and ‘The Three Widows’ and the Welsh-Gypsy story of ‘Jack the Robber’ (No. 68), between his ‘Tale of the Soldier’ (given here as a tinker story, No. 74), and my ‘Ashypelt’ (No. 57), and between his ‘Brown Bear of the Green Glen’ (No. 73 here) and my ‘Old King his Three Sons’ (No. 55). There is also sometimes a striking similarity of phrase and idea in Gaelic and Welsh-Gypsy stories. Thus, in Campbell we get: ‘The dun steed would catch the swift March wind that would be before, and the swift March wind could not catch her’; ‘He went much further than I can tell or you can think’; and ‘Whether dost thou like the big half of the bannock and my curse, or the little half and my blessing?’ For which John Roberts gives: ‘Off he went as fast as the wind, which the wind behind could not catch the wind before’; ‘Now poor Jack goes … further than I can tell you to-night or ever intend to tell you’; and ‘Which would you like best for me to make you—a little cake and to bless you, or a big cake and to curse you?’ This last feature—of the big cake and curse, or the little cake and blessing—is found, to the best of my knowledge, in no folk-tale outside the British Isles; but it occurs also in the Aberdeenshire story of ‘The Red Etin’ (Chambers’s Popular Rhymes of Scotland, p. 90), and in Kennedy’s ‘Jack and his Comrades’ and ‘The Corpse-Watchers’ (Fictions of the Irish Celts, pp. 5, 54).

Irish and Gypsy Folk-tales.

Clearly, the readiest explanation of the likeness between ‘The Green Man of Noman’s Land’ and the Scottish and Irish stories would be that these last are both derived from Gypsies; but then of Gypsies in Ireland our knowledge is almost nil. In a letter of 8th February 1898, Mr. William Larminie, of Bray, Co. Wicklow, the author of West Irish Folk-tales (1893), writes:—‘I have never heard of Irish Gypsies proper. They seem never to have settled in the country for some reason.’ On the other hand, three or four English-Gypsy families of my acquaintance have certainly travelled Ireland during the last thirty years; Simson’s History of the Gipsies (1865) contains allusions on pp. 325–8, 356–8, etc., to visits of ‘Irish Gipsies’ to Scotland; and, according to a note by Mr. Ffrench of Donegal in the Gypsy Lore Journal for April 1890, p. 127, ‘there are two tribes of Gypsy-folk in Ireland. The first are real Gypsies; the second are what are called “Gilly Goolies,” and are only touched on the Gypsies, i.e. have a strain of Gypsy blood in their veins, and follow the mode of life followed by the Gypsies.’ Moreover, the Irish novelist, William Carleton (1794–1869), in his Autobiography (1896), i. 212, shows that ‘Scottish gipsies’ did visit mid-Ireland about 1814 and earlier. ‘My eldest married sister, Mary,’ he writes, ‘lived (about the period when I, having been set apart for the Church, commenced my Latin) in the townland of a place called Ballagh, Co. Roscommon, remarkable for the beauty of its lough. It was during the Easter holidays, and I was on a visit to her. At that time it was not unusual for a small encampment of the Scottish gipsies to pass over to the north of Ireland, and indeed I am not surprised at it, considering the extraordinary curiosity, not to say enthusiasm, with which they were received by the people. The men were all tinkers, and the women thieves and fortune-tellers—but in their case the thief was always sunk in the fortune-teller.’ And he goes on to describe how he had his own fortune told with a pack of cards by one of the women, ‘a sallow old pythoness.’

One may not build upon so slight a superstructure, though at the same time it should be borne in mind that nothing, absolutely nothing, was known of the Welsh Gypsies till 1875. Where, however, as in England, Gypsies have certainly been roaming to and fro for centuries, nothing seems to me likelier than the transmission by them of folk-tales. For I know by frequent journeyings with them how the Gypsy camp is the favourite nightly rendezvous of the lads and lasses from the neighbouring village. All the amusement they can give their guests, the Gypsies give gladly; and stories and songs are among their best stock-in-trade.

Gypsy Story-tellers.

Campbell of Islay has shown us a Gypsy professional story-teller in London, and Paspati has shown us a Gypsy professional story-teller, the grandson of one at Constantinople. That is not much, perhaps; but there are several more indications of the transmission of folk-tales by Gypsies. Bakht, the Rómani word for ‘luck’ or ‘fortune,’ has passed, not merely into Albanian folk-tales, but into the Greek and Turkish languages, as I show in a footnote on p. 53; and a good many of the following seventy-six stories seem to show unmistakable tokens of the practised raconteur’s art. ‘Let us leave the dogs, and return to the girl,’ in No. 47; ‘Now we’ll leave the master to stand a bit, and go back to the mother,’ in No. 68; ‘And I came away, told the story,’ in Nos. 6, 7, 8, and 15; ‘And I left them there, and came and told my story to your lordships,’ in No. 10; ‘I was there, and heard everything that happened,’ in No. 12; ‘Away I came, the tale have told,’ in No. 18; ‘Now you’ve got it,’ in No. 28; ‘If they are not dead, they are still alive,’ in Nos. 41 and 42, and also in Hungarian-Gypsy stories; ‘The floor there was made of paper, and I came away here,’ in No. 43; ‘So if they are not dead, they are living together,’ in No. 44; ‘Excuse me for saying it,’ in No. 55; ‘She was delivered (pray, excuse me) of a boy,’ in No. 46; ‘And the last time I was there I played my harp for them, and got to go again,’ in No. 54—these all sound like tags or formulas of the professional story-teller. Léon Zafiri’s usual wind-up, says Paspati (p. 421), ran: ‘And I too, I was there, and I ate, and I drank, and I have come to tell you the story.’

Story-telling a living Gypsy art.

A tree can never be quite dead as long as it puts forth shoots; I fancy the very latest shoot in the whole Yggdrasil of European folk-tales is the episode in ‘The Tinker and his Wife’ (No. 70), where the tinker buys a barrel of beer, and says, ‘Now, my wench, you make the biggest penny out of it as ever you can,’ and she goes and sells the whole barrel to a packman for one of the old big pennies. That episode cannot be earlier than the introduction of the new bronze coinage in 1861; it looks as though it must itself be a recent coinage of Cornelius Price, or of Nebuchadnēzar, his uncle. But, there, I have known a Gypsy girl dash off what was almost a folk-tale impromptu. She had been to a pic-nic in a four-in-hand, with ‘a lot o’ real tip-top gentry’; and ‘Reía,’ she said to me afterwards, ‘I’ll tell you the comicalest thing as ever was. We’d pulled up, to put the brake on; and there was a púro hotchiwítchi (old hedgehog) come and looked at us through the hedge, looked at me hard. I could see he’d his eye upon me. And home he’d go, that old hedgehog, to his wife, and “Missus,” he’d say, “what d’ ye think? I seen a little Gypsy gal just now in a coach and four hosses”; and “Dábla!” she’d say, “sawkúmni ’as vardé kenáw” ’ (Bless us! every one now keeps a carriage).

Possible Gypsy influences.

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 Scotland, if John MacDonald was any sort of a Gypsy, they seem to have picked up ‘Osean after the Feen.’

GYPSY FOLK-TALES