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Title: Gypsy Sorcery and Fortune Telling

Author: Charles Godfrey Leland

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Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GYPSY
SORCERY AND FORTUNE TELLING ***

GYPSY SORCERY AND FORTUNE-TELLING

GYPSY SORCERY
AND
FORTUNE TELLING

ILLUSTRATED BY NUMEROUS INCANTATIONS,
SPECIMENS OF MEDICAL MAGIC, ANECDOTES
AND TALES
BY
CHARLES GODFREY LELAND
PRESIDENT OF THE GIPSY-LORE SOCIETY,
&c., &c.
COPIOUSLY ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR

NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
MDCCCXCI

Dedication.
THIS WORK
IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO MY COLLEAGUES OF THE
CONGRÈS DES TRADITIONS POPULAIRES,
HELD AT PARIS, JULY, 1889;
AND ESPECIALLY
TO THE FRENCH MEMBERS OF THAT BODY,
IN GRATEFUL REMEMBRANCE OF THEIR GENEROUS
HOSPITALITY,
AND UNFAILING KINDNESS AND COURTESY, BY
CHARLES G. LELAND.

CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE ORIGIN OF WITCHCRAFT, SHAMANISM, AND
SORCERY.—VINDICTIVE AND MISCHIEVOUS
MAGIC 1
II. CHARMS AND CONJURATIONS TO CURE THE
DISORDERS OF GROWN PEOPLE.—HUNGARIAN
GYPSY MAGIC 12
III. GYPSY CONJURATIONS AND EXORCISMS—THE
CURE OF CHILDREN—HUNGARIAN GYPSY SPELLS
—A CURIOUS OLD ITALIAN “SECRET”—THE
MAGIC VIRTUE OF GARLIC—A FLORENTINE
INCANTATION LEARNED FROM A WITCH—LILITH,
THE CHILD-STEALER, AND QUEEN OF THE
WITCHES 41
IV. SOUTH SLAVONIAN AND OTHER GYPSY WITCH-
LORE.—THE WORDS FOR A WITCH—VILAS AND
THE SPIRITS OF EARTH AND AIR—WITCHES, EGG-
SHELLS, AND EGG-LORE—EGG PROVERBS—OVA
DE CRUCIBUS 65
V. CHARMS OR CONJURATIONS TO CURE OR
PROTECT ANIMALS 79
VI. OF PREGNANCY AND CHARMS, OR FOLK-LORE
CONNECTED WITH IT—BOARS’ TEETH AND
CHARMS FOR PREVENTING THE FLOW OF BLOOD 100
VII. THE RECOVERY OF STOLEN PROPERTY—LOVE-
CHARMS—SHOES AND LOVE-POTIONS, OR
PHILTRES 108
VIII. ROUMANIAN AND TRANSYLVANIAN SORCERIES
AND SUPERSTITIONS, CONNECTED WITH THOSE
OF THE GYPSIES 122

IX. THE RENDEZVOUS OR MEETINGS OF WITCHES,
SORCERERS, AND VILAS.—A CONTINUATION OF
SOUTH SLAVONIAN GYPSY-LORE 142
X. OF THE HAUNTS, HOMES, AND HABITS OF
WITCHES IN THE SOUTH SLAVIC LANDS.—BOGEYS
AND HUMBUGS 152
XI. GYPSY WITCHCRAFT.—THE MAGICAL POWER
WHICH IS INNATE IN ALL MEN AND WOMEN—
HOW IT MAY BE CULTIVATED AND DEVELOPED—
THE PRINCIPLES OF FORTUNE-TELLING 162
XII. FORTUNE-TELLING (continued).—ROMANCE BASED
ON CHANCE, OR HOPE, AS REGARDS THE FUTURE
—FOLK- AND SORCERY-LORE—AUTHENTIC
INSTANCES OF GYPSY PREDICTION 186
XIII. PROVERBS REFERRING TO WITCHES, GYPSIES,
AND FAIRIES 194
XIV. A GYPSY MAGIC SPELL.—HOKKANI BARO—
LELLIN DUDIKABIN, OR THE GREAT SECRET—
CHILDREN’S RHYMES AND INCANTATIONS—TEN
LITTLE INDIAN BOYS AND TEN LITTLE ACORN
GIRLS OF MARCELLUS BURDIGALENSIS 209
XV. GYPSY AMULETS 230
XVI. GYPSIES, TOADS, AND TOAD-LORE 255

PREFACE.
T
his work contains a
collection of the customs,
usages, and ceremonies
current among gypsies, as
regards fortune-telling,
witch-doctoring, love-
philtering, and other
sorcery, illustrated by
many anecdotes and
instances, taken either
from works as yet very
little known to the English
reader or from personal
experiences. Within a very
few years, since
Ethnology and
Archæology have
received a great
inspiration, and much
enlarged their scope
through Folk-lore,
everything relating to such subjects is studied with far greater interest and
to much greater profit than was the case when they were cultivated in a
languid, half-believing, half-sceptical spirit which was in reality rather one
of mere romance than reason. Now that we seek with resolution to find the
whole truth, be it based on materialism, spiritualism, or their identity, we
are amazed to find that the realm of marvel and mystery, of wonder and
poetry, connected with what we vaguely call “magic,” far from being
explained away or exploded, enlarges before us as we proceed, and that not
into a mere cloudland, gorgeous land, but into a country of reality in which

men of science who would once have disdained the mere thought thereof
are beginning to stray. Hypnotism has really revealed far greater wonders
than were ever established by the fascinatores of old or by mesmerists of
more modern times. Memory, the basis of thought according to Plato,
which was once held to be a determined quantity, has been proved, (the
word is not too bold), by recent physiology, to be practically infinite, and its
perfect development to be identical with that of intellect, so that we now see
plainly before us the power to perform much which was once regarded as
miraculous. Not less evident is it that men of science or practical inventors,
such as Darwin, Wallace, Huxley, Tyndale, Galton, Joule, Lockyer, and
Edison, have been or are all working in common with theosophists,
spiritualists, Folk-lorists, and many more, not diversely but all towards a
grand solution of the Unknown.

Therefore there is nothing whatever in the past relating to the influences
which have swayed man, however strange, eccentric, superstitious, or even
repulsive they may seem, which is not of great and constantly increasing
value. And if we of the present time begin already to see this, how much
more important will these facts be to the men of the future, who, by virtue
of more widely extended knowledge and comparison, will be better able
than we are to draw wise conclusions undreamed of now. But the chief
conclusion for us is to collect as much as we can, while it is yet extant, of
all the strange lore of the olden time, instead of wasting time in forming idle
theories about it.

In a paper read before the Congrès des Traditions populaires in Paris, 1889,
on the relations of gypsies to Folk-lore, I set forth my belief that these
people have always been the humble priests of what is really the practical
religion of all peasants and poor people; that is their magical ceremonies
and medicine. Very few have any conception of the degree to which gypsies
have been the colporteurs of what in Italy is called “the old faith,” or
witchcraft.

As regards the illustrative matter given, I am much indebted to Dr.
Wlislocki, who has probably had far more intimate personal experience of
gypsies than any other learned man who ever lived, through our mutual

friend, Dr. Anthon Herrmann, editor of the Ethnologische Mitteilungen,
Budapest, who is also himself an accomplished Romany scholar and
collector, and who has kindly taken a warm interest in this book, and greatly
aided it. To these I may add Dr. Friedrich S. Krauss, of Vienna, whose
various works on the superstitions and Folk-lore of the South Slavonians—
kindly presented by him to me—contain a vast mine of material, nearly all
that of which he treats being common property between peasants and the
Romany, as other sources abundantly indicate. With this there is also much
which I collected personally among gypsies and fortune-tellers, and similar
characters, it being true as regards this work and its main object, that there
is much cognate or allied information which is quite as valuable as gypsy-
lore itself, as all such subjects mutually explain one of the others.

Gypsies, as I have said, have done more than any race or class on the face
of the earth to disseminate among the multitude a belief in fortune-telling,
magical or sympathetic cures, amulets and such small sorceries as now find
a place in Folk-lore. Their women have all pretended to possess occult
power since prehistoric times. By the exercise of their wits they have
actually acquired a certain art of reading character or even thought, which,
however it be allied to deceit, is in a way true in itself, and well worth
careful examination. Matthew Arnold has dwelt on it with rare skill in his
poem of “The Gypsy Scholar.” Even deceit and imposture never held its
own as a system for ages without some ground-work of truth, and that
which upheld the structure of gypsy sorcery, has never been very carefully
examined. I trust that I have done this in a rational and philosophic spirit,
and have also illustrated my remarks in a manner which will prove
attractive to the general reader.

There are many good reasons for believing that the greatest portion of
gypsy magic was brought by the Romany from the East or India. This is
specially true as regards those now dwelling in Eastern Europe. And it is
certainly interesting to observe that among these people there is still extant,
on a very extended scale indeed, a Shamanism which seems to have come
from the same Tartar-Altaic source which was found of yore among the
Accadian-Babylonians, Etruscan races, and Indian hill-tribes. This, the
religion of the drum and the demon as a disease—or devil doctoring—will

be found fully illustrated in many curious ways in these pages. I believe that
in describing it I have also shown how many fragments of this primitive
religion, or cult, still exist, under very different names, in the most
enlightened centres of civilization. And I respectfully submit to my reader,
or critic, that I have in no instance, either in this or any other case,
wandered from my real subject, and that the entire work forms a carefully
considered and consistent whole. To perfect my title, I should perhaps have
added a line or two to the effect that I have illustrated many of the gypsy
sorceries by instances of Folk-lore drawn from other sources; but I believe
that it is nowhere inappropriate, considering the subject as a whole. For
those who would lay stress on omissions in my book, I would say that I
have never intended or pretended to exhaust gypsy superstitions. I have not
even given all that may be found in the works of Wlislocki alone. I have,
according to the limits of the book, cited so much as to fully illustrate the
main subject already described, and this will be of more interest to the
student of history than the details of gypsy chiromancy or more spells and
charms than are necessary to explain the leading ideas.

What is wanted in the present state of Folk-lore, I here repeat, is collection
from original sources, and material, that is from people and not merely from
books. The critics we have—like the poor—always with us, and a century
hence we shall doubtless have far better ones than those in whom we now
rejoice—or sorrow. But material abides no time, and an immense quantity
of it which is world-old perishes every day. For with general culture and
intelligence we are killing all kinds of old faiths, with wonderful celerity.
The time is near at hand when it will all be incredibly valuable, and then
men will wish sorrowfully enough that there had been more collectors to
accumulate and fewer critics to detract from their labours and to discourage
them. For the collector must form his theory, or system great or small, good
or bad, such as it is, in order to gather his facts; and then the theory is
shattered by the critic and the collection made to appear ridiculous. And so
collection ends.

There is another very curious reflection which has been ever present to my
mind while writing this work, and which the reader will do well carefully to
think out for himself. It is that the very first efforts of the human mind

towards the supernatural were gloomy, strange, and wild; they were of
witchcraft and sorcery, dead bodies, defilement, deviltry, and dirt. Men soon
came to believe in the virtue of the repetition of certain rhymes or spells in
connection with dead men’s bones, hands, and other horrors or “relics.” To
this day this old religion exists exactly as it did of yore, wherever men are
ignorant, stupid, criminal, or corresponding to their prehistoric ancestors. I
myself have seen a dead man’s hand for sale in Venice. According to Dr.
Block, says a writer in The St. James’s Gazette, January 16, 1889, the
corpse-candle superstition is still firmly enshrined among the tenets of
thieves all over Europe. In reality, according to The Standard, we know
little about the strange thoughts which agitate the minds of the criminal
classes. Their creeds are legends. Most of them are the children and
grandchildren of thieves who have been brought up from their youth in the
densest ignorance, and who, constantly at war with society, seek the aid of
those powers of darkness in the dread efficacy of which they have an
unshaken confidence.

“Fetishism of the rudest type, or what the mythologists have learned to call ‘animism’ is
part and parcel of the robber’s creed. A ‘habit and repute’ thief has always in his pocket, or
somewhere about his person, a bit of coal, or chalk, or a ‘lucky stone,’ or an amulet of
some sort on which he relies for safety in his hour of peril. Omens he firmly trusts in.
Divination is regularly practised by him, as the occasional quarrels over the Bible and key,
and the sieve and shears, testify. The supposed power of witches and wizards make many
of them live in terror, and pay blackmail, and although they will lie almost without a
motive, the ingenuity with which the most depraved criminal will try to evade ‘kissing the
book,’ performing this rite with his thumb instead, is a curious instance of what may be
termed perverted religious instincts. As for the fear of the evil eye, it is affirmed that most
of the foreign thieves of London dread more being brought before a particular magistrate
who has the reputation of being endowed with that fatal gift than of being summarily
sentenced by any other whose judicial glare is less severe.”

This is all true, but it tells only a small part of the truth. Not only is Fetish
or Shamanism the real religion of criminals, but of vast numbers who are
not suspected of it. There is not a town in England or in Europe in which
witchcraft (its beginning) is not extensively practised, although this is done
with a secrecy the success of which is of itself almost a miracle. We may
erect churches and print books, but wherever the prehistoric man exists—
and he is still to be found everywhere by millions—he will cling to the old
witchcraft of his remote ancestors. Until you change his very nature, the

only form in which he can realize supernaturalism will be by means of
superstition, and the grossest superstition at that. Research and reflection
have taught me that this sorcery is far more widely and deeply extended
than any cultivated person dreams—instead of yielding to the progress of
culture it seems to actually advance with it. Count Angelo de Gubernatis
once remarked to one of the most distinguished English statesmen that there
was in the country in Tuscany ten times as much heathenism as Christianity.
The same remark was made to me by a fortune-teller in Florence. She
explained what she meant. It was the vecchia religione—“the old
religion”—not Christianity, but the dark and strange sorceries of the
stregha, or witch, the compounding of magical medicine over which spells
are muttered, the making love-philters, the cursing enemies, the removing
the influence of other witches, and the manufacture of amulets in a manner
prohibited by the Church.

It would seem as if, by some strange process, while advanced scientists are
occupied in eliminating magic from religion, the coarser mind is actually
busy in reducing it to religion alone. It has been educated sufficiently to
perceive an analogy between dead man’s hands and “relics” as working
miracles, and as sorcery is more entertaining than religion, and has,
moreover, the charm of secrecy, the prehistoric man, who is still with us,
prefers the former. Because certain forms of this sorcery are no longer
found among the educated classes we think that superstition no longer
exists; but though we no longer burn witches or believe in fairies, it is a fact
that of a kind and fashion proportionate to our advanced culture, it is, with a
very few exceptions, as prevalent as ever. Very few persons indeed have
ever given this subject the attention which it merits, for it is simply idle to
speculate on the possibility of cultivating or sympathizing with the lowest
orders without really understanding it in all its higher forms. And I venture
to say that, as regards a literal and truthful knowledge of its forms and
practices, this work will prove to be a contribution to the subject not
without value.

I have, in fact, done my best to set forth in it a very singular truth which is
of great importance to every one who takes any real interest in social
science, or the advance of intelligence. It is that while almost everybody

who contributes to general literature, be it books of travel or articles in
journals, has ever and anon something clever to say about superstition
among the lower orders at home or abroad, be it in remote country places or
in the mountains of Italy, with the usual cry of “Would it be believed—in
the nineteenth century?” &c.; it still remains true that the amount of belief
in magic—call it by what name we will—in the world is just as great as
ever it was. And here I would quote with approbation a passage from “The
Conditions for the Survival of Archaic Customs,” by G. L. Gomme, in The
Archæological Review of January, 1890:—

“If Folk-lore has done nothing else up to this date it has demonstrated that civilization,
under many of its phases, while elevating the governing class of a nation, and thereby no
doubt elevating the nation, does not always reach the lowest or even the lower strata of the
population. As Sir Arthur Mitchell puts it, ‘There is always a going up of some and a going
down of others,’ and it is more than probable that just as the going up of the few is in one
certain direction, along certain well-ascertained lines of improvement or development, so
the going down of the many is in an equally well-ascertained line of degradation or
backwardness. The upward march is always towards political improvement, carrying with
it social development; the downward march is always towards social degradation, carrying
with it political backwardness. It seems difficult indeed to believe that monarchs like
Ælfred, Eadward, William, and Edward, could have had within their Christianized
kingdom groups of people whose status was still that of savagery; it seems difficult to
believe that Raleigh and Spenser actually beheld specimens of the Irish savage; it seems
impossible to read Kemble and Green and Freeman and yet to understand that they are
speaking only of the advanced guard of the English nation, not of the backward races
within the boundary of its island home. The student of archaic custom has, however, to
meet these difficulties, and it seems necessary, therefore, to try and arrive at some idea as
to what the period of savagery in these islands really means.”

Which is a question that very few can answer. There is to be found in
almost every cheap book, or “penny dreadful” and newspaper shop in Great
Britain and America, for sale at a very low price a Book of Fate—or
something equivalent to it, for the name of these works is legion—and one
publisher advertises that he has nearly thirty of them, or at least such books
with different titles. In my copy there are twenty-five pages of incantations,
charms, and spells, every one of them every whit as “superstitious” as any
of the gypsy ceremonies set forth in this volume. I am convinced, from
much inquiry, that next to the Bible and the Almanac there is no one book
which is so much disseminated among the million as the fortune-teller, in
some form or other.1 That is to say, there are, numerically, many millions

more of believers in such small sorcery now in Great Britain than there
were centuries ago, for, be it remembered, the superstitions of the masses
were always petty ones, like those of the fate-books; it was only the
aristocracy who consulted Cornelius Agrippa, and could afford la haute
magie. We may call it by other names, but fry, boil, roast, powder or
perfume it as we will, the old faith in the supernatural and in “occult”
means of getting at it still exists in one form or another—the parable or
moral of most frequent occurrence in it being that of the Mote and the
Beam, of the real and full meaning of which I can only reply in the ever-
recurring refrain of the Edda: “Understand ye this—or what?”

1 I was once myself made to contribute, involuntarily, to this kind of literature. Forty years ago I
published a Folk-lore bock entitled “The Poetry and Mystery of Dreams,” in which the explanations
of dreams, as given by Astrampsychius, Artemidorus, and other ancient oneirologists, were
illustrated by passages from many poets and popular ballads, showing how widely the ancient
symbolism had extended. A few years ago I found that some ingenious literary hack had taken my
work (without credit), and, omitting what would not be understood by servant girls, had made of it a
common sixpenny dream-book. ↑

CHAPTER I.

THE ORIGIN OF WITCHCRAFT, SHAMANISM,
AND SORCERY.—VINDICTIVE AND
MISCHIEVOUS MAGIC.
A
s their peculiar perfume is the
chief association with spices,
so sorcery is allied in every
memory to gypsies. And as it
has not escaped many poets
that there is something more
strangely sweet and mysterious
in the scent of cloves than in
that of flowers, so the attribute
of inherited magic power adds
to the romance of these
picturesque wanderers. Both
the spices and the Romany
come from the far East—the
fatherland of divination and
enchantment. The latter have
been traced with tolerable
accuracy, if we admit their
affinity with the Indian Dom
and Domar, back to the
threshold of history, or well-
nigh into prehistoric times, and in all ages they, or their women, have been
engaged, as if by elvish instinct, in selling enchantments, peddling
prophecies and palmistry, and dealing with the devil generally in a small
retail way. As it was of old so it is to-day—

Ki shan i Romani

Adoi san’ i chov’hani.

Wherever gypsies go,
There the witches are, we know.

It is no great problem in ethnology or anthropology as to how gypsies
became fortune-tellers. We may find a very curious illustration of it in the
wren. This is apparently as humble, modest, prosaic little fowl as exists, and
as far from mystery and wickedness as an old hen. But the ornithologists of
the olden time, and the myth-makers, and the gypsies who lurked and lived
in the forest, knew better. They saw how this bright-eyed, strange little
creature in her elvish way slipped in and out of hollow trees and wood shade
into sunlight, and anon was gone, no man knew whither, and so they knew
that it was an uncanny creature, and told wonderful tales of its deeds in
human form, and to-day it is called by gypsies in Germany, as in England,
the witch-bird, or more briefly, chorihani, “the witch.” Just so the gypsies
themselves, with their glittering Indian eyes, slipping like the wren in and
out of the shadow of the Unknown, and anon away and invisible, won for
themselves the name which now they wear. Wherever Shamanism, or the
sorcery which is based on exorcising or commanding spirits, exists, its
professors from leading strange lives, or from solitude or wandering, become
strange and wild-looking. When men have this appearance people associate
with it mysterious power. This is the case in Tartary, Africa, among the
Eskimo, Lapps, or Red Indians, with all of whom the sorcerer, voodoo or
medaolin, has the eye of the “fascinator,” glittering and cold as that of a
serpent. So the gypsies, from the mere fact of being wanderers and out-of-
doors livers in wild places, became wild-looking, and when asked if they did
not associate with the devils who dwell in the desert places, admitted the soft
impeachment, and being further questioned as to whether their friends the
devils, fairies, elves, and goblins had not taught them how to tell the future,
they pleaded guilty, and finding that it paid well, went to work in their small
way to improve their “science,” and particularly their pecuniary resources. It
was an easy calling; it required no property or properties, neither capital nor
capitol, shiners nor shrines, wherein to work the oracle. And as I believe that
a company of children left entirely to themselves would form and grow up
with a language which in a very few years would be spoken fluently,1 so I
am certain that the shades of night, and fear, pain, and lightning and mystery

would produce in the same time conceptions of dreaded beings, resulting
first in demonology and then in the fancied art of driving devils away. For
out of my own childish experiences and memories I retain with absolute
accuracy material enough to declare that without any aid from other people
the youthful mind forms for itself strange and seemingly supernatural
phenomena. A tree or bush waving in the night breeze by moonlight is
perhaps mistaken for a great man, the mere repetition of the sight or of its
memory make it a personal reality. Once when I was a child powerful doses
of quinine caused a peculiar throb in my ear which I for some time believed
was the sound of somebody continually walking upstairs. Very young
children sometimes imagine invisible playmates or companions talk with
them, and actually believe that the unseen talk to them in return. I myself
knew a small boy who had, as he sincerely believed, such a companion,
whom he called Bill, and when he could not understand his lessons he
consulted the mysterious William, who explained them to him. There are
children who, by the voluntary or involuntary exercise of visual perception
or volitional eye-memory,2 reproduce or create images which they imagine
to be real, and this faculty is much commoner than is supposed. In fact I
believe that where it exists in most remarkable degrees the adults to whom
the children describe their visions dismiss them as “fancies” or falsehoods.
Even in the very extraordinary cases recorded by Professor Hale, in which
little children formed for themselves spontaneously a language in which they
conversed fluently, neither their parents nor anybody else appears to have
taken the least interest in the matter. However, the fact being that babes can
form for themselves supernatural conceptions and embryo mythologies, and
as they always do attribute to strange or terrible-looking persons power
which the latter do not possess, it is easy, without going further, to
understand why a wild Indian gypsy, with eyes like a demon when excited,
and unearthly-looking at his calmest, should have been supposed to be a
sorcerer by credulous child-like villagers. All of this I believe might have
taken place, or really did take place, in the very dawn of man’s existence as a
rational creature—that as soon as “the frontal convolution of the brain which
monkeys do not possess,” had begun with the “genial tubercule,” essential to
language, to develop itself, then also certain other convolutions and
tubercules, not as yet discovered, but which ad interim I will call “the ghost-
making,” began to act. “Genial,” they certainly were not—little joy and

much sorrow has man got out of his spectro-facient apparatus—perhaps if it
and talk are correlative he might as well, many a time, have been better off if
he were dumb.

So out of the earliest time, in the very two o’clock of a misty morning in
history, man came forth believing in non-existent terrors and evils as soon as
he could talk, and talking about them as fast as he formed them. Long before
the conception of anything good or beneficent, or of a Heavenly Father or
benevolent angels came to him, he was scared with nightmares and spirits of
death and darkness, hell, hunger, torture, and terror. We all know how
difficult it is for many people when some one dies out of a house-hold to get
over the involuntary feeling that we shall unexpectedly meet the departed in
the usual haunts. In almost every family there is a record how some one has
“heard a voice they cannot hear,” or the dead speaking in the familiar tones.
Hence the belief in ghosts, as soon as men began to care for death at all, or
to miss those who had gone. So first of all came terrors and spectres, or
revenants, and from setting out food for the latter, which was the most
obvious and childlike manner to please them, grew sacrifices to evil spirits,
and finally the whole system of sacrifice in all its elaboration.

It may therefore be concluded that as soon as man began to think and speak
and fear the mysterious, he also began to appease ghosts and bugbears by
sacrifices. Then there sprung up at once—quite as early—the magus, or the
cleverer man, who had the wit to do the sacrificing and eat the meats
sacrificed, and explain that he had arranged it all privately with the dead and
the devils. He knew all about them, and he could drive them away. This was
the Shaman. He seems to have had a Tartar-Mongol-mongrel-Turanian
origin, somewhere in Central Asia, and to have spread with his magic drum,
and songs, and stinking smoke, exorcising his fiends all over the face of the
earth, even as his descendant, General Booth, with his “devil-drivers” is
doing at the present day. But the earliest authentic records of Shamanism are
to be found in the Accadian, proto-Chaldæan and Babylon records.
According to it all diseases whatever, as well as all disasters, were directly
the work of evil spirits, which were to be driven away by songs of exorcism,
burning of perfumes or evil-smelling drugs, and performing ceremonies,
many of which, with scraps of the exorcisms are found in familiar use here

and there at the present day. Most important of all in it was the extraordinary
influence of the Shaman himself on his patient, for he made the one acted on
sleep or wake, freed him from many apparently dire disorders in a minute,
among others of epilepsies which were believed to be caused by devils
dwelling in man—the nearest and latest explanation of which magic power
is given in that very remarkable book, “Psycho-Therapeutics, or Treatment
by Sleep and Suggestion,” by C. Lloyd Tuckey, M.D. (London: Bailliere
and Co., 1889), which I commend to all persons interested in ethnology as
casting light on some of the most interesting and perplexing problems of
humanity, and especially of “magic.”

It would seem, at least among the Laplanders, Finns, Eskimo, and Red
Indians, that the first stage of Shamanism was a very horrible witchcraft,
practised chiefly by women, in which attempts were made to conciliate the
evil spirits; the means employed embracing everything which could revolt
and startle barbarous men. Thus fragments of dead bodies and poison, and
unheard-of terrors and crimes formed its basis. I think it very probable that
this was the primitive religion among savages everywhere. An immense
amount of it in its vilest conceivable forms still exists among negroes as
Voodoo.

After a time this primitive witchcraft or voodooism had its reformers—
probably brave and shrewd men, who conjectured that the powers of evil
might be “exploited” to advantage. There is great confusion and little
knowledge as yet as regards primitive man, but till we know better we may
roughly assume that witch-voodooism was the religion of the people of the
paleolithic period, if they could talk at all, since language is denied to the
men of the Neanderthal, Canstadt, Egnisheim, and Podhava type. All that we
can declare with some certainty is that we find the advanced Shamanism the
religion of the early Turanian races, among whose descendants, and other
people allied to them, it exists to this day. The grandest incident in the
history of humanity is the appearance of the Man of Cromagnon. He it was
who founded what M. de Quatrefages calls “a magnificent race,” probably
one which speedily developed a high civilization, and a refined religion. But
the old Shamanism with its amulets, exorcisms, and smoke, its noises, more
or less musical, of drums and enchanted bells, and its main belief that all the

ills of life came from the action of evil spirits, was deeply based among the
inferior races and the inferior scions of the Cromagnon stock clung to it in
forms more or less modified. Just as the earlier witchcraft, or the worship
and conciliation of evil, overlapped in many places the newer Shamanism,
so the latter overlapped the beautiful Nature-worship of the early Aryans, the
stately monotheism of the Shemites, and the other more advanced or
ingenious developments of the idea of a creative cause. There are, in fact,
even among us now, minds to whom Shamanism or even witchcraft is
deeply, or innately adapted by nature, and there are hundred of millions who,
while professing a higher and purer doctrine, cling to its forms or essentials,
believing that because the apparatus is called by a different name it is in no
respect whatever the same thing. Finally there are men who, with no logical
belief whatever in any kind of supernaturalism, study it, and love it, and are
moved by it, owing to its endless associations with poetry, art, and all the
legends of infancy or youth. Heine was not in his reasoning moments
anything more or less than a strict Deist or Monotheist, but all the dreams
and spectres, fairies and goblins, whether of the Middle Ages or the Talmud,
were inexpressibly dear to him, and they move like myriad motes through
the sunshine of his poetry and prose, often causing long rays when there
were bars at the window—like that on which the saint hung his cloak. It is
probable or certain that Shamanism (or that into which it has very naturally
developed) will influence all mankind, until science, by absorbing man’s
love of the marvellous in stupendous discoveries shall so put to shame the
old thaumaturgy, or wonder-working, that the latter will seem poor and
childish. In all the “Arabian Nights” there is nothing more marvellous than
the new idea that voices and sounds may be laid aside like real books, and
made to speak and sing again years afterwards. And in all of that vast
repertory of occult lore, “Isis Unveiled,” there is nothing so wonderful as the
simple truth that every child may be educated to possess an infinitely
developed memory of words, sights, sounds, and ideas, allied to incredible
quickness of perception and practice of the constructive faculties. These,
with the vast fields of adjusting improved social relations and reforms—all
of which in a certain way opens dazzling vistas of a certain kind of
enchantment or brilliant hope—will go fast and far to change the old
romance to a radically different state of feeling and association.

It is coming—let it come! Doubtless there was an awful romance of darkness
about the old witchcraft which caused its worshippers to declare that the new
lights of Shamanism could never dissipate it. Just so many millions of
educated people at present cannot be brought to understand that all things to
which they are used are not based on immutable laws of nature, and must
needs be eternal. They will find it hard to comprehend that there can ever be
any kind of poetry, art, or sentiment, utterly different from that to which they
and their ancestors have been accustomed. Yet it is clear and plain before
them, this New Era, looking them directly in the face, about to usher in a
reformation compared to which all the reformations and revolutions, and
new religions which the world has ever seen were as nothing; and the
children are born who will see more than the beginning of it.

In the next chapter I will examine the Shamanic spells and charms still used
among certain gypsies. For, be it observed, all the gypsy magic and sorcery
here described is purely Shamanic—that is to say, of the most primitive
Tartar type—and it is the more interesting as having preserved from
prehistoric times many of the most marked characteristics of the world’s first
magic or religion. It treats every disease, disorder, trouble, or affliction as the
work of an evil spirit; it attempts to banish these influences by the aid of
ceremonies, many of which, by the disgusting and singular nature of the
ingredients employed, show the lingering influences of the black witchcraft
which preceded Shamanism; and it invokes favourable supernatural
agencies, such as the spirits of the air and Mashmurdalo’, the giant of the
forests. In addition to this there will be found to be clearly and unmistakably
associated with all their usages, symbols and things nearly connected with
much which is to be found in Greek, Roman, and Indian mythology or
symbolism. Now whether this was drawn from “classic” sources, or whether
all came from some ancient and obscure origin, cannot now be accurately
determined. But it certainly cannot be denied that Folk-lore of this kind casts
a great deal of light on the early history of mankind, and the gradual
unfolding or evolution of religion and of mind, and that, if intelligently
studied, this of the gypsies is as important as any chapter in the grand work.

The gypsies came, historically speaking, very recently from India. It has not
been so carefully observed as it might that all Indians are not of the religion

of Brahma, much less of Buddha or of Mahommed, and that among the
lower castes, the primæval Altaic Shamanism, with even earlier witchcraft,
still holds its own. Witchcraft, or Voodoo, or Obi, relies greatly on poisoning
for its magic, and the first gypsies were said to poison unscrupulously. Even
to this day there is but one word with them as with many Hindoos for both
medicine and poison—id est drab. How exactly this form of witchcraft and
Shamanism exists to-day in India appears from the following extract from
The St. James’s Gazette, September 8, 1888:—

THE HINDOO PRIEST.

In India, the jadoo-wallah, or exorcist, thrives apace; and no wonder, for is not the lower-
caste Hindoo community bhut, or demon-ridden? Every village, graveyard, burning-ghat,
has its special bhut or bhuts; and the jadoo-wallah is the earthly mediator between their
bhutships and the common folk. The exorcist is usually the spiritual adviser to the
population of a low-caste village, and is known as a gooroo, or priest: that is to say, he
professes to hold commune with the spirits of defunct Hindoos which have qualified for
their unique position in the other world—by their iniquity in this one, perhaps. Every
Hindoo has a guardian bhut that requires propitiating, and the gooroo is the medium.

Amongst the Jaiswars and other low-caste Hindoos, caste is regulated by carnal pice, and a
man is distinguished amongst them by a regulated monetary scale. One person may be a 14-
anna caste man while another may only be a 12-anna caste man. Does the 12-anna caste
man wish to supersede the 14-anna caste man, then he consults the gooroo, who will, in
consideration of a certain contribution, promote him to a higher-caste grade. A moneyed
man having qualms about his future state should join the Jaiswars, where at least he would
have an opportunity of utilizing his spare cash for the good of his soul. The average gooroo
will be only too glad to procure him everlasting glory for a matter of a few rupees.

The gooroo, then, serves as regulator of the lower-caste Hindoo system. But it is our
intention to exhibit him in his peculiar position of exorcist-general to the people. This will
perhaps be best explained by an account of the case of one Kaloo. Kaloo was a grass-cutter,
and had been offended by Kasi, a brother grass-cutter. Kasi, it appears, had stolen Kaloo’s
quilt one night during his temporary absence at a neighbouring liquor-shop. Kaloo, on his
return, finding his quilt gone, raised the hue-and-cry; and Mooloo, the village policeman,
traced the robbery to Kasi’s hut. Yet, in spite of this damning proof, the village panchayet,
or bench of magistrates, decided that, as Kaloo could not swear to the exact colour of his
lost quilt—Kaloo was colour-blind—it could not possibly be his. Anyhow, Kaloo kept Kasi
in view and hit upon a plan to do him a grievous bodily injury. Scraping together a few
rupees, he went to the village gooroo and promised that worthy a reward if he would only
exorcise the bhuts and get them to “make Kasi’s liver bad.” The gooroo, in consideration of
five rupees cash, promised compliance. So that night we find the gooroo busy with sandal-
wood and pig’s blood propitiating the neighbouring bhuts. Needless to say that Kasi had in a
very short space of time all the symptoms of liver complaint. Whether the bhuts gave Kasi a
bad liver or the gooroo gave him a few doses of poison is a question. Anyhow, Kasi soon
died. Another case in point is that of Akuti. Akuti was a retired courtesan who had long

plied a profitable trade in the city. We find her, however, at her native village of Ramghur,
the wife of one Balu. Balu soon got tired of his Akuti, and longed for the contents of her
strong box wherein she kept her rupees, bracelets, nose-rings, and other valuables. This was
a rather awkward matter for Balu, for Akuti was still in the prime of life. Balu accordingly
visits the gooroo and wants Akuti’s liver made bad. “Nothing easier,” says the gooroo: “five
rupees.” Balu has reckoned without his host, however: for the gooroo, as general spiritual
adviser to the Ramghur community, visits Akuti and tells her of Balu’s little scheme.
Naturally Balu’s liver is soon in a decline, for Akuti’s ten rupees were put in the opposite
side of the gooroo’s scales.

Knaves of the gooroo genus flourish in India, and when their disposition is vicious the
damage they can do is appalling. That these priests exist and do such things as I have
illustrated is beyond question. Ask any native of India his views on the bhut question, and
he will tell you that there are such things, and, further, that the gooroo is the only one able to
lay them, so to speak. According to the low-caste Hindoo, the bhut is a spiteful creature
which requires constant supplies of liquor and pork; otherwise it will wreak its vengeance
on the forgetful votary who neglects the supply. A strange idea, too, is this of pork being
pleasing to the bhuts; but when it is remembered that the Jaiswars, Chamars, and other low-
caste Hindoos are inordinately fond of that meat themselves, they are right in supposing pig
to be the favourite dish of the bhuts, who, after all, are but the departed spirits of their own
people. Naturally bhai (brother) Kaloo, or bahin (sister, English gypsy pen) Akuti, the
quondam grass-cutter and courtesan of Ramghur village, who in this life liked nothing better
than a piece of bacon and a dram of spirits, will, in their state of bhuthood hanker after those
things still. Acting on these notions of the people, the gooroo lives and thrives exceedingly.

Yet of all this there is nothing “Hindoo,” nothing of the Vedas. It is all pre-
Aryan, devil-worshipping, poisoning, and Turanian; and it is exactly like
voodooing in Philadelphia or any other city in America. It is the old faith
which came before all, which existed through and under Brahminism,
Buddhism, and Mahommedanism, and which, as is well known, has cropped
out again and flourishes vigorously under British toleration. And this is the
faith which forms the basis of European gypsy sorcery, as it did of yore that
of the Chaldæan and Etrurian, which still survive in the witchcraft of the
Tuscan Romagna. Every gypsy who came to Europe a few centuries ago set
up as a gooroo, and did his sorceries after the same antique fashion. Even to-
day it is much the same, but with far less crime. But the bhut or malignant
spirit is, under other names, still believed in, still doctored by gypsies with
herbs and smoke, and “be-rhymed like an Irish rat,” and conjured into holes
bored in trees, and wafted away into running streams, and naïvely implored
to “go where he is wanted,” to where he was nursed, and to no longer bother
honest folk who are tired of him. And for all this the confiding villager must
pay the gypsy wise-woman “so much monies”—as it was in the beginning

and is now in good faith among millions in Europe who are in a much better
class of society. And from this point of view I venture to say that there is not
a charm or spell set down in this work or extant which will not be deeply
interesting to every sincere student of the history of culture. Let me,
however, say in this beginning once for all that I have only given specimens
sufficient to illustrate my views, for my prescribed limits quite forbid the
introduction of all the gypsy cures, spells, &c., which I have collected.

1 Vide an extremely interesting paper on “The Origin of Languages and the Antiquity of Speaking
Man,” by Horatio Hale. [“Proceedings of the American Association for the Advancement of Science,”
vol. xxv.] As I had, owing to studies for many years of baby-talk and jargons, long ago arrived at Mr.
Hale’s conclusions, I was astonished to learn that they have been so recently formed by anybody. ↑
2 Vide “Practical Education,” by C. G. Leland (London: Whittaker and Co., 1888), in which this
faculty is fully discussed, pp. 184–213. ↑

CHAPTER II.

CHARMS AND CONJURATIONS TO CURE THE
DISORDERS OF GROWN PEOPLE. HUNGARIAN
GYPSY MAGIC.
T
hough not liable to many
disorders, the gypsies in
Eastern Europe, from their
wandering, out-of-doors life,
and camping by marshes and
pools where there is malaria,
suffer a great deal from
fevers, which in their simple
system of medicine are
divided into the shilale—i.e.,
chills or cold—and the tate
shilalyi, “hot-cold,” or fever
and ague. For the former, the
following remedy is applied:
Three lungs and three livers
of frogs are dried and
powdered and drunk in
spirits, after which the sick
man or woman says:—

“Čuckerdya pal m’re per
Čáven save miseçe!
Čuckerdya pal m’re per
Den miseçeske drom odry prejiál!”

“Frogs in my belly
Devour what is bad!
Frogs in my belly
Show the evil the way out!”

By “the evil” is understood evil spirits. According to the old Shamanic belief,
which was the primæval religion of all mankind, every disease is caused by an
evil spirit which enters the body and can only be driven out by magic. We have
abundant traces of this left in our highest civilization and religion among people
who gravely attribute every evil to the devil instead of the unavoidable
antagonisms of nature. Nothing is more apparent in the New Testament than that
all diseases were anciently regarded as coming from devils, or evil occult,
spiritual influences, their negative or cure being holiness in some form. This the
Jews, if they did not learn it from the Assyrians in the first place, had certainly
studied deeply in Babylon, where it formed the great national cult. “It was the
devil put it into my head,” says the criminal; and there is not a point of this old
sorcery which is not earnestly and seriously advocated by the Roman Catholic
Church and the preachers of the Salvation Army. Among the American Red
Indians the idea of evil spirits is carried to logical extremes. If a pen drops from
our fingers, or a penny rolls from our grasp, the former of course falls on our
new white dress, while the latter nine times out of ten goes directly to the nearest
grating, or crack or rat-hole. I aver that it is literally true, if I ever search for a
letter or paper it is almost always at the bottom of the rest, while ink-wipers and
pens seem to be endowed with more than mere instinct or reason—they manifest
genius in concealing themselves. The Indians having observed this have come to
the conclusion that it is all the work of certain busy little mischievous goblins, in
which I, to a certain extent, agree with them, holding, however, that the dwelling-
place of these devilkins, is in our own brain. What are our dreams but the action
of our other mind, or a second Me in my brain? Certainly it is with no will or
effort, or act of mine, that I go through a diabolical torturing nightmare, or a
dreadful dream, whose elaborate and subtle construction betrays very often more
ingenuity than I in my waking hours possess. I have had philosophical and
literary dreams, the outlines of which I have often remembered waking, which
far transcended anything of the kind which I could ever hope to write. The maker
of all this is not I or my will, and he is never about, or on hand, when I am self-
conscious. But in the inadvertent moments of oblivion, while writing, or while
performing any act, this other I, or I’s, (for there may be a multitude of them for
aught I know) step in and tease—even as they do in dreams. Now the distinction
between this of subjective demons acting objectively, and objective or outside
spirits, is really too fine to be seen even by a Darwinian-Carpenterian-Häeckelite,
and therefore one need not be amazed that Piel Sabadis or Tomaquah, of the
Passamaquoddy tribe, or Obeah Gumbo of New Orleans, should, with these
experiences, jump at ghosts and “gobblers,” is not to be wondered at; still less

that they should do something to conciliate or compel these haunting terrors, or
“buggs,” as they were once called—whence bogeys. It is a fact that if one’s ink-
wipers get into the habit of hiding all we have to do is to deliberately destroy
them and get others, or at least watch them carefully, and they will soon be cured
of wandering. On the other hand, sacrifices to conciliate and please naturally
occur, and the more expensive these are the better are they supposed to be. And
as human beings were of old the most valuable property, they were as naturally
supposed to be most acceptable to the gods, or, by the monotheists, to God. A
West Indian voodoo on being reproached for human sacrifices to the serpent, and
for eating the bodies slain, replied, “Do you believe that the Son of God was
sacrificed to save man, and do you not eat what your priests say is His very
body?” So difficult is it to draw distinctions between that which is spiritual and
the mockeries which appear to be such!

The scape-goat, or sufferer, who is martyred that many may escape—or in other
words, the unfortunate minority—is a natural result of sacrifice. There is a
curious trace of it in Hungarian Gypsy Shamanism. On Easter Monday they
make a wooden box or receptacle which is called the bicápen, pronounced like
the English gypsy word bitchapen and meaning the same, that is—a sending, a
thing sent or gift. In this, at the bottom, are two sticks across, “as in a cradle,”
and on these are laid herbs and other fetish stuff which every one touches with
the finger; then the whole is enveloped in a winding of white and red wool, and
carried by the oldest person of the tribe from tent to tent; after which it is borne
to the next running stream and left there, after every one has spat upon it. By
doing this they think that all the diseases and disorders which would have
befallen them during the coming year are conjured into the box. But woe to him
who shall find the box and open it, instead of throwing it at once into the stream!
All the diseases exorcised by the gypsy band will fall upon him and his in full
measure.

It would be an interesting question to know how many good people there are, let
us say in London, who, if they had an opportunity to work off all their colds,
gouts, scarlet-fevers, tooth- head- and stomach-aches, with the consequent
doctors’ bills, or all suffering and expenses, on some other family by means of
secret sorcery, would or would not “try it on”? It is curious to observe the
resemblance of the gypsy ceremony, with its box full of mischief, and the Jewish
goat; not forgetting the red wool handed down from heathen sacrifice and
sorcery of old. In the Bible white wool is the symbol of purification (Isaiah i.

18). The feet of the statues of the gods were enveloped in wool—Dü laneos
habent pedes—to signify that they are slow to avenge, if sure. It is altogether an
interesting object, this gypsy casket, and one would like to know what all the
channels were through which the magic ran ere it came to them.

Another cure against the fever is to go to a running stream and cast pieces of
wood nine times backwards into the running water, repeating the rhymes:—

“Shilályi prejiá,
Páñori me tut ‘dáv!
Náñi me tut kámáv;
Andakode prejiá,
Odoy tut čučiden,
Odoy tut ferinen,
Odoy tut may kámen!
Mashurdalo sástyár!”

“Fever go away from me,
I give it, water, unto thee!
Unto me thou art not dear,
Therefore go away from here
To where they nursed thee,
Where they shelter thee,
Where they love thee,
Mashurdalo—help!”

This is a very remarkable invocation which takes us into true heathenism.
Māshurdálo, or, correctly speaking, Māshmurdálo (it would be Māsmérdo in
English gypsy), means meat-killer. He is a sylvan giant—he has his hold by
wode and wolde as outlawes wont to do, in far-away forests and lonely rocky
places, where he lurks to catch beast and men in order to devour them. It is
needless to say to those who are aware that the taste of white people’s flesh is
like that of very superior chicken, and a negro’s something much better than
grouse, that Māshmurdálo prefers, like a simple, unsophisticated savage as he is,
men to animals. Like the German peasant who remarked, “It’s all meat, anyhow,”
when he found a mouse in his soup, Māshmurdálo is not particular. He is the
guardian of great treasures; like most men in the “advance business” he knows
where the “money” is to be found—unlike them he is remarkably stupid, and can
be easily cheated of his valuables. But if anybody does this Morgante a service
he is very grateful, and aids his benefactor either with a loan or with his
enormous strength. In many respects he bears a remarkable resemblance to two
giants in the American Algonkin mythology, especially to At-was-kenni ges—the

Spirit of the Forest—who is equally powerful, good-natured, and stupid, and to
the Chenoo, who is a cannibal giant and yet grateful to friends, and also to
several Hindoo gods. The gypsies have here evidently fused several Oriental
beings into one. This is a process which occurs in the decline of mythologies as
in languages. In the infancy of a speech, as in its old age, many words expressing
different ideas, but which sound somewhat alike, become a single term. In
English gypsy I have found as many as eight or ten Hindi words thus
concentrated into one.

Another cure for a fever. The sufferer goes in the forest and finds a young tree.
When the first rays of the rising sun fall on it the patient shakes it with all his
might and exclaims:—

“Shilályi, shilályi prejia
Káthe tu beshá, káthe tu beshá!”

“Fever, fever, go away!
Here shalt thou stay. Here shalt thou stay!”

It is here plain that the shaking the sapling is intended to transfer the shakes, as
the chill and shuddering of the fever is called in America, to the tree.

“Then the fever passes into the tree.” Perhaps it was in this way that the aspen
learned to tremble. But among the gypsies in the south of Hungary, among whom
the vaccination or inoculation of trees is greatly the fashion, a hole is bored into
the wood, into which the patient spits thrice, repeats the spell, and then stops the
hole with a plug. The boring of holes in trees or transferring illness to them is
also practised without formulas of speech. Thus, if while a man is lying down or
sitting in the spring he hears the song of the cuckoo he believes that he will be ill
all the time for a year to come, especially with fevers, unless he goes nine times
to a tree, bores a hole in it, and spits into it three times. Then he is safe. In
German mythology “the cuckoo is a bird which brings bad luck” (Friedrich), and
the inhabitants of Haiterbach were so persuaded of this that they introduced a
prayer against it into their church service, whence they got the name of cuckoos
(Wolf, “Zeitschrift für Deutsche Myth.,” vol. i. p. 440). It announces to men the
infidelity of wives, and tells listeners how many years they have to live.

It is possible that this is a relic of an old form of sacrifice, or proof that the idea
occurs to all men of thus making a casket of a tree. The occasional discovery of

stone axe-heads in very old trees in America renders this probable. And where
the wood grows up and encloses the object it would very rarely happen that it
would ever be discovered. It should be added to the previous instance that when
they have closed the hole, the Transylvanian gypsies eat some of the bark of the
next tree.

Another cure for fever is effected by going in the morning before sunrise to the
bank of a stream, and digging a hole with some object—for instance, a knife—
which has never been used. Into this hole the patient makes water, then fills up
the hole, saying:—

“Shilályi áč kathe
Ná ává kiyá mánge!
Sutyárá andré čik!
Avá kiyá mánge
Káná káthe ná hin páñi!”

“Fever stay here!
Do not come to me!
Dry up in dust,
Come unto me
When no water is here.”

Dr. Wlislocki translates this last line, “When there is no more water in the river,”
which is certainly what is meant. “While water runs or grass grows,” &c. is a
formula common to all countries. Another cure for fever is this: the patient must
take a kreutzer, an egg, and a handful of salt, and before sunrise go with them to
a cross-road, throw them away backwards, and repeat:—

“Káná ádálá kiyá mánge áven
Āvā tu kiyā mánge shilályi.”

“When these things again I see,
Fever then return to me.”

Or literally, “When these things to me come.” For the next three days the invalid
must not touch money, eggs, or salt. There is an old MS. collection of English
charms and ceremonies, professedly of “black witchcraft,” in which we are told
that if a girl will walk stark-naked by the light of the full moon round a field or a
house, and cast behind her at every step a handful of salt, she will get the lover
whom she desires. Salt, says Moresinus, was sacred to the infernal deities, and it

was a symbol of the soul, or of life, because it preserved the body while in it
(Pitiscus, “Leg. Ant. Rom.” ii. p. 675). The devil never eats salt. Once there was
in Germany a peasant who had a witch for a wife, and the devil invited them to
supper. But all the dishes were without any seasoning, and the peasant, despite
all nudges and hints to hold his tongue kept crying for salt. And when it was
brought and he said, “Thank God, here is salt at last!” the whole Spuck, or
ghastly scene, vanished (Horst, “Dæmonomagie,” Frankfurt, 1818, vol. ii. p.
213). For a great deal of further information and symbolism on and of salt,
including all the views of the ancient Rabbis and modern rationalists on the
subject of Lot’s wife, the reader may consult “Symbolik und Mythologie der
Natur,” by J. B. Friedrich, Würzburg, 1859: “Salt is put into love-philtres and
charms to ensure the duration of an attachment; in some Eastern countries it is
carried in a little bag as an amulet to preserve health.”

Another cure for fever. The patient must drink, from a new jug, water from three
brooks, and after every drink throw into the running stream a handful of salt.
Then he must make water into the first and say:—

“Káthe hin t’ro sherro!”

“Here is thy head!”

At the second he repeats the sacred ceremony and murmurs:—

“Káthe hin t’ro perá!”

“Here is thy belly!”

And again at the third he exclaims:—

“Te kathehin t’re punrá.
Já átunci ándre páñi!”

“And here are thy feet.
Go now into the water!”

But while passing from one stream to another he must not look back once, for
then he might behold the dread demon of the fever which follows him, neither
must he open his mouth, except while uttering the charm, for then the fever

would at once enter his body again through the portal thus left unclosed. This
walking on in apprehension of beholding the ugly spectre will recall to the reader
a passage in the “Ancient Mariner,” of the man who walks in fear and dread,
“Nor turns around his head,
For well he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.”

The wise wives among the gypsies in Hungary have many kinds of miraculous
salves for sale to cure different disorders. These they declare are made from the
fat of dogs, bears, wolves, frogs, and the like. As in all fetish remedies they are
said to be of strange or revolting materials, like those used by Canidia of yore,
the witches of Shakespeare and Ben Jonson, and of Burns in Tam O’Shanter.

When a man has been “struck by a spirit” there results a sore, swelling or boil,
which is cured by a sorceress as follows: The patient is put into a tent by himself,
and is given divers drinks by his attendant; then she rubs the sufferer with a
salve, the secret of which is known only to her, while she chants:—

“Prejiá, prejiá, prejiá,
Kiyá miseçeske, ác odoy;
Trianda sapa the çaven tut,
Trianda jiuklá tut čingeren,
Trianda káçná tut čunáven!”

“Begone, begone, begone
To the Evil One; stay there.
May thirty snakes devour thee,
Thirty dogs tear thee,
Thirty cocks swallow thee!”

After this she slaughters a black hen, splits it open, and lays it on the boil. Then
the sufferer must drink water from three springs or rivulets, and throw wood nine
times into the fire daily until he is well. But black hens cost money, according to
Wlislocki; albeit the gypsies, like the children of the Mist in “Waverley,” are
believed to be acquainted with a far more economical and direct method of
obtaining such commodities. Therefore this expensive and high-class cure is not
often resorted to, and when it is the sorceress generally substitutes something
cheaper than poultry. It may be here observed that the black hen occurs
frequently in mediæval witch-lore and legend as a demon-symbol (Wolf,
“Niederländische Sagen,” pp. 647, 650). Thus the bones of sorcerors turn into

black hens and chickens, and it is well if your black hen dies, for if she had not
you would have perished in her place. Black hens were walled up in castles as
sacrifices to the devil, that the walls might long endure; hence the same fowl
occurs in the arms of the family of Henneberg (Nork, “Mythologie der
Volkssagen,” p. 381). The lore on this subject is very extensive.

The following remedy against headache is in general use among Transylvanian
gypsies. The patient’s head is rubbed, and then washed, with vinegar or hot water
while the following charm is repeated:—

“Oh duk ándro m’ro shero
The o dád miseçescro,
Adá dikhel ákáná,
Man tu máy dostá, márdyás,
Miro shero tu márdyás!
Tu ná ač tu ándre me.
Já tu, já tu, já kere.
Káy tu miseç čučides,
Odoy, odoy sikoves!
Ko jál pro m’ro ushályin,
Adáleske e duk hin!”

“Oh, pain in my head,
The father of all evil,
Look upon thee now!
Thou hast greatly pained me,
Thou tormentest my head,
Remain not in me!
Go thou, go thou, go home,
Whence thou, Evil One, didst suck,
Thither, thither hasten!
Who treads upon my shadow,
To him be the pain!”

It will be seen that the principle of treading on the tail of the coat practised in
Ireland is much outdone by the gypsies who give a headache to any one who so
much as treads on their shadows. And it is not difficult to understand that, as with
children, the rubbing the head, the bathing it with warm water or vinegar, and,
finally, the singing a soothing song, may all conduce to a cure. The readers of
“Helen’s Babies” will remember the cures habitually wrought on Budge by
singing to him, “Charley boy one day.” Gypsies are in many respects mere
children, or little Budges. There can be no doubt that where faith is very strong,
and imagination is lively, cures which seem to border on the miraculous are often

effected—and this is, indeed, the basis of all miracle as applied to relieving
bodily afflictions. All of this may be, if not as yet fully explained by physiology,
at least shown to probably rest on a material basis. But no sound system of cure
can be founded on it, because there is never any certainty, especially for difficult
and serious disorders, that they can ever be healed twice in succession. The
“faith” exacted is sometimes a purely hereditary gift, at other times merely a
form of blind ignorance and credulity. It may vividly influence all the body, and
it may fail to act altogether. But the “Faith Healer” and “Christian Scientist,” or
“Metaphysical Doctor,” push boldly on, and when they here and there heal a
patient once, it is published to the four winds as a proof of invariable infallibility.
And as everybody believes that he has “faith,” so he hopes to be cured. In
popular custom for a man to say he believes in anything, and to be sure that he
really has nothing against it, constitutes as much “faith” as most men understand.
A man may be utterly destitute of any moral principle and yet live in a constant
state of “faith” and pious conviction. Here the capacity for cure by means of
charms is complete.

In connection with these charms for the head we may find not less interesting
those in reference to the hair, as given by the same authority, Dr. von Wlislocki.
The greatest pains are taken to ensure even for the new-born child what is called
a full head, because every one who dies bald is turned into a fish, and must
remain in this form till he has collected as many hairs as would make an ordinary
wig. But this lasts a long time, since he can find but a single hair every month or
moon. The moon is in many ways connected in gypsy faith with the hair. He who
sleeps bare-headed in its light will lose his hair, or else it will become white. To
have a heavy growth a man must scoop up with his left hand water from a
running brook, against the current, and pour it on his head.

Immediately after the first bathing of a newly-born child, and its anointing, its
forehead and neck are marked with a semicircle—perhaps meant to indicate the
moon—made with a salve called barcali, intended to promote the growth of the
hair. A brew, or mess, is made from beans and the blood of a cow. Hairs are taken
from the heads of the father and mother, which hairs are burnt to a powder and
mixed with the brew. It is remarkable that the beans are only used for a boy, their
object being to insure for him great virile or sexual power. “The bean,” says
Friedrich (“Sym. d. N.”), “is an erotic symbol, or one signifying sexual
pleasure.” Hence it was forbidden to the Egyptian priests, the Pythagoreans, the
priests of Jupiter in Rome, and to the Jewish high priests on certain festivals. But

if the child is a girl, the seeds of the pumpkin or sunflower are substituted for
beans, because the latter would make her barren.

It is an old belief, and one widely spread, that if the witches or the devil can get a
lock of anybody’s hair, they can work him evil. The gypsies have the following
articles of faith as regards hairs:—

Should birds find any, and build them into their nests, the man who lost them will
suffer from headaches until, during the wane of the moon, he rubs his head with
the yolk of eggs and washes it clean in running water. It would be very curious if
this method of cleaning the hair and giving it a soft gloss, so much in vogue
among English ladies, should have originated in sorcery. Beyond this, the
sufferer must mix some of his hairs with food and give them to a white dog to
eat.

If hairs which have fallen or been cut away are found by a snake and carried into
its hole, the man from whom they came will continue to lose more until those in
the snake’s nest are quite decayed.

If you see human hairs in the road do not tread on them, since, in that case, if
they came from a lunatic, you, too, will go mad. According to Marcellus
Burdigalensis, if you pick up some hairs in the road just before entering a city
gate, tie one to your own head, and, throwing the rest away, walk on without
looking behind you, you can cure a headache. I have found nearly the same
charm for the same purpose in Florence, but accompanied by the incantation
which is wanting in Marcellus. Also his cure for headache with ivy from the
head of a statue, which is still used in Tuscany with the incantation which the
Roman omits.

Finding a hair hanging to your coat, carefully burn it, since you may by so doing
escape injury by witchcraft. And we may remark in confirmation of this, that
when you see a long hair on a man’s coat it is an almost certain sign that he has
been among the witches, or is bewitched; as the Countess thought when she
found one clinging to the button of her lover, Von Adelstein, as set forth in
“Meister Karl’s Sketch-book.”

But to bewitch your enemy get some of his combed-out hair, steep it in your own
water, and then throw it on his garments. Then he will have no rest by night or

day. I have observed that in all the Tuscan charms intended to torment a foe, the
objects employed are like this of a disgusting nature.

If a wife will hold her husband to her in love, she must take of her own hair and
bind it to his. This must be done three times by full moonlight.

Or if a maid will win the love of a young man, she must take of her own hair,
mix it with earth from his footsteps—“und mischt diese mit dem Speichel einer
läufigen Hundinn auf”—burn the whole to powder, and so manage that the
victim shall eat it—which, it is needless to say, it is not likely that he will do,
knowing what it is. Earth from the footsteps of any one is regarded as a very
powerful means of bewitching him in Italian and ancient sorcery.

If a man bind the combings of his hair to the mane of a strange horse it will be
wild and shy till the hairs are removed.

For easy childbirth red hair is sewed in a small bag and carried on the belly next
the skin during pregnancy. Red hair indicates good luck, and is called bálá
kámeskro, or sun-hairs, which indicates its Indian origin.

If any one dreams much of the dead, let him sew some of his hair into an old
shoe, and give it to any beggar. Thereby he will prevent evil spirits from
annoying him.

If a child suffers from sleeplessness, some of its mother’s hair should be sewed
into its wrappings, and others pulverized, mixed with a decoction of elderberries,
be given it to drink. In German Folk-lore, as I shall show more fully anon, the
elder often occurs as a plant specially identified with sorcery. In gypsy it is called
yakori bengeskro, or the devil’s eye, from its berries.

Nails cut on Friday should be burned, and the ashes mingled with the fodder of
cattle, who are thus ensured against being stolen or attacked by wild beasts. If
children are dwarfish, the same ashes in their food will make them grow. If a
child suffers from pains in the stomach, a bit of nail must be clipped from its
every finger; this is mixed with the dried dung of a foal, and the patient exposed
to the smoke while it is burned.

A child’s first tooth must, when it falls out, be thrown into a hollow tree. Those
which come out in the seventh year are carefully kept, and whenever the child

suffers from toothache, one is thrown into a stream.

Teeth which have been buried for many years, serve to make a singular fetish.
They are mingled with the bones of a tree-frog, and the whole then sewed up in a
little bag. If a man has anything for sale, and will draw or rub this bag over it, he
will have many offers or customers for the articles thus enchanted. The bones are
prepared by putting the frog into a glass or earthen receptacle full of small holes.
This is buried in an ant-hill. The ants enter the holes and eat away all the flesh,
leaving the bones which after a few weeks are removed.1

To bear healthy and strong children women wear a string of bears’ claws and
children’s teeth. Dr. von Wlislocki cites, apropos of this, a passage from Jacobus
Rueff, “Von Empfengnussen”: “Etlich schwanger wyber pflägend einen bären
klauen von einem bären tapen yngefaszet am hals zuo tragen” (Some women
when with child are accustomed to wear mounted bears’ claws on their necks). In
like manner boars’ teeth, which much resemble them, are still very commonly
worn in Austria and Italy and almost over all Europe and the East. It is but a few
days since I here, in Florence, met with a young English lady who had bought a
very large one mounted in silver as a brooch, but who was utterly unaware that
there was any meaning attached to it.2 I have a very ancient bear’s tooth and
whistle in silver, meant for a teething child. It came from Munich.

Pain in the eyes is cured with a wash made of spring or well water and saffron.
During the application the following is recited:—

“Oh dukh ándrál yákhá
Já ándré páñi
Já andrál páñi
André safráne
André pçuv.
Já andrál pçuv
Kiyá Pçuvusheske.—
Odoy hin cerçá,
Odoy ja te ça.”

“Oh, pain from the eyes
Go into the water,
Go out of the water
Into the saffron,
Go out of the saffron
Into the earth.
To the Earth-Spirit.
There’s thy home.

There go and eat.”

This incantation casts light upon the earliest Shamanic remedies. When it was
discovered that certain herbs really possessed curative qualities, this was
attributed to inherent magic virtues. The increase of their power by combining
them with water, or mingling them, was due to mystic affinities by which a spirit
passed from one to another. The Spirit of Earth went into saffron, that of saffron
into water. The magician thus by a song sent the pain into its medical affinity,
and so on back to the source whence it came. From early times saffron, as one of
the earliest flowers of spring, owing to its colour, was consecrated to magic and
love. Eos, the goddess of the Aurora, was called κροκοτιεπλος, the one with the
saffron garment. Therefore the public women wore a yellow robe. Even in
Christian symbolism it meant love, as Portalis declares: “In the Christian
religion the colours saffron and orange were the symbols of God embracing the
heart and illuminating the souls of the faithful” (“Des Couleurs Symboliques,”
Paris, 1837, p. 240). So we can trace the chain from the prehistoric barbarous
Shamanism, preserved by the gypsies, to the Greek, and from the Greek to the
mediæval form still existent.

The same sympathetic process of transmission may be traced in the remedy for
the erysipelas. The blood of a bullfinch is put into a new vessel with scraped
elder-bark, and then laid on a cloth with which the eyes are bound up overnight.
Meanwhile the patient repeats:—

“Duy yákhá hin mánge
Duy punrá hin mánge
Dukh ándrál yákhá
Já ándre punrá
Já ándrál punrá.
Já ándre pçuv,
Já ándrál pçuv
Andro meriben!”

“I have two eyes,
I have two feet,
Pain from my eyes
Go into my feet!
Go from my feet,
Go into the earth!
Go from the earth
Into death!”

We have here in the elder-bark associations of magic which are ancient and
widely spread, and which still exist; for at the present day country people in New
England attribute to it curative virtues which it really does not possess. From the
earliest times among the Northern races the Lady Elder, as we may learn from
the Edda, or Fin Magnusen (“Priscæ veterum Borealium Mythologiæ Lexicon,”
pp. 21, 239), and Nyerup (“Worterbuch der Scandinavischen Mythologie”), had
an unearthly, ghostly reputation. Growing in lonely, gloomy places its form and
the smell of its flowers seemed repulsive, so that it was associated with death,
and some derived its name from Frau Holle, the sorceress and goddess of death.
But Schwenki (“Mythologie der Slaven”) with more probability traces it from
hohl, i.e., hollow, and as spirits were believed to dwell in all hollow trees, they
were always in its joints. The ancient Lithuanians, he informs us, worshipped
their god Puschkeit, who was a form of Pluto, in fear and trembling at dusk, and
left their offerings under the elder-tree. Everybody has seen the little puppets
made of a piece of elder-pith with half a bullet under them, so that they always
stand upright, and jump up when thrown down. Among the Slovaks these seem
to have had some magical application. Perhaps their priests persuaded them that
these jumping Jacks were miraculous, for they called them Pikuljk, a name
derived from Peklo, the under-world. They still believe in a Pikuljk, who is a
servant of the Evil One. He does all kinds of favours for men, but ends by getting
their souls. The ancestors of the Poles were accustomed to bury all their sins and
sorrows under elder-trees, thinking that they thereby gave to the lower world
what properly belonged to it. This corresponds accurately to the gypsy
incantation which passes the disease on from the elder bark into the earth, and
from earth unto death. Frau Ellhorn, or Ellen, was the old German name for this
plant. “Frau, perhaps, as appropriate to the female elf who dwelt in it”
(Friedrich, “Symbolik,” p. 293). When it was necessary to cut one down, the
peasant always knelt first before it and prayed: “Lady Ellhorn, give me of thy
wood, and I will give thee of mine when it shall grow in the forest.” Grimm
(“Deutsche Mythologie,” cxvi.) cites from a MS. of 1727 the following: “Paga
nismo ortum debet superstitio, sambucam non esse exscindendum nisi prius
rogata permissione his verbis: Mater Sambuci permitte mihi tuæ cœdere
sylvam!” On the other hand, Elder had certain protective and healing virtues.
Hung before a stable door it warded off witchcraft, and he who planted it
conciliated evil spirits. And if a twig of it were planted on a grave and it grew,
that was a sign that the soul of the deceased was happy, which is the probable
reason why the very old Jewish cemetery in Prague was planted full of elders. In
a very curious and rare work, entitled “Blockesberge Berichtung” (Leipzig,

1669), by John Prætorius, devoted to “the Witch-ride and Sorcery-Sabbath,” the
author tells us that witches make great use of nine special herbs—“nam in herbis,
verbis et lapidibus magna vis est.” Among these is Elder, of which the peasants
make wreaths, which, if they wear on Walpurgis night, they can see the
sorceresses as they sweep through the air on their brooms, dragons, goats, and
other strange steeds to the Infernal Dance. Or when they anderswo herumvagiren
—“go vagabonding anywhere else.” “Yea, and I know one fellow who sware
unto men, that by means of this herb he once saw certain witches churning butter
busily, and that on a roof, but I mistrust that this was a sell (Schnake), and that
the true name of this knave was Butyrolambius” (“Blocksberg,” p. 475). The
same author informs us that Hollunder (or Elder) is so called from hohl, or
hollow, or else is an anagram of Unholden, unholy spirits, and some people call it
Alhuren, from its connection with witches and debauchery, even as Cordus
writes:—
“When elder blossoms bloom upon the bush,
Then women’s hearts to sensual pleasure rush.”

He closes his comments on this subject with the dry remark that if the people of
Leipzig wear, as is their wont, garlands of elder with the object of preventing
breaches of the seventh commandment among them, it has in this instance, at
least, utterly failed to produce the expected effect. “Quasi! creadt Judæus
Apella!”

It should be mentioned that in the gypsy spell the next morning the cloth with the
elder-bark must be thrown into the next running water. To cure toothache the
Transylvanian gypsies wind a barley-straw round a stone, which is thrown into a
running stream, while saying:—

“Oh dukh ándre m’re dándá,
Tu ná báres cingerá!
Ná ává kiyá mánge,
Mire muy ná hin kere!
Tut ñikáná me kámáv,
Ač tu mánge pál páčá;
Káná e pçus yárpakri
Avel tele páñori!”

“Oh, pain in my teeth,
Trouble me not so greatly!
Do not come to me,
My mouth is not thy house.

I love thee not all,
Stay thou away from me;
When this straw is in the brook
Go away into the water!”

Straw was anciently a symbol of emptiness, unfruitfulness, and death, and it is
evidently used in this sense by the gypsies, or derived by them from some
tradition connected with it. A feigned or fruitless marriage is indicated in
Germany by the terms Strohwittwer and Strohwittwe. From the earliest times in
France the breaking a straw signified that a compact was broken with a man
because there was nothing in him. Thus in 922 the barons of Charles the Simple,
in dethroning him, broke the straws which they held (Charlotte de La Tour,
“Symbols of Flowers”).

Still, straws have something in them. She who will lay straws on the table in the
full moonlight by an open window, especially on Saturday night, and will repeat
—
“Straw, draw, crow craw,
By my life I give thee law”—

then the straws will become fairies and dance to the cawing of a crow who will
come and sit on the ledge of the window. And so witches were wont to make a
man of straw, as did Mother Gookin, in Hawthorne’s tale, and unto these they
gave life, whence the saying of a man of straw and straw bail, albeit this latter is
deemed by some to be related to the breaking of straws and of dependence, as
told in the tale of Charles the Simple. Straw-lore is extensive and curious. As in
elder-stalks, small fairies make their homes in its tubes. To strew chopped straw
before the house of a bride was such an insult to her character, in Germany, and
so common that laws were passed against it. I possess a work printed about 1650,
entitled “De Injuriis quæ haud raro Novis Nuptis inferri solent. I. Per sparsionem
dissectorum culmorum frugum. Germ. Dusch das Werckerling Streuen,” &c. An
immense amount of learned quotation and reference by its author indicates that
this custom which was influenced by superstition, was very extensively written
on in its time. It was allied to the binding of knots and other magic ceremonies to
prevent the consummation of marriages.

There is a very curious principle involved in curing certain disorders or
afflictions by means of spells or verses. A certain word is repeated many times in
a mysterious manner, so that it strikes the imagination of the sufferer. There is

found in the Slavonian countries a woolly caterpillar called Wolos, whose bite, or
rather touch, is much dreaded. I have myself, when a boy, been stung by such a
creature in the United States. As I remember, it was like the sting of a bee. The
following (Malo Russian) spell against it was given me by Prof. Dragomanoff in
Geneva. It is supposed that a certain kind of disorder, or cutaneous eruption, is
caused by the Wolos:—
“Wolosni—Wolosnicéh!
Holy Wolos.
Once a man drove over empty roads
With empty oxen,
To an empty field,
To harvest empty corn,
And gather it in empty ricks.
He gathered the empty sheaves,
Laid them in empty wagons,
Drove over empty roads,
Unto an empty threshing-floor.
The empty labourers threshed it,
And bore it to the empty mill.
The empty baker (woman)
Mixed it in an empty trough,
And baked it in an empty oven.
The empty people ate the empty bread.
So may the Wolos swallow this disorder
From the empty —— (here the name of the patient.)

What is here understood by “empty” is that the swelling is taken away,
subtracted, or emptied, by virtue of the repetition of the word, as if one should
say, “Be thou void. Depart! depart! depart! Avoid me!”

There is a very curious incantation also apparently of Indian-gypsy origin, since
it refers to the spirits of the water who cause diseases. In this instance they are
supposed to be exorcised by Saint Paphnutius, who is a later Slavonian-Christian
addition to the old Shamanic spell. In the Accadian-Chaldæan formulas these
spirits are seven; here they are seventy.

The formula in question is against the fever:—

“In the name of God and his Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen!

“Seventy fair maids went up out of the ocean.

“They met the Saint Paphnutius, who asked:

“ ‘Whence come ye, oh Maidens?’

“They answered, ‘From the ocean-sea.

“ ‘We go into the world to break the bones of men.

“ ‘To give them the fever. (To make hot and cold).’ ”

Then the holy Paphnutius began to beat them, and gave them every one seventy-
seven days:—

“They began to pray, ‘O holy Paphnutius!

“ ‘Forgive us, (and) whoever shall bear with him (thy) name, or write it, him we will leave in
peace.

“ ‘We will depart from him

“Over the streams, over the seas.

“ ‘Over the reeds (canes) and marshes.

“ ‘O holy Paphnutius, sua misericordia, of thy mercy,

“ ‘Have pity on thy slave, even on the sick man —— (the name is here uttered),

“ ‘Free him from fever!’ ”

It is remarkable that, as a certain mysterious worm, caterpillar, or small lizard
(accounts differ) among the Algonkin Indians is supposed to become at will a
dragon, or sorcerer, or spirit, to be invoked or called on, so the Wolos worm is
also invoked, sometimes as a saint or sorcerer, and sometimes as a spirit who
scatters disease. The following gypsy-Slavonian incantation over an invalid has
much in common with the old Chaldæan spells:—
“Wolosni, Wolosnicéh!
Thou holy Wolos!
God calls thee unto his dwelling,
Unto his seat.
Thou shalt not remain here,
To break the yellow bones.
To drink the red blood,
To dry up the white body.
Go forth as the bright sun
Goes forth over the mountains,
Out from the seventy-seven veins,
Out from the seventy limbs (parts of the body).
Before I shall recognize thee,
Before I did not name thee (call on thee).

But now I know who thou art;
I began to pray to the mother of God,
And the mother of God began to aid me.
Go as the wind goes over the meadows or the shore (or banks),
As the waves roll over the waters,
So may the Wolos go from ——
The man who is born,
Who is consecrated with prayer.”

The Shamanic worship of water as a spirit is extremely ancient, and is distinctly
recognized as such by the formulas of the Church in which water is called “this
creature.” The water spirits play a leading part in the gypsy mythology. The
following gypsy-Slav charm, to consecrate a swarm of bees, was also given to
me by Prof. Dragomanoff, who had learned it from a peasant:—

“One goes to the water and makes his prayer and greets the water thus:—

“Hail to thee, Water!
Thou Water, Oliana!
Created by God,
And thou, oh Earth, Titiana!
And ye the near springs, brooks and rivulets,
Thou Water, Oliana,
Thou goest over the earth,
Over the neighbouring fountains and streams,
Down unto the sea,
Thou dost purify the sea,
The sand, the rocks, and the roots—
I pray thee grant me
Of the water of this lake,
To aid me,
To sprinkle my bees.
I will speak a word,
And God will give me help,
The all-holy Mother of God,
The mother of Christ,
Will aid me,
And the holy Father
The holy Zosimos, Sabbateus and the holy Friday Parascabeah!

“When this is said take the water and bear it home without looking back. Then the bees are to be
sprinkled therewith.”

The following Malo-Russian formula from the same authority, though repointed
and gilt with Greek Christianity, is old heathen, and especially interesting since
Prof. Dragomanoff traces it to a Finnic Shaman source:—

“Charm Against the Bite of a Serpent.

“The holy Virgin sent a man
Unto Mount Sion,
Upon this mountain
Is the city of Babylon,
And in the city of Babylon
Lives Queen Volga.

Oh Queen Volga,
Why dost thou not teach
This servant of God
(Here the name of the one bitten by a serpent is mentioned)
So that he may not be bitten
By serpents?”

(The reply of Queen Volga)

“Not only will I teach my descendants
But I also will prostrate myself
Before the Lord God.”

“Volga is the name of a legendary heathen princess of Kief, who was baptized and sainted by the
Russian Church. The feminine form, Olga, or Volga, corresponds to the masculine name Oleg, or
Olg, the earliest legendary character of Kief. His surname was Viechtchig—the sage or sorcerer”
(i.e., wizard, and from a cognate root). “In popular songs he is called Volga, or Volkh, which is
related to Volkv, a sorcerer. The Russian annals speak of the Volkv of Finland, who are
represented as Shamans.” Niya Predania i Raskazi (“Traditions and Popular Tales of Lesser
Russia,” by M. Dragomanoff, Kief, 1876) in Russian.

I have in the chapter on curing the disorders of children spoken of Lilith, or
Herodias, who steals the new-born infants. She and her twelve daughters are also
types of the different kinds of fever for which the gypsies have so many cures of
the same character, precisely as those which were used by the old Bogomiles.
The characteristic point is that this female spirit is everywhere regarded as the
cause of catalepsy or fits. Hence the invocation to St. Sisinie is used in driving
them away. This invocation written, is carried as an amulet or fetish. I give the
translation of one of these from the Roumanian, in which the Holy Virgin is
taken as the healer. It is against cramp in the night:—

“Spell Against Night-cramp.

“There is a mighty hill, and on this hill is a golden apple-tree.

“Under the golden apple-tree is a golden stool.

“On the stool—who sits there?

“There sits the Mother of God with Saint Maria; with the boxes in her right hand, with the cup in
her left.

“She looks up and sees naught, she looks down and sees my Lord and Lady Disease.

“Lords and Ladies Cramp, Lord and Lady Vampire—Lord Wehrwolf and his wives.

“They are going to —— (the sufferer), to drink his blood and put in him a foul heart.

“The Mother of God, when she saw them, went down to them, spoke to them, and asked them,
‘Whither go ye, Lord and Lady Disease, Lords and Ladies Cramp, &c.?’

“ ‘We go to —— to drink his blood, to change his heart to a foul one.’

“ ‘No, ye shall return; give him his blood back, restore him his own heart, and leave him
immediately.’

“Cramps of the night, cramps of the midnight, cramps of the day, cramps wherever they are.
From water, from the wind, go out from the brain, from the light of the face, from the hearing of
the ears, from his heart, from his hands and feet, from the soles of his feet.

“Go and hide where black cocks never crow,3 where men never go, where no beast roars.

“Hide yourself there, stop there, and never show yourself more!

“May —— remain pure and glad, as he was made by God, and was fated by the Mother of God!

“The spell is mine—the cure is God’s.”

In reference to the name Herodias (here identified with Lilith, the Hebrew
mother of all devils and goblins); it was a great puzzle to the writers on
witchcraft why the Italian witches always said they had two queens whom they
worshipped—Diana and Herodias. The latter seems to have specially presided at
the witch-dance. In this we can see an evident connection with the Herodias of
the New Testament.

I add to this a few more very curious old Slavonian spells from Dr. Gaster’s
work, as they admirably illustrate one of the principal and most interesting
subjects connected with the gypsy witchcraft; that is to say, its relation to early
Shamanism and the forms in which its incantations were expressed. In all of
these it may be taken for granted, from a great number of closely-allied
examples, that the Christianity in them is recent and that they all go back to the
earliest heathen times. The following formula, dating from 1423, against snake-
bites bears the title:—

“Prayer of St. Paul against Snakes.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. I once was a persecutor, but am now a
true follower; and I went from my dwelling-place in Sicily, and they set light to a trunk, and a
snake came therefrom and bit my right hand and hung from it. But I had in me the power of God,
and I shook it off into the burning fire and it was destroyed, and I suffered no ill from the bite. I
laid myself down to sleep; then the mighty angel said: ‘Saul, Paul, stand up and receive this
writing’; and I found in it the following words:

“ ‘I exorcise you, sixty and a half kinds of beasts that creep on the earth, in the name of God, the
Creator of Heaven and Earth, and in the name of the immovable throne.

“ ‘Serpent of Evil, I exorcise thee in the name of the burning river which rises under the footstool
of the Saviour, and in the name of His incorporeal angels!

“ ‘Thou snake of the tribe of basilisks, thou foul-headed snake, twelve-headed snake, variegated
snake, dragon-like snake, that art on the right side of hell, whomsoever thou bitest thou shalt have
no power to harm, and thou must go away with all the twenty-four kinds. If a man has this prayer
and this curse of the true, holy apostle, and a snake bites him, then it will die on the spot, and the
man that is bitten shall remain unharmed, to the honour of the Father, the Son, and the Holy
Ghost, now and for all time. Amen.’ ”

It is not improbable that we have in Paul and the Serpent and the formula for
curing its bite (which is a common symbol for all disease) a souvenir of
Esculapius, the all-healer, and his serpent. The following is “a prayer against the
toothache, to be carried about with one,” i.e., as an amulet prayer:—

“Spell for the Toothache.

“Saint Peter sat on a stone and wept. Christ came to him and said, ‘Peter, why weepest thou?’
Peter answered, ‘Lord, my teeth pain me.’ The Lord thereupon ordered the worm in Peter’s tooth
to come out of it and never more go in again. Scarcely had the worm come out when the pain
ceased. Then spoke Peter, ‘I pray you, O Lord, that when these words be written out and a man
carries them he shall have no toothache.’ And the Lord answered, ‘’Tis well, Peter; so may it
be!’ ”

It will hardly be urged that this Slavonian charm of Eastern origin could have
been originated independently in England. The following, which is there found in
the north, is, as Gaster remarks, “in the same wording”:—
“Peter was sitting on a marble stone,
And Jesus passed by.
Peter said, ‘My Lord, my God,
How my tooth doth ache!’
Jesus said, ‘Peter art whole!
And whosoever keeps these words for My sake
Shall never have the toothache.’ ”

The next specimen is a—

“Charm against Nose-bleeding.

“Zachariah was slain in the Lord’s temple, and his blood turned into stone. Then stop, O blood,
for the Lord’s servant, ——. I exorcise thee, blood, that thou stoppest in the name of the Saviour,
and by fear of the priests when they perform the liturgy at the altar.”

Those who sell these charms are almost universally supposed to be mere quacks
and humbugs. If this were the case, why do they so very carefully learn and
preserve these incantations, transmitting them
“as a rich legacy
Unto their issue.”

But they really do believe in them, and will give great prices for them. Prof.
Dragomanoff told me that once in Malo-Russia it became generally known that
he had made a MS. collection of such spells. A peasant who was desirous of
becoming a sorcerer, but who had very few incantations of his own, went
whenever he could by stealth into the Professor’s library and surreptitiously
copied his incantations. And when Prof. Dragomanoff returned the next year to
that neighbourhood, he found the peasant doing a very good business as a
conjuring doctor, or faith-healer. I have a lady correspondent in the United States
who has been initiated into Voodoo and studied Indian-negro witchcraft under
two eminent teachers, one a woman, the other a man. The latter, who was at the
very head of the profession, sought the lady’s acquaintance because he had heard
that she possessed some very valuable spells. In the fourth or highest degree, as
in Slavonian or Hungarian gypsy-magic, this Indian-Voodoo deals exclusively
with the spirits of the forest and stream.

M. Kounavine, as set forth by Dr. A. Elysseeff (Gypsy-Lore Journal, July, 1890),
gives a Russian gypsy incantation by which the fire is invoked to cure illness. It
is as follows:—

“Great Fire, my defender and protector, son of the celestial fire, equal of the sun who cleanses the
earth of foulness, deliver this man from the evil sickness that torments him night and day!”

The fire is also invoked to punish, or as an ordeal, e.g.:—

“Fire, who punishest the evil-doer, who hatest falsehood, who scorchest the impure, thou
destroyest offenders; thy flame devoureth the earth. Devour —— if he says what is not true, if he
thinks a lie, and if he acts deceitfully.”

These are pronounced by the gypsy sorcerer facing the burning hearth. There is
another in which fire is addressed as Jandra, and also invoked to punish an
offender:—

“Jandra, bearer of thunderbolts, great Periani (compare Parjana, an epithet of Indra, Slavonic
Perun), bearer of lightning, slay with thy thunderbolt and burn with thy celestial fire him who
dares to violate his oath.”

1 “It is said that if the bones of a green frog which has been eaten by ants are taken, those on the left side
will provoke hatred, and those on the right side excite love” (“Div. Cur.,” c. 23)…. “One species of frog
called rubeta, because it lives among brambles, is said to have wonderful powers. Brought into an assembly
of people it imposes silence. If the little bone in its right side be thrown into boiling water it chills it at once.
It excites love when put into a draught” (“Castle Saint Angelo and the Evil Eye,” by W. W. Story). ↑
2 According to Pliny, the tooth of a wolf hung to the neck of an infant was believed to be an efficient
amulet against disease; and a child’s tooth caught before it falls to the ground and set in a bracelet was
considered to be beneficial to women. Nat. Hist. lib. xxvi., cap. 10 (“Castle Saint Angelo and the Evil Eye,”
by W. W. Story). ↑
3 This cannot fail to remind many readers of the land—
“Where the cock never crew,
Where the sun never shone and the wind never blew.”

↑

CHAPTER III.

GYPSY CONJURATIONS AND EXORCISMS—
THE CURE OF CHILDREN—HUNGARIAN
GYPSY SPELLS—A CURIOUS OLD ITALIAN
“SECRET”—THE MAGIC VIRTUE OF GARLIC—
A FLORENTINE INCANTATION LEARNED
FROM A WITCH—LILITH, THE CHILD-
STEALER, AND QUEEN OF THE WITCHES.
I
n all the schools of Shamanic sorcery, from
those of the Assyrian-Accadian to the
widely-spread varieties of the present day,
the Exorcism forms the principal element.
An exorcism is a formula, the properties or
power of which is that when properly
pronounced, especially if this be done with
certain fumigations and ceremonies, it will
drive away devils, diseases, and disasters of
every description; nay, according to very
high, and that by no means too ancient,
authority, it is efficacious in banishing
bugs, mice, or locusts, and it is equal to
Persian powder as a fuge for fleas, but is,
unfortunately, too expensive to be used for
that purpose save by the very wealthy. It
has been vigorously applied against the
grape disease, the Colorado beetle, the
army worm, and the blizzard in the United
States, but, I believe, without effect, owing

possibly to differences of climate or other antagonistic influences.

Closely allied to the Exorcism is the Benediction, which soon grew out of it
as a cure. The former being meant to repel and drive away evil, the latter
very naturally suggested itself, by a law of moral polarity, as a means of
attracting good fortune, blessings, health, and peace. As the one was
violently curative, the other was preventive. The benediction would keep the
devils and all their works away from a man or his home—in fact, if stables
be only well blessed once a year, no mishaps can come to any of the animals
who inhabit them; and I myself have known a number of donkeys to receive
a benediction in Rome, the owner being assured that it would keep them safe
from all the ills which donkeys inherit. And in the year 1880, in one of the
principal churches of Philadelphia, blessed candles were sold to a
congregation under guarantee that the purchase of one would preserve its
possessor for one year against all disorders of the throat, on which occasion
a sermon was preached, in the which seven instances were given in which
people had thus been cured.

Between blessing and banning it soon became evident that many formulas of
words could be used to bring about mysterious results. It is probable that the
Exorcism in its original was simply the angry, elevated tone of voice which
animals as well as men instinctively employ to repel an enemy or express a
terror. For this unusual language would be chosen, remembered, and
repeated. With every new utterance this outcry or curse would be more
seriously pronounced or enlarged till it became an Ernulphian formula. The
next step would be to give it metric form, and its probable development is
very interesting. It does not seem to have occurred to many investigators that
in early ages all things whatever which were remembered and repeated were
droned and intoned, or sing-sung, until they fell of themselves into a kind of
metre. In all schools at the present day, where boys are required to repeat
aloud and all together the most prosaic lessons, they end by chanting them in
rude rhythm. All monotone, be it that of a running brook, falls into cadence
and metre. All of the sagas, or legends, of the Algonkin-Wabanaki were till
within even fifty years chants or songs, and if they are now rapidly losing
that character it is because they are no longer recited with the interest and
accuracy which was once observed in the narrators. But it was simply

because all things often repeated were thus intoned that the exorcisms
became metrical. It is remarkable that among the Aryan races it assumed
what is called the staff-rhyme, like that which Shakespeare, and Ben Jonson,
and Byron, and many more employ, as it would seem, instinctively,
whenever witches speak or spells or charms are uttered. It will not escape the
reader that, in the Hungarian gypsy incantations in this work, the same
measure is used as that which occurs in the Norse sagas, or in the scenes of
Macbeth. It is also common in Italy. This is intelligible—that its short, bold,
deeply-marked movement has in itself something mysterious and terrible. If
that wofully-abused word “weird” has any real application to anything, it is
to the staff-rhyme. I believe that when a man, and particularly a woman,
does not know what else to say, he or she writes “lurid,” or “weird,” and I
lately met with a book of travels in which I found the latter applied seventy-
six times to all kinds of conundrums, until I concluded that, like the
coachman’s definition of an idea in Heine’s “Reisebilder,” it meant simply
“any d——d nonsense that a man gets into his head.” But if weird really and
only means that which is connected with fate or destiny, from the Anglo-
Saxon Weordan, to become, German, Werden, then it is applicable enough to
rhymes setting forth the future and spoken by the “weird sisters,” who are
so-called not because they are awful or nightmarish, or pokerish, or mystical,
or bug-a-boorish, but simply because they predict the future or destiny of
men. “The Athenians as well as Gentiles excelled in these songs of sorcery,
hence we are told (Varro, “Q. de Fascin”) that in Achaia, when they learned
that a certain woman who used them was an Athenian they stoned her to
death, declaring that the immortal gods bestowed on man the power of
healing with stones, herbs, and animals, not with words” (“De Rem.
Superstit. Cognos cendis”). Truly, doctors never agree.

It was in 1886 that I learned from a girl in Florence two exorcisms or
invocations which she was accustomed to repeat before telling fortunes by
cards. This girl, who was of the Tuscan Romagna and who looked Etruscan
with a touch of gypsy blood, was a repertory of popular superstitions,
especially witch-lore, and a maker and wearer of fetishes, always carrying a
small bag full of them. Bon sang ne peut mentir.

The two formulas were as follows. I omit a portion from each:—

“Venti cinque carte siete!
Venti cinque diavoli diventerete,
Diventerete, anderete
Nel’ corpo, nel’ sangue nell’ anima,
Nell’ sentimenti del corpo;
Del mio amante non posso vivere,
Non passa stare ne bere,
Ne mangiare ne …
Ne con uomini ne con donne non passa favellare,
Finche a la porta di casa mia
Non viene picchiare!”

“Ye are twenty-five cards,
Become twenty-five devils!
Enter into the body, into the blood, into the soul;
Into the feelings of the body
Of my lover, from whom I cannot live.
For I cannot stand (exist), or drink,
Or eat …
Nor can I converse with men or women
Till at the door of my house
He shall come to knock.”

The second incantation was the same, but beginning with these words:—
“I put five fingers on the wall,
I conjure five devils,
Five monks and five friars,
That they may enter the body
Into the blood, into the soul,” &c.

If the reader will take Le Normant’s “Magie Chaldaienne,” and carefully
compare these Italian spells with those of ancient Nineveh, he will not only
find a close general resemblance, but all the several details or actual identity
of words. And it is not a little curious that the same formulas which were
repeated—
“Once on a time when Babylon was young”—

should still be current in Italy. So it passed through the ages—races came
and went—and among the people the old sorcery was handed across and
adown, so that it still lives. But in a few years more the Folk-lorist will be its
only repository.

This chapter is devoted to conjuring diseases of children by gypsies. It bears
a great likeness to one in the very devout work of Peter Pipernus, “De
Pueris affectis morbis magicis” (“Of Boys who have been Bewitched into
Disease”), only that Pipernus uses Catholic incantations, which he also
employs “pro ligatis in matrimonio,” “pro incubo magico,” “de dolóribus
stomachi magicis,” &c., for to him, as he declares, all disease is of magic
origin.

The magic of the gypsies is not all deceit, though they deceive with it. They
put faith themselves in their incantations, and practise them on their own
account. “And they believe that there are women, and sometimes men, who
possess supernatural power, partly inherited and partly acquired.” The last of
seven daughters born in succession, without a boy’s coming into the series,
is wonderfully gifted, for she can see hidden treasure or spirits, or enjoy
second sight of many things invisible to men. And the same holds good for
the ninth in a series of boys, who may become a seer of the same sort. Such
a girl, i.e., a seventh daughter, being a fortune in herself, never lacks lovers.
In 1883 the young Vojvode, or leader, of the Kukaya gypsy tribe, named
Danku Niculai, offered the old gypsy woman, Pale Boshe, one hundred
ducats if she would persuade her seventh daughter to marry him. In the
United States of America there are many women who advertise in the
newspapers that they also are seventh daughters of seventh daughters at that,
and who make a good thing of it as fortune-tellers; but they have a far more
speedy, economical, and effective way of becoming the last note in an
octave, than by awaiting the slow processes of being begotten or born,
inasmuch as they boldly declare themselves to be sevenths, which I am
assured answers every purpose, as nobody ever asks to see their certificates
of baptism any more than of marriage.1

Most of these witch-wives—also known in Hungary as cohalyi, or “wise
women,” or gule romni, “sweet” or “charming women”—are trained up from
infancy by their mothers in medicine and magic. A great part of this
education consists in getting by heart the incantations or formulas of which
specimens will be given anon, and which, in common with their fairy tales,
show intrinsic evidence of having been drawn at no very distant period from
India, and probably in common with the lower or Shamanic religion of India

from Turanian sources. But there is among the Hungarian gypsies a class of
female magicians who stand far above their sisters of the hidden spell in
power. These are the lace romni, or “good women,” who draw their power
directly from the Nivasi or Pchuvusi, the spirits of water and earth, or of
flood and fell. For the Hungarian gypsies have a beautiful mythology of their
own which at first sight would seem to be a composition of the Rosicrucian
as set forth by Paracelsus and the Comte de Gabalis, with the exquisite
Indo-Teutonic fairy tales of the Middle Ages. In fact, in some of the
incantations used we find the Urme, or fairies, directly appealed to for help.

With the gypsies, as among the early Accadians, diseases are supposed to be
caused by evil supernatural influences. This is more naturally the case
among people who lead very simple lives, and with whom sickness is not
almost a natural or normal condition, as it is with ladies and gentlemen, or
the inhabitants of cities, who have “always something the matter with them.”
Nomadic life is conducive to longevity. “Our grandfathers died on the
gallows—we die from losing our teeth,” said an old gypsy to Doctor von
Wlislocki, when asked what his age was. Therefore among all people who
use charms and spells those which are devoted to cure occupy the principal
position. However, the Hungarian Romany have many medicines, more or
less mysterious, which they also apply in connection with the “healing
rhymes.” And as in the struggle for life the weakest go first to the wall, the
remedies for the diseases of children are predominant.

When a mother begins to suffer the pangs of childbirth, a fire is made before
her tent, which is kept up till the infant is baptized, in order to drive away
evil spirits. Certain women feed this fire, and while fanning it (fans being
used for bellows) murmur the following rhyme:—
“Oh yakh, oh yakh pçabuva,
Pçabuva,
Te čavéstár tu trádá,
Tu trada,
Pçúvushen te Nivashen
Tire tçuva the traden!
Lače Urmen ávená,
Čaves báçtáles dena,
Káthe hin yov báçtáles,
Andre lime báçtáles!

Motura te ráná,
Te átunci but’ ráná,
Motura te ráná,
Te átunci, but’ ráná,
Me dav’ andre yákherá!
Oh yákh, oh yákh pçabuva,
Rovel čavo: áshuna!”

It may here be remarked that the pronunciation of all these words is the same
as in German, with the following additions. C = teh in English, or to ch in
church. C = ch in German as in Buch. J = azs, or the English j, in James; n,
as in Spanish, or nj in German, while sh and y are pronounced as in English.
Á is like ah. The literal translation is:—
“Oh Fire, oh Fire, burn!
Burn!
And from the child (do) thou drive away
Drive away!
Pçuvuse and Nivashi
And drive away thy smoke (pl.)
(Let) good fairies come (and)
Give luck to the child,
Here it is lucky (or fortunate)
In the world fortunate
Brooms and twigs (fuel)
And then more twigs,
And then yet more twigs
I put (give) to the fire.
Oh fire, oh fire—burn!
The child weeps: listen!”

In South Hungary the gypsy women on similar occasions sing the following
charm:—

“Eftá Pçuvushá, efta Niváshá
André mal avená
Pçabuven, pçabuven, oh yákhá!
Dáyákri punro dindálen,
Te gule čaves mudáren;
Pçabuven, pçabuven, oh yákhá;
Ferinen o čaves te daya!”

“Seven Pçuvushe, seven Nivasi
Come into the field,
Burn, burn, oh fire!

They bite the mother’s foot,
They destroy the sweet child;
Fire, fire, oh burn!
Protect the child and the mother!”

When the birth is very difficult, the mother’s relations come to help, and one
of them lets an egg fall, zwischen den Beinen derselben. On this occasion the
gypsy women in Southern Hungary sing:—

“Ánro, ánro in obles,
Te e pera in obles:
Ava čavo sástávestes!
Devlá, devlá, tut akharel!”

“The egg, the egg is round,
And the belly is round,
Come child in good health!
God, God calls thee!”

If a woman dies in child-bed two eggs are placed under her arms and the
following couplet is muttered:—

“Kana anro kirnes hin,
Kathe nañi tçudá hin!”

“When this egg is (shall be) decayed,
Here (will be) is no milk!”

When the after-pains begin it is the custom with some of the gypsy tribes in
the Siebenburgen to smoke the sufferer with decayed willow-wood which is
burned for the purpose while the women in attendance sing:—

“Sik te sik o tçu urál,
Te urál o čon urál!
Kana len hádjináven
Sasčipená tut’ áven;
Káná o tçu ná urál—
Tute náñi the dukhal,
Tute náñi the dukhal.”

“Fast and fast the smoke flies,

And flies, the moon flies,
When they find (themselves)
Health (yet) will come to thee,
“When the smoke no (longer) flies
Thou wilt feel pain no more!”

There is a strange, mysterious affinity between gypsies and the moon. A
wonderful legend, which they certainly brought from India since in it
Mekran is mentioned as the place where its incident occurred, details that
there, owing to the misrepresentations of a sorcerer, the gypsy leader, Chen,
was made to marry his sister Guin, or Kan, which brought the curse of
wandering upon his people. Hence the Romany are called Chen-Guin. It is
very evident that here we have Chon and Kan, or Kam, the Moon and Sun,
which is confirmed by another gypsy legend which declares that the Sun,
because he once violated or still seeks to seduce his sister, the Moon,
continually follows her, being destined to wander for ever. And as the name
Chen-Kan, or Zingan, or Zigeuner, is known all over the East, and, as this
legend shows, is of Indian origin, it is hardly worth while to believe with
Miklosich that it is derived from an obscure Greek heretical sect of
Christians—the more so as it is most difficult to believe that the Romany
were originally either Greeks or Christians or Christian heretics.

When a gypsy woman is with child she will not, if she can help it, leave her
tent by full moonshine. A child born at this time it is believed will make a
happy marriage. So it is said of birth in the Western World:—

“Full moon, high sea,
Great man thou shalt be;
Red dawning, cloudy sky,
Bloody death shalt thou die.

“Pray to the Moon when she is round,
Luck with you will then abound,
What you seek for shall be found
On the sea or solid ground.”

Moon-worship is very ancient; it is alluded to as a forbidden thing in the
Book of Job. From early times witches and other women worked their spells
when stark-naked by the light of the full moon, which is evidently derived

from the ancient worship of that planet and the shameless orgies connected
with it. Dr. Wlislocki simply remarks on this subject that the moon has, in
the gypsy incantation, “eine Phallische Bedeutung.” In ancient symbolism
the horns of the moon were regarded as synonymous with the horns of the ox
—hence their connection with agriculture, productiveness, and fertility, or
the generative principle, and from this comes the beneficent influence not
only of the horns, but of horse-shoes, boars’ tusks, crabs’ claws, and pieces
of coral resembling them.

The great love of gypsy mothers for their children, says Wlislocki, induces
their friends to seek remedies for the most trifling disorders. At a later
period, mother and child are left to Mother Nature—or the vis medicatrix
Naturæ. What is greatly dreaded is the Berufen, or being called on,
“enchanted,” in English “overlooked,” or subjected to the evil eye. An
universal remedy for this is the following:—

A jar is filled with water from a stream, and it must be taken with, not
against, the current as it runs. In it are placed seven coals, seven handfuls of
meal, and seven cloves of garlic, all of which is put on the fire. When the
water begins to boil it is stirred with a three-forked twig, while the wise
woman repeats:—

“Miseç’ yakhá tut dikhen,
Te yon káthe mudáren!
Te átunci eftá coká
Te çaven miseçe yakhá;
Miseç’ yakhá tut dikhen,
Te yon káthe mudáren!
But práhestár e yakhá
Atunci kores th’ávená;
Miseç’ yakhá tut dikhen
Te yon káthe mudáren!
Pçábuvená pçábuvená
Andre develeskero yakhá!”

“Evil eyes look on thee,
May they here extinguished be!
And then seven ravens
Pluck out the evil eyes;
Evil eyes (now) look on thee,
May they soon extinguished be!

Much dust in the eyes,
Thence may they become blind,
Evil eyes now look on thee;
May they soon extinguished be!
May they burn, may they burn
In the fire of God!”

Dr. Wlislocki remarks that the “seven ravens” are probably represented by
the seven coals, while the three-pointed twig, the meal and the garlic,
symbolize lightning. He does not observe that the stick may be the triçula or
trident of Siva—whence probably the gipsy word trushul, a cross; but the
connection is very obvious. It is remarkable that the gypsies assert that
lightning leaves behind it a smell like that of garlic. As garlic forms an
important ingredient in magic charms, the following from “The Symbolism
of Nature” (“Die Symbolik und Mythologie der Natur”), by J. B. Friedrich,
will be found interesting:—

“We find in many forms spread far and wide the belief that garlic possesses the magic
power of protection against poison and sorcery. This comes, according to Pliny, from the
fact that when it is hung up in the open air for a time, it turns black, when it is supposed to
attract evil into itself—and, consequently, to withdraw it from the wearer. The ancients
believed that the herb which Mercury gave to Ulysses to protect him from the enchantment
of Circe, and which Homer calls moly, was the alium nigrum, or garlic, the poison of the
witch being a narcotic. Among the modern Greeks and Turks, garlic is regarded as the most
powerful charm against evil spirits, magic, and misfortune. For this reason they carry it with
them, and hang it up in their houses as a protection against storms and bad weather. So their
sailors carry with them a sack of it to avert shipwreck. If any one utters a word of praise
with the intention of fascinating or of doing harm, they cry aloud ‘Garlic!’ or utter it three
times rapidly. In Aulus Persius Flaccus (Satyr. V.) to bite garlic averts magic and the evils
which the gods send to those who are wanting in reverence for them. According to a popular
belief the mere pronunciation of ‘Garlic!’ protects one from poison.”

It appears to be generally held among them and the Poles that this word
prevents children from “beschreien werden” that is, from being banned, or
overlooked, or evil-eyed. And among the Poles garlic is laid under children’s
pillows to protect them from devils and witches. (Bratraneck, “Beiträge zur
Æsthetik der Pflanzenwelt,” p. 56). The belief in garlic as something sacred
appears to have been very widely spread, since the Druids attributed magic
virtues to it; hence the reverence for the nearly allied leek, which is attached
to King David and so much honoured by the Welsh.

“Tell him I’ll knock his leek about his pate
Upon Saint David’s Day.”—Shakespeare.

The magic virtues of garlic were naturally enough also attributed to onions
and leeks, and in a curious Italian work, entitled “Il Libro del Comando,”
attributed (falsely) to Cornelius Agrippa, I find the following:—

“Segreto magico d’indovinare, colle cipole, la salute d’una persona lontana. A magic secret
to divine with onions the health of a person far distant. Gather onions on the Eve of
Christmas and put them on an altar, and under every onion write the name of the persons as
to whom one desires to be informed, ancorche non scrivano, even if they do not write.

“The onion (planted) which sprouts the first will clearly announce that the person whose
name it bears is well.

“And in the same manner we can learn the name of the husband or wife whom we should
choose, and this divination is in use in many cantons of Germany.”

Very much allied to this is the following love charm from an English gypsy:
—

“Take an onion, a tulip, or any root of the kind (i.e. a bulbous root?), and plant it in a clean
pot never used before; and while you plant it repeat the name of the one whom you love,
and every day, morning and evening, say over it:—

“ ‘As this root grows
And as this blossom blows,
May her heart be
Turned unto me!’

“And it will come to pass that every day the one whom you love will be more and more
inclined to you, till you get your heart’s desire.”

A similar divination is practised by sowing cress or lettuce seed in the form
of names in gardens. If it grows well the one who plants it will win the love
of the person indicated.

As regards the use of coals in incantations, Marcellus Burdigalensis,2 a
Latin physician of the third century, who has left us a collection of Latin and
Gaelic charms, recommends for a cure for toothache: “Salis granum, panis
micam, carbonem mortuum in phœnicio alligabis,” i.e., to carry a grain of
salt, a crumb of bread, and a coal, in a red bag.

When the witch-brew of coals, garlic, and meal is made, and boiled down to
a dry residuum, it is put into a small three-cornered bag, and hung about the
child’s neck, on which occasion the appropriate rhyme is repeated nine
times. “And it is of special importance that the bag shall be made of a piece
of linen, which must be stolen, found, or begged.”

To learn whether a child has been overlooked, or evil-eyed, or enchanted, the
“wise woman” takes it in her arms, and goes to the next running stream.
There she holds the face of the babe as nearly as she can to the water, and
repeats:—

“Páñi, páñi sikova,
Dikh the upré, dikh télé!
Buti páñi sikovel
Buti pál yákh the dikhel
Te ákáná mudárel.”

“Water, water, hasten!
Look up, look down!
Much water hastens
(May) as much come into the eye
Which looked evil on thee,
And may it now perish.”

If the running brook makes a louder sound than usual then it is supposed to
say that the child is enchanted, but if it runs on as before then something else
is the matter, and to ascertain what it is other charms and ceremonies are had
recourse to. This incantation indicates, like many others, a constant dwelling
in lonely places, by wood and stream, as gypsies wont to do, and sweet
familiarity with Nature, until one hears sermons in stones, books in the
running brooks, and voices in the wind.3 Civilized people who read about
Red Indian sorcerers and gypsy witches very promptly conclude that they
are mere humbugs or lunatics—they do not realize how these people, who
pass half their lives in wild places watching waving grass and falling waters,
and listening to the brook until its cadence speaks in real song, believe in
their inspirations, and feel that there is the same mystical feeling and
presence in all things that live and move and murmur as well as in
themselves. Now we have against this the life of the clubs and family, of

receptions and business, factories and stock-markets, newspapers and
“culture.” Absolutely no one who lives in “the movement” can understand
this sweet old sorcery. But nature is eternal, and while grass grows and rivers
run man is ever likely to fall again into the eternal enchantments. And truly
until he does he will have no new poetry, no fresh art, and must go on
copying old ideas and having wretchedly worn-out exhibitions in which
there is not one original idea.

If it appears that the child is overlooked, or “berufen,” many means are
resorted to, “one good if another fails,” but we have here to do only with
those which are connected with incantations. A favourite one is the
following: Three twigs are cut, each one from a different tree, and put into a
pipkin which has been filled with water dipped or drawn with, not against,
the current of a stream. Three handfuls of meal are then put in and boiled
down to a Brei, or pudding. A horse hair is then wound round a needle,
which is stuck not by the point but by the head into the inner bottom of a tub,
which is filled with water, and placed upon this is the pipkin with the
pudding. Then the “overlooked,” or evil-seen child is held over the tub while
the following rhyme is chanted:—

“Páñi, páñi lunjárá,
Páñi, páñi isbiná;
Te náshválipen çucá
Náshválipen mudárá,
Mudára te ákáná,
Káthe beshá ñikáná,
Sár práytiña sutyárel,
Káthe ándre piri, ándre piri,
Nivasheshe les dávás!”

“Water, water, spread!
Water, water, stretch!
And sickness disappear,
Sickness be destroyed,
Be destroyed now.
Remain not here at all!
Who ever has overlooked this child
As this leaf in the pot (maybe)
Be given to the Nivashi!”

This is repeated nine times, when the water in the tub, with the pipkin and its
contents, are all thrown into the stream from which the water was drawn.
This is a widely-spread charm, and it is extremely ancient. The pipkin placed
across the tub or trough—trog—here signifies a bridge, and Wlislocki tells
us that no Transylvanian tent-gypsy will cross a bridge without first spitting
thrice over the rails into the water. The bridge plays an important part in the
mythology and Folk-lore of many races. The ancient Persians had their holy
mountain, Albordi, or Garotman, the abode of gods and blessed souls, to
which they passed by the bridge Cin-vat, or Chinevad, whence the creed: “I
believe in the resurrection of the dead; that all bodies shall live renewed
again, and I believe that by the bridge Cin-vat all good deeds will be
rewarded, and all evil deeds punished.” The punishment is apparent from the
parallel of the bridge Al Sirat, borrowed by the Mahommedans from the
Persians, over which the good souls passed to reward, and from which the
wicked tumbled down into hell.

When I first met Emerson in 1849 I happened to remark that a bridge in a
landscape was like a vase in a room, the point on which an eye trained to the
picturesque involuntarily rested. Nearly thirty years after, when we were
both living at Shepherd’s Hotel in Cairo, he reminded me of this one day
when by the Nile we were looking at a bridge. As a bridge must cross a
stream, or a torrent which is generally beautiful by itself, and as the cross or
span has the effect of defining and framing the picture, as a circlet or tiara
sets off a beautiful head, it is not remarkable that in all ages men have made
such objects subjects of legend and song. Hence the oft-repeated Devil’s
Bridge, so-called because it seemed to simple peasants impossible for mere
mortals to build, although bridges are habitually and more naturally
connected with salvation and saints. He who in early ages built a bridge, did
a great deed in times when roads were rare; hence the great priest was called
the Pontifex.

Another spell for the purpose of averting the effects of the evil eye is as
follows: The mother of the overlooked child fills her mouth with salt water,
and lets it drop or trickle on the limbs of the infant, and when this has been
done, repeats:—

“Miseç yákhá tut dikhen
Sár páñori—
Mudaren!
Náshvalipen prejia:
Andral t’ro shero
Andral t’re kolyin,
Andral t’re por
Andral t’re punrá
Andral t’re vástá
Kathe prejánen,—
Andre yákhá yon jánen!”

“False (evil) eyes see thee,
Like this water
May they perish!
Sickness depart
From thy head,
From thy breast,
From thy belly,
From thy feet,
From thy hands,
May they go hence
Into the evil eyes!”

It may be observed that meal forms an ingredient in several of these
sorceries. It is a very ancient essential to sacrifices, and is offered to the
spirits of the stream to appease them, as it was often given for the same
purpose to the wind. The old Germans, says Prætorius, imagined the storm-
wind as a starving, ravenous being, and sought to appease it by throwing
meal to it. So it happened once even of later years near Bamberg when a
mighty wind was raging one night that an old woman took her meal-bag and
threw its contents out of the window, saying:—

“Lege dich, lieber Wind,
Bringe dies deinem Kind!”

“Dear Wind, be not so wild,
Take that unto thy child!”

“In which thing,” adds the highly Protestant Prætorius (“Anthropodemus
Plutonicus,” p. 429), “she was like the Papists who would fain appease the
Donnerwetter, or thunderstorms, with the sound of baptized bells, as though

they were raging round like famished lions, or grim wolves, or a soldier
foraging, seeking what they may devour.” The Wind here represents the Wild
Hunter, or the Storm, the leader of the Wüthende Heer, or “raging army,”
who, under different names, is the hero of so many German legends.

That the voice of the wind should seem like that of wild beasts roaring for
food would occur naturally enough to any one who was familiar with both.

When a child refuses the breast the gypsies believe that a Pçuvus-wife, or a
female spirit of the earth has secretly sucked it. In such a case they place
between the mother’s breasts onions, and repeat these words:—

“Pçuvushi, Pçuvushi,
Ac tu náshvályi
Tiro tçud ač yakhá,
Andre pçuv tu pçábuvá!
Thávdá, thávdá miro tçud,
Thávdá, thávdá, parno tçud,
Thávdá, thávdá, sár kámáv,—
Mre čáveske bokhale!”

“Earth-spirit! Earth-spirit!
Be thou ill.
Let thy milk be fire!
Burn in the earth!
Flow, flow, my milk!
Flow, flow, white milk!
Flow, flow, as I desire
To my hungry child!”

The same is applied when the milk holds back or will not flow, as it is then
supposed that a Pçuvus-wife has secretly suckled her own child at the
mother’s breast. It is an old belief that elves put their own offspring in the
place of infants, whom they sometimes steal. This subject of elf-changelings
is extensively treated by all the writers on witchcraft. There is even a Latin
treatise, or thesis, devoted to defining the legal and social status, rights, &c.,
of such beings. It is entitled, “De Infantibus Supposititiis, vulgo Wechsel-
Bälgen,” Dresden, 1678. “Such infants,” says the author (John Valentine
Merbitz), “are called Cambiones, Vagiones (à continuo vagitu), Germanis

Küllkräpfe, Wechselkinder, Wechselbälge, all of which indicates, in German
belief, children which have nothing human about them except the skin.”

When the child is subject to convulsive weeping or spasms, and loses its
sleep, the mother takes a straw from the child’s sleeping-place and puts into
her mouth. Then, while she is fumigated with dried cow-dung, into which
the hair of the father and mother have been mingled, she chants:—

“Bala, bálá pçubuven,
Čik te bálá pçubuven,
Čik te bálá pçubuven,
Pçábuvel náshvályipen!”

“Hair, hair, burn!
Dirt and hair burn!
Dirt and hair burn!
Illness be burned!”

This bears manifest mark of Hindoo origin, and I have no doubt that the
same ceremony in every detail is practised in India at the present day. In
Southern Hungary convulsive weeping in children is cured as follows: In the
evening, when the fire burns before the tent, the mother takes her child in her
arms and carries it three times around the fire, putting on it a pipkin full of
water, into which she puts three coals. With this water she washes the head
of her child, and pours some of it on a black dog. Then she goes to the next
stream or brook, and lets fall into it a red twist, saying:—

“Lává Niváshi ádá bolditori te láhá m’re čaveskro rovipen! Káná sástavestes ánáv me tute
pçábáyá te yándrá.”

“Nivashi take this twist, and with it the weeping of my child. When it is well I will bring
thee apples and eggs.”

When a child “bumps” its head the swelling is pressed with the blade of a
knife, and the following spell is muttered thrice, seven, or nine times,
according to the gravity of the injury:—

“Ač tu, ač tu, ač kovles,
The may sik tu mudarés!
Andre pcuv tu jiá,

Dikav tut me ñikáná!
Shuri, shuri, áná,
De pal pçuv!”

“Be thou, be thou, be thou weak (i.e., soft)
and very soon perish!
Go thou into the earth,
May I see thee never more!
Bring knives, knives,
Give (i.e., put) into the earth.”

Then the knife is stuck three, seven, or nine times into the earth. If the child
or a grown person has a bleeding at the nose, some of the blood is covered
with earth, and the following verse repeated:—

“Pçuvush, dáv tute
Pçuvush, lává mánge,
De tre cáveske
Hin may táte!
Sik lava!”

“Pcuvus, I give to thee,
Pcuvus, oh take from me,
Give it to thy child,
It is very warm,
Take it quickly!”

If the child has pains in the stomach, the hair of a black dog is burned to
powder and kneaded with the mother’s milk and some of the fæces of the
child into a paste. This prescription occurs in the magical medical formulas
of Marcellus Burdigalenis, the court-physician at Rome in the fourth
century: “Cape mel atticum et stercus infantis quod primum demittit, statim
ex lacte mulieris quœ puerum allactat permiscebis et sic inunges,” &c. Most
of the prescriptions of Marcellus were of ancient Etrurian origin, and I have
found many of them still in use in the Romagna Toscana. This is put into a
cloth and bound on the belly of the child. When it falls asleep a hole is bored
in a tree and the paste put into it. The hole is then stopped up with a wooden
plug, and while this is being done the following is repeated:—

“Andrál por prejiá,
André selene beshá!

Beshá beshá tu káthe!
Penáv, penáv me tute!”

“Depart from the belly
Live in the green! (tree)
Remain, remain thou here!
I say, I say to thee!”

The black dog is in many countries associated with sorcery and diabolical
influences, and “in European heathendom it was an emblem of the evil
principle. The black demon Černobog was represented by the Slavs as a
black dog. Among the Wallachians there is a horrible vampire-like creature
called Priccolitsh, or Priculics, who appears as a man in fine healthy
condition, but by night he becomes a dog, kills people by the mere touch,
and devours them.” The black dogs of Faust and of Cornelius Agrippa will
occur to most readers.

Gypsies have always been regarded as sorcerers and child-stealers, and it is
remarkable that Lilith, the mother of all witchcraft, did the same. At the
present day the Slavonian gypsies have spells against such a spirit.

In the Chaldæan magic, as set forth by Lenormant, as I have already stated,
the powers of evil are incarnate diseases, they are seven in number, and they
are invoked by means of verses which bear an extraordinary resemblance to
those which are still current in Italy as well as in other countries. According
to some writers this is all mere chance coincidence, or due to concurrent
causes and similar conditions in different countries. That diseases, like
hunger, or death, or the terrors of the night, may have been incarnated as evil
spirits naturally by all mankind may be granted, but when we find them
arranged in categories of numbers, in widely different countries, employing
the same means of banishing them—that is, by short songs and drum-beating
—when we find these incantations in the same general forms, often with the
same words, our belief as to the identity of origin is confirmed at every step.
We can admit that the Jews were in Babylon and wandered thence all over
the world, but that any other religious or superstitious system should have
done the same would be obstinately denied. And by an incredible
inconsistency, scholars who admit the early migrations of whole races on a
vast scale, from the remotest regions of the East to Western Europe, deny

that legends and myths come with them or that they could have spread in
like manner.

One of the attributes of the witch of the Middle Ages in which she has been
confused with the Queen of the Fairies, and fairies in general, is that she
steals newly-born children. This is a very ancient attribute of the female
demon or sorceress or strega, and it is found among Jews at the present day
who believe in the Benemmerinnen, or witches who haunt women in
childbirth as well as in Lilith. “The Jews banish this first wife of Adam by
writing on the walls, ‘Adam chava chuz Lilith,’ (‘Keep away from here,
Lilith!’)” (“Anthropodemus Plutonicus,” by John Prætorius, 1666). That it
is very ancient is rendered probable because the famous Bogomile formula
of incantation against the twelve fever-fits (Tresevica), or kinds of fever,
turns entirely on the legend of six children stolen by the demon who is
compelled to restore them. Here we have the very oldest form of witchcraft
known, that is incarnate disease in numbers allied to child-stealing. This
spell of the Tresevica is attributed, says Dr. Gaster, to Pope Jeremia, the
founder of Bogomilism (the great Oriental Slavonian heresy which spread
over Europe in the Middle Ages and prepared the way for Protestanism).
“There is no doubt, therefore, that the spell is derived from the East, and I
have elsewhere proved its existence in that quarter as early as the eighth
century. It may have been of Manichæan origin. It has been preserved up to
the present day in all the lands of Eastern Europe and, with certain
modifications, exists among Germans and Jews.” Though attributed to
Sisynios, the immediate follower of Manes, as chief of the Manichæans, it
seems to have been derived from an earlier Oriental tale which became the
basis of all later formulæ. I give it here in the Roumanian form, which
closely resembles the old one. Here, as in all the other variants, the demon is
a feminine one. The following is the legend:—

“I, Sisveas, I came down from the Mount of Olives, saw the Archangel Gabriel as he met
the Avestitza, wing of Satan, and seized her by the hair and asked her where she was going.
And she answered that she was going to cheat the holy Virgin by her tricks, steal the new-
born child, and drink its blood. The archangel asked her how she could get into houses so as
to steal the children, and she answered that she changed herself into a fly or a cat or such
forms. But whosoever knew her twelve and a half (nineteen) names and wrote them out she
could not touch. She told him these names, and they were written down.”

There is a Coptic as well as a Greek parallel to this. The fairy who steals the
children is called Lilith, and is further identified with Herodias and her
twelve daughters as personifications of different kinds of fever. This is
extremely interesting, as it casts some light on a question which has greatly
puzzled all writers on witchcraft as to how or why Herodias was so
generally worshipped in company with Diana by witches as a goddess in
Italy. This is mentioned by Pipernus, Grillandus, Mirandola, and Horst.
The name is probably much older than that of the Herodias of the New
Testament.

1 Of the seventh son, Pipernus remarks in his book, “De Effectibus Magicis” (1647): “Est ne
sanandi superstitiosus modus eorum, qui orti sunt die Parasceves, et quotquot nullo fœmines sexu
intercedente, ac ab ortu septimi masculi legitimo thoro sunt nati? memorat Vairus, I. de fascinatione,
II. Del Rius, lib. i., part 21. Garzonius nel Serraglio. J. Cæsar Baricellus secundus scriptor in hort.
genialé.” ↑
2 “Über Marcellus Burdigalensis, von Jacob Grimm. Gelesen in der Academie der
Wissenschaften,” 28 Juni, 1847 (Berlin. Dummler). In this work, as well as in the German Mythology,
by the same author, and in Rudolf Roth’s “Litteratur und Geschichte des Veda” (Stuttgart, 1846), the
reader will find, as also in the works of the elder Cato and Pliny, numbers of these incantations. ↑
3 The divination by the running brook has been known in other lands. The Highlanders when they
consulted an oracle took their seer, wrapped him in the hide of a newly-killed ox or sheep, and left him
in some wild ravine by a roaring torrent to pass the night. From such sights and sounds there resulted
impressions which were reflected in his dreams (Vide Scott, “Lady of the Lake,” and notes). The fact
that running water often makes sounds like the human voice has been observed by the Algonkin
Indians of Maine and Nova Scotia (Vide “The Algonkin Legends of New England,” by Charles G.
Leland). ↑

CHAPTER IV.

SOUTH SLAVONIAN AND OTHER GYPSY
WITCH-LORE.—THE WORDS FOR A WITCH—
VILAS AND THE SPIRITS OF EARTH AND AIR—
WITCHES, EGG-SHELLS, AND EGG-LORE—
EGG PROVERBS—OVA DE CRUCIBUS.
T
here is current in the whole of
the Southern Slavonian
provinces a vast mass of
legends and other lore
relating to witches, which, in
the opinion of Dr. Friedrich
S. Krauss, may also be
regarded as Romany, since it
is held in common with the
gypsies. There can, indeed,
be very little doubt that most
of it was derived from, or
disseminated by, them, since
they have been the principal
masters in magic and doctors
in medicine in the Slavonic
lands for many centuries.
There are others deeply
learned in this subject who
share the same opinion, it
being certain that the gypsies could hardly have a separate lore for
themselves and one for magic practices on others, and I entertain no doubt
that they are substantially the same; but to avoid possible error and

confusion, I give what I have taken in this kind from Dr. Krauss1 and others
by itself.

As the English word witch, Anglo-Saxon Wicca, comes from a root implying
wisdom,2 so the pure Slavonian word vjestica, Bulgarian, vjescirica
(masculine, viestae), meant originally the one knowing or well informed,
and it has preserved the same power in allied languages, as Veaa (New
Slovenish), knowledge, Vedavica, a fortune-teller by cards, Viedma
(Russian), a witch, and Vedwin, fatidicus. In many places, especially in
Dalmatia, witches are more gently or less plainly called Krstaca, the crossed,
from Krst, a cross, i.e., χριστός, or Rogulja, “horned,” derived from
association with the horns of devils. In Croatia the Italian Striga is used,
while among the Slovenes and Kai-Kroats the term copernica (masculine,
coprnjak). “But it enrages the witches so much to be called by this word that
when they hear that any one has used it they come to his house by night and
tear him in four pieces, which they cast afar into the four quarters of the
earth, yea, and thereunto carry away all the swine, horses, and cattle, so
intolerable is their wrath.” Therefore men use the word hmana zena, or
“common woman,” hmana being the Slavonic pronunciation of the German
word gemein, or common. In Dalmatia and far into Servia a witch is called
macisnica, and magic, mačija, which is, evidently enough, the Italian magia.
But there are witches and witches, and it appears that among the learned the
vjestica differs from the macionica, and this from the Zlokobnica who, as the
“evil-meeter,” or one whom it is unlucky to encounter in the morning, is
probably only one who has the evil eye. A quotation from a Servian
authority, given by Dr. Krauss, is as follows:—

“I have often heard from old Hodzas and Kadijas, that every female Wallach, as soon as she
is forty years old, abandons the ‘God be with us!’ and becomes a witch (vjestica), or at least
a zlokobnica or macionica. A real witch has a mark of a cross under her nose, a zlokobnica
has some hairs of a beard, and a macionica may be known by a forehead full of dark folds
(frowns), with blood-spots in her face” (“Niz srpskih pripoviedaka. Vuk. vit. Vecevica.
Pancevo,” p, 93. 1881).

Of the great number of South Slavonian terms for the verb to enchant or
bewitch, it may suffice to say that the commencement, carati, cari carani,
carovnik, &c., appear to have much more affinity to the gypsy chor-ava, to

steal or swindle, and chov-hani, a witch, than to the Italian ciarlatano, and
the French and English charlatan, from which Dr. Krauss derives them.

The Vilas-Sylvana Elementary Spirits.

Among the Slavonic and gypsy races all witchcraft, fairy- and Folk-lore rests
mainly upon a belief in certain spirits of the wood and wold, of earth and
water, which has much in common with that of the Rosicrucians and
Paracelsus, but much more with the gypsy mythology (as given by
Wlislocki, “Vom Wandernden Zigeunervolke,” pp. 49–309), which is
apparently in a great measure of directly Indian origin.

“In the Vile” says Dr. Krauss, “also known as Samovile, Samodivi, and
Vilevrjaci, we have near relations to the forest and field spirits, or the
‘wood-’ and ‘moss-folk’ of Middle Germany, France, and Bavaria; the ‘wild
people’ of Eifel, Hesse, Salzburg, and the Tyrol; the wood-women and
wood-men of Bohemia; the Tyrolese Fanggen, Fänken, Nörkel, and Happy
Ladies; the Roumanish Orken, Euguane, and Dialen; the Danish Ellekoner;
the Swedish Skogsnufvaz; and the Russian Ljesje; while in certain respects
they have affinity with the Teutonic Valkyries.” Yet they differ on the whole
from all of these, as from English fairies, in being more like divinities, who
exert a constant and familiar influence for good or evil on human beings, and
who are prayed to or exorcised on all occasions. They have, however, their
exact parallel among the Red Indians of North America as among the
Eskimo, and it is evident that they are originally derived from the old or
primeval Shamanic faith, which once spread all over the earth. It is very true,
as Dr. Krauss remarks, that in the West of Europe it is becoming almost
impossible to trace this true origin of spirits now regarded as merely
diabolical, or otherwise put into new rôles; but among the South Slavonians
and gypsies we can still find them in very nearly their old form and playing
the same parts. We can still find the Vila as set forth in old ballads, the
incarnation of beauty and power, the benevolent friends of sufferers, the

geniuses of heroes, the dwellers by rock and river and greenwood tree. But
they are implacable in their wrath to all who deceive them, or who break a
promise; nay, they inflict terrible punishment even on those who disturb their
rings or the dances which they make by midsummer moonlight. Hence the
proverb applied to any man who suddenly fell ill: “Naiso je na vilinsko kolo”
(“He stepped on a fairy-ring”). From this arbitrary exercise of power we find
the Vila represented at times as a spirit who punishes and torments.

Thus we are told that there was once a shepherd named Stanko, who played
beautifully on the flute. One evening he was so absorbed in his own music
that when the Ave Maria bell rung, instead of repeating the prayer he played
it. As he ended he saw a Vila sitting on a hedge. And from that hour she
never left him. By table, by his bed, at work or play, the white form and
unearthly eyes of the spirit were close to him.
“By a spell to him unknown,
He could never be alone.”

Witches and wizards were summoned to aid him, but to no avail; nay, it
made matters worse, for the Vila now often beat him, and when people asked
him why it was, he replied that the Vila did so because he refused to wander
out into the world with her. And yet again he would be discovered in the top
of a tree, bound with bast; and so it went on for years, till he was finally
found one morning drowned in a ditch. So in the Wolf Dietrich legend the
hero refuses the love of die rauhe Else, and is made mad by the witch and
runs wild. All of which is identical with what is told in an Algonkin tale
(vide “The Algonkin Legends of New England”).

There are three kinds of witches or spirits among the Southern Slavonians
which correspond in every respect exactly to those in which the gypsies
believe. The first of these are the Zračne Vile, or aerial spirits. These, like the
spirits of the air of Scripture, are evily-disposed to human beings, playing
them mischievous tricks or inflicting on them fatal injuries. They lead them
astray by night, like Friar Rush and Robin Goodfellow, or the English gypsy
Mullo doods, or bewilder and frighten them into madness. Of the second
kind are the Earth spirits, Pozemne Vile, in gypsy Pcūvushi or Pūvushi.
These are amiable, noble, and companionable beings, who often give sage

counsel to men. Thirdly are the Water sprites, in Slavonic Povodne Vile, in
gypsy Nivashi, who are to the highest degree vindictive at times, yet who
behave kindly to men when they meet them on land. But woe to those who,
while swimming, encounter them in streams or lakes, for then the goblins
grasp and whirl them about until they perish. From this account by Dr.
Krauss, it appears as if this Slavonic mythology were derived from the
gypsy, firstly, because it is more imperfect than the latter, and secondly,
because in it Vilas, or spirits, are confused with witches, while among the
gypsies they are clearly separated and distinctly defined.

Dr. Wlislocki says (“Vom Wand. Zigeunervolke,” p. 253) that “gypsies are
still a race given to Shamanism, but yet they reverence a highest being under
the name of devla or del.” This is, however, the case to-day with all
believers in Shaman or Sorcery-religion, the difference between them and
monotheists being that this highest god is little worshipped or even thought
of, all practical devotion being paid to spirits who are really their saints. By
close examination the Gypsy religion, like that of the country-folk in India,
appears to be absolutely identical in spirit with that of American Indians.
And I should say that the monk mentioned by Prætorius, who declared that
though God and Christ should damn him, yet he could be saved by appealing
to Saint Joseph, was not very far removed from being a Shamanist.

The Hungarian gypsies are divided into tribes, and one of these, the Kukaya,
believes itself to be descended from the Pçuvushi, or earth-fairies, according
to the following story, narrated by Dr. H. von Wlislocki in his paper on the
genealogy and family relations of the Transylvanian Tent Gypsies:—

“Many thousand years ago there were as yet in the world very few Pchuvushi. These are
beings of human form dwelling under the earth. There they have cities, but they very often
come to the world above. They are ugly, and their men are covered with hair. (All of this
indicates a prehistoric subterranean race like the Eskimo, fur-clad.3) They carry off mortal
girls for wives. Their life is hidden in the egg of a black hen.”

This is the same as that of the Orco or Ogre in the Italian tale, “I Racconti
delle Fate, Cesare da Causa,” Florence, 1888. Whoever kills the hen and
throws the egg into a running stream, kills the pchuvush.

“Once a young Pchūvush woman came up to the world and sat in a fair green forest. She
saw a very beautiful youth sleeping in the shade, and said: ‘What happiness it must be to
have such a husband. Mine is so ugly!’ Her husband, who had stolen silently after her, heard
this, and reflected: ‘What a good idea it would be to lend my wife to this young man till she
shall have borne a family of beautiful children! Then I could sell them to my rich Pchuvūs
friends.’ So he said to his wife: ‘You may live with this youth for ten years if you will
promise to give me either the boys or the girls which you may bear to him.’ She agreed to
this. Then the Pchuvūs began to sing:—

“ ‘Kuku, kukáya
Kames to adala?
Kuku, kukaya.’

“That is in English:—

“ ‘Kuku, kukaya
Do you want this (one) here?
Kuku, kukaya.’

“Then the young man awoke, and as the goblin offered him much gold and silver with his
wife, he took her and lived with her ten years, and every year she bore him a son. Then
came the Pchuvush to get the children. But the wife said she had chosen to keep all the sons,
and was very sorry but she had no girls to give him! So he went away sorrowfully, howling:
—

“ ‘Kuku, kukáya!
Ada kin jirklá!
Kuku, kukaya!’

“That is to say:—

“ ‘Kuku, kukaya!
These are dogs here!
Kuku, kukaya!’

“Then the ten boys laughed and said to their father: ‘We will call ourselves Kukaya.’ And so
from them came the race.”

Dr. Wlislocki points out that there are races which declare themselves to be
descended from dogs, or, like the Romans, from wolves. It is a curious
coincidence that the Eskimo are among the former.

In all parts of Eastern Europe, as in the West, many people are not only
careful to burn the parings of their nails4 and the combings of hair, for fear
lest witches and imps should work sorcery with them to the injury of those
from whom they came, but they also destroy the shells of eggs when they

have eaten their contents. So A. Wuttke tells us in his book, “Der Deutsche
Volks Aberglaube der Gegenwart,” 1869: “When one has eaten eggs the
shells must be broken up or burned, or else the hens will lay no more, or evil
witches will come over them.” And in England, Spain, the Netherlands, or
Portugal, there are many who believe or say that if the witches can get such
shells from which people have eaten, unbroken, they can, by muttering
spells, cause them to grow so large that they can use them as boats. Dom
Leitas Ganet (“Dona Branca ou a Conquista do Algarve,” Paris, 1826),
however, assures us that is a very risky thing for the witches, because if they
do not return home before midnight the shell-boat perishes, “whence it hath
come to pass that many of these sorceresses have been miserably drowned.”

However, an egg hung up in a house is a lucky amulet, hence the ostrich
eggs and cocoanuts resembling them which are so common in the East. And
it is to be observed that every gypsy in England declares that a pivilioi, or
cocoanut, as a gift brings bāk or luck, I myself having had many given to me
with this assurance. This is evidently and directly derived from India, in
which country there are a mass of religious traditions referring to it.

“Once there was a gypsy girl who noticed that when anybody ate eggs they broke up the
shells, and asking why this was done received for answer:—

“ ‘You must break the shell to bits for fear
Lest the witches should make it a boat, my dear.
For over the sea away from home,
Far by night the witches roam.’

“Then the girl said: ‘I don’t see why the poor witches should not have boats as well as other
people.’ And saying this she threw the shell of an egg which she had been eating as far as
she could, and cried, ‘Chovihani, lav tro bero!’ (‘Witch—there is your boat!’) But what was
her amazement to see the shell caught up by the wind and whirled away on high till it
became invisible, while a voice cried, ‘Paraka!’ (‘I thank you!’)

“Now it came to pass some time after that the gypsy girl was on an island, where she
remained some days. And when she wished to return, behold a great flood was rising, and it
had washed her boat away, she could see nothing of it. But the water kept getting higher and
higher, and soon there was only a little bit of the island above the flood, and the girl thought
she must drown. Just then she saw a white boat coming; there sat in it a woman with witch
eyes; she was rowing with a broom, and a black cat sat on her shoulder. ‘Jump in!’ she cried
to the girl, and then rowed her to the firm land.

“When she was on the shore the woman said: ‘Turn round three times to the right and look
every time at the boat.’ She did so, and every time she looked she saw the boat grow smaller

till it was like an egg. Then the woman sang:—

“ ‘That is the shell you threw to me,
Even a witch can grateful be.’

“Saying this she vanished, cat, broom, shell, and all.

“Now my story is fairly done,
I beg you to tell a better one.”

As regards these boats which grow large or small at will we find them in the
Norse ship Skidbladnir, which certain dwarfs made and gave to Frey. It is so
large that all the gods and their army can embark in it. But when not in use it
may be so contracted that one may hava i pungi sino—put it in his purse or
pocket. The Algonkin god Glooskap has not only the counterpart of
Skidbladnir, but the hammer of Thor and his belt of strength. He has also the
two attendant birds which bring him news, and the two wolves which mean
Day and Night.

Another legend given by Dr. Krauss, relative to witches and egg-shells is as
follows:—

“By the Klek lived a rich tavern-keeper and his wife. He was thin and lean—hager und
mager—while she was as fat as a well-fed pig.

“One day there came a gypsy woman by. She began to tell his fortune by his hand. And as
she studied it seriously she became herself serious, and then said to him, ‘Listen, you good-
natured dolt (moré)! Do you know why you are so slim and your wife so stout?’ ‘Not I.’
‘My good friend (Latcho pral), your wife is a witch. Every Friday when there is a new
moon (mladi petak) she rides you up along the Klek to the devil’s dance’ (Uraze kolo).
‘How can that be?’ ‘Simply enough. As soon as you fall asleep, she slips a magic halter over
your head. Then you become a horse, and she rides you over the hills and far away over
mountains and woods, cities and seas, to the witches’ gathering.

“‘Little you know where you have been,
Little you think of what you have seen,

“‘For when you awake it is all forgotten, but the ride is hard for you, and you are wasting
away, and dying. Take great care of yourself on the next Friday when there is a new moon!’

“So the gypsy went her way, and he thought it over. On the next Friday when the moon was
new he went to bed early, but only pretended to sleep. Then his wife came silently as a cat to
the bed-side with the magic halter in her hand. As quick as lightning he jumped up, snatched
it from her, and threw it over her head. Then she became, in a second, a mare. He mounted

her, and away she flew through the air—over hills and dales like the wind, till they came to
the witches’ meeting.

“He dismounted, bound the mare to a tree, and, unseen by the company, watched them at a
little distance. All the witches carried pots or jars. First they danced in a ring, then every one
put her pot on the ground and danced alone round it. And these pots were egg-shells.

“While he watched, there came flying to him a witch in whom he recognized his old
godmother. ‘How did you come here?’ she inquired. ‘Well, I came here on my mare, I know
not how.’ ‘Woe to you—begone as soon as possible. If the witches once see you it will be all
up with you. Know that we are all waiting for one’ (this one was his wife), ‘and till she
comes we cannot begin.’ Then the landlord mounted his mare, cried ‘Home!’ and when he
was there tied her up in the stable and went to bed.

“In the morning his servant-man said to him: ‘There is a mare in the stable.’ ‘Yes,’ replied
the master; ‘it is mine.’ So he sent for a smith, and made him shoe the mare. Now, whatever
is done to a witch while she is in the form of an animal remains on or in her when she
resumes her natural shape.

“Then he went out and assembled a judicial or legal commission. He led the members to his
house, told them all his story, led forth the mare, and took off the halter. She became a
woman as before, but horse-shoes were affixed to her feet and hands. She began to weep
and wail, but the judge was pitiless. He had her thrown into a pit full of quicklime, and thus
she was burnt to death. And since that time people break the shells of eggs after eating their
contents, lest witches should make jars or pots of them.”

The following story on the same subject is from a different source:—

“There was once a gypsy girl who was very clever, and whenever she heard people talk
about witches she remembered it well. One day she took an egg-shell and made a small
round hole in it very neatly, and ate the yolk and white, but the shell she put on a heap of
white sand by a stream, where it was very likely to be seen. Then she hid herself behind a
bush. By and by, when it was night, there came a witch, who, seeing the shell, pronounced a
word over it, when it changed to a beautiful boat, into which the witch got and sailed on the
water, over the sea.

“The girl remembered the word, and soon ate another egg and turned it into a boat.
Whenever she willed it went over the world to places where fruit and flowers abounded, or
where people gave her much gold for such things as knives and scissors. So she grew rich
and had a fine house. The boat she hid away carefully in a bush.

“There was a very envious, wicked woman, whom the girl had befriended many a time, and
who hated her all the more for it. And this creature set to work, spying and sneaking, to find
out the secret of the girl’s prosperity. And at last she discovered the boat, and, suspecting
something, hid herself in the bush hard by to watch.

“By and by the girl came with a basket full of wares for her trade, and, drawing out the boat,
said, ‘To Africa!’—when off it flew. The woman watched and waited. After a few hours the

girl returned. Her boat was full of fine things, ostrich feathers and gold, fruit and strange
flowers, all of which she carried into her house.

“Then the woman put the boat on the water, and said, ‘To Africa!’ But she did not know the
word by means of which it was changed from an egg-shell, and which made it fly like
thought. So as it went along the woman cried, ‘Faster!’ but it never heeded her. Then she
cried again in a great rage, and at last exclaimed, ‘In God’s name get on with you!’ Then the
spell was broken, and the boat turned into an egg-shell, and the woman was drowned in the
great rolling sea.”

Egg-lore is inexhaustible. The eggs of Maundy Thursday (Witten
Donnertag), says a writer in The Queen, protect a house against thunder and
lightning, but, in fact, an egg hung up is a general protection, hence the
ostrich eggs and cocoanuts of the East. Some other very interesting items in
the communication referred to are as follows:—

“Witches and Eggs.—‘To hang an egg laid on Ascension Day in the roof of a house,’ says
Reginald Scot in 1584, ‘preserveth the same from all hurts.’ Probably this was written with
an eye to the ‘hurts’ arising from witchcraft, in connection with which eggs were supposed
to possess certain mysterious powers. In North Germany, if you have a desire to see the
ladies of the broomstick on May Day, their festival, you must take an egg laid on Maundy
Thursday, and stand where four roads meet; or else you must go into church on Good
Friday, but come out before the blessing. It was formerly quite an article of domestic belief
that the shells must be broken after eating eggs, lest the witches should sail out to sea in
them; or, as Sir Thomas Browne declared, lest they ‘should draw or prick their names
therein, and veneficiously mischief’ the person who had partaken of the egg. North
Germans, ignoring this side of the question, say, ‘Break the shells or you will get the ague;’
and Netherlanders advise you to secure yourself against the attacks of this disagreeable
visitor by eating on Easter Day a couple of eggs which were laid on Good Friday.

“Scottish Superstitions.—Scotch fishers, who may be reckoned among the most
superstitious of folks, believe that contrary winds and much consequent vexation of spirit
will be the result of having eggs on board with them; while in the west of England it is
considered very unlucky to bring birds’ eggs into the house, although they may be hung up
with impunity outside. Mr. Gregor, in his ‘Folklore of the North-East of Scotland,’ gives us
some curious particulars concerning chickens, and the best methods of securing a
satisfactory brood. The hen, it seems, should be set on an odd number of eggs, or the
chances are that most, if not all, will be addled—a mournful prospect for the henwife; also
they must be placed under the mother bird after sunset, or the chickens will be blind. If the
woman who performs this office carries the eggs wrapped up in her chemise, the result will
be hen birds; if she wears a man’s hat, cocks. Furthermore, it is as well for her to repeat a
sort of charm, ‘A’ in thegeethir, A’ oot thegeethir.’

“Unlucky Eggs.—There are many farmers’ wives, even in the present day, who would
never dream of allowing eggs to be brought into the house or taken out after dark—this
being deemed extremely unlucky. Cuthbert Bede mentions the case of a farmer’s wife in

Rutland who received a setting of ducks’ eggs from a neighbour at nine o’clock at night. ‘I
cannot imagine how she could have been so foolish,’ said the good woman, much distressed,
and her visitor, upon inquiry, was told that ducks’ eggs brought into a house after sunset
would never be hatched. A Lincolnshire superstition declares that if eggs are carried over
running water they will be useless for setting purposes; while in Aberdeen there is an idea
prevalent among the country folks that should it thunder a short time before chickens are
hatched, they will die in the shell. The same wiseacres may be credited with the notion that
the year the farmer’s gudewife presents him with an addition to his family is a bad season
for the poultry yard. ‘Bairns an’ chuckens,’ say they, ‘dinna thrive in ae year.’ The probable
explanation being that the gudewife, taken up with the care of her bairn, has less time to
attend to the rearing of the ‘chuckens.’

“Fortune-telling in Northumberland.—Besides the divination practised with the white of
an egg, which certainly appears of a vague and unsatisfactory character, another species of
fortune-telling with eggs is in vogue in Northumberland on the eve of St. Agnes. A maiden
desirous of knowing what her future lord is like, is enjoined to boil an egg, after having
spent the whole day fasting and in silence, then to extract the yolk, fill the cavity with salt,
and eat the whole, including the shell. This highly unpalatable supper finished, the heroic
maid must walk backwards, uttering this invocation to the saint:—

“ ‘Sweet St. Agnes, work thy fast,
If ever I be to marry man,
Or man be to marry me,
I hope him this night to see.’ ”

Friedrich and others assert that the saying in Luke xi. 12—“Or if he shall
ask an egg shall he give him a scorpion?”—is a direct reference to ancient
belief that the egg typified the good principle, and the scorpion evil, and
which is certainly supported by a cloud of witnesses in the form of classic
folk-lore. The egg, as a cosmogenic symbol, and indicating the origin of all
things, finds a place in the mythologies of many races. These are indicated
with much erudition by Friedrich, “Symbolik der Natur,” p. 686.

In Lower Alsatia it is believed that if a man will take an Easter egg into the
church and look about him, if there be any witches in the congregation he
may know them by their having in their hands pieces of pork instead of
prayer-books, and milk-pails on their heads for bonnets (Wolf, “Deutsche
Mährchen und Sagen,” p. 270). There is also an ancient belief that an egg
built into a new building will protect it against evil and witchcraft. Such eggs
were found in old houses in Altenhagen and Iserlohen, while in the East
there is a proverb, “the egg of the chamber” (“Hamasa” of Abu Temman, v.
Rückert, Stuttgart, 1846), which seems to point to the same practice.

The Romans expressed a disaster by saying, “Ovum ruptum est” (“The egg
is smashed”). Among other egg-proverbs I find the following:—

His eggs are all omelettes (French); i.e., broken up.

Eggs in the pan give pancakes but nevermore chicks (Low German).

Never a chicken comes from broken eggs (Low German).

Bad eggs, bad chickens. Hence in America “a bad egg” for a man who is radically bad, and
“a good egg” for the contrary.

Eggs not yet laid are uncertain chickens; i.e., “Do not count your chickens before they are
hatched.”

Tread carefully among eggs (German).

The egg pretends to be cleverer than the hen.

He waits for the eggs and lets the hen go.

He who wants eggs must endure the clucking of the hen (Westphalian).

He thinks his eggs are of more account than other people’s hens.

One rotten egg spoils all the pudding.

Rotten eggs and bad butter always stand by one another; or “go well together.”

Old eggs, old lovers, and an old horse,
Are either rotten or for the worse.

(Original:

Alte Eyer
Alte Freier—
Alter Gaul
Sind meistens faul.)

“All eggs are of the same size” (Eggs are all alike), he said, and grabbed the biggest.

As like as eggs (Old Roman).

As sure as eggs.

His eggs all have two yolks.

If you have many eggs you can have many cakes.

He who has many eggs scatters many shells.

To throw an egg at a sparrow.

To borrow trouble for eggs not yet hatched.

Half an egg is worth more than all the shell.

A drink after an egg, and a leap after an apple.

A rotten egg in his face.

In the early mythology, the egg, as a bird was hatched from it, and as it
resembled seeds, nuts, &c., from which new plants come, was regarded as
the great type of production. This survives in love-charms, as when a girl in
the Tyrol believes she can secure a man’s love by giving him a red Easter
egg. This giving red eggs at Easter is possibly derived from the ancient
Parsees, who did the same at their spring festival. Among the Christians the
reproductive and sexual symbolism, when retained, was applied to the
resurrection of the body and the immortality of the soul. Hence Easter eggs.
And as Christ by His crucifixion caused this, or originated the faith, we have
the ova de crucibus, the origin of which has puzzled so many antiquaries; for
the cross itself was, like the egg, a symbol of life, in earlier times of
reproduction, and in a later age of life eternal. These eggs are made of a
large size of white glass by the Armenian Christians.

1 “Südslavische Hexensagen, Mittheilungen der Anthropologischen Gesellschaft in Wien.” xiv.
Bande, 1884. “Medizinische Zaubersprüche aus Slavonien, Bosnien, der Hercegovina und
Dalmatien.” Wien, 1887. “Sreča, Glück und Schicksal im Volksglauben der Südslaven.” Wien, 1886.
“Südslavische Pestsagen.” Wien, 1883. ↑
2 “Witch. Mediæval English wicche, both masculine and feminine, a wizard, a witch. Anglo-Saxon
wicca, masculine, wicce, feminine. Wicca is a corruption of wítga, commonly used as a short form of
witega, a prophet, seer, magician, or sorcerer. Anglo-Saxon witan, to see, allied to wítan, to know.
Similarly Icelandic vitki, a wizard, is from vita, to know. Wizard, Norman-French wischard, the
original Old French being guiscart, sagacious. Icelandic, vizkr, clever or knowing, … with French
suffix ard as German hart, hard, strong” (Skeat, “Etymol. Dictionary”). That is wiz-ard, very wise.
Wit and wisdom here are near allied to witchcraft, and thin partitions do the bounds divide. ↑
3 For a very interesting account of the mysterious early dwarfs of Great Britain the reader may
consult “Earth Houses and their Inhabitants,” by David MacRitchie, in “The Testimony of Tradition.”
London: Trübner and Co., 1890. ↑
4 The many superstitions relating to cutting nails may be referred in part to the very wild legend of
the ship Naglfara given in Sturleson’s “Edda.”
“Then in that Twilight of the Gods (the Norse Day of Judgment) will come the ship Naglfara, which is
made of dead men’s nails. In that sea it will go forth. Hrymer steereth it. And for this cause no man

should die with his nails unshorn, for so the ship is made, and the gods would fain put that off as long
as possible” (“Edda, Gylfesgynning,” 26th tale). ↑

LAPLAND MAGIC DRUM.

CHAPTER V.

CHARMS OR CONJURATIONS TO CURE OR
PROTECT ANIMALS.

F
rom the earliest ages a drum or
tambourine has formed such an
indispensable adjunct of Shamanic
sorcery among Tartars, Lapps,
Samoyedes, Eskimo, and Red Indians,
that, taking it with other associations, I
can hardly believe that it has not been
transmitted from one to the other. In
Hungary the gypsies when they wish to
know if an invalid will recover, have
recourse to the cováçanescro buçlo
(chovihanescro būklo) or “witch-drum.”
This is a kind of rude tambourine
covered with the skin of an animal, and
marked with stripes which have a special
meaning. On this are placed from nine to
twenty-one seeds of the thorn-apple
(stramonium). The side of the drum is
then gently struck with a little hammer,
and according to the position which the seeds take on the marks, the recovery
or death of the patient is predicted. The following is a picture of a gypsy drum
as given by Dr. Wlislocki.

The wood for this is cut on Whitsunday. A is turned towards the fortune-teller;
nine seeds are now thrown on the drum, and with the left hand, or with a
hammer held in it, the tambourine is tapped. Should all the seeds come within
the four lines all will go well, especially if three come within a, d, e, f. If two
roll into the space between a, i, it is lucky for a woman, between i and f for a
man. But if nearly all fall outside of b, c, g, h, all is unfavourable. The same
divination is used to know whether animals will get well, and where stolen
property is concealed. All of this corresponds exactly to the use of the same
instrument by the Laplanders for the same purposes. The thorn-apple is a very
poisonous plant, and the gypsies are said to have first brought it to England.
This is not true, but it is extremely possible that they used it in stupefying,
killing, and “bewitching.” It is very much employed at present by the Voodoo
poisoners in America.

The Turks are a Tartar race, and the drum is used among them very generally
for magical purposes. I have one of these tambouri which, I was assured when
I bought it, was made for incantations. It is of a diamond shape, has parchment
on both sides, and is inscribed with the name Allah, in Arabic, and the well-
known double triangle of Solomon, with the moon and star.

To keep domestic animals from straying or being stolen, or falling ill, they are,
when a gypsy first becomes their owner, driven up before a fire by his tent.
Then they are struck with a switch, which is half blacked with coal, across the
back, while the following is repeated:—

“Ač tu, ač kathe!
Tu hin mange!
Te Nivasa the jiánen—
Ná dikh tu ádálen!

Trin lánca hin mánge,
Me pçándáv tute:
Yeká o devlá, ávri
O Kristus, trite Maria!”

“Stay thou, stay here!
Thou art mine!
And the Nivasi when they go—
Thou shalt not see them!
Three chains I have,
I bind thee:
One is God, the other (beyond)
The Christ, the third, Maria!”

To charm a horse, they draw, with a coal, a ring on the left hoof and on the
right a cross, and murmur:—

“Obles, obles te obles!
Ač tu, ač tù máy sástes
Ná th’ ávehás beng tute
Devlá, devlá ač tute!
Gule devlá bishálá
E gráyeskro perá
Miseçescro dád!
Niko mánushenge áč
Káske me dáv, leske ač
Shukáres tu áč,
Voyesá te láčcs ač,
Ashunen eftá Pçuvuse:
Eftá láncá hin mánge,
Ferinen ádálá
Táysá, táysá e pedá!”

“Round, round, and round!
Be thou, be thou very sound
The devil shall not come to thee,
God, God shall be with thee!
Sweet God drive away
From the horse’s body
The Father of Evil!
Be to (go not to) any other man
To whom I give (sell) unto him
Be beautiful!
Frolicsome and good,
Seven spirits of earth hear!
I have seven chains,

Protect this animal
Ever, ever!”

Then a piece of salted bread is given to the horse, and the owner spits seven
times into his eyes, by which he is supposed to lose all fear for supernatural
beings. According to the gypsies, horses, especially black ones, can see beings
which are invisible to human eyes. I have known an old English gypsy who
believed that dogs could see ghosts when men could not. The mysterious
manner in which dogs and horses betray fear when there is apparently nothing
to dread, the howling of the former by night, and the wild rushes of the latter,
doubtless led to this opinion. The bread and salt will recall to the reader the fact
that the same was given at the ancient mysteries apparently for the purpose of
strengthening the neophyte so that he should not fear the supernatural beings
whom he was supposed to meet. It is curious to find this peculiar form of the
sacrament administered to a horse. Another protective charm is common
among the Southern Hungarian gypsies. The dung of a she-goat dried and
powdered is sifted on a horse’s back and this spell recited:—

“Miseçes prejiá,
Andrál t’re perá!
Trádá čik busčákri
Miseçes perákri,—
Andral punrá, andral dumno,
Andral yákhá, andral kánná!
Nevkerádyi av ákána,
Ač tu, ač tu čá mánge:
Áč tu, áč tu, áč káthe!”

“Evil be gone
From thy belly!
Drive away she-goat’s dung
Evil from the belly,
From the feet, from the back,
From the eyes, from the ears!
New-born be now,
Be thou, be thou only mine:
Stay thou, stay thou, stay here!”

There is evidently a relation here between the dung of the she-goat and certain
ancient symbols. Whatever was a sign of fruitfulness, generation, or
productiveness, whether it was set forth by the generative organs, sexual
passion, or even manure which fertilises, was connected with Life which is the

good or vital principle opposed to death. As the goat was eminently a type of
lechery, so the she-goat, owing to the great proportion of milk which she
yielded, set forth abundance; hence the cornucopia of Amalthea, the prototype
of the she-goat Heidrun of the Northern mythology, who yielded every day so
much milk that all the Einheriar, or dwellers in Valhall, could satisfy
themselves therewith.1 But the forms or deities indicating life were also those
which shielded and protected from evil, therefore Here, the mother of life and
of birth, had in Sparta a shrine where she-goats were sacrificed to her, while at
Canuvium the statue of Juno Sospita (who was also Here), was covered with a
she-goat’s skin. It is in the ancient sense of fertility identified with protection,
that the she-goat’s dung is used to exorcise evil from the horse by the gypsies.
There is, in fact, in all of these charms and exorcisms a great deal which
evidently connects them with the earliest rites and religions.

In the Hungarian gypsy-tribe of the Kukuya, the following method of
protecting horses is used: The animal is placed by the tent-fire and there a little
hole is dug before him into which ninefold grass and some hairs from his mane
and tail are put. Then his left fore-hoof is traced on the ground, and the earth
within it is carefully taken out and shaken into the hole, while these lines are
repeated:—

“Yeká čunul yeká bál,
Tute e bokh náñi sál,
Ko tut čorel, the merel
Sar e bálá, čunulá,
Pal e pçuv the yov ável!
Pçuvus, adalen tute,
Sástes gráy ác mánge!”

“A straw, a hair!
May you never be hungry!
May he who steals you die!
Like the hair and the straw,
May he go to the ground!
Earth, these things to thee!
May a sound horse be mine!”

If the animal be a mare and it is desired that she shall be with foal, they give
her oats to eat out of an apron or a gourd, and say:—

“Trin kánályá, trin jiuklá,
Jiánen upre pláyá!
Cábá, pçares hin perá!
Trin kánályá, trin jiuklá
Jiánen tele pláyá,
É çevá ándrasaváren
Yek čumut ándre çasáren,
Tre perá sik pçáreven!”

“Three asses, three dogs,
Go up the hill!
Eat, fill thy belly with young!
Three asses, three dogs,
Go down the hill,
They close the holes,
They put the moon in (them)
Thy belly be soon fruitful!”

“The moon has here,” remarks Wlislocki, “a phallic meaning, the mention of
the ass, and the use of the gourd and apron are symbols of fertility. Vide De
Gubernatis, ‘Animals in Indian Mythology,’ in the chapter on the ass.”

There is another formula for protecting and aiding cattle, which is practised
among other races besides that of the gypsies; as, for instance, among the
Slovacks of Northern Hungary. This I shall leave in the original:—

“Dieses Verwahrungsmittel besteht darin, dass dem gekauften weiblichen Thiere der Mann den
blanken Hintern zeigt, einem männlichen Thiere aber eine weibliche Person. Hiebei werden die
Worte gesagt:—

“Sár o kár pál e punrá,
Kiyá mánge ác táysá!

Wie der Schwantz am Bein,
Sollst du stets bei mir sein!”

Or else:—

“Sár e minč pal e per,
Kiyá mánge ác buter!

Wie das Loch im Leib,
Also bei mir bleib!”

To secure swine to their owner a hole is dug in the turf which is filled with salt
and charcoal dust, which is covered with earth, and these words uttered:—

“Adá hin tute
Ná ává pál menge
Dáv tute, so kámáv
Pçuvusheyá, áshuná,
Čores tuna muká
Hin menge trin láncá,
Trin máy láce Urmá,
Ke ferinen men!”

“This is thine,
Come not to us!
I give thee what I can
Oh Spirit of earth, hear!
Let not the thief go!
We have three chains,
Three very good fairies
Who protect us.”

If the swine find the hole and root it up—as they will be tolerably certain to do
owing to their fondness for salt and charcoal—they will not be stolen or run
away.

The Urmen, or Fairies, are supposed to be very favourable to cattle, therefore
children who torment cows are told “Urme tute ná bica somnakune
pçábáy”—“The fairies will not send you any golden apples!” If the English
gypsies had the word Urme (and it may be that it exists among them even yet),
this would be, “I Urme ná bitcher tute sonnakai pábya!”

But the mighty charm of charms to protect cattle from theft is the following:
Three drops of blood are made to fall from the finger of a little child on a piece
of bread which is given to the animal to eat, with these words:—

“Dav tute trinen rátá
Ternes te láces ávná!
Ko tut čorel, ádáleske
Hin rát te más shutyárdye!

Káná rátá te rátá
Paltire per ávná,
Yákh te yákh te báre yákh

Sikoves çál te çál
Ko kámel tut te çál!”

“I give three (drops of) blood
To become young and good;
Who steals thee to him
Shall be (is) blood and flesh dried up!

When blood and blood
Pass into thy belly,
Fire and fire and great fire
Shall devour and devour all
Who will eat thee!”

This incantation takes us back to grim old heathenism with hints of human
sacrifice. When the thief was suspected or privately detected it is probable that
a dose of some burning poison made good the prediction. “The word young”
remarks Dr. Wlislocki, “may be here understood to mean innocent, since,
according to ancient belief, there was a powerful magic virtue in the blood of
virgins and of little children. Every new tent is therefore sprinkled by the
gypsies with a few drops of a child’s blood to protect it from magic or any
other accident.” So in prehistoric times, and through the Middle Ages, a human
being was often walled up alive in the foundations of a castle to insure its
durability. (Vide P. Cassel, “Die Symbolik des Blutes,” p. 157.)

When the wandering, or tent-gypsies, find that cattle are ill and do not know
the nature of the disease, they take two birds—if possible quails, called by
them bereçto or füryo—one of which is killed, but the other, besprinkled with
its blood, is allowed to fly away. With what remains of the blood they sprinkle
some fodder, which is put before the animal, with the words:—

“So ándre tu miseç hin
Avri ává!
Káthe ker ná ávlá,
Miseçeske!
Káná rátá ná ávná,
Násvályipen ná ávná!
Miseç, tu ávri ává,
Ada ker ná láce;
Dáv rátá me káthe!”

“What in thee is evil
Come forth!
Here is no home
For the evil one!
When (drops of) blood come not,
Sickness comes not,
Thou evil one, come forth!’

“Trin párne, trin kále,
Trin tçule páshlajen káthe,
Ko len hádjinel
Ač kivá mánge!”

“Three white, three black,
Three fat lie together here.
Whoever disturbs them
Remain to me! (Be mine!)”

To insure pigs thriving by a new owner, some charcoal-dust is mingled with
their food and these words spoken:—

“Nivaseske ná muká,
The çál t’re çábená!
Miseç yákhá tut díkhen,
The yon káthe mudáren,
Tu atunci çábá len!”

“Do not let the Nivasi
Eat thy food,
Evil eyes see thee,
And they here shall perish,
Then do thou eat them!”

As a particularly powerful conjuration against thieves, the owner runs thrice,
while quite naked, round the animal or object which he wishes to protect, and
repeats at every turn:—

“Oh coreyá ná prejiá.
Dureder ná ává!
T’re vástá, t’re punrá
Avená kirñodyá
Te ádá pedá láves!”

“Oh, thief, do not go,
Further do not come!
Thy hands, thy feet
Shall decay
If thou takest this animal!”

Another “thieves’ benediction” is as follows: The owner goes at midnight with
the animal or object to be protected to a cross-roads, and while letting fall on
the ground a few hairs of the beast, or a bit of the thing whatever it be, repeats:
—

“Ada hin tute,
Ná ává pál menge,
Dav tute, so kámáv;
Pçuvuseyá áshuná!”

“This home is not good,
Here I give (thee) blood!”

“The gypsies call the quail the devil’s bird (Ciriclo bengeskro), and ascribe
diabolic properties to it. (Vide Cassel, 6 and 162.) The daughters of the Nivasi
appear as quails in the fields by day, but during the night they steal the corn. To
keep them away it is held good during sowing-time to place in each of the four
corners of the field, parts of a quail, or at least some of the feathers of a black
hen which has never laid an egg. This superstition is also current among the
Roumanian peasants of the Siebenbürgen.”

The primitive meaning of the myth may perhaps be found in the Greek
tradition which regarded the quail, because it was a bird of passage, as a type of
revival of spring or of life. Hercules awakes from his swoon when his
companion Iolaus (from the Greek ιουλος, youth), holds a quail to his nose.
Hercules suffered from epilepsy, for which disease the ancients thought the
brain of a quail was a specific. The placing pieces of a quail, by the gypsies, in
the corners of a field when corn is sown, connects the bird with spring.
Artemis, a goddess of spring and life, was called by the Romans Ortygyia,
from ορτυξ, a quail. Therefore, as signifying new life, the quail became itself a
cure for many diseases. And it seems to be like the Wren, also a bird of
witchcraft and sorcery, or a kind of witch itself. It is a protector, because,
owing to its pugnacity, it was a type of pluck, battle and victory. In Phœnicia it

was sacrificed to Hercules, and the Romans were so fanatical in regard to it that
Augustus punished a city-father for serving upon his table a quail which had
become celebrated for its prowess. And so it has become a devil’s bird among
the gypsies because in the old time it was regarded as a devil of a bird for
fighting.

The gypsies are hardly to be regarded as Christians, but when they wish to
contend against the powers of darkness they occasionally invoke Christian
influences. If a cow gives bloody milk it is thought to be caused by her eating
Wachtelkraut, or quail weed, which is a poison. In such a case they sprinkle the
milk on a field frequented by quails and repeat:—

“Dav rátá tumenge
Adá ná hin láče!
Ráyeskro Kristeskro rátá
Adá hin máy láce
Adá hin ámenge!”

“I give to you blood,
Which is not good!
The Lord Christ’s blood
Is truly good,
That is ours!”

If a cow makes water while being milked, she is bewitched, and it is well in
such a case to catch some of the urine, mix it with onion-peelings and the egg
of a black hen. This is boiled and mixed with the cow’s food while these lines
are repeated:—

“Ko ándré hin, avriává,
Trin Urma cingárden les,
Trin Urma tráden les
Andre yándengré ker
Beshel yov ándre ker
Hin leske máy yakhá,
Hin leske máy páña!”

“Who is within, let him come out!
Three Urme call him,
Three Urme drive him
Into the egg-shell house,
There he lives in the house;

He has much fire,
He has much water!”

Then half the shell of the egg of the black hen is thrown into a running stream
and the other half into a fire.

Next to the Nivasi and Pçuvuse, or spirits of earth and air, and human sorcerers
or witches, the being who is most dreaded as injuring cattle is the Chagrin or
Cagrino. These demons have the form of a hedgehog, are of yellowish colour,
and are half a yard in length, and a span in breadth. “I am certain,” says
Wlislocki, “that this creature is none other than the equally demoniac being
called Harginn, still believed in by the inhabitants of North-western India.
(Vide Liebrecht, p. 112, and Leitner, ‘Results of a Tour in Dardistan Kashmir,’
&c., vol. i. p. 13.) The exact identity of the description of the two, as well as
that of the name, prove that the gypsies brought the belief from their Indian
home.” It may here be observed that the Indian name is Harginn, and the true
gypsy word is pronounced very nearly like ‘Hágrin—the o being an arbitrary
addition. The transposition of letters in a word is extremely common among the
Hindu gypsies. The Chagrin specially torments horses, by sitting on their backs
and making water on their bodies. The next day they appear to be weary, sad,
sick, and weak, bathed in sweat, with their manes tangled. When this is seen
the following ceremony is resorted to: The horse is tied to a stake which has
been rubbed with garlic juice, then a red thread is laid in the form of a cross on
the ground, but so far from the heels of the horse that he cannot disturb it. And
while laying it down the performer sings:—

“Sáve miseç ač káthe,
Ác ándre lunge táve,
Andre leg páshader páñi.
De tu tire páñi
Andre çuča Cháriñeyá,
Andre tu sik mudárá!”

“All evil stay here,
Stay in the long thread,
In the next brook (water).
Give thy water,
Jump in Chagrin!
Therein perish quickly!”

Of the widely-spread and ancient belief in the magic virtues of garlic and red
wool I have elsewhere spoken. That witches and goblins or imps ride horses by
night and then restore them in the morning to their stalls in a wretched
condition—trembling, enfeebled, and with tangled manes—is believed all the
world over, and it would probably be found that the Chagrin also gallops them.

Another charm against this being consists of taking some of the hair of the
animal, a little salt, and the blood of a bat, which is all mixed with meal and
cooked to a bread. With this the foot of the horse is smeared, and then the
empty pipkin is put into the trunk of a high tree while these words are uttered:
—

“Ač tu čin kathe,
Čin ádá tçutes ávlá!”

“Stay so long here,
Till it shall be full!”

The blood of the bat may be derived from an Oriental belief that the bat being
the most perfect of birds, because it has breasts and suckles its young, it is
specially adapted to magical uses. In the Tyrol he who bears the left eye of a
bat may become invisible, and in Hesse he who wears the heart of a bat bound
to his arm with red thread will always win at cards. The manes of the horses
which have been tangled and twisted by the Chagrin must not be cut off or
disentangled unless these words are spoken:—

“Čin tu jid’, cin ádá bálá jiden.”

“So long live thou, long as these hairs shall live.”

It is an European belief that knots of hair made by witches must not be
disentangled. The belief that such knots are made intentionally by some
intelligence is very natural. I have often been surprised to find how frequently
knots form themselves in the cord of my eye-glass, even when pains are taken
at night to lay it down so as to be free of them. Apropos of which I may
mention that this teasing personality of the eye-glass and cord seems to have
been noted by others. I was once travelling on the Nile in company with a

Persian prince, who became convinced that his eye-glass was very unlucky, and
therefore threw it into the river.

The Chagrin specially torments mares which have recently foaled; therefore it
is held needful, soon after the birth, to put into the water which the mother
drinks glowing hot coals, which are thrice taken from the fire. With these are
included pieces of iron, such as nails, knives, &c., and the following words are
solemnly murmured:—

“Piyá tu te ña ač sovnibnastár!”

“Drink, and do not be sleepy!”

Many readers may here observe that charcoal and iron form a real tonic, or
very practical strengthening dose for the enfeebled mare. But here, as in many
cases medicine makes a cure and the devil or the doctor gets the credit. The
Chagrin is supposed to attack horses only while they are asleep. Its urine often
causes swellings or sores. These are covered by day with a patch of red cloth,
which is stuck at night into a hole in a tree, which is closed with a cork, while
these words are pronounced:—

“Ač tu káthe
Čin áulá táv pedá
Čin pedá yek ruk
Čin ruk yek mánush
Ko mudarel tut.”

“Remain thou here
Till the rag become an animal,
Till the animal, a tree,
Till the tree, a man,
Who will destroy thee!”

Dr. Wlislocki suggests that “the idea of the tree’s becoming a man, is derived
from the old gypsy belief that the first human beings were made from the
leaves of trees,” and refers to what he has elsewhere written on a tradition of
the creation of the world, as held by Transylvanian gypsies. The following is a
children’s song, in which the belief may be traced:—

“Amaro dád jál ándro bes
Čingerel odoy čaves,
Del dáyákri andre pádá
Yek čavoro ádá ávla.”

“Our father went into a wood,
There he cut a boy,
Laid it in mother’s bed,
So a boy comes.”

The Greeks believed that man was made from an ash-tree, and the Norsemen
probably derived it from the same source with them. In 1862 I published in The
Continental Magazine (New York) a paper on the lore connected with the ash,
in which effort was made to show that in early times in India the Banyan was
specially worshipped, and that the descendants of men familiar with this cult
had, after migrating to the Far West, transferred the worship and traditions of
the banyan to the ash. It has been observed that the ash-tree sometimes—like
the banyan—sends its shoots down to the ground, where they take root. The
Algonkin Indians seem to have taken this belief of man’s origin from the ash
from the Norsemen, as a very large proportion of their myths correspond
closely to those of the Edda. But, in brief, if the Greeks and Norsemen were of
Aryan origin, and had ever had a language in common, they probably had
common myths.

The following is the remedy for the so-called Würmer, or worms, i.e., external
sores. Before sunrise wolf’s milk (Wolfsmilch, rukeskro tçud) is collected,
mixed with salt, garlic, and water, put into a pot, and boiled down to a brew.
With a part of this the afflicted spot is rubbed, the rest is thrown into a brook,
with the words:—

“Kirmora jánen ándre tçud
Andrál tçud, andré sir
Andrál sir, andré páñi,
Panensá kiyá dádeske,
Kiyá Niváseske
Pçándel tumen shelehá
Eñávárdesh teñá!”

“Worms go in the milk,
From the milk into the garlic,
From the garlic into the water,

With the water to (your) father,
To the Nivasi,
He shall bind you with a rope,
Ninety-nine (yards long).”

A common cure of worms in swine among the Transylvanian tent-gypsies is to
stand ere the sun rises before a çadcerli, or nettle, and while pouring on it the
urine of the animal to be cured, repeat:—

“Láče, láče detehárá!
Hin mánge máy bute trásha
Kirmora hin [báleceske],
Te me penáv, penáv tute!
Káles hin yon, loles, párnes,
Deisislá hin yon mulánes!”

“Good, good morrow!
I have much sorrow.
Worms are in [my swine to-day]
And I say, to you I say,
Black are they or white or red
By to-morrow be they dead!”

The nettle has its own peculiar associations. According to the gypsies it grows
chiefly in places where there is a subterranean passage to the dwellings of the
Pçuvus, or Earth-fairies, therefore it is consecrated to them and called Kásta
Pçuvasengré, Pcuvus-wood. Hence the gypsy children while gathering nettles
for pigs sing:—

“Čádcerli ná pçábuvá!
André ker me ná jiáv,
Kiyá Pçuvus ná jiáv,
Tráden, tráden kirmorá!”

“Nettle, nettle do not burn,
In your house no one shall go,
No one to the Pcuvus goes,
Drive, drive away the worms!”

“The nettle,” says Friedrich (“Symbolik der Natur,” p. 324), “because it causes
a burning pain is among the Hindoos a demoniac symbol, for, as they say, the
great serpent poured out its poison on it. But as evil is an antidote for evil, the

nettle held in the hand is a guard against ghosts, and it is good for beer when
laid upon the barrel.” “From its employment as an aphrodisiac, and its use in
flagellation to restore sexual power, it is regarded as sacred to Nature by the
followers of a secret sect or society still existing in several countries, especially
Persia” (MS. account of certain Secret Societies). The gypsies believe that the
Earth-fairies are the foes of every kind of worm and creeping insect with the
exception of the snail, which they therefore call the “gráy Pçuvusengré,” the
Pçuvus-horse. Gry-puvusengree would in English gypsy mean the earthy-horse.
English gypsies, and the English peasantry, as well as gypsies, call snails
“cattle, because they have horns.” Snails are a type of voluptuousness, because
they are hermaphrodite, and exceedingly giving to sexual indulgence, so that as
many as half a dozen may be found mutually giving and taking pleasure. Hence
in German Schnecke, a snail, is a term applied to the pudendum muliebre. And
as anything significant of fertility, generation, and sexual enjoyment was
supposed to constitute a charm or amulet against witchcraft, i.e., all evil
influences, which are allied to sterility, chastity, and barrenness, a snail’s shell
forms a powerful fetish for a true believer. The reference to white, black, or red
in the foregoing charm, or rather the one before it, refers, says Dr. Wlislocki,
to the gypsy belief that there are white, black, and red Earth-fairies. A girl can
win (illicit) love from a man by inducing him to carry a snail shell which she
has had for some time about her person. To present a snail shell is to make a
very direct but not very delicate declaration of love to any one. I have heard of
a lady who caused an intense excitement in a village by collecting about a
hundred large snails, gilding their shells, and then turning them loose in several
gardens, where their discovery excited, as may be supposed, great excitement
among the finders.

If pigs lose their appetites a brew is made of milk, charcoal dust, and their own
dung, which is put before them with the words: “Friss Hexe und verreck!”

“In this place I must remark that the Transylvanian tent-gypsies use for grumus
merdœ also the expression Hirte (feris)” (Wlislocki). To cure a cough in
animals one should take from the hoofs of the first riding horse, dirt or dust,
and put it into the mouth of the suffering animal with the words:—

“Prejiál te náñi yov ável!”

“May he go away and never return!”

To have a horse always in good spirits and lively during the waning moon his
spine is rubbed with garlic, while these words are uttered:—

“Miseç ándre tut,
O beng the çal but!
Lačes ándre tut
Ačel ándre tut!”

“(What is) evil in thee,
May the devil eat it much!
(What is) good in thee,
May it remain in thee!”

But it is far more effective when the garlic is put on a rag of the clothes of one
who has been hanged, and the place rubbed with it: in which we have a
remnant of the earliest witchcraft, before Shamanism, which had recourse to
the vilest and most vulgar methods of exciting awe and belief. This is in all
probability the earliest form in which magic, or the power of controlling
invisible or supernatural influences manifested itself, and it is very interesting
to observe that it still survives, and that the world still presents every phase of
its faiths, ab initio.

There is a very curious belief or principle attached to the use of songs in
conjuring witches, or in averting their own sorcery. It is that the witch is
obliged, willy nilly, to listen to the end to what is in metre, an idea founded on
the attraction of melody, which is much stronger among savages and children
than with civilized adults. Nearly allied to this is the belief that if the witch sees
interlaced or bewildering and confused patterns she must follow them out, and
by means of this her thoughts are diverted or scattered. Hence the serpentine
inscriptions of the Norsemen and their intertwining bands which were firmly
believed to bring good luck or avert evil influence. A traveller in Persia states
that the patterns of the carpets of that country are made as bewildering as
possible “to avert the evil eye.” And it is with this purpose that in Italian, as in
all other witchcraft, so many spells and charms depend on interwoven braided
cords.
“Twist ye, twine ye, even so,

Mingle threads of joy and woe.”

The basis for this belief is the fascination, or instinct, which many persons,
especially children, feel to trace out patterns, to thread the mazes of labyrinths
or to analyze and disentangle knots and “cat’s cradles.” Did space permit, nor
inclination fail, I could point out some curious proofs that the old belief in the
power of long and curling hair to fascinate was derived not only from its
beauty but also because of the magic of its curves and entanglements.

The gypsies believe that the Earth-spirits are specially interested in animals.
They also teach women the secrets of medicine and sorcery. There are
indications of this in the negro magic. Miss Mary Owen, an accomplished
Folk-lorist of St. Joseph, Missouri, who has been deeply instructed in
Voodooism, informs me that a woman to become a witch must go by night into
a field and pull up a weed by the roots. From the quantity of soil which clings
to it, is inferred the degree of magic power which the pupil will attain. I am not
astonished to learn that when this lady was initiated, the amount of earth
collected was unusually great. In such cases the Pchuvus (or Poovus in English
gypsy), indicate their good-will by bestowing “earth,” which, from meaning
luck or good-fortune, has passed in popular parlance to signifying money.

1 “Geit suer Heidrun heitr stendr uppi a Valholl …. En or spenum hennar rennr moilk … tháer ero sva
miklar at allir einheria verda fuldrucknir af.” (“A ewe named Heidrun stands up in Valhalla. And from her
udders runs milk; there is so much that all the heroes may drink their fill of it”). (Snorro Sturleson’s
“Edda,” 20th tale). ↑

CHAPTER VI.

OF PREGNANCY AND CHARMS, OR FOLK-
LORE CONNECTED WITH IT—BOARS’ TEETH
AND CHARMS FOR PREVENTING THE FLOW
OF BLOOD.

L
ike all Orientals the gypsy desires
intensely to have a family.
Superstition comes in to
increase the wish, for a
barren woman in Eastern
Europe is generally
suspected of having had
intercourse with a
vampire or spirit before
her marriage, and she who
has done this, willingly or
unconsciously, never has
children. They have
recourse to many magic
medicines or means to
promote conception; one
of the most harmless in
Hungary is to eat grass
from the grave in which a
woman with child has
been buried. While doing this the woman repeats:—
“Dui riká hin mire minč,
Dui yārá hin leskro kor,
Avnás dui yek jelo,
Keren ákána yek jeles.”

Or else the woman drinks the water in which the husband has cast hot coals,
or, better still, has spit, saying:—

“Káy me yákh som
Ac tu ángár,
Káy me brishind som,
Ǎc tu pāni!”

“Where I am flame
Be thou the coals!
Where I am rain
Be thou the water!”

Or at times the husband takes an egg, makes a small hole at each end, and
then blows the yolk and white into the mouth of his wife who swallows
them.

There are innumerable ways and means to ensure pregnancy, some of which
are very dangerous. Faith in the so-called “artificial propagation” is
extensively spread. “Will der Zigeuner einen Sohn erzielen, so gürtet er sich
mit dem Halfterzaume eines männlichen Pferdes und umgekehrt mit dem
einer Stute, will er eine Tochter erzeugen.” (“Gebräuche d. Trans. Zig.” Dr.
H. von Wlislocki. “Ill. Zeitschrift. Band,” 51. No. 16.)

If a gypsy woman in Transylvania wishes to know whether she be with child,
she must stand for nine evenings at a cross-road with an axe or hammer,
which she must wet with her own water, and then bury there. Should it be
dug up on the ninth morning after, and found rusty, it is a sign that she is “in
blessed circumstances.”

To bring on the menses a gypsy woman must, while roses are in bloom, wash
herself all over with rose-water, and then pour the water over a rose-bush. Or
she takes an egg, pours its contents into a jug, and makes water on it. If the
egg swims the next morning on the surface she is enceinte; if the yolk is
separate from the white she will bear a son, if they are mingled a daughter.
In Tuscany women wishing for children go to a priest, get a blessed apple
and pronounce over it an incantation to Santa Anna, which was probably
addressed in Roman days to Lucina, who was very probably, according to

the Romagna dialect, lu S’anna—Santa Anna herself. I have several old
Roman spells from Marcellus, which still exist word for word in Italian, but
fitted to modern usage in this manner like old windows to new houses.

Should a woman eat fish while pregnant the child will be slow in learning to
speak, but if she feed on snails it will be slow in learning to walk. The
proverbs, “Dumb as a fish,” and “Slow as a snail,” appear here.

To protect a child against the evil eye it is hung with amulets, generally with
shells (die eine Aehnlichkeit mit der weiblichen Scham haben). And these
must be observed on all occasions, and for everything, ceremonies, of which
there are literally hundreds, showing that gypsies, notwithstanding their
supposed freedom from conventionalisms, are, like all superstitious people,
harassed and vexed to a degree which would seem incredible to educated
Europeans, with observances and rites of the most ridiculous and vexatious
nature. The shells alluded to are, however, of great interest, as they indicate
the transmission of the old belief that symbols typical of generation,
pleasure, and reproductiveness, are repugnant to witchcraft which is allied to
barrenness, destruction, negation, and every kind of pain and sterility.

Hence a necklace of shells, especially cowries or snail shells, or the brilliant
and pretty conchiglie found in such abundance near Venice, are regarded as
protecting animals or children from the evil eye, and facilitating love, luxury,
and productiveness. I have read an article in which a learned writer rejects
with indignation the “prurient idea” that the cowrie, which gave its name
porcellana to porcelain, derived it from porcella, in sensu obsceno; porcella
being a Roman word not only for pig but for the female organ. But every
donkey-boy in Cairo could have told him that the cowrie is used in strings on
asses as on children because the shell has the likeness which the writer to
whom I refer rejects with indignation. The pig, as is well known, is a
common amulet, the origin thereof being that it is extremely prolific. It has
within a few years been very much revived in silver as a charm for ladies,
and may be found in most shops where ornaments for watch-chains are sold.
The boar’s tooth, as I have before mentioned, has been since time
immemorial a charm; I have found them attached to chatelaines and bunches
of keys, especially in Austria, from one to four or five centuries past. They

are found in prehistoric graves. The tusk is properly a male emblem; a pig is
sometimes placed on the base. These are still very commonly made and sold.
I saw one worn by the son of a travelling basket-maker, who spoke Romany,
and I purchased several in Vienna (1888), also in Copenhagen in 1889. In
Florence very large boars’ tusks are set as brooches, and may be found
generally in the smaller jewellers’ shops and on the Ponte Vecchio. They are
regarded as protective against malocchio—a general term for evil influences
—especially for women during pregnancy, and as securing plenty, i.e.,
prosperity and increase, be it of worldly goods, honour, or prosperity. There
is in the museum at Budapest a boar’s tusk, mounted or set as an amulet,
which is apparently of Celtic origin, and which certainly belongs to the
migration of races, or a very early period. And it is in this eastern portion of
Europe that it is still most generally worn as a charm.

In connection with pregnancy and childbirth there is the profluvium,
excessive flow of blood, or menses or hemorrhages, for which there exist
many charms, not only among gypsies but all races. This includes the
stopping any bleeding—an art in which Scott’s Lady of Deloraine was an
expert, and which many practised within a century.
“Tom Potts was but a serving man,
And yet he was a doctor good,
He bound a handkerchief on the wound,
And with some kind of words he staunched the blood.”

What these same kind of words were among old Germans and Romans may
be learned from the following: Jacob Grimm had long been familiar with a
German magic spell of the eleventh century—ad stringendum sanguinem, or
stopping bleeding—but, as he says, “noch nicht zu deuten vermochte,” could
not explain them. They were as follows:—

“Tumbo saz in berke,
Mit tumbemo kinde in arme,
Tumb hiez der berc
Tumb hiez daz kint,
Der heiligo Tumbo
Versegne dise wunta.”

“Tumbo (i.e., dumm or stupid) sat in the hill

With a stupid child in arms,
Dumb (stupid) the hill was called
Dumb was called the child,
The holy Tumbo (or dumb).
Heal (bless) this wound!”

Some years after he found the
following among the magic
formulas of Marcellus
Burdigalensis:—

“Carmen utile profluvio mulieri:—

“Stupidus in monte ibat,
Stupidus stupuit,
Adjuro te matrix
Ne hoc iracunda suscipias.

“Pari ratione scriptum ligabis.”

I.e.: “A song useful for a flow
of blood in woman:—
“The stupid man went into the mountain,
The stupid man was amazed;
I adjure thee, oh womb,
Be not angry!”

“Which shall also be bound as BOAR’S TOOTH. VIENNA.
a writing,” i.e., according to a
previous direction that it shall
be written on virgin parchment, and bound with a linen cord about the waist
of him or of her—quæ patietur de qualibet parte corporis sanguinis fluxum
—who suffers anywhere from flow of blood.

It is possible that the Stupidus and his blessing of women has here some
remotely derived reference to the reverence amounting to worship of idiots
in the East, who are described as being surrounded in some parts of India by
matrons seeking for their touch and benediction, and soliciting their
embraces. This is effected very often in an almost public manner; that is to
say, by a crowd of women closely surrounding the couple, i.e., the idiot or

lunatic and one of their number are joined, so that passers-by cannot see
what is going on. The children born of these casual matches are not
unusually themselves of weak mind, but are considered all the more holy.
This recalls the allusion in the charm:—
“Stupid sat in the hill
With a stupid child in arms.”

This obscure myth of the stupid god appears to be very ancient.

“This Tritas is called intelligent. How then does he appear sometimes stupid? The language
itself supplies the explanation. In Sanskrit bâlas means both child and stolid, and the third
brother is supposed to be stolid because, at his first appearance especially, he is a child.
(Tritas is one of the three brothers or gods, i.e., the trinity).” (“Zoological Mythology,” by
Angelo de Gubernatis, 1872).

I am indebted to the as yet unpublished collection of Gypsyana made by
Prof. Anton Herrmann for the following:—

There is a superstition among our gypsies that if the shadow of a cross on a
grave falls on a woman with child she will have a miscarriage, and this
seems to be peculiarly appropriate to girls who have “anticipated the
privileges of matrimony.” The following rhyme seems to describe the
hesitation of a girl who has gone to a cross to produce the result alluded to,
but who is withheld by love for her unborn infant:—

“Cigno trusšul pal handako
Hin ada ušalinako;
The žiav me pro ušalin,
Ajt’ mange lašavo na kin.

Sar e praytin kad’ chasarel,
Save šile barvāl marel,
Pal basavo te prasape,
Mre čajori mojd kāmāle.”

“Cross upon a grave so small
Here I see thy shadow fall,
If it fall on me they say
All my shame will pass away.

As the autumn leaf is blown,

By the wind to die alone,
Yet in shame and misery,
My baby will be dear to me!”

There is a belief allied to this of the power of the dead in graves to work
wonders, to the effect that if any one plucks a rose from a grave, he or she
will soon die. In the following song a gypsy picks a rose from the grave of
the one he loved, hoping that it will cause his death:—

“Cignoro hrobosa
Hin sukares rosa
Mange la pchagavas,
Doi me na kāmavas.

Beš’las piranake,
Hrobas hin joy mange,
Pchgavas, choč žanav
Pal lele avava
Te me ne brinzinav.
The me počivinav.”

“On her little tomb there grows
By itself a lovely rose,
All alone the rose I break,
And I do it for her sake.

I sat by her I held so dear,
Now her grave and mine are near,
I break the rose because I know
That to her I soon must go,
Grief cannot my spirit stir,
Since I know I go to her!”

M. Kounavine (contribution by Dr. A. Elysseeff, Gypsy-Lore Journal, July,
1890), gives the following as a Russian gypsy spell against barrenness:—

“Laki, thou destroyest and dost make everything on earth; thou canst see nothing old, for
death lives in thee, thou givest birth to all upon the earth for thou thyself art life. By thy
might cause me —— to bear good fruit, I who am deprived of the joy of motherhood, and
barren as a rock.”

According to Dr. Elysseeff, Laki is related to the Indian goddess Lakshmi,
although differing from her in character. Another incantation of the same
nature is as follows:—

“Thou art the mother of every living creature and the distributor of good: thou doest
according to thy wisdom in destroying what is useless or what has lived its destined time; by
thy wisdom thou makest the earth to regenerate all that is new …. Thou dost not seek the
death of any one, for thou art the benefactress of mankind.”

CHAPTER VII.

THE RECOVERY OF STOLEN PROPERTY—
LOVE-CHARMS—SHOES AND LOVE-POTIONS,
OR PHILTRES.

W
hen a man has lost anything, or been
robbe
d, he
often
has in
his
own
mind,
quite
uncon
scious
ly,
some
suspic
ion or
clue

to it.
A
clever
fortune-teller or gypsy who has made a life-long study of such clues, can
often elicit from the loser, hints which enable the magician to surmise the
truth. Many people place absolute confidence in their servants, and perhaps
suspect nobody. The detective or gypsy has no such faith in man, and
suspects everybody. Where positive knowledge cannot be established there
is, however, another resource. The thief is often as superstitious as his
victim. Hence he fears that some mysterious curse may be laid on him,
which he cannot escape. In the Pacific Islands, as among negroes
everywhere, a man will die if taboo or voodoo attaches to the taking of
objects which have been consecrated by a certain formula. Therefore such
formulas are commonly employed. Among the Hungarian gypsies to
recover a stolen animal, some of its dung is taken and thrown to the East
and the West with the words:—

“Kay tut o kam dikhel:
Odoy ává kiyá mánge!”

“Where the sun sees thee,
Hence return to me!”

But when a horse has been stolen, they take what is left of his harness, bury
it in the earth and make a fire over it, saying:—

“Kó tut cordyás
Nasvales th’ ávlás
Leske sor ná ávlás,
Tu ná ač kiyá leske
Avá sástes kiyá mánge!
Leskro sor káthe pashlyol
Sár e tçuv avriurál!”

“Who stole thee
Sick may he be
May his strength depart!
Do not thou remain by him,
Come (back) sound to me,

His strength lies here
As the smoke goes away!”

To know in which direction the stolen thing lies, they carry a sucking babe
to a stream, hold it over the water and say:—

“Pen mánge, oh Nivaseya
Čaveskro vástehá
Kay hin m’ro gráy,
Ujes hin čavo,
Ujes sár o kam
Ujes sár pán̄ i
Ujes sár čumut
Ujes sár legujes?
Pen mánge, oh Niváseyá,
Cáveskro vastehá
Kay hin m’ro gráy!”

“Tell me, oh Nivaseha,
By the child’s hand!
Where is my horse?
Pure is the child
Pure as the sun,
Pure as water,
Pure as the moon,
Pure as the purest.
Tell me, oh Nivaseha,
By the child’s hand!
Where is my horse?”

In this we have an illustration of the widely spread belief that an innocent
child is a powerful agent in prophecy and sorcery. The oath “by the hand” is
still in vogue among all gypsies. “Apo miro dadeskro vast!” (“By my
father’s hand!”) is one of their greatest oaths in Germany, (“Die Zigeuner,”
von Richard Liebich), and I have met with an old gypsy in England who
knew it.

If a man who is seeking for stolen goods finds willow twigs grown into a
knot, he ties it up and says:—

“Me avri pçándáv čoreskro báçht!”

“I tie up the thief’s luck!”

There is also a belief among the gypsies that these knots are twined by the
fairies, and that whoever undoes them undoes his own luck, or that of the
person on whom he is thinking. (Vide Rocholz, “Alemannisches Kinderlied
und Kinderspiel aus der Schweiz,” p. 146). These willow-knots are much
used in love-charms. To win the love of a maid, a man cuts one of them,
puts it into his mouth, and says:—

“T’re báçt me çáv,
T’re baçt me piyáv,
Dáv tute m’re baçt,
Káná tu mánge sál.”

“I eat thy luck,
I drink thy luck;
Give me that luck of thine,
Then thou shalt be mine.”

Then the lover, if he can, secretly hides this knot in the bed of the wished-
for bride. It is worth noting that these lines are so much like English Gypsy
as it was once spoken that there are still men who would, in England,
understand every word of it. Somewhat allied to this is another charm. The
lover takes a blade of grass in his mouth, and turning to the East and the
West, says:—

“Kay o kám, avriável,
Kiya mánge lele beshel!
Kay o kám tel’ ável,
Kiya lelákri me beshav.”

“Where the sun goes up
Shall my love be by me!
Where the sun goes down
There by her I’ll be.”

Then the blade of grass is cut up into pieces and mingled with some food
which the girl must eat, and if she swallow the least bit of the grass, she will

be gewogen und treugesinnt—moved to love, and true-hearted. On which
Dr. Wlislocki remarks on the old custom “also known to the Hindoos,” by
which any one wishing to deprecate the wrath of another, or to express
complete subjection, takes a blade of grass in his mouth. Of which Grimm
writes: “This custom may have sprung from the idea that the one conquered
gave himself up like a domestic animal to the absolute power of another.
And with this appears to be connected the ancient custom of holding out
grass as a sign of surrender. The conquered man took the blade of grass in
his mouth and then transferred it to his conqueror.”

If a gypsy girl be in love she finds the foot-print of her “object,” digs out
the earth which is within its outline and buries this under a willow-tree,
saying:—

“Upro pçuv hin but pçuvá;
Kás kámáv, mange th’ ávlá!
Bárvol, bárvol, sálciye,
Brigá ná hin mánge!
Yov tover, me pori,
Yov kokosh, me cátrá,
Ádá, ádá me kamav!”

“Many earths on earth there be,
Whom I love my own shall be,
Grow, grow willow tree!
Sorrow none unto me!
He the axe, I the helve,
He the cock, I the hen,
This, this (be as) I will!”

Another love-charm which belongs to ancient black witchcraft, and is
known far and wide, is the following: When dogs are coupling (Wenn Hund
und Hündin bei der Paarung zusammenhängen) the lover suddenly covers
them with a cloth, if possible, one which is afterwards presented to the girl
whom he seeks, while he says:—

“Me jiuklo, yoy jiukli,
Yoy tover, me pori,
Me kokosh, yoy cátrá,

Ádá, ádá me kamáv!”

“I the dog, she the bitch,
I the helve, she the axe,
I the cock (and) she the hen,
That, that I desire.”

He or she who finds a red ribbon, tape, or even a piece of red stuff of any
kind, especially if it be wool, will have luck in love. It must be picked up
and carried as an amulet, and when raising it from the ground the finder
must make a wish for the love of some person, or if he have no particular
desire for any one, he may wish for luck in love, or a sweetheart. This is, I
believe, pretty generally known in some form all over the world. A yellow
ribbon or flower, especially if it be floating on water, presages gold; a white
object, silver, or peace or reconciliation with enemies.

It is also lucky for love to find a key. In Tuscany there is a special formula
which must be spoken while picking it up. Very old keys are valuable
amulets. Those who carry them will learn secrets, penetrate mysteries, and
succeed in what they undertake.

If you can get a shoe which a girl has worn you may make sad havoc with
her heart if you carry it near your own. Also hang it up over your bed and
put into it the leaves of rue.

During November, 1889, not a few newspaper commentators busied
themselves with conjectures as to why a Scotch constable buried the boots
of a murdered man. That it was done through some superstitious belief is
conceded; but what the fashion of the superstition is seems unknown. It
originated, beyond question, in the old Norse custom of always burying the
dead in their shoes or with them. For they believed that the deceased would
have, when he arrived in the other world, to traverse broad and burning
plains before he could reach his destination, be it Valhalla or the dreary
home of Hel; and to protect his feet from the fire his friends bound on them
the “hell-shoon.” Other cares were also taken: and in the saga of Olof
Tryggvasen we are told that one monarch was thoughtfully provided with a

cow; while the Vikings were buried in their ships, so that they could keep
on pirating “for ever and ever.”

The superstition of the burial of the boots probably survives in England. It
is about seventeen years since the writer heard from an old gypsy that when
another gypsy was “pûvado,” or “earthed,” a very good pair of boots was
placed by him in the grave. The reason was not given; perhaps it was not
known. These customs often survive after the cause is forgotten, simply
from some feeling that good or bad luck attends their observance or the
neglect of it. Many years since a writer in an article on shoes in The English
Magazine stated that, “according to an Aryan tradition, the greater part of
the way from the land of the living to that of death lay through morasses
and vast moors overgrown with furzes and thorns. That the dead might not
pass over them bare-foot, a pair of shoes was laid with them in the grave.”

The shoe was of old in many countries a symbol of life, liberty, or entire
personal control. In Ruth we are told that “it was the custom in Israel
concerning changing, that a man plucked off his shoe and delivered it to his
neighbour.” So the bride, who was originally always a slave, transferred
herself by the symbol of the shoe. When the Emperor Waldimir made
proposals of marriage to the daughter of Ragnald, she replied scornfully
that she would not take off her shoes to the son of a slave. Gregory of
Tours, in speaking of wedding, says: “The bridegroom, having given a ring
to the bride, presents her with a shoe.”

As regards the Scandinavian hel-shoe, or hell-shoon, Kelley, in his “Indo-
European Folk-lore,” tells us that a funeral is still called a dead shoe in the
Henneberg district; and the writer already cited adds that in a MS. of the
Cotton Library, containing an account of Cleveland in Yorkshire, in the
reign of Queen Elizabeth, there is a passage which illustrates this curious
custom. It was quoted by Sir Walter Scott in the notes to “Minstrelsy of the
Scottish Border,” and runs thus:—

“When any dieth certaine women sing a song to the dead bodie, reciting the journey that
the partye deceased must goe; and they are of beliefe that once in their lives it is goode to
give a pair of new shoes to a poor man; forasmuch as before this life they are to pass bare-
foote through a great lande, full of thornes and furzen—excepte by the meryte of the almes

aforesaid they have redeemed the forfeyte—for at the edge of the launde an oulde man
shall meet them with the same shoes that were given by the partie when he was lyving, and
after he hath shodde them dismisseth them to go through thick and thin without scratch or
scalle.

This must be a very agreeable reflection to all gentlemen who have
bestowed their old boots on waiters, or ladies who have in like fashion
gifted their maids. It is true, the legend specifies new shoes; but surely a
pair of thirty-shilling boots only half worn count for as much as a new pair
of half a sovereign chaussures. However, if one is to go “through thick and
thin without scratch or scalle,” it may be just as well to be on the safe side,
and give a good new extra stout pair to the gardener for Christmas. For truly
these superstitions are strange things, and no one knows what may be in
them.

There are one or two quaint shoe stories of the olden time which may be of
value to the collector. It befell once in the beginnings of Bohemia, that,
according to Schafarik (“Slawische Alterthümer,” vol. ii. p. 422), Lïbussa,
queen of that land, found herself compelled by her council to wed. And the
wise men, being consulted, declared that he who was to marry the queen
would be found by her favourite horse, who would lead the way till he
found a man eating from an iron table, and kneel to him. So the horse went
on, and unto a field where a man sat eating a peasant’s dinner from a
ploughshare. This was the farmer Prschemischl. So they covered him with
the royal robes and led him to the queen expectant. But ere going he took
his shoes of willow-wood and placed them in his bosom and kept them to
remind him ever after of his low origin. It will, of course, at once strike the
reader, as it has the learned, that this is a story which would naturally
originate in any country where there are iron ploughshares, horses, queens,
and wooden shoes: and, as Schafarik shrewdly suggests, that it was all “a
put-up job;” since, of course, Prschemischl was already a lover of the
queen, the horse was trained to find him and to kneel before him, and,
finally, that the ploughshare and wooden shoes were the prepared properties
of the little drama. The only little flaw in this evidence is the name
Prschemischl, which, it must be admitted, is extremely difficult to get over.

The Seven League Boots and the shoes of Peter Schlemihl, which take one
over the world at will, have a variation in a pair recorded in another tale.
There was a beautiful and extremely proud damsel, who refused a young
man with every conceivable aggravation of the offence, informing him that
when she ran after him, and not before that, he might hope to marry her;
and at the same time meeting a poor old gypsy woman who begged her for
a pair of old shoes. To which the proud Princess replied:—
“Shoes here, shoes there;
Give me a couple, I’ll give thee a pair.”

To which the old gypsy, who was a witch, grimly muttered, “I’ll give thee a
pair which——” The rest of the expression was really too unamiable to
repeat. Well, the youth and the witch met, and, going to the lady’s
shoemaker, “made him make” a superbly elegant pair of shoes, which were
sent to the damsel as a gift. Such a gift! No sooner were they put on than off
they started, carrying the Princess, malgré elle, over hill and dale. By and
by she saw that a man—the man, of course, whom she had refused—was in
advance of her. As in the song of the Cork Leg, “the shoes never stopped,
but kept on the pace.” And the young man led her to a lonely castle and
reasoned with her. And as she had promised to marry should she ever run
after him, and as she had pursued him a whole day, she kept her word. The
shoes she sent to the witch filled with gold; and they were wedded, and all
went as merry as a thousand grigs in a duck-pond.

The shoe, as has been shown by a Danish writer in a book chiefly devoted
to the subject, is a type of life, especially as shown in productiveness and
fertility. Hence old shoes and grain are thrown after a bride, as people say,
for luck; but the Jews do it crying, “Peru urphu”—“Increase and multiply.”
For this, and much more, the reader may consult that wonderful treasury of
Folk-lore, “Die Symbolik und Mythologie der Natur,” J. B. Friedrich,
Würzburg, 1859. To which we would add our mite by remarking as a
curious confirmation of this theory, that—
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,
Who had so many children she didn’t know what to do.

This passes now for a mere nursery-rhyme; but doubtless there are those
who will trace it back to the early morning of mythology, and prove that it
was once a Himaritic hymn, sung to some Melitta who has long passed
away down the back entry of time.

For several additional Hungarian gypsy love-charms and spells, collected
by Dr. Wlislocki, published in Ethnographia, and subsequently in The
Gipsy-Lore Journal for June, 1890, I am greatly indebted to the kindness of
Mr. D. MacRitchie:—

“The gypsy girls of Transylvania believe that spells to ‘know your future husband’ can be
best carried out on the eves of certain days, such as New Year, Easter, and Saint George.
‘On New Year’s Eve they throw shoes or boots on a willow tree, but are only allowed to
throw them nine times.’ Compare this with the throwing of the old shoe after the bride in
many countries. ‘If the shoe catches in the branches the girl who threw it will be married
within a year.’

“On the same eve they go to a tree and shake it by turns, singing:—

“ ‘Per de, per de prájtina,
Varekaj hin, hász kāmav?
Basá, párro dzsiuklo,
Pirano dzsāl mai szigo.’

“ ‘Scattered leaves around I see,
Where can my true lover be?
Ah, the white dog barks at last!
And my love comes running fast!’

“If during the singing the bark of a dog should be heard, the damsel will be ‘wedded and
bedded ere New Year comes again. This is virtually the same with a charm practised in
Tuscany, which from other ancient witness I believe to be of Etruscan origin. Allied to this
is the following: On the night of Saint George’s Day (query, Saint George’s Eve?) gypsy
girls blindfold a white dog, then, letting it loose, place themselves quietly in several places.
She to whom the dog runs first will be the first married. Blindman’s buff was anciently an
amorous, semi-magical, or witches’ game, only that in place of the dog a man was
blindfolded.

“ ‘Or the girl pulls a hair from her head, fastens a ring to it, and dangles it in a jug. The ring
vibrates or swings, and so often as it touches the side of the jug so many years will it be
before she marries.’ This is an ancient spell of Eastern origin. As performed according to
old works the thread must be wound around the ring-finger and touch the pulse. On the
edge of a bowl the letters of the alphabet, or numerals, are marked, and the ring swinging

against these spells words or denotes numbers. The touching of the latter indicates the
number of lovers a girl is to have.

“Early on Whitsunday morning the girls go out, and if they see clouds in the East they
throw twigs in that direction, saying:—

“ ‘Predzsia, csirik leja,
Te ná tráda m’re píranes.’

“ ‘Fly my bird—fly, I say,
Do not chase my love away.’

“For they think that if on Whitsun-morn there are many clouds in the East few girls will be
married during the coming year. This peculiar, seemingly incomprehensible, custom of the
gypsies originated in an old belief, the germ of which we find in the Hindoo myth,
according to which the spring morning which spreads brightness and blessings descends
from the blue bird of heaven, who, on the other hand, also represents night or winter.
Special preparations are made so that the predictions shall be fulfilled. On the days
mentioned the girls are neither allowed to wash themselves, nor to kiss any one, nor go to
church. At Easter, or on the Eve of Saint George, the girl must eat fish, in order to see the
future in her dreams.

“On Easter morning the girls boil water, in the bubbles of which they try to make out the
names of their future husbands.

“To find out whether the future husband is young or old the girl must take nine seeds of the
thorn-apple, ploughed-up earth of nine different places, and water from as many more.
With these she kneads a cake, which is laid on a cross-road on Easter or Saint George’s
morning. If a woman steps first on the cake her husband will be a widower or an old man,
but if a man the husband will be single or young.

“To see the form of a future husband a girl must go on the night of Saint George to a cross-
road. Her hair is combed backwards, and, pricking the little finger of the left hand, she
must let three drops of blood fall on the ground while saying:—

“ ‘Mro rat dav piraneszke,
Kász dikhav, avava adaleske.’

“ ‘I give my blood to my loved one,
Whom I shall see shall be mine own!’

“Then the form of her future husband will rise slowly out of the blood and fade as slowly
away. She must then gather up the dust, or mud-blood, and throw it into a river, otherwise
the Nivashi, or Water-spirits, will lick up the blood, and the girl be drowned within the
year. It is said that about twenty years ago the beautiful Roszi (Rosa), the daughter of Peter
Danku, the waywode, or chief of the Kukuja tribe, was drowned during the time of her
betrothal because when she performed this ceremony she had neglected to gather up the
sprinkled blood.

“If a girl wishes to see the form of her future husband, and also to know what luck awaits
her love, she goes on any of the fore-named nights to a cross-road, and sits down on the
ground, putting before her a fried fish and a glass of brandy. Then the form of her future
husband will appear and stand before her for a time, silent and immovable. Should he then
take the fish the marriage will be happy, but if he begin with the brandy it will be truly
wretched. But if he takes neither, one of the two will die during the year.

“That the laying of cards, the interpretation of dreams, the reading of the future in the hand,
and similar divinations are constantly practised is quite natural, but it would lead us too far
to enlarge on all these practices. But there are charms to win or cause love which are more
interesting. Among these are the love-potions or philtres, for preparing which gypsies have
always been famed.

“The simplest and least hurtful beverage which they give unknown to persons to secure
love is made as follows:—On any of the nights mentioned they collect in the meadows
gander-goose (Romání, vast bengeszkero—devil’s hand; in Latin, Orchis maculata;
German, Knabenkraut), the yellow roots of which they dry and crush and mix with their
menses, and this they introduce to the food of the person whose love they wish to secure.”

Of the same character is a potion which they prepare as follows: On the day
of Saint John they catch a green frog and put it in a closed earthen
receptacle full of small holes, and this they place in an ant-hill. The ants eat
the frog and leave the skeleton. This is ground to powder, mixed with the
blood of a bat and dried bath-flies and shaped into small buns, which are, as
the chance occurs, put secretly into the food of the person to be charmed.

There is yet another charm connected with this which I leave in the original
Latin in which it is modestly given by Dr. Wlislocki: “Qualibet
supradictarum noctium occiduntur duo canes nigri, mas et femina, quorum
genitalia exstirpata ad condensationem coquntur. Hujus materiæ particula
consumpta quemvis invincibili amore facit exardescare in eam eamve, qui
hoc medio prodigioso usus est.”

It may be remarked that these abominable charms are also not only known
to the Tuscan witches of the present day, but are found in Voodoo sorcery,
and are indeed all over the world. To use revolting means in black sorcery
may be, or perhaps certainly is, spontaneous-sporadic, but when we find the
peculiar details of the processes identical, we are so much nearer to
transmission or history that the burden of disproving must fall on the
doubter.

“To the less revolting philtres belongs one in which the girl puts the ashes of a burnt piece
of her dress which had been wet with perspiration and has, perhaps, hair adhering to it, into
a man’s food or drink (also Tuscan).

“To bury the foot of a badger (also Voodoo), or the eye of a crow, under one’s sleeping-
place is believed to excite or awaken love.

“According to gypsy belief one can spread love by transplanting blood, perspiration, or
hair into the body of a person.

“By burning the hair, blood, or saliva of any one, his or her love can be extinguished.

“The following is a charm used to punish a faithless lover. The deceived maid lights a
candle at midnight and pricks it several times with a needle, saying:—

“ ‘Pchāgerāv momely
Pchāgera tre vodyi!’

“ ‘Thrice the candle’s broke by me
Thrice thy heart shall broken be!’

“If the faithless lover marries another, the girl mixes the broken shell of a crab in his food
or drink, or hides one of her hairs in a bird’s nest. This will make the marriage unhappy,
and the husband will continually pine for his neglected sweetheart.”

This last charm is allied to another current among the Slavonians, and
elsewhere mentioned, by which it is believed that if a bird gets any of a
man’s hair and works it into a nest he will suffer terribly till it is completely
decayed.

CHAPTER VIII.

ROUMANIAN AND TRANSYLVANIAN
SORCERIES AND SUPERSTITIONS,
CONNECTED WITH THOSE OF THE GYPSIES.

I
n her very interesting account of
Roumanian superstitions, Mrs. E. Gerard
(“The Land Beyond the Forest”), finds
three distinct sources for them: firstly, the
indigenous, which seems to have been
formed by or adapted to the wild and
picturesque scenery and character of the
country; secondly, those derived from the
old German customs and beliefs brought
by the so-called Saxon, in reality Lower
Rhenish colonists; and thirdly, the
influence of the gypsies, “themselves a
race of fortune-tellers and witches.” All
these kinds of superstition have twined
and intermingled, acted and reacted upon
one another so that in many cases it
becomes a difficult matter to determine
the exact parentage of some particular
belief or custom.

It may be often difficult to ascertain in what particular country or among
what people a superstition was last found, but there is very little trouble
when we compare the great body of all such beliefs of all races and ages and
thereby find the parent sources. It is not many years since philologists,
having taken up some favourite language—for instance, Irish—discovering
many words in many tongues almost identical with others in “Earse,” boldly

claimed that this tongue was the original of all the others. Now we find the
roots of them all in the Aryan. So when we examine Folk-lore, it is doubtless
of great importance that we should learn where a tradition last lived; but we
must not stop there—we must keep on inquiring till we reach the beginning.
As a rule, with little exception, when we find anywhere the grosser forms of
fetish and black witchcraft, we may conclude that we have remains of the
world’s oldest faith, or first beginning of supernaturalism in suffering and
terror, a fear of mysterious evil influences. For with all due respect to the
fact that such superstitions might have sprung up sporadically wherever
similar causes existed to create them, it is, in the first place, a very rare
chance that they should assume exactly like forms. Secondly, we must
consider that as there are even now millions of people who receive with
ready faith and carefully nurse these primæval beliefs, so there has been
from the beginning of time abundant opportunity for their transmission and
growth. Thirdly, nothing is so quickly transmitted as Folk-lore, which in one
sense includes myths and religion. If jade was in the prehistoric stone age
carried from Iona or Tartary all over Europe, it is even more probable that
myths went with it quite as far and fast.

It is not by loose, fanciful, and careless guess-work as to how the
resemblance of Greek or Norse legends to those of the Red Indians is due to
similar conditions of climate and life, that we shall arrive at facts; neither
will the truth be ascertained by assuming that there was a certain beginning
of them all in a certain country, or that they were all developed out of one
mythology, be it solar or Shemitic, Hindoo or Hebrew. What we want is
impartial examination—comparison and analysis. On this basis we find that
all the Folk-lore or magic of Europe, and especially of its Eastern portion,
has a great deal which is derived from black witchcraft, or from the
succeeding Shamanism. When we find that a superstition is based on
fertility, the “mystery of generation,” or “Phallic worship”—as, for instance,
wearing boars’ teeth or a little pig for a charm—we may conclude that it is
very ancient, but still not older than the time when wise men had begun to
reflect on the mysteries of birth and death and weave them into myths. The
exorcism of diseases as devils, and the belief that they, in common with
other evils, may be drummed, or smoked, or incanted away into animals,
trees, and streams, belongs in most cases to Shamanism. In all probability

the oldest sorcery of all was entirely concerned with driving out devils and
injuring enemies—just as most of the play of small boys runs to fighting or
the semblance of it, or as the mutual relations of most animals in the lower
stages consist of devouring one another. This was the very beginning of the
beginnings, and it would be really marvellous that so much of it has survived
were it not that to the one who is not quite dazzled or blinded by modern
enlightenment there is still existent a great outer circle of human darkness,
and that this darkness may be found in thousands of intermittent varying
shadows or marvellous chiaroscuro, even in the brightest sun-pictures of
modern life. As I write I have before me a copy of the Philadelphia Press, of
April 14, 1889, in which a J. C. Batford, M.D., advertises that if any one
will send him two two-cent postage stamps—i.e., twopence—“with a lock of
your hair, name, age, and sex,” he will send a clairvoyant diagnosis of your
disease. This divining by the lock of hair is extremely ancient, and had its
origin in the belief that he who could obtain one from an enemy could reach
his soul and kill him. From communicating a disease by means of such a
lock, and ascertaining what was the matter with a man, in the same manner,
was a very obvious step forward.

Of all people living in Europe the peasantry of Italy and Sicily and the
gypsies seem to have retained most of this Shamanism and witchcraft, and as
the latter have been for centuries its chief priests, travelling here and there
disseminating it, we may conclude that even where they did not originate it
they have been active in keeping the old faith alive. In Roumania, where the
gypsy is called in to conjure on all occasions, “people believe themselves to
be surrounded by whole legions of devils, witches, and goblins.” There is
scarcely a day or hour in which these bad spirits have not power, “and a
whole complicated system, about as laborious as the mastering an unknown
language, is required in order to teach an unfortunate peasant to steer clear of
the dangers by which he supposes himself to be beset.”

On Wednesday and Friday no one should use needle or scissors, bake bread,
or sow flax. No bargain should ever be concluded on a Friday, and Venus,
here called Paraschiva, to whom this day is sacred, punishes all infractions
of the law. There was among the Wends a flax-goddess, Pscipolnitza, and the
shears as emblematic of death are naturally antipathetic to Venus, the source

of life. Whether Mars has anything in common with Mors I know not, but in
Roumania he is decidedly an evil spirit of death, whence Marti, or Tuesday,
is one, when spinning is positively prohibited (here we have Venus again),
and washing the hands and combing the hair are not unattended with danger.
Whence it appears that the devil agrees with not a few saints in detesting
neatness of the person. And as it is unlucky to wash anything on Saturday, or
to spin on Thursday, or to work in the fields on Thursday between Easter and
Pentecost, it will be seen that Laziness and Dirt have between them a fine
field in Roumania. Add to this that, as in Russia, more than half the days in
the year are Saints’ days, or fast days or festivals on which it is “unlucky” to
work at all, and we find that industry cannot be said to be much encouraged
by Faith in any of its forms. This belief in holy days which bring ill-luck to
those who work on them, which is still flourishing in every country in the
world, goes back to time whereof the memory of man hath naught to the
contrary. A distinct difference is here to be observed however between
naturally resting from work on certain days, which is of course an inherent
instinct in all mankind, and the declaring such rest to be obligatory, and its
infraction punishable by death, disaster, and bad luck, and still more the
increasing such Sabbaths to such an extent as to interfere with industry, or
the turning them into fast days or Saints’ days with “observances.” Here the
old Shamanism comes in, if not the evil witchcraft itself which exacted
penance and fasting, and ceremonies to exorcise the devils. The first belief
was that evil spirits inflicted pain on man, and that man, by efforts which
cost him suffering, could repel or retaliate on them. This was simple action
and reaction, and the repulsion was effected with starving, enduring smoke,
or using repulsive and filthy objects. Out of this in due time came penance of
all kinds.

The Oriental or Greek Church is found at every turn, even more than the
Catholic, interchanged, twined, and confused with ancient sorcery.
Theodore, like Saint Simeon and Anthony in Tuscany, is very much more of
a goblin than a holy man. His weakness is young women, and sometimes in
the shape of a beautiful youth, at others of a frightful monster, he carries off
those who are found working on his day—that is the 23rd of January.
Theodore, according to the Solar mythologists personifies the sun. (De
Gubernatis, “Zoological Mythology,” vol. ii. p. 296). In any case the saint

who seizes girls is the Hindoo Krishna or his prototype, and therefore may
have come through the gypsies. The overworked solar myth derives some
support from the fact that among the Serbs on Theodore’s day the Sintotere
—or centaur, as the name declares—who is half horse and half man, rides
over the people who fall in his power. The Centaurs were connected with the
“rape of maidens,” as shown in the legend of the Lapithæ, and it is very
probable that Theodore himself is, in the language of the Western
Americans, “half a horse,” which they regard as the greatest compliment
which can be paid to a man.1

“Wonderful potions and salves,” says Mrs. Gerard, “composed of the fat of
bears, dogs, snakes, and snails, with the oil of rain-worms, spiders, and
midges, rubbed into a paste, are concocted by these Bohemians (i.e.,
gypsies). Saxon and Roumanian mothers are often in the habit of giving a
child to be nursed for nine days to some Tzigane women supposed to have
power to undo the spell.”

These revolting ingredients are not the result of modern invention, but relics
of the primitive witchcraft or Ur-religion, which was founded on pain, terror,
and the repulsive. Among other Roumanian-Romany traditions are the
following:—

Swallows here as elsewhere are luck-bringing birds, and termed Galiniele lui
Dieu—fowls of the Lord. So in England we hear that:—
“The robin and the wren
Are God Almighty’s cock and hen.”

There is always a treasure to be found where the first swallow is seen.
Among the Romans when it was observed one ran to the nearest fountain
and washed his eyes, and then during the whole year to come, dolorem
omnem oculorum tuorum hirundines auferant—the swallows will carry
away all your complaints of the eyes.

The skull of a horse over the gate of a courtyard, or the bones of fallen
animals buried under the doorstep are preservatives against ghosts. In
Roman architecture the skulls of oxen, rams, and horses continually occur as

a decoration, and they are used as charms to-day in Tuscany. Black fowls are
believed to be in the service of witches. The skull of a ram placed at the
boundary of a parish in Roumania keeps off disease from cattle; it was
evidently a fetish in all ages. In Slavonian, Esthonian, and Italian tales black
poultry occur as diabolical—to appease the devil a black cock must be
sacrificed. But in Roumania the (black) Brahmaputra fowl is believed,
curiously enough, to be the offspring of the devil and a Jewish girl—truly an
insignificant result of such clever parentage.

A cow that has wandered away will be safe from witches if the owner sticks
a pair of scissors or shears in the centre crossbeam of the dwelling-room.
The Folk-lore of shears is extensive; Friedrich derives it from the cutting of
the threads of life by the Fates. Thus Juno appears on a Roman coin (Eckhel,
“Numis. Vet.” viii. p. 358) as holding the shears of death. The swallow is
said in a Swedish fairy tale to have been the handmaid of the Virgin Mary,
and to have stolen her scissors, for which reason she was turned into a bird
—the swallow’s tail being supposed to resemble that article. Gypsies in
England use the shears in incantations.

A whirlwind denotes that the devil is dancing with a witch, and he who
approaches too near it may be carried off bodily to hell (as has indeed
happened to many a wicked Pike in a cyclone or blizzard in Western
America), though he may escape by losing his cap.

It is very dangerous to point at a rainbow or an approaching thunderstorm.
Probably the devil who here guides the whirlwind or directs the storm
regards the act as impolite. He punishes those who thus indicate the rainbow
by a gnawing disease. Lightning is averted by sticking a knife in a loaf of
bread and spinning the two on the floor of the loft of the house while the
storm lasts. The knife appears not only in many gypsy spells, but in the
Etruscan-Florentine magic.

The legends of Domdaniel and the College of Sorcery in Salamanca appear
in the gypsy Roumanian Scholomance, or school which exists somewhere
far away deep in the heart of the mountains, “where the secrets of nature, the
language of animals, and all magic spells are taught by the devil in person.”
Only ten scholars are admitted at a time, and when the course of learning has

expired nine are dismissed to their homes, but the tenth is detained by the
professor in payment. Henceforth, mounted on an ismeju, or dragon, he
becomes the devil’s aide-de-camp, and assists him in preparing thunderbolts
and managing storms and tempests. “A small lake, immeasurably deep, high
up in the mountains, south of Hermanstadt, is supposed to be the caldron in
which the dragon lies sleeping and where the thunder is brewed.”

“Whoever turns three somersaults the first time he hears thunder will be free
from pains in the back during the twelvemonth.” Of this prescription—
which reads as if it had originated with Timothy, in “Japhet in Search of a
Father,” when he practised as a mountebank—it may be said that it is most
unlikely that any person who is capable of putting it in practice should suffer
with such pains.

To be free from headache rub the forehead with a piece of iron or stone. This
may be a presage of the electric cure or of that by “metallic tractors.”

It is unfortunate in all Catholic countries to meet with a priest or nun,
especially when he or she is the first person encountered in the morning. In
Roumania this is limited to the Greek popa. But to be first met by a gypsy on
going forth is a very fortunate omen indeed. According to a widely-spread
and ancient belief it is also very lucky to meet with any woman of easy
virtue—the easier the better. This is doubtless derived from the ancient
worship of Venus, and the belief that any thing or person connected with
celibacy and chastity, such as a nun, is unlucky. It would appear from this
that the Roumanians, or their gypsy oracles, have formed an opinion that
their own popas are strictly abstinent as regards love, while Protestant priests
marry and are accordingly productive. Why the Catholic clergy are included
with the latter is not at all clear. It is lucky also to meet a gypsy at any time,
and doubtless this belief has been well encouraged by the Romany.

“It’s kushti bak to wellán a Rom,
When tute’s a pirryin pré the drom.”

“When you are going along the street
It’s lucky a gypsy man to meet.”

Likewise, it is lucky to meet with a woman carrying a jug full of water, &c.,
but unlucky if it be empty. So in the New Testament the virgins whose lamps
were full of oil received great honour. The lamp was an ancient symbol of
life; hence it is very often found covered with aphrodisiac symbols or made
in Phallic forms. It is barely possible that common old popular simile of
“Not by a jug-full”—meaning “not by a great deal”—is derived from this
association of a full vessel with abundance.

It is a Roumanian gypsy custom to do homage to the Wodna zena, or “Water-
woman” (Hungarian gypsy, Nivashi), by spilling a few drops of water on the
ground after filling a jug, and it is regarded as an insult to offer drink without
observing this ceremony. A Roumanian will never draw water against the
current (also as in the Hungarian gypsy charms), as it would provoke the
water-spirit. If water is drawn in the night-time, whoever does so must blow
three times over the brimming jug, and pour a few drops on the coals.

The mythology of the Roumanians agrees with that of the gypsies. It is
sylvan, and Indian. In deep pools of water lurks the dreadful balaur or
Wodna muz—i.e., the Waterman (Muz is both gypsy and Slavonian)—who
lies in wait for victims. In every forest lives the mama padura, or weshni dye
—“the forest mother”—who is believed to be benevolent to human beings,
especially towards children who have lost their way in the wood. But the
Panusch is an amorous spirit who, like the wanton satyrs of old, haunts the
silent woodland shades, and lies in wait for helpless maids. “Surely,”
observes Mrs. Gerard, “this is a corruption of ‘great Pan,’ who is not dead
after all, but merely banished to the land beyond the forest.” What a find this
would have been for Heine when writing “The Gods in Exile”!

“In deep forests and lonely mountain gorges there wanders about a wild
huntsman of superhuman size.” He appears to be of a mysterious nature, and
is very seldom seen. Once he met a peasant who had shot ninety-nine bears,
and warned him never to attempt to kill another. But the peasant disregarded
his advice, and, missing his aim, was torn in pieces by the bear.

Very singular is the story that this Lord of the Forest once taught a hunter—
that if he loaded his gun on New Year’s Night with a live adder he would
never miss a shot during the ensuing year. It is not probable that he was told

to put a live and “wiggling” snake into his gun. The story of itself suggests
the firing out the ramrod for luck. It has been observed by C. Lloyd Morgan
that if a drop of the oil of a foul tobacco pipe be placed in the mouth of a
snake the muscles instantly become set in knotted lumps and the creature
becomes rigid. If much is given the snake dies, but if only a small amount is
employed it may be restored. This, as Mr. Oakley has suggested, may
explain the stories of Indian snake-charmers being able to turn a snake into a
stick. It is performed by spitting into the snake’s mouth and then placing the
hand on its head till it becomes stiffened. “The effect may be produced by
opium or some other narcotic.” And it may also occur to the reader that the
jugglers who performed before Pharaoh were not unacquainted with this
mystery. It is probable that the hunter in the gypsy Roumanian story first
gave his adder tobacco before firing it off.

The Om ren, or wild man, is a malevolent forest spectre, the terror of hunters
and shepherds. He is usually seen in winter, and when he finds an intruder
on his haunts, he tears up pine trees by the roots with which he slays the
victim, or throws him over a precipice, or overwhelms him with rocks. In
every detail he corresponds to a being greatly feared by the Algonkin Indians
of America.

The oameni micuti, or “small men,” are grey-bearded dwarfs, dressed like
miners. They are the kobolds or Bergmännchen of Germany. They seldom
harm a miner, and when one has perished in the mine they make it known to
his family by three knocks on his door. They may be heard quarrelling
among themselves and hitting at one another with their axes, or blowing
their horns as a signal of battle. These “horns of Elf-land blowing” connect
them with the Korriagan of Brittany, who are fairies who always carry and
play on the same instrument. Prætorius devotes a long chapter to all the
learning extant on the subject of these Bergmännrigen, or Subterraneans.

The mountain monk is the very counterpart of Friar Rush in English fairy-
lore, and is also of Indian origin. He delights in kicking over water-pails,
putting out lamps, and committing mischief, merry, mad, or sad. Sometimes
he has been known to strangle workmen whom he dislikes, though, on the
other hand, he often helps distressed miners by filling their empty lamps or

guiding those who have lost their way. But he always bids them keep it a
secret, and if they tell they suffer for it.

Gana is queen of the witches, and corresponds to the Diana of the Italians.
Gana is probably only a variation of the word Diana. Among the Wallachians
this goddess is in fact known as Dina and Sina. She, like the wilde Jäger,
rushes in headlong hunt over the heavens or through the skies followed by a
throng of witches and fairies. “People show the places where she has passed,
and where the grass and leaves are dry” (Friedrich). She is a powerful
enchantress, and is strongest in her sorcery about Easter-tide. To guard
against her the Wallachians at this time carry a piece of lime-tree or linden
wood. She is a beautiful but terrible enchantress, who presides over the evil
spirits who meet on May eve. She was the ruler of all Transylvania (a
hunting country) before Christianity prevailed there. Her beauty bewitched
many, but whoever let himself be lured into drinking mead from her urus (or
wild ox) drinking-horn perished. She is like the Norse Freya, a cat goddess,
and seems to be allied to the Chesme, or cat, or fountain-spirit of the Turks.
According to ancient Indian mythology the moon is a cat who chases the
mice (stars) of night, and in the fifth book of Ovid’s “Metamorphoses,”
when the gods fled from the giants Diana took the form of a cat:—
“Fele soror Phœbi, nivea Saturni a vacca
Pisce Venus latuit.”

(V. 325, 332.)

“According to the Hellenic cosmogony the sun and moon created the
animals—the sun creating the lion and the moon the cat” (De Gubernatis,
“Zoological Mythology,” ii. 58). Gertrude, the chief sorceress or queen of
the witches in old German lore, appears when dead as surrounded by mice;
she is, in fact, a cat. The Turkish Chesme, or fountain-cat, inveigles youths
to death like the Gana, Diana, or Lorelei, who does the same, and is also a
water-sprite.

The Dschuma is a fierce virgin, or sometimes an old witch, who is incarnate
disease, such as the cholera. She is supposed to suffer from cold and
nakedness, and may be heard at night when disease is raging, wailing for

want. Then the maidens make garments and hang them out; but it is a most
effective charm when seven old women spin, weave, and sew for her a
scarlet shirt all in one night without once speaking.

A curious book might be written on the efficacy of nakedness in witch-
spells. In some places in Roumania there is a spirit always naked (at least
appearing such), who requires a new suit of clothes every year. These are
given by the inhabitants of the district haunted by such an elf, who on New
Year’s Night lay them out in some place supposed to be frequented by him
or her.

In 1866, in a Wallachian village in the district of Bihar, to avert the cholera,
six youths and maidens, all quite naked, traced with a ploughshare a furrow
round their village to form a charmed circle over which the disease could not
pass.

When the land is suffering from long droughts the Roumanians ascribe it to
the gypsies, who by occult means make dry weather in order to favour their
own trade of brickmaking. When the necessary rain cannot be obtained by
beating the guilty Tziganes, the peasants resort to the Papaluga, or Rain-
maiden. For this they strip a young gypsy girl stark-naked, and then cover
her up in flowers and leaves, leaving only the head visible. Thus adorned the
Papaluga, or Miss Jack-in-the-Green, is conducted with music round the
village, every person pouring water on her as she passes. When a gypsy girl
cannot be had, or the Tziganes are supposed to be innocent, a Roumanian
maiden may be taken. This custom is very widely spread.

Forty years ago there was a strange mania in the northern cities of the United
States for “fast” girls of the most reckless kind to go out naked very late by
night into the street to endeavour to run around a public square or block of
houses and regain their homes without being caught by the police. I suspect
that superstition suggested this strange risk. It is an old witch-charm that if a
girl can, when the moon is full, go forth and run around a certain enclosure,
group of trees, or dwelling, without being seen, she will marry the man
whom she loves. There are also many magical ceremonies which, to ensure
success, must be performed in full moonlight and when quite naked.
“Among the Saxons in Transylvania when there is a very severe drought it is

customary in some places for several girls, led by an old woman, and all of
them absolutely naked, to go at midnight to the courtyard of some peasant
and steal his harrow. With this they walk across fields to the nearest stream,
where the harrow is put afloat with a burning light on each corner” (Mrs.
Gerard, “Land Beyond,” &c.). This is evidently the old Hindoo floating of
lamps by maidens on the Ganges, and in all probability of gypsy
importation.

She who will pronounce a certain spell, strip herself quite naked, and can
steal into the room where a man is lying sound asleep and can clip from his
head a lock of hair and escape without awakening him or meeting any one
will obtain absolute mastery over him, or at least over his affections. The
hair must be worn in a bag or ring on the person. But woe unto her who is
caught, since in that case the enchantment “all goes the other way.” Once a
beautiful but very poor Hungarian maid gave all she had to a young gypsy
girl for a charm to win the love of a certain lord, and was taught this, which
proved to be a perfect success. Having clipped the lock of hair she wove it in
a ring and wedded him. After a time she died, and the gypsy being called in
to dress the corpse found and kept the ring. Then the lord fell in love with
the gypsy and married her. But ere long she too died, and was buried, and the
ring with her. And from that day the lord seemed as if possessed to sit by her
grave, and finally built a house there, and never seemed happy save when in
it.

“If a Roumanian maid,” says Mrs. Gerard, “desires to see her future
husband’s face in the water she has only to step naked at midnight into the
nearest lake or river, or, if she shrink from this, let her take a stand on the
more congenial dung-hill with a piece of Christmas cake in her mouth, and
as the clock strikes twelve listen attentively for the first sound of a dog’s
bark. From whichever side it proceeds will also come the expected suitor.”

A naked maid standing on a “congenial dung-hill” with a piece of Christmas
cake in her mouth would be a subject for an artist which should be eagerly
seized in these days when “excuses for the nude in art” are becoming so rare.
It is worth observing that this conjuration is very much like one observed in
Tuscany, in which Saint Anthony is invoked to manifest by a dog’s barking

at night, as by other sounds, whether the applicant, or invoker, shall obtain
her desire.

At the birth of a child in Wallachia every one present takes a stone and
throws it behind him, saying, “This into the jaws of the Streghoi”2—“a
custom,” says Mrs. Gerard, “which would seem to suggest Saturn and the
swaddled up stones.” It is much more suggestive of the stones thrown by
Deucalion and Pyrrha. Strigoi is translated as “evil spirits”—it is evidently,
originally at least, the streghe, or witches of Italy, from the Latin strix, the
dreaded witch-bird of Ovid. “Festus derives the word à stringendo from the
opinion that they strangle children.” Middle Latin strega (Paulus
Grillandus). For much learning on this subject of the Strix the reader may
consult De Gubernatis, “Myth of Animals,” vol. ii. p. 202.

“As long as the child is unbaptized it must be carefully watched for fear lest
it be changed or stolen away.” This is common to Christians, heathen, and
gypsies to watch it for several days. “A piece of iron, or a broom laid
beneath the pillow will keep spirits away.” So in Roumania and Tuscany.
Quintus Serenus, however, recommends that when the striga atra presses
the infant, garlic be used, the strong odour of which (to their credit be it said)
is greatly detested by witches.

“The Romans used to cook their cœna demonum for the house-spirits, and
the Hindoos prepared food for them.” From them it has passed through the
gypsies to Eastern Europe, and now the Roumanian, who has by a simple
ceremony made a contract with the devil, receives from him an attendant
spirit called a spiridsui or spiridush which will
“Serve his master faithfully
For seven long year,”

but in return expecting the first mouthful of every dish eaten by his master.
“So many differing fancies have mankind,
That they the master-sprites may spell and bind.”

Nearly connected with the Roumanian we have the beliefs in magic of the
Transylvanian Saxons, all of them shared with the gypsies and probably

partially derived from them. Many people must have wondered what could
have been the origin of the saying in reference to a very small place that
“there was not room to swing a cat in it.” “But I don’t want to swing a cat in
it,” was the very natural rejoinder of a well-known American litterateur to
this remark applied to his house. It is possible that we may find the origin of
this odd saying in a superstition current in Transylvania, whither it in all
probability was carried by the gypsies, whose specialty it is to bear the seeds
of superstitions about here and there as the winds do those of plants. In this
country it is said that if a cat runs away, when recovered she must be swung
three times round to attach her to the dwelling. The same is done by a stolen
cat by the thief if he would retain it. Truly this seems a strange way to induce
an attachment—or pour encourager les autres. It is evident, however, that to
the professional cat-stealer the size of his room must be a matter of some
importance. It is a pity that this saying and faith were unknown to Moncrief-
Maradan, “the Historiogriffe of Cats,” (“Œuvres,” Paris, 1794), who would
assuredly have made the most of it.

As regards entering new houses in Transylvania the rule is not “Devil take
the hindmost,” but the foremost. The first person or being who enters the
maiden mansion must die, therefore it is safe to throw in a preliminary dog
or cat. The scape-cat is, however, to be preferred.

I can remember once, when about six years of age, looking down into a well
in Massachusetts and being told that the reflection which I saw was the face
of a little boy who lived there. This made a deep impression on me, and I
reflected that it was very remarkable that the dweller in the well could
assume the appearance of every one who looked at him. In Transylvania it is,
says Mrs. E. Gerard, “dangerous to stare down long into a well, for the
well-dame who dwells at the bottom is easily offended. But children are
often curious, and so, bending over the edge, they call out mockingly, ‘Dame
of the Well, pull me down into it!’ and then run away rapidly.”

Whoever has been robbed and wishes to find the thief should take a black
hen, and for nine Fridays must with the hen fast strictly; the thief will then
either bring back the plunder or die. This is called “taking up the black fast”
against any one. It is said that a peasant of Petersdorf returned one day from

Bistritz with 200 florins, which he had received for oxen. Being very tipsy
he laid down to sleep, having first hidden his money in a hole in the kitchen
wall. When he awoke he missed his coin, and having quite forgotten what he
had done with it believed it had been stolen. So he went to an old
Wallachian, probably a gypsy, and induced him to take up the black fast
against the thief. But as he himself had the money the spell worked against
him and he grew weaker and pined away as it went on. By some chance at
the last moment he found his money, but it was too late, and he died. Pages
of black hen-lore may be gathered from the works of Friedrich, De
Gubernatis and others; suffice it to say that Bubastis, the Egyptian moon-
goddess, appears to have been the original mistress of the mysterious animal,
if not the black hen as well as cat herself, and mother of all the witches.

Magic qualities are attached in Hungary as in Germany to the lime or linden
tree; in some villages it is usual to plant one before a house to prevent
witches from entering. From very early times the lime tree was sacred to
Venus among the Greeks, as it was to Lada among the Slavonians. This, it is
said, was due to its leaves being of the shape of a heart. In a Slavonian love-
song the wooer exclaims:—
“As the bee is drawn by the lime-perfume (or linden-bloom)
My heart is drawn by thee.”

This was transmitted to Christian symbolism, whence the penance laid by
Christ on Mary Magdalen was that “she should have no other food save
lime-tree leaves, drink naught except the dew which hung on them, and sleep
on no other bed save one made of its leaves” (Menzel, “Christliche
Symbolik,” vol. ii. p. 57). “For Magdalena had loved much, therefore her
penance was by means of that which is a symbol of love.”

Mrs. Gerard tells us that “a particular growth of vine leaf, whose exact
definition I have not succeeded in rightly ascertaining, is eagerly sought by
Saxon girls in some villages. Whoever finds it, puts it in her hair, and if she
then kisses the first man she meets on her way home she will soon be
married. A story is related of a girl, who having found this growth, meeting a
nobleman in a carriage stopped the horses and begged leave to kiss him.” To
which he consented. This particular growth, unknown to Mrs. Gerard, is

when the leaves or tendrils or shoots form a natural knot. Among the gypsies
in Hungary, as may be elsewhere read, such knots in the willow are
esteemed as of great magic efficacy in love. A knot is a symbol of true love
in all countries.
“This knot I tie, this knot I knit,
For that true love whom I know not yet.”

On Easter Monday in Transylvania the lads run about the towns and villages
sprinkling with water all the girls or women whom they meet. This is
supposed to cause the flax to grow well. On the following day the girls
return the attention by watering the boys. “This custom, which appears to be
a very old one,” says Mrs. Gerard, “is also prevalent among various Slav
races, such as Poles and Serbs. In Poland it used to be de rigeur that water be
poured over a girl who was still asleep, so in every house a victim was
selected who had to feign sleep and patiently receive the cold shower-bath,
which was to ensure the luck of the family during the year. The custom has
now become modified to suit a more delicate age, and instead of formidable
horse-buckets of water, dainty little perfume squirts have come to be used in
many places.” As the custom not only of sprinkling water, but also of
squirting or spraying perfumes is from ancient India (as it is indeed prevalent
all over the East), it is probable that the gypsies who are always foremost in
all festivals may have brought this “holi” custom to Eastern Europe. Of late
it has extended to London, as appears by the following extract from The St.
James’s Gazette, April, 1889.

“The newest weapon of terror in the West End is the ‘scent revolver.’ Its use is simple. You
dine—not wisely but the other thing—and then you stroll into the Park, with your nickel-
plated scent revolver in your pocket. Feeling disposed for a frolic, you walk up to a woman,
present your weapon, pull the trigger, and in a moment she is drenched, not with gore but
with scent, which is nearly as unpleasant if not quite so deadly. Mr. Andrew King, who
amused himself in that way, has been fined 10s. at Marlborough Street. Let us hope that the
‘revolver’ was confiscated into the bargain.”

One way of interrogating fate in love affairs is to slice an apple in two with a
sharp knife; if this can be done without cutting a seed the wish of the heart
will be fulfilled. Of yore, in many lands the apple was ever sacred to love,
wisdom, and divination. Once in Germany a well-formed child became,
through bewitchment, sorely crooked and cramped; by the advice of a monk

the mother cut an apple in three pieces and made the child eat them,
whereupon it became as before. In Illzach, in Alsace, there is a custom called
“Andresle.” On Saint Andrew’s Eve a girl must take from a widow, and
without returning thanks for it, an apple. As in Hungary she cuts it in two
and must eat one half of it before midnight, and the other half after it; then in
sleep she will see her future husband. And there is yet another love-spell of
the split apple given by Scheible (“Die gute alte Zeit,” Stuttgart, 1847, p.
297) which runs as follows:—
“On Friday early as may be,
Take the fairest apple from a tree,
Then in thy blood on paper white
Thy own name and thy true love’s write,
That apple thou in two shalt cut,
And for its cure that paper put,
With two sharp pins of myrtle wood
Join the halves till it seem good,
In the oven let it dry,
And wrapped in leaves of myrtle lie,
Under the pillow of thy dear,
Yet let it be unknown to her;
And if it a secret be
She soon will show her love for thee.”

Similar apple sorceries were known to the Norsemen. Because the apple was
so nearly connected with love and luxury—“Geschlechtsliebe und
Zeugungslust”—those who were initiated in the mysteries and vowed to
chastity were forbidden to eat it. And for the same reason apples, hares, and
Cupids, or “Amorets,” were often depicted together. In Genesis, as in the
Canticles of Solomon, apples, or at least the fruit from which the modern
apple inherited its traditions are a symbol of sexual love. In Florence women
wishing for children go to a priest and get from him a blessed apple, over
which they pronounce an incantation to Santa Anna—la San’ Na—who was
the Lucina of the Latins.

1 Though not connected with this work, I cannot help observing that this extraordinary simile
probably originated in a very common ornament used as a figure-head, or in decorations, on
Mississippi steamboats, as well as ships. This is the sea-horse (hippocampus), which may be often
seen of large size, carved and gilt. Its fish tail might be easily confused with that of an alligator.
Prætorius (1666) enumerates, among other monsters, the horse-crocodile. ↑
2 Schott, “Wallachische Mährchen,” p. 297. Stuttgart, 1845. ↑

CHAPTER IX.

THE RENDEZVOUS OR MEETINGS OF
WITCHES, SORCERERS, AND VILAS.—A
CONTINUATION OF SOUTH SLAVONIAN
GYPSY-LORE.

I
n Eastern Europe witches and their kin, or kind,
assemble on the eve of Saint John and of
Saint George, Christmas and Easter, at
cross-roads on the broad pustas, or prairies,
and there brew their magic potions. This, as
Dr. Krauss observes, originated in feasts
held at the same time in pre-Christian
times. “So it was that a thousand years ago
old and young assembled in woods or on
plains to bring gifts to their gods, and
celebrated with dances, games, and
offerings the festival of spring, or of
awaking and blooming Nature. These
celebrations have taken Christian names,
but innumerable old heathen rites and
customs are still to be found in them.” It
may be here observed that mingled with
these are many of a purely gypsy-Oriental
origin, which came from the same source
and which it remains for careful
ethnologists and critical Folk-lorists to disentangle and make clear. The
priestesses of prehistoric times on these occasions performed ceremonies, as
was natural, to protect cattle or land from evil influences. To honour their
deities the “wise women” bore certain kinds of boughs and adorned animals
with flowers and wreaths. The new religion declared that this was all sorcery

and devil-work, but the belief in the efficacy of the rites continued. The
priestesses became witches, or Vilas, the terms being often confused, but
they were still feared and revered.

In all the South Slavonian country the peasants on Saint George’s Day adorn
the horns of cattle with garlands, in gypsy Indian style, to protect them from
evil influences. I have observed that even in Egypt among Mahometans
Saint George is regarded with great reverence, and I knew one who on this
day always sacrificed a sheep. The cow or ox which is not thus decorated
becomes a prey in some way to witches. The garlands are hung up at night
over the stable door, where they remain all the ensuing year. If a peasant
neglects to crown his cow, he not only does not receive a certain fee from its
owner, but is in danger of being beaten. On the same day the shepherdess, or
cow-herd, takes in one hand salt, in the other a potsherd containing live
coals. In the coals roses are burned. By this means witches lose all power
over the animal. Near Karlstadt the mistress of the family merely strikes it
with a cross to produce the same effect.

Among the Transylvanian Hungarian gypsies there is a magical ceremony
performed on Saint George’s Day, traces of which may be found in England.
Then the girls bake a peculiar kind of cake, in which certain herbs are mixed,
and which Dr. von Wlislocki declares has an agreeable taste. This is divided
among friends and foes, and it is believed to have the property of reconciling
the bitterest enemies and of increasing the love of friends. But it is most
efficient as a love-charm, especially when given by women to men. The
following gypsy song commemorates a deed of this kind by a husband, who
recurred to it with joy:—

“Kásáve romñi ná jidel,
Ke kásávo maro the del;
Sar m’re gule lele pekel
Káná Sváto Gordye ável.

“Furmuntel bute luludya
Furmuntel yoy bute charma
Andre petrel but kámábe
Ko chal robo avla bake.”

“No one bakes such bread as my wife, such as she baked me on St. George’s Day. Many
flowers and dew were kneaded into the cake with love. Whoever eats of it will be her
slave.”

In England I was told by an old gypsy woman named Lizzie Buckland, that
in the old time gypsy girls made a peculiar kind of cake, a Romany morriclo,
which they baked especially for their lovers, and used to throw to them over
the hedge by night. To make it more acceptable, and probably to facilitate
the action of the charm, they would put money into the cake. It was observed
of old among the Romans that fascinatio began with flattery, compliments,
and presents!

On the night of Saint John the witch climbs to the top of the hurdle fence
which surrounds the cow-yard, and sings the following spell:—

“K meni sir,
K meni maslo,
K meni puter,
K meni mleko
Avam pak kravsku kožu!”

“To me the cheese,
To me the tallow (or meat),
To me the butter,
To me the milk,
To you only the cowhide.”

Or, as it may be expressed in rhyme:—
“The cheese, meat, butter, and milk for me,
But only the cowhide left for thee.”

Then the cow will die, the carcass be buried, and the skin sold. To prevent all
this the owner goes early on St. John’s Day to the meadow and gathers the
morning dew in a cloak. This he carries home, and after binding the cow to a
beam washes her with it. She is then milked, and it is believed that if all has
gone right she will yield four bucketsful.

In the chapter on “Conjurations and Exorcisms among the Hungarian
Gypsies,” I have mentioned the importance which they attach to the being

born a seventh or twelfth child. This is the same throughout South Slavonia,
where the belief that such persons in a series of births are exceptionally
gifted is “shared by both gypsies, with whom it probably originated, and the
peasants. What renders this almost certain is that Dr. Krauss mentions that
the oldest information as to the subject among the Slavs dates only from
1854, while the faith is ancient among the gypsies. He refers here to the so-
called Kerstniki, who on the eve of St. John do battle with the witches.
Krstnik is a Greek word, meaning, literally, one who has been baptized. But
the Krstnik proper is the youngest of twelve brothers, all sons of the same
father. There appears to be some confusion and uncertainty among the Slavs
as to whether all the twelve brothers or only the twelfth are “Krstnik”—
according to the gypsy faith it would be the latter. These “twelvers” are the
great protectors of the world from witchcraft.1 But they are in great danger
on Saint John’s Eve, for then the witches, having most power, assail them
with sticks and stakes, or stumps of saplings, for which reason it is usual in
the autumn to carefully remove everything of the kind from the ground.

A krstnik is described by Miklošič as “Človek kterega vile obljubiju”—“A
man who has won the love of a Vila.” The Vila ladies, or a certain class of
them, are extremely desirous of contracting the closest intimacy—in short,
of becoming the mistresses, of superior men. The reader may find numerous
anecdotes of such amours in the “Curiosa” of Heinrich Kornmann, 1666,
and in my “Egyptian Sketch Book” (Trübner & Co., London, 1874). In the
heathen days, as at present among all gypsies and Orientals, it was believed
to be a wonderfully lucky thing for a man to get the love of one of these
beautiful beings. What the difficulties were which kept them from finding
lovers is not very clear, unless it were that the latter must be twelfth sons, or,
what is far more difficult to find, young men who would not gossip about
their supernatural sweethearts to other mortals, who would remain true to
them, and who finally would implicitly obey all their commands and follow
their advice. There is a vast array of tales—Gypsy, Arab, Provençal,
Norman, German, and Scandinavian, which show that on these points the
Vila, or forest-maiden, or spirit of earth or air, or fairy, was absolutely
exacting and implacable, being herself probably allowed by occult laws to
contract an intimacy only with men of a high order, or such as are—
“Few in a heap and very hard to find.”

On the other hand, the Vila yearns intensely for men and their near company,
because there is about those who have been baptized a certain perfume or
odour of sanctity, and as the unfortunate nymph is not immortal herself, she
likes to get even an association or sniff of it from those who are. According
to the Rosicrucian Mythology, as set forth in the “Undine” of La Motte
Fouqué, she may acquire a soul by marrying a man who will be faithful to
her—which accounts for the fact that so few Undines live for ever. However
this may be, it appears that the Krstniki are specially favoured, and
frequently invited by the Vilas to step in—generally to a hollow tree—and
make a call. The hollow tree proves to be a door to Fairyland, and the call a
residence of seven days, which on returning home the caller finds were
seven years, for—
“When we are pleasantly employed, time flies.”

These spirits have one point in common with their gypsy friends—they steal
children—with this difference, that the Vila only takes those which have
been baptized, while the gypsy—at present, at least—is probably not
particular in this respect. But I have very little doubt that originally one
motive, and perhaps the only one which induced these thefts, was the desire
of the gypsies, as heathens and sorcerers, to have among them, “for luck,” a
child which had received the initiation into that mysterious religion from
which they were excluded, and which, as many of their charms and spells
prove, they really regarded as a higher magic. It is on this ground only, or for
this sole reason, that we can comprehend many of the child-stealings
effected by gypsies; for it is absolutely true that, very often when they have
large families of their own, they will, for no apparent cause whatever, neither
for the sake of plunder, profit, or revenge, adopt or steal some poor child and
bring it up, kindly enough after their rough fashion; and in doing this they
are influenced, as I firmly believe, far more by a superstitious feeling of bāk,
or luck, and the desire to have a Mascot in the tent, than any other. That
children have been robbed or stolen for revenge does not in the least
disprove what I believe—that in most cases the motive for the deed is simply
superstition.

On the eve of Saint George old women cut thistle-twigs and bring them to
the door of the stall. This is only another form of the nettle which enters so

largely into the Hungarian gypsy incantations, and they also make crosses
with cowdung on the doors. This is directly of Indian origin, and points to
gypsy tradition. Others drive large nails into the doors—also a curious relic
of a widely-spread ancient custom, of which a trace may be found in the
Vienna Stock im Eisen, or trunk driven full of nails by wandering
apprentices, which may be seen near the church of Saint Stephen. But the
thistle-twigs are still held to be by far the most efficacious. In Vinica, or near
it, these twigs are cut before sunset. They are laid separately in many places,
but are especially placed in garlands on the necks of cattle. If a witch, in
spite of these precautions, contrives to get into the stable, all will go wrong
with the beasts during the coming year.

Now there was once a man who would have none of this thistle work—nay,
he mocked at those who believed in it. So it came to pass that all through the
year witches came every night and milked his cows. And he reflected, “I
must find out who does this!” So he hid himself in the hay and kept sharp
watch. All at once, about eleven o’clock, there came in a milk-pail, which
moved of its own accord, and the cows began to let down their milk into it.
The farmer sprang out and kicked it over. Then it changed into a tremendous
toad which turned to attack him, so that in terror he took refuge in his house.
That proved to be a lucky thing for him. A week after came the day of Saint
George. Then he hung thistle-twigs on his stable door, and after that his
cows gave milk in plenty.

Witches may be seen on Saint George’s Day, and that unseen by them if a
man will do as follows: He must rise before the sun, turn all his clothes
inside out and then put them on. Then he must cut a green turf and place it
on his head. Thus he becomes invisible, for the witches believe he is under
the earth, being themselves apparently bewitched by this.

Very early on the day of Saint George, or before sunrise, the witches climb
into the church belfry to get the grease from the axle on which the bell
swings, and a piece of the bell-rope, for these things are essential to them.
Dr. Krauss observes that in the MS. from which he took this, schmierfetet or
axle-grease, is indicated by the word svierc, “in which one at once
recognizes the German word schwartz, a black.” It is remarkable that the

Chippeway and other Algonkin Indians attach particular value to the black
dye made from the grease of the axle of a grindstone.

The extraordinary pains which they took to obtain this had attracted the
attention of a man in Minnesota, who told me of it. It required a whole day
to obtain a very little of it. The Indians, when asked by curious white people
what this was for, said it was for dyeing baskets, but, as my informant
observed, the quantity obtained was utterly inadequate to any such purpose,
and even better black dyes (e.g., hickory bark and alum) are known to, and
can be very easily obtained by, them. The real object was to use the grease in
“medicine,” i.e., for sorcery. The eagerness of both witches in Europe and
Indians in America to obtain such a singular substance is very strange.
However, the idea must be a recent one among the Indians, for there were
certainly no grindstones among them before the coming of the white men.
“For all that I can tell, said he,
Is that it is a mystery.”

Heathens though they be, many gypsies have a superstitious belief in the
efficacy of the sacramental bread and wine, and there are many instances of
their stealing them for magical purposes. So in the Middle Ages witches and
sorcerers used these objects for the most singular purposes, Paulus
Grillandus, in his “Tractatus de Hereticis et Sortilegiis,” &c. (Lyons, 1547),
assuring his readers that he had known a witch who had two holy wafers
inscribed with magical characters which she used for debauching innocent
girls and betraying them to men, and that it was a belief that if a woman had
the sacred oil fresh on her lips no man could refrain from kissing her. This is
the union of two kinds of magic; a view which never once occurred to
theological writers. And here I may appropriately mention that while the
proofs of this work were passing through my hands accident threw into my
way an extremely rare work, which illustrates to perfection the identity of
popular and ecclesiastical sorcery. This is entitled “De Effectibus Magicis,
ac de Nuce Maga Beneventana,” “Six Books of Magic Effects and of the
Witch Walnut-tree of Benevento. A work necessary, joyous, and useful to
Astrologists, Philosophers, Physicians, Exorcists, and Doctors, and Students
of Holy Scriptures. By the Chief Physician, Peter Piperno.” It appears to

have been privately printed at Naples in 1647, and came from a conventual
library. It bore, written on a fly-leaf, the word Proibito.

In it every kind of disorder or disease is declared to be caused by devils and
witches. The author believes with Delrio that disease entered into the world
as a consequence of sin (referenda sit ad primæ nostræ matris peccatum)—a
view held by John Milton; hence, of course, all disease is caused solely by
the devil. In his volume of two hundred large and close pages, our Peter
Piperno displays a vast erudition on the origin of devils and diseases, is bitter
on the rival school of magical practitioners who use cures and incantations
unlike his own, and then gives us the name and nature of all diseases,
according to the different parts of the body, &c., the medical prescriptions
proper for them, and what is, in his opinion, most needful of all, the
incantation or exorcism to be pronounced. Sometimes there are several of
these, as one for making up a pill, another on taking it, &c. There are also
general conjurations—I mean benedictions—for the medicines altogether or
in particular, such as the Benedictio Syruporum, “The Blessing of the
Syrups,” and there is a very affecting and appropriately moving one for
making or taking Castor Oil, and oils of all kinds, as follows:—

“Benedictio Olei.

“This begins with the In nomine Patris, &c., and Adjutorium nostrum, &c., and then:

“I exorcise you all aromatics, herbs, roots, seeds, stones, gums, and whatever is to be
compounded with this oil, by God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, by the
God triune yet one, by the holy and single Trinity, that the impure Spirit depart from you,
and with it every incursion of Satan, every fraud of the Enemy, every evil of the Devil, and
that mixed with oil you may free the subject from all infirmities, incantations, bindings,
witchcrafts, from all diabolical fraud, art, and power, by the merits of our Lord Jesus Christ
and the most beloved Virgin Mary, and of all the saints. Amen.”

The curses for the devils of colds, fevers, rheumatisms, gouts, stomach-
aches, &c., are awful, both in number, length, and quality; enough to
frighten a cowboy or “exhort an impenitent mule” into docility. There is the
Exorcismus terribilis, or “Terrible Exorcism” of Saint Zeno, in which the
disorder is addressed literally as “A dirty, false, heretical, drunken, lewd,
proud, envious, deceitful, vile, swindling, stupid devil”—with some twenty
more epithets which, if applied in these our days to the devil himself, would

ground an action for libel and bring heavy damages in any court. It is to be
remarked that in many prescriptions the author adds to legitimate remedies,
ingredients which are simply taken from popular necromancy, or witchcraft,
as for instance, rue—fugæ dæmonum—verbena, and artemisia, all of which
are still in use in Tuscany against sorcery and the evil eye.

The really magical character of these exorcisms is shown by the vast array of
strange words used in them, many of which have a common source with
those used by sorcerers of the Cabalistic or Agrippa school, such as Agla,
Tetragrammaton, Adonai, Fons, Origo, Serpens, Avis, Leo, Imago, Sol, Floy,
Vitis, Mons, Lapis, Angularis, Ischyros, Pantheon, all of which are old
heathen terms of incantation. These are called in the exorcism “words by
virtue of which”—per virtutem istorum verborum—the devils are invited to
depart. The whole is as much a work of sorcery as any ever inscribed in a
catalogue of occulta, and it was as a specimen of occulta that I bought it.

1 In Northern Sagas it appeared that Berserkers, or desperate warriors, frequently bound
themselves together in companies of twelve. Vide the Hervor Saga, Olaf Tryggvason’s and the Gautrek
Saga. So there were the twelve Norse gods and the twelve apostles. ↑

CHAPTER X.

OF THE HAUNTS, HOMES, AND HABITS OF
WITCHES IN THE SOUTH SLAVIC LANDS.—
BOGEYS AND HUMBUGS.

T
he
witch
es in
Slavo
nian
gipsy-
lore
have
now
and
then
partie
s
which
meet
to
spin,
alway
s by
full
moonl
ight
on a cross-road. But it is not advisable, says Krauss, to pass by on such
occasions, as the least they do to the heedless wayfarer is to bewitch and

sink him into a deep sleep. But they are particularly fond of assembling
socially in the tops of trees, especially of the ash, walnut, and linden or lime
kinds, preferring those whose branches grow in the manner here depicted.

It is but a few days ago, as I write, that I observed all along the route from
Padua to Florence thousands of trees supporting vines, which trees had been
trained to take this form, the farmers being as much influenced by “luck” in
so doing as utility; for it is not really essential that the tree shall so exactly
receive this shape, to hold a vine, as is proved by the fact that there are
plantations here and there where this method of training the trees is not
observed. It is very suggestive of the triçula or trident of Siva, which
originated the trushul, or cross of the gypsies. As regards the properties of
the ash tree Krauss remarks that “roots with magic power grew under ash
trees,” and quotes a song of a maiden who, having learned that her lover is
untrue, replies:—

“Ima trava u okolo Save,
I korenja okolo jasenja,”

“There are herbs by the Save,
And roots around ash trees,”

—meaning that she can prepare a love-potion from these. There is in the
Edda a passage in which we are also told that there are magic powers in the
roots of trees, the reference being probably to the ash, and possibly to the

alraun, or images made of its roots, which are sometimes misnamed
mandrakes.

Other resorts of Slavonian gypsy witches are near or in deep woods and
ravines, also on dung-hills, or places where ashes, lye, or rubbish is thrown,
or among dense bushes. Or as soon as the sun sets they assemble in orchards
of plum trees, or among ancient ruins, while on summer nights they hold
their revels in barns, old hollow trees, by dark hedges or in subterranean
caverns. The peasants greatly dread dung-hills after dark, for fear of cruel
treatment by them. When a wild wind is blowing the witches love dearly to
dance. Then they whirl about in eddying figures and capers, and when the
sweat falls from them woe to the man who treads upon it!—for he will
become at once dumb or lame, and may be called lucky should he escape
with only an inflammation of the lungs. In fact, if a man even walks in a
place where witches have been he will become bewildered or mad, and
remain so till driven homeward by hunger. But such places may generally be
recognized by their footprints in the sand; for witches have only four toes—
the great toe being wanting. These mysterious four toe-tracks, which are
indeed often seen, are supposed by unbelievers to be made by wild geese,
swans, or wild ducks, but in reply to this the peasant or gypsy declares that
witches often take the form of such fowl. And there is, moreover, much
Rabbinical tradition which proves that the devil and his friends have feet like
peacocks, which are notoriously birds of evil omen, as is set forth by a
contributor to The St. James’s Gazette, November 16, 1888:—

“Again, take peacocks. Nobody who has not gone exhaustively into the subject can have
any adequate idea of the amount of general inconvenience diffused by a peacock. Broken
hearts, broken limbs, pecuniary reverses, and various forms of infectious disease have all
been traced to the presence of a peacock, or even a peacock feather, on the premises.”

The evil reputation of the peacock is due to his having been the only creature
who was induced to show Satan the way into Paradise. (For a poem on this
subject, vide “Legends of the Birds,” by C. G. Leland, Philadelphia, 1864).

If any one should by chance pop in—like Tam O’Shanter—to an assembly
of witches, he must at once quickly cover his head, make the sign of the
cross, take three steps backwards and a fourth forwards. Then the witches

cannot injure him. Should a gentleman in London or Brighton abruptly
intrude into a five o’clock tea, while Peel or Primrose witches are discussing
some specially racy scandal, he should, however, make instantly so many
steps backwards as will take him to his overcoat or cane, and then, after a
turn, so many down-stairs as will bring him into the street.

If any man should take in his hand from the garden fence anything which a
witch has laid there, he will in the same year fall sick, and if he has played
with it he must die. There be land-witches and water-witches—whoever goes
to swim in a place where these latter are found will drown and his body
never be recovered. Sometimes in these places the water is very deep, but
perfectly clear, in others it is still and very muddy, to which no one can come
within seven paces because of an abominable and stifling vapour. And,
moreover, as a dead cat is generally seen swimming on the top of such pools,
no one need be endangered by them.

The fact that the gypsy and South Slavonian or Hungarian Folklore is
directly derived from classic or Oriental sources is evident from the fact that
the Shemitic-Persian devil, who is the head and body of all witchcraft in
Western Europe, very seldom appears in that of the Eastern parts. The
witches there seem invariably to derive their art from one another; even in
Venice they have no unusual fear of death or of a future state. A witch who
has received the gift or power of sorcery cannot die till she transfers it to
another, and this she often finds it difficult to do, as is illustrated by a story
told me in Florence in 1886 by the same girl to whom I have already
referred.

“There was a girl here in the city who became a witch against her will. And how? She was
ill in a hospital, and by her in a bed was una vecchia, ammalata gravamente, e non poteva
morire—an old woman seriously ill, yet who could not die. And the old woman groaned and
cried continually, ‘Oimé! muoio! A chi lasció? non diceva che.’ ‘Alas! to whom shall I
leave?’—but she did not say what. Then the poor girl, thinking of course she meant
property, said: ‘Lasciate à me—son tanto povera!’ (‘Leave it to me—I am so poor.’) At once
the old woman died, and ‘La povera giovana se é trovato in eredita delta streghoneria’—
the poor girl found she had inherited witchcraft.

“Now the girl went home, where she lived with her brother and mother. And having become
a witch she began to go out often by night, which the mother observing, said to her son,
‘Qualche volta tu troverai tua sorella colla pancia grossa.’ (‘Some day you will find your

sister with child.’) ‘Don’t think such a thing, mamma,’ he replied. ‘However, I will find out
where it is she goes.’

“So he watched, and one night he saw his sister go out of the door, sullo punto delta mezza
notte—just at midnight. Then he caught her by the hair, and twisted it round his arm. She
began to scream terribly, when—ecco! there came running a great number of cats—e
cominciarono a miolare, e fare un gran chiasso—they began to mew and make a great row,
and for an hour the sister struggled to escape—but in vain, for her hair was fast—and
screamed while the cats screeched, till it struck one, when the cats vanished and the sorella
was insensible. But from that time she had no witchcraft in her, and became a buona donna,
or good girl, as she had been before—‘come era prima.’ ”

It is very evident that in this story there is no diabolical agency, and that the
witchcraft is simply a quality which is transferred like a disease, and which
may be removed. Thus in Venice—where, as is evident from the works of
Bernoni, the witches are of Gypsy-Slavic-Greek origin—a witch loses all
her power if made to shed even one drop of blood, or sometimes if she be
defeated or found out to be a witch. In none of these countries has she
received the horrible character of a mere instrument of a stupendous evil
power, whose entire will and work is to damn all mankind (already full of
original sin) to eternal torture. For this ne plus ultra of horror could only
result from the Hebrew-Persian conception of perfect malignity, incarnate as
an anti-god, and be developed by gloomy ascetics who begrudged mankind
every smile and every gleam of sunlight. In India and Eastern Europe the
witch and demon are simply awful powers of nature, like thunder and
pestilence, darkness and malaria, they nowhere appear as aiming at
destroying the soul. For such an idea as this it required a theology and
mythology emanating from the basis of an absolutely perfect monotheos,
which gave birth to an antithesis; infinite good, when concentrated, naturally
suggesting a shadow counterpart of evil. In Eastern Europe the witch is,
indeed, still confused with the Vila, who was once, and often still is, a
benevolent elementary spirit, who often punishes only the bad, and gladly
favours the good. It is as curious as it is interesting to see how, under the
influence of the Church, everything which was not directly connected with
the current theology was made to turn sour and bitter and poisonous, and
how darkness and frost stole over flowery fields which once were gay in
genial sunshine. It is a necessary result that in attaining higher ideals the
lesser must fade or change. Devilism, or the dread of the child and savage of
the powers of darkness and mysterious evil, ends by incarnating all that is

painful or terrible in evil spirits, which suggest their opposites. From
Devilism results Polytheism, with one leading and good spirit, who in time
becomes supreme. Then we have Monotheism. But as evil still exists, it is
supposed that there are innately evil powers or spirits who oppose the good.
By following the same process the leader of these becomes an anti-type,
Lucifer, or Satan, or arch-devil, the result being Dualism. In this we have a
spirit endowed with incredible activity and power, who is only not
omnipotent, and whose malignity far transcends anything attributed to the
gods or devils of Polytheism. His constant aim is to damn all mankind to all
eternity, and his power is so great that to save even a small portion of
mankind from this fate, God himself, or His own Son, must undergo penance
as a man—an idea found in the Buddhism of India. This is all the regular and
logical sequence of Fetishism and Shamanism. Witchcraft, and the tales told
of it, follow in the path of the religion of the age. In the earliest time women
were apparently the only physicians—that is to say magicians—and as man
was in his lowest stage the magic was a vile witchcraft. Then came the
Shaman—a man who taught in Animism a more refined sorcery, which was,
however, as yet the only religion. But the witch still existed, and so she
continued to exist, pari passu, through all the developments of religion. And
to this, day every form and phase of the magician and witch exist
somewhere, it sometimes happening that traces of the earliest and most
barbarous sorcery are plain and palpable in the most advanced faith. There
may be changes of name and of association, but in simple truth it is all
“magic” and nothing else.

Gypsy, Hungarian, Slavonian, Indian, and Italian witches, however they may
differ from those of Western Europe on theological grounds, agree with them
in meeting for the purposes of riotous dancing and debauchery. It has been
observed that this kind of erotic dancing appears to have been cultivated in
the East, and even in Europe, from the earliest times, by a class of women
who, if not absolutely proved to be gypsies, had at any rate many points of
resemblance with them. “The Syrian girl who haunts the taverns round,”
described by Virgil, suggests the Syrian and Egyptian dancer, who is
evidently of Indo-Persian—that is to say of Nuri, or gypsy—origin. The
Spanish dancing girls of remote antiquity have been conjectured to have
come from this universal Hindoo Romany stock. I have seen many of the

Almeh in Egypt—they all seemed to be gypsyish, and many were absolutely
of the Helebi, Nauar, or Rhagarin stocks. This is indeed not proved—that all
the deliberately cultivated profligate dancing of the world is of Indo-Persian,
or gypsy origin, but there is a great deal, a very great deal, which renders it
probable. And it is remarkable that it occurred to Pierre Delancre that the
Persian ballerine had much in common with witches. Now the dancers of
India are said to have originated in ten thousand gypsies sent from Persia,
and who were of such vagabond habits that they could not be persuaded to
settle down anywhere. Of these Delancre says:—

“The Persian girls dance at their sacrifices like witches at a Sabbat—that is naked—to the
sound of an instrument. And the witches in their accursed assemblies are either entirely
naked or en chemise, with a great cat clinging to their back, as many have at divers times
confessed. The dame called Volta is the commonest and the most indecent. It is believed that
the devil taught three kinds of dances to the witches of Ginevra, and these dances were very
wild and rude, since in them they employed switches and sticks, as do those who teach
animals to dance.

“And there was in this country a girl to whom the devil had given a rod of iron, which had
the power to make any one dance who was touched with it. She ridiculed the judges during
her trial, declaring they could not make her die, but they found a way to blunt her petulance.

“The devils danced with the most beautiful witches, in the form of a he-goat, or of any other
animal, and coupled with them, so that no married woman or maid ever came back from
these dances chaste as they had gone. They generally dance in a round, back to back, rarely
a solo, or in pairs.

“There are three kinds of witch-dances; the first is the trescone alia Boema, or the
Bohemian rigadoon” (perhaps the polka), “the second is like that of some of our work-
people in the country, that is to say by always jumping” (this may be like the Tyrolese
dances), “the third with the back turned, as in the second rigadoon, in which all are drawn
up holding one another by the hand, and in a certain cadence hustling or bumping one
another, deretano contro deretano. These dances are to the sound of a tambourine, a flute, a
violin, or of another instrument which is struck with a stick. Such is the only music of the
Sabbat, and all witches assert that there are in the world no concerts so well executed.”

“A tambourine, a violin, a flute,” with perhaps a zimbel, which is struck with
a stick. Does not this describe to perfection gypsy music, and is not the
whole a picture of the wildest gypsy dancing wherever found? Or it would
apply to the Hindoo debauches, as still celebrated in honour of Sakktya, “the
female principle” in India. In any case the suggestion is a very interesting
one, since it leads to the query as to whether the entire sisterhood of ancient
strolling, licentious dancers, whether Syrian, Spanish, or Egyptian, were not

possibly of Indian-gypsy origin, and whether, in their character as fortune-
tellers and sorceresses, they did not suggest the dances said to be familiar to
the witches.

Mr. David Ritchie, the editor, with Mr. Francis Groome, of the Journal of
the Gypsy-Lore Society, has mentioned (vol. i. No. 2) that Klingsohr, a
reputed author of the “Nibelungen Lied,” was described as a “Zingar
wizard” by Dietrich the Thuringian. Like Odin, this Klingsohr rode upon a
wolf—a kind of steed much affected by witches and sorcerers. There is an
old English rhyming romance in which a knight is represented as disguising
himself as an Ethiopian minstrel. These and other stories—as, for instance,
that of Sir Estmere—not only indicate a connection between the characters
of minstrel and magician, but suggest that some kind of men from the far
East first suggested the identity between them. Of course there have been
wild dancers and witches, and minstrel-sorcerers, or vates, prophet-poets, in
all countries, but it may also be borne in mind that nowhere in history do we
find the female erotic dancer and fortune-teller, or witch, combined in such
vast numbers as in India and Persia, and that these were, and are, what may
be truly called gypsies. Forming from prehistoric times a caste, or distinct
class, it is very probable that they roamed from India to Spain, possibly here
and there all over Europe. The extraordinary diplomatic skill, energy, and
geographic knowledge displayed by the first band of gypsies who, about
1417, succeeded in rapidly obtaining permits for their people to wander in
every country in Europe except England, indicate great unity of plan and
purpose. That these gypsies, as supposed sorcerers, appearing in every
country in Europe, should not have influenced and coloured in some way the
conceptions of witchcraft seems to be incredible. If a superstitious man had
never before in his life thought of witches dancing to the devil’s music, it
might occur to him when looking on at some of the performances of Spanish
and Syrian gypsy women, and if the man had previously been informed—as
everybody was in the fifteenth century or later—that these women were all
witches and sorceresses, it could hardly fail to occur to him that it was after
this fashion that the sisters danced at the Sabbat. Of which opinion all that
can be said is, that if not proved it is extremely possible, and may be at least
probed and looked into by those of the learned who are desirous of clearly
establishing all the grounds and origins of ancient religious beliefs and

superstitions, in which pies it may be found that witches and gypsies have
had fingers to a far greater extent than grave historians have ever imagined.

The English gypsies believe in witches, among their own people, and it is
very remarkable that in such cases at least as I have heard of, they do not
regard them as âmes damnées or special limbs of Satan, but rather as some
kinds of exceptionally gifted sorceresses or magicians. They are, however,
feared from their supposed power to make mischief. Such a witch may be
known by her hair, which is straight for three or four inches and then begins
to curl—like a waterfall which comes down smoothly and then rebounds
roundly on the rocks. It may be here remarked that all this gypsy conception
of the witch is distinctly Hindoo and not in the least European or of
Christians, with whom she is simply a human devil utterly given over to the
devil’s desires. And it is very remarkable that even the English gypsies do
not associate such erring sisters—or any other kind—with the devil, as is
done by their more cultivated associates.

The witch, in gypsy as in other lore, is a haunting terror of the night. It has
not, that I am aware, ever been conjectured that the word Humbug is derived
from the Norse hum, meaning night, or shadows (tenebræ) (Jonæo,
“Icelandic Latin glossary in Niall’s Saga”), and bog, or bogey, termed in
several old editions of the Bible a bug, or “bugges.” And as bogey came to
mean a mere scarecrow, so the hum-bugges or nightly terrors became
synonymes for feigned frights. “A humbug, a false alarm, a bug-bear”
(“Dean Milles MS.” Halliwell). The fact that bug is specially applied to a
nocturnal apparition, renders the reason for the addition of hum very evident.

There is a great deal that is curious in this word Bogey. Bug-a-boo is
suggestive of the Slavonian Bog and Buh, both meaning God or a spirit. Boo
or bo is a hobgoblin in Yorkshire, so called because it is said to be the first
word which a ghost or one of his kind utters to a human being, to frighten
him. Hence, “he cannot say bo to a goose.” Hence boggart, bogle, boggle,
bo-guest, i.e., bar-geist, boll, boman, and, probably allied, bock (Devon),
fear. Bull-beggar is probably a form of bu and bogey or boge, allied to boll
(Northern), an apparition.

CHAPTER XI.

GYPSY WITCHCRAFT.—THE MAGICAL POWER
WHICH IS INNATE IN ALL MEN AND WOMEN—
HOW IT MAY BE CULTIVATED AND
DEVELOPED—THE PRINCIPLES OF FORTUNE-
TELLING.

W
omen excel in the
manifestation of
certain qualities
which are
associated with
mystery and
suggestive of
occult influences or
power. Perhaps the
reader will pardon
me if I devote a
few pages to what I
conceive to be, to a
certain degree, an
explanation of this
magic; though,
indeed, it may be justly said that in so doing we only pass the old boundary
of “spiritual” sorcery to find ourselves in the wider wonderland of Science.

Whether it be the action of a faculty, a correlative action of physical
functions, or a separate soul in us, the fact is indisputable that when our
ordinary waking consciousness or will goes to sleep or rest, or even dozes,
that instant an entirely different power takes command of the myriad forces

of memory, and proceeds to make them act, wheel, evolute, and perform
dramatic tricks, such as the Common Sense of our daily life would never
admit. This power we call the Dream, but it is more than that. It can do more
than make Us, or Me, or the Waking Will, believe that we are passing
through fantastic scenes. It can remember or revive the memory of things
forgotten by us; it can, when he is making no effort, solve for the
geometrician problems which are far beyond his waking capacity—it
sometimes teaches the musician airs such as he could not compose. That is
to say, within ourself there dwells a more mysterious Me, in some respects a
more gifted Self. There is not the least reason, in the present state of Science,
to assume that this is either a “spiritual” being or an action of material
forces. It puzzled Wigan as the dual action of the brain; and a great light is
thrown on it by the “Physiology” of Carpenter and the “Memory” of David
Kay (one of the most remarkable works of modern times), as well as in the
“Psycho Therapeutics” of Dr. Tuckey.

This power, therefore, knows things hidden from Me, and can do what I
cannot. Let no one incautiously exclaim here that what this really means is,
that I possess higher accomplishments which I do not use. The power often
actually acts against Me—it plays at fast and loose with me—it tries to
deceive me, and when it finds that in dreams I have detected a blunder in the
plot of the play which it is spinning, it brings the whole abruptly to an end
with the convulsion of a nightmare, or by letting the curtain fall with a crash,
and—scena est deserta—I am awake! And then “how the phantoms flee—
how the dreams depart!” as Westwood writes. With what wonderful speed
all is washed away clean from the blackboard! Our waking visions do not fly
like this. But—be it noted, for it is positively true—the evanescence of our
dreams is, in a vast majority of instances, exactly in proportion to their folly.

I am coming to my witchcraft directly, but I pray you have patience with my
proeme. I wish to narrate a dream which I had a few years ago (September 5,
1887), which had an intensity of reality. Dreams, you know, reader, vary
from rainbow mist to London fog, and so on to clouds, or mud. This one was
hard as marble in comparison to most. A few days previously I had written a
letter to a friend, in which I had discussed this subject of the dual-Me, and it
seemed as if the Dream were called forth by it in answer.

I thought I was in my bed—a German one, for I was in Homburg vor der
Höhe—yet I did not know exactly where I was. I at once perceived the
anomaly, and was in great distress to know whether I was awake or in a
dream. I seemed to be an invalid. I realized, or knew, that in another bed
near mine was a nurse or attendant. I begged her to tell me if I were
dreaming, and to awake me if I were. She tried to persuade me that I was in
my ordinary life, awake. I was not at all satisfied. I arose and went into the
street. There I met with two or three common men. I felt great hesitation in
addressing them on such a singular subject, but told them that I was in
distress because I feared that I was in a dream, and begged them to shake or
squeeze my arm. I forget whether they complied, but I went on and met three
gentlemen, to whom I made the same request. One at once promptly
declared that he remembered me, saying that we had met before in
Cincinnatti. He pressed my arm, but it had no effect. I began to believe that I
was really awake. I returned to the room. I heard a child speaking or
murmuring by the nurse. I asked her again to shake my hand. This she did so
forcibly that I was now perfectly convinced that it was no dream. And the
instant it came home to me that it was a reality, there seized me the thrill or
feeling as of a coming nightmare—and I awoke!

Reviewing my dream when awake, I had the deepest feeling of having been
joué or played with by a master-mocker. I recalled that, when I rose in my
night-robe from the bed, I did not dress—and yet found myself fully dressed
when in the street. Then I remembered that when I returned to America, in
1879, I was in great apprehension lest I should have trouble and delay with
our sixteen trunks, because there was under my charge a lady who was
dying. To my great relief and amazement, the officer whose duty it was to
search claimed me as an old acquaintance, who had met me and T.
Buchanan Read, the poet, in Cincinnatti in 1864. But what impressed me
most of all, at once, was that the whole was caused by, and was a keen and
subtle mockery of my comments in my letter, of the other Ego, and of its
sarcastic power. For I had been led, step by step, through the extremest
doubt, to a full conviction of being awake, and then dismissed, as it were,
with a snap or sneer into wakefulness itself!

Now this Dream Artist is, to judge by his works, a very different kind of a
person from Me. We are not sympathetic, and herein lies a great and serious
subject of study. “Dreams,” says a writer, “are the novels which we read
when we are fast asleep,” and, at the risk of receiving punishment, I declare
that my writer belongs to a school of novelists with which I have no feelings
in common. If, as everybody assumes, it is always I who dream—only using
other material—how is it that I always invariably disagree with, thwart,
contradict, vex, and mock myself? I had rather be hanged and be done with
it, before I would wrong my worst enemy with such pitiful, silly, degrading
dreams and long-forgotten follies, as I am called on to endure. If this alter-
ego were a lunatic, he could not be a more thoroughly uncongenial inmate of
my brain than he often is. Our characters are radically different. Why has he
a mind so utterly unlike mine? His tastes, his thoughts, dispositions, and
petty peculiarities are all unlike mine. If we belonged to the same club, I
should never talk with him.

Now we are coming to our Witchcraft. This alter-ego does not confine
himself to dreams. A lunatic is a man who dreams wide-awake. He has lost
his will or the controlling power resulting from the just co-relation of brain
forces. Then the stored-up images stray out and blend. I have dreamed of
telling or seeing things and of acting them at the same time. A fish and a
watch and a man may seem to be the same thing at once in a dream, as they
often are to a waking lunatic. A poet is a man who dreams wide-awake; but
he can guide his dreams or imaginings to symmetrical form, and to a logical
conclusion or coherence. With the painter and sculptor it is the same. When
the alter-ego works harmoniously with the waking will, we call it
Imagination.

But when the alter-ego draws decidedly on latent forces, or powers unknown
to the waking Me, I am amazed. He does it often enough, that is certain.
Then we have Mystery. And it is out of this that men have drawn the
conclusion that they have two or three souls—an astral spirit, a power of
prophecy, the art of leaving the body, and the entire machinery of occultism.
Physiology is probably on the high road to explain it all, but as yet it is not
explained.

Meanwhile it steals into our waking life in many ways. It comes in emotions,
presentiments, harp tones, mystical conceptions, and minglings of images or
ideas, and incomprehensible deductions, which are sometimes, of course,
prophetic. It has nothing in common with common sense; therefore it is to
some un-common sense, or to others non-sense. Sometimes it is one or the
other. Agreeable sensations and their harmony become the Beautiful. These
blend and produce a general æsthetic sense. It becomes mystical, and is
easily worked on by the alter-ego. The most inspired passages of every poet
on the beauty of Nature betray clearly the influence and hidden power of the
Dream in waking life. Shelley, Wordsworth, Keats, Byron, were all
waking dreamers de la première force.

He who has heard an Æolian harp play—and I have heard the seven of
Justinus Kerner in the old castle of Weibertreu when I was his guest—if he
be a “tone-artist,” has often caught series of chords which were almost
melodies. This music has the same relation to definite composition which the
dream has to waking common sense. There are two things which I do not
understand. One is, why composers of music make so little use of the
suggestive Æolian harp; the second is, why decorative designers never
employ the folding mirror1 to produce designs. The one is an exact
counterpart of the other, and both are capable of revealing inexhaustible
harmonies, for both are deeply in accordance with the evolving processes of
Nature.

The poetic or artistic faculty is, we therefore assume, the action on the
myriad cells of memory by a strange—sometimes apparently involuntary—
fantastic power, which is at the same time higher and lower than common
sense or waking consciousness. Every image which man has received from
sensation lies stored away in a cell, and is, in fact, a memory by itself. There
is a faculty of association or sympathy by which groups of these images are
called up, and there is perception which receives them, more or less vividly,
like a photographic plate. When awake, Will, or coherent Common Sense,
regulates all this machinery. When asleep, the Images seem to steal out and
blend and frisk about by themselves in quaint dances, guided apparently by a
kind of power whom I have conventionally called the alter-ego. This power
throws open brain or memory-cells, which waking Common Sense has

forgotten; in their chaotic or fantastic searches and mingling they produce
poetry; they may chance on prophecy, for if our waking self had at command
the immense latent knowledge in which these elves revel, it would detect
sequences and know to what many things would lead, now unto us all
unknown.

I once knew a nobleman who inherited in Italy a palace which he had never
seen. There were in it three hundred rooms, and it had belonged to a family
which had for six hundred years collected and handed down to their
descendants every kind of object, as if they had been magpies or ravens. The
heir, as a grave, earnest man, only concerned himself with the armoury and
picture gallery and principal rooms. But his young daughter Bertha ranged
all over the place and made hundreds of the most singular discoveries. One
day she came to me very much delighted. She had found an obscure room or
garret, in which there were ranged about on shelves, “sitting up and all
looking at her,” several hundred old dolls and marionettes. For two hundred
years or more the family had kept its old dolls. In this case the father was the
waking reason, the rooms the brain cells, and Bertha the sprite who ranges
over all and knows where to find forgotten images in store. Many of those
whom we meet in dreams are like the ghosts of dolls.

This is the only true Night side of Nature, but its shadows and dusky
twilight, and strangely-hued chiaroscuros and long pauses of gloom, come
constantly into the sunlight of our waking life. Some lives have too much of
it, some too little. Some receive it in coarse and evil forms, as lunatics, and
sufferers from mania à potu; some canny people—happy Scotchmen, for
instance—succeed in banishing it from life as nearly as is possible for a
human being to do. Now to speak clearly, and to recapitulate distinctly, I set
forth the following propositions:—

I. We have a conscious will which, whether it be an independent
incomprehensible spirit, or simply the correlative result or action of all our
other brain powers, exists, and during our waking hours directs our thoughts
and acts. While it is at work in the world with social influences, its general
tendency is towards average common sense.

II. This conscious will sleeps when we sleep. But the collective images
which form memory, each being indeed a separate memory, as an aggregate
of bees’ cells form a comb, are always ready to come forth, just as honey is
always sweet, limpid, and fluid. There is between them all an associative
faculty, or a strange and singular power, which begins to act when the will
sleeps. Whether it be also an independent Self which plays capriciously
while conscious will sleeps, or a result of correlated forces, it is not as yet
possible to determine. What we know is, that it calls forth the images by
association, and in a fantastic, capricious manner, imitates and combines
what we have experienced, or read, or thought, during our waking hours.

III. Our waking will can only realize or act on such images as it has kept
familiarly before it, or such as have been so often recalled that they recur
spontaneously. But all the treasures of memory seem to be available to the
dream ruler, and with them a loose facile power of grouping them into
kaleidoscopic combinations. Thus, if one could imagine a kaleidoscope
which at every turn made varied groups of human or other figures in
different attitudes, with changing scenery; and then suppose this to be turned
round by some simple vital or mechanical action, he would have an idea of
the action of dreams. It is probable that the radical function of the dream-
power is to prevent images from becoming utterly forgotten or rusty; and by
exercising the faculty of facile or chance combination to keep awake in man
originality and creativeness. For it is almost certain that, but for the intrusion
of this faculty into our waking thoughts, man would become a mere animal,
without an idea beyond the joint common appetites, instincts, and emotions
of the lowest of his kind.

IV. The dream-power intrudes more or less into all waking life. Then it acts,
though irregularly, yet in harmony, with conscious will. When it is powerful
and has great skill in forming associations of images—and by images I
mean, with Kay, “ideas”—and can also submit these to waking wisdom, the
result is poetry or art. In recalling strange, beautiful images, and in
imagining scenes, we partly lapse into dreaming; in fact, we do dream,
though conscious will sits by us all the time and even aids our work. And
most poets and artists, and many inventors, will testify that, while imagining
or inventing, they abstract the “mind” from the world and common-place

events, seek calm and quiet, and try to get into a “brown study,” which is a
waking dream. That is to say, a condition which is in some respects
analogous to sleep is necessary to stimulate the flow and combination of
images. This brown study is a state of mind in which images flow and blend
and form new shapes far more easily than when Will and Reason have the
upper hand. For they act only in a conventional beaten track, and deal only
with the known and familiar.

V. Magic is the production of that which is not measured by the capacity of
the conscious working will. The dream spirit, or that which knows all our
memories, and which combines, blends, separates, scatters, unites, confuses,
intensifies, beautifies, or makes terrible all the persons, scenes, acts, events,
tragedies, or comedies known to us, can, if it pleases, by instantaneous
reasoning or intuition, perceive what waking common sense does not. We
visit a sick man, and the dream spirit, out of the inexhaustible hoards of
memory aided by association, which results in subtle, occult reasoning,
perceives that the patient will die in a certain time, and this result is served
up in a dramatic dream. The amount of miracles, mysteries, apparitions,
omens, and theurgia which the action of these latent faculties cause, or seem
to cause, is simply illimitable, for no man knows how much he knows. Few,
indeed, are the ordinary well-educated Europeans of average experience of
life, whose memories are not inexhaustible encyclopædias, and whose
intellects are not infinite; if all that is really in them could be wakened from
slumber, “know thyself” would mean “know the universe.” Now, there are
people who, without being able to say why, are often inspired by this power
which intuitively divines or guesses without revealing the process to
common sense. They look into the eye of a person—something in glances
and tones, gestures, mien, and address, suggests at once an assertion or a
prediction which proves to be true. Considering that the dream-power has
millions of experiences or images at its command, that it flits over them all
like lightning, that it can combine, abstract, compare, and deduct, that it
being, so to speak, more of a thaumaturgical artist than anything else, excels
waking wisdom in subtle trickery, the wonder is, not that we so often hear of
marvellous, magical, inexplicable wonders, but that they are not of daily or
hourly occurrence. When we think of what we might be if we could master
ourselves, and call on the vast sea of knowledge which is in the brain of

every one who reads these lines, to give strict reckoning of its every wave
and every drop of water, and every shell, pebble, wreck, weed, or grain of
sand over which it rolls, and withal master the forces which make its tides
and storms, then we may comprehend that all the wonder-working power
attributed to all the sorcerers of olden time was nothing compared to what
we really have within us.

It is awful, it is mysterious, it is terrible to learn this tremendous truth that
we are indeed within ourselves magicians gifted with infinite intellectual
power—which means the ability to know and do all things. In the past men
surmised the existence of this infinite memory, this power of subtle research
and combination, but between them and the truth in every land and time
interposed the idea of objective spiritual or supernatural existences whose
aid or medium was necessary to attain to wisdom. Outside of us was always
Somebody Else to be invoked, conciliated, met in vision or trance, united to
in spiritual unity or syncope. Sometimes they hit upon some form of
hypnotism or mesmerism, opiates or forced swoons and convulsions, and so
extorted from the nerves and dream-power some of their secrets which were
all duly attributed to the “spirits.” But in the whole range of occult literature
from Hermes Trismegistus down to Madame Blavatsky there is not a shade
of a suspicion that all the absolutely authentic marvels of magic began and
ended with man himself.

Least of all did any speculator yet conjecture how to set forth on the path
which leads us to this wonderland. For there is a way to it, and a power to
master the infinite stores of memory and render the dream-power a willing
servant, if we take the pains to do it. Firstly—as may be found asserted, and
I think fairly proved, in my work on “Practical Education,” and in the
“Memory of David Kay” (London, 1888)—every child by a very easy
gradual process, simply that of learning by heart, and reviewing, can
develope its memory to such a degree that all which that child reads, hears,
or sees can be literally retained for life. Secondly, quickness of perception,
which is allied to memory, can be taught so as to develope intuitive
observation and intelligence to an equally incredible extent. Thirdly—and
for this I have had abundant personal experience—every child can learn
Design and the Minor Arts or develope the Constructive faculties, and by

doing this alone a pupil becomes exceptionally clever in all studies. The
proof of this is that the 200 pupils who attended an industrial or art school in
Philadelphia took precedence in studies among 110,000 others in the public
schools.

If all the stores of our memory were distinctly cognized by our waking will
when they first came into our possession, we should have the first great
element of power beyond all our present dreams of greatness. That this can
be done has been recognized by many of the most advanced thinkers of the
day. If a child be trained to exercise quickness of perception so that at last it
observes and remembers everything—and experiment has proved this also—
it will make the Dream Power a waking power absolutely in harmony and
accordance with waking wisdom or conscious will. For the reason why the
capricious, wild, strange fitful faculty has always remained foreign to us, is
because in all our culture we have never sought to subdue and train the
powers allied to it. Catch and tame one water-fairy, says the Red Indian
legend, and you may get all her sisters. Waking quickness of perception is a
wonderful ability. It can be trained to flit like lightning over illimitable fields
of thought (supplied by a vast memory), and with them it spontaneously
developes comparison and deduction. Now all of this is marvellously akin to
the habitual action of the dream power plus that of reflection. And it is not
possible to conceive that with waking quickness of perception, or voluntary
subtlety of thought, cultivated in infancy to the highest power, its twin which
sports in sleep should not feel its influence and act under it.

The result of this culture would inevitably be that the marvels, mysteries,
and magic as they seem to us of the dream, or intuitive power, would be
perfectly under our waking control, or to such an extent that we could secure
all that is profitable in them. It is a very curious fact that while Reflection or
Waking Wisdom slumbers, Quickness of Perception or Perception and
Association seem to be always awake—in dreams or waking. A very
extended series of observations has convinced me that the acquisition of a
very great degree of Observation itself, or of Attention, is as possible as to
learn French, and no harder; yet as a branch of study it literally does not
exist. As a writer in the New York Tribune remarks: “In fact, observation is
almost an atrophied faculty, and when a writer practises it for the purposes of

his art, we regard the matter as in some sense wonderful.” Interest, as
Maudsley has shown, is a natural result of Attention, and the two generate
Will. Whether we can actually control the Dream-power is not as yet proved
by experiment. All that we can say is that it is probable. But that this power
manifests itself in waking hours when it submits to Reflection, is an
established fact. It shows itself in all imagination, in all originality, brave art
or “fantasy.” Therefore it is no extravagant deduction to conclude that all of
its action which now seems so wonderful, and which has furnished the
ground-work for what we call magic, is perfectly within our grasp, and may
be secured by simple methods of training which require only perseverance to
perfect them.

The gypsy fortune-teller is accustomed for years to look keenly and
earnestly into the eyes of those whom she dukkers or “fortune-tells.” She is
accustomed to make ignorant and credulous or imaginative girls feel that her
mysterious insight penetrates “with a power and with a sign” to their very
souls. As she looks into their palms, and still more keenly into their eyes,
while conversing volubly with perfect self-possession, ere long she observes
that she has made a hit—has chanced upon some true passage or relation to
the girl’s life. This emboldens her. Unconsciously the Dream Spirit, or the
Alter-Ego, is awakened. It calls forth from the hidden stores of Memory
strange facts and associations, and with it arises the latent and often
unconscious quickness of Perception, and the gypsy actually apprehends and
utters things which are “wonderful.” There is no clairvoyance, illumination
or witchcraft in such cases. If such powers existed as they are generally
understood to do, we should for one case of curious prediction hear of
twenty thousand. But the Dream-power is at best fitful, irregular and
fantastic in its action; it is at all times untrustworthy, for it has never been
trained unless of yore by Chaldæan priests and magi. In some wonderful
way facts do, however, manifest themselves, evoked out of the unknown by
“occult,” though purely material, mental faculties; and the result is that
wonder at the inexplicable—which makes miracles—until we are
accustomed to them.

That gypsy women often do surmise or arrive at very curious and startling
truths I know by my own experience, and also know that I myself when

reading character in people’s hands according to the laws laid down in books
on chiromancy, when I have felt deeply interested, or as one may say excited
or inspired, and have gone a little beyond mere description into conjecture
and deduction, have been amazed at my own successes. It happened once
that when in company with several ladies it was proposed after lunch to go
to a gypsy camp on the Thames, and have fortunes told. Among these ladies
was one of a very imaginative temperament, who had not only lived many
years in the East, but had resided several winters as a guest in Arab families.
As she was very much disappointed at not finding the gypsies, I offered to
tell her fortune by onomancy, i.e., by taking the letters of her name
according to numbers, and deducing from them her past and future. This I
did in a most reckless manner, freely setting down whatever came into my
mind. It seems to me now that a kind of inspiration suggested what I wrote
and predicted. What was my amazement to hear the lady declare that all
which had been written as to her past life was literally true, and I saw that
she was simply awed at my supposed power of prediction, and had the
fullest faith in what I had declared as regarded the future. What I had
intended for a jest or mere entertainment turned out to be serious enough.
And reflecting on the evil consequences of such belief on a person who
naturally attributed it all to magic, I deeply regretted what I had done, and
have not since attempted any renewal of such oracle-work. It had previously
occurred that I wrote out such a prediction for another lady which I did not
clearly explain to her, but in which there was a regular recurrence and
repetition of something unfortunate. This was shown in after years, and the
troubles all came to pass as I had written. Now the more I studied this case
the more I was convinced that it was based on unconscious observation,
comparison, and deduction. Fichte has said that no bird can fly beyond
itself, but the mind sometimes does actually precede its own conscious
reasoning and throw back facts to it.

It may be urged by those who still cling to the old-fashioned fetish of a
distinction between Spirit and Matter, that this explanation of predictions,
oracles, and insight, is simply materialistic and utterly destructive of all the
poetry, grandeur, and beauty which is associated with mysterious divination.
But for those who believe with Maudsley, et sui generis, that all such
distinctions are not seriously worth considering, and to him who can rise to

the great philosophy now dawning on the world, there is perceptible in it
something far more wonderful and poetical, beautiful and even awful, than
ever was known to any occultist of old—for it is scientific and true. It is also
true that man can now talk across the world and hear all sounds conveyed to
him through the depths of ocean. He can catch these sounds and keep them
for centuries. How long will it be before sights, scents, and tastes will be
thus transferred, and the man sitting in London will see all things passing in
Asia, or wherever it pleases him or an agent to turn a mirror on a view? It
will be.2 Or how long before the discovery of cheap and perfect aerial
navigation will change all society and annihilate national distinctions? That,
too, will be. These and a thousand stranger discoveries will during the
ensuing century burst upon the world, changing it utterly. We go on as of old
in our little petty narrow grooves, declaring that this will be, and that will
never come to pass, and that this or that kind of hop-scotch lines, and tip-cat
and marbles rules, are the eternal laws of humanity, and lo! all the while in
his study some man whom you regard as a dreamer or dolt is preparing that
which will be felt forever.

One of these great discoveries, and that not the least, will be the
development and mastery of memory and perception, attention, interest, and
will in children, with the constructive faculty which stimulates the whole by
means of easy gradual series of instructions. When this system shall be
perfected, we shall advance to understanding, controlling, and disciplining
the subtler and stranger powers of the brain, which now puzzle us as dreams,
intuitions, poetic inspiration, and prophecy. But this prophecy comes not
from it, nor from any vague guessing or hoping. It is based on facts and on
years of careful study of a thousand children’s minds, and from a conviction
derived from calm observation, that the powers of the human mind are
infinite and capable of being developed by science. And they will be!

There is very little knowledge among gypsies of real chiromancy, such as is
set forth in the literature of occult or semi-occult science. Two centuries ago,
when chiromancy was studied seriously and thoroughly by learned and wise
men, the latter compared thousands of hands, and naturally enough evolved
certain truths, such as you, reader, would probably evolve for yourself if you
would do the same. Firstly they observed, as you may do, that the hand of a

boor is not marked like that of a gentleman, nor that of an ignoramus like the
palm of an artist or scholar. The line which indicates brain is on an average
shorter in women than in men; in almost every instance certain signs
infallibly indicate great sensuality, Others show a disposition to dreaminess,
sentimentalism, the occult. Now as Love, Wisdom, Strength of Will, or
Inertness, are associable with Venus, Apollo, Jupiter, or Saturn, and as
astrology was then seriously believed in, it came to pass that the signs of
chiromancy were distributed to the seven planets, and supposed to be under
their dominion. It was an error, but after all it amounts to a mere
classification. Properly considered, the names Jupiter, Saturn, Apollo,
Mercury, Venus, and Mars are only synonymes of qualities, meaning
masculine virtue and character, aptitude, art, cleverness, sexual passion, and
combativeness. He who would, without a trace of superstition, analyze and
describe many hands compared with the characters of their owners, would
adopt effectively the same arrangement.

When we remember the age in which they lived and the popular yearning for
wonders and marvels which then characterized even the wisest men, the old
chiromancers were singularly free from superstition. There were many
among them who would have regarded with supreme contempt a
Desbarolles, with his fortune-telling for twenty francs.

To these truly honest men, the gypsies, with their pretended chiromancy,
were at first a great puzzle. The learned Prætorius, in his vast work on
Chiromancy and Physiognomy, devotes seventy-five pages to this “foreign
element in our midst,” and comes to the conclusion that they are humbugs.
They do not know the lines—they know nothing. The intrusion of the latent
powers of the mind had no place in the philosophy of Prætorius, therefore
he did not perceive the back door by which the Romany slipped into the
oracle. Yet there is abundant evidence even in his own valuable collection of
the works of his predecessors, that many of them when tempted from merely
describing character to straying into prophecy, were guided by something
more mysterious than the laws of the lines of life, of the head, heart, the
circle of Venus, the “hepatic,” and viâ lactea. The Hungarian gypsies have a
system of chiromancy of their own which the reader may find in the book
“Vom Wandernden Zigeunervolke,” by Dr. von Wlislocki, Hamburg, 1890. I

had translated this and more of the kind for this chapter, but omitted it,
thinking, firstly, that its place is supplied by more important matter; and,
secondly, because it is, save as perhaps indicative of Indian origin, quite
valueless, being merely of the prophetic kind.

I have more than once known gypsies to tell me things of my past life which
were certainly remarkable, bewildering, or inexplicable. And for the ordinary
seeker of “voonders oopon voonders” it is all-sufficient that a thing shall be
beyond clear intelligence. “How do you explain that?” is their crucial
question, and their cry of triumph when relating some case of an authentic
apparition, a spiritual feat of thaumaturgy, or a dream fulfilled. In fact they
would rather not have it explained. I well remember how Professor Joseph
Henry, when lecturing on natural science, narrated to us, his hearers, how
when he told certain people how certain tricks of a common conjuror were
executed, they all protested that it could not be the way it was done. They
did not wish to be disillusioned. Raise a man from the dead, make him fly
through the air, and it is for everybody a miracle. Give them the power to do
the same, and in a month’s time it will be no longer miraculous, but
something “in the due course of nature.” And what single fact is there in the
due course of nature which is not as inexplicable if we seek for a full
explanation of it? Consider this thing every day till you are penetrated with
it, bear it in mind constantly, and in due time all phenomena will be
miracles. We can apparently get a little nearer to the causes and give our
discoveries names, but the primal causes as constantly recede and are
continually buried in deeper mystery. But with most people names pass for
explanations.

“Can you tell me what a hypothesis is?” asked a young gentleman at a dinner
party of a friend who passed for being well-informed. “Hush,” was the reply.
“Not now—ladies present.”

“Mon caporal,” asked a French soldier, “can you tell me what is meant by an
equilateral?” “Certainly—mais d’abord—do you know Hebrew?” “No.”
“Ah, then it would be impossible to explain it to you.”

“What is it that makes people’s heads ache?” inquired an old lady of a youth
who had just begun his medical studies. “Oh, it is only the convolution of the

anomalies of the ellipsoid,” replied the student. “Just see now what it is to git
larnin!” commented the dame. “He knows it all in a straight line?”

The one is satisfied that a hypothesis is something improper, the other that
an equilateral is a matter which he might understand if he were as learned as
his corporal, and the third is pleased to find that the mystery has at least a
name. And human beings are satisfied in the same way as to the mysteries of
Nature. Give them a name and assure them that the learned understand it,
and they are satisfied.

It is a fundamental principle of human folly to assume that any alleged
marvel is a “violation of the laws of Nature,” or the work of supernatural
influences, until it is proved not to be such. Nature cannot be violated. She is
ever virgin. And “how do you account for that?” is always assumed to be a
test question. It cannot be denied that in almost every case, the narrator
assumes the absolute truth of all which he states, when, as is well known,
even in the most commonplace incidents of ordinary life, such truth can very
rarely be obtained. Secondly, he assumes that all the persons who were
cognizant of the miracle, or were concerned in it, were not only perfectly
truthful, but endowed with perfect perfections, and absolutely sound
judgments. If there is the least shadow of a possibility that one of them could
have erred in the least particular, the whole must fall to the ground as a proof
or test—for we must have irrefragible and complete evidence before we
adopt a faith on which all our life may depend. But, thirdly, by asking any
one to account for a marvel, he assumes that the one thus called on knows
everything short of the supernatural or Infinite, which is simply silly.

But there is a higher source of admiration and wonder than could ever be
established by vulgar fetish, Animism, or supernaturalism, and this is to be
found in the mysteries of Nature which man has never penetrated, and
which, as soon as they are overcome, reveal others far grander or deeper.
Thus as Alps rise beyond Alps, and seas of stars and solar systems spread in
proportions of compound multiplication, our powers of vision increase. And
it often happens to him who looks deeply into causes, that one of the myriad
test cases of so-called “supernaturalism,” when it has ignominiously broken
down—as all do sooner or later—often reveals a deeper marvel or mystery

than it was intended to support. Thus some Red Indians in North America,
on being told how certain juggling tricks which they had accepted for magic
were performed, calmly replied that it did not make the least difference—
that a man must have been a magician (or divinely inspired) to be able to
find out such tricks. And I myself knew an Indian trader named Ross, who,
being once among a wild tribe, put on a mask of papier maché, which
caused tremendous excitement and awe, which was not in the least
diminished when he took it off and put it into their hands and explained its
nature, for they maintained that the thing which could cause such terror
indicated the existence of superior mental power, or magic, in the maker. In
which there is, as it seems to me, indications of a much higher wisdom or
sagacity than is to be found in the vulgar spiritualist who takes the event or
thing itself for the miracle, and who, when found out in his tricks,
ignominiously collapses.

The conclusion from all this is, that I have seen and heard of much in gypsy
witchcraft and fortune-telling which, while it was directly allied to humbug
of the shallowest kind, also rested on, or was inspired by, mental action or
power which, in our present state of knowledge, must be regarded as
strangely mysterious and of the deepest interest. And this is indeed weird, in
the fullest and truest sense, since it is used for prophecy. I will now
endeavour to illustrate this.

It is but natural that there should be “something in” gypsy fortune-telling. If
the reader were to tell ten fortunes a day for twenty years it would be very
remarkable indeed if in that time he had not learned some things which
would seem wonderful to the world. He would detect at a glance the
credulous, timid, bold, doubtful, refined or vulgar nature, just as a lawyer
learns to detect character by cross-examination. Many experiments of late
years have gone very far to establish the existence of a power of divining or
reading thought; how this is really done I know not; perhaps the experts in it
are as ignorant as I am, but it is very certain that certain minds, in some (as
yet) marvellous way, betray their secrets to the master. That there are really
gypsies who have a very highly cultivated faculty of reading the mind by the
eye is certainly true. Sometimes they seem to be themselves uncertain, and
see as through a glass darkly, and will reveal remarkable facts doubtfully. I

remember a curious illustration of this. Once I was walking near Bath, and
meeting a tinker asked him if there were any gypsies in the vicinity. He gave
me the address of a woman who lived in a cottage at no great distance. I
found it with some trouble, and was astonished on entering at the
abominably miserable, reckless, squalid appearance of everything. There
was a half or quarter-bred gypsy woman, ragged, dirty, and drunk, a swarm
of miserable children, and a few articles of furniture misplaced or upset as if
the inmates had really no idea of how a room should be lived in. I addressed
the woman civilly, but she was too vulgar and degraded to be capable of
sensible or civil conversation with a superior. Such people actually exist
among the worst class of vagabonds. But as I, disgusted, was about to leave,
and gave her a small gratuity, she offered to tell my fortune, which I
declined, whereupon she cried, “You shall see that I know something;” and
certainly told me something which astonished me, of an event which had
taken place two years before at a great distance. To test her I coolly denied it
all, at which she seemed astonished and bewildered, saying, “Can I have
made a mistake? You are certainly the person.” All of this may be explained
by causes which I shall set forth. But it cannot be too earnestly insisted on to
people who habitually doubt, that because a thing can be explained in a
certain way (i.e., by humbug) that it necessarily follows that that is the only
explanation of it. Yet this is at the present day actually and positively the
popular method, and it obtains very largely indeed with the small critics of
the “safe school.” Mrs. Million has diamonds; she may have stolen them—a
great many people have stolen diamonds—therefore she is probably a thief.
The Icelandic sagas describe journies to America; but the writers of the sagas
were often mythical, exaggerative, and inaccurate—therefore all they narrate
as regards America must be, of course, untrue.
Jack Stripe
Eats tripe,
It is therefore credible
That tripe is edible;
And it follows perforce,
As a matter of course,
That the devil will gripe
All who do not eat tripe.

But I do not insist that there is anything “miraculous” in gypsy fortune-
telling. It may be merely the result of great practical experience and of a
developed intuition, it may be mind or “thought-reading”—whatever that
really is—or it may result from following certain regular rules. This latter
method will be pronounced pure humbug, but of that I will speak anon.
These rules followed by anybody, even the feeblest dilettante who has only
read Desbarolles for drawing-room entertainment, will often astonish the
dupe. They are, “in few,” as follows:—

1. It is safe in most cases with middle-aged men to declare that they have had a law-suit, or
a great dispute as to property, which has given them a great deal of trouble. This must be
impressively uttered. Emphasis and sinking the voice are of great assistance in fortune-
telling. If the subject betray the least emotion, or admit it, promptly improve the occasion,
express sympathy, and “work it up.”

2. Declare that a great fortune, or something greatly to the advantage of the subject, or
something which will gratify him, will soon come in his way, but that he must be keen to
watch his opportunity and be bold and energetic.

3. He will have three great chances, or fortunes, in his life. If you know that he has inherited
or made a fortune, or had a good appointment, you may say that he has already realized one
of them. This seldom fails.

4. A lady of great wealth and beauty, who is of singularly sympathetic disposition, is in love
with him, or ready to be, and it will depend on himself to secure his happiness. Or he will
soon meet such a person when he shall least expect it.

5. “You had at one time great trouble with your relations (or friends). They treated you very
unkindly.” Or, “They were prepared to do so, but your resolute conduct daunted them.”

6. “You have been three times in great danger of death.” Pronounce this very impressively.
Everybody, though it be a schoolboy believes, or likes to believe, that he has encountered
perils. This is infallible, or at least it takes in most people. If the subject can be induced to
relate his hairbreadth escapes, you may foretell future perils.

7. “You have had an enemy who has caused you great trouble. But he—or she—it is well
not to specify which till you find out the sex—will ere long go too far, and his or her effort
to injure you will recoil on him or her.” Or, briefly, “It is written that some one, by trying to
wrong you, will incur terrible retribution.” Or, “You have had enemies, but they are all
destined to come to grief.” Or, “You had an enemy but you outlived him.”

8. “You got yourself once into great trouble by doing a good act.”

9. “Your passions have thrice got you into great trouble. Once your inconsiderate anger (or
pursuit of pleasure) involved you in great suffering which, in the end, was to your
advantage.” Or else, “This will come to pass; therefore be on your guard.”

10. “You will soon meet with a person who will have a great influence on your future life if
you cultivate his friendship. You will ere long meet some one who will fall in love with you,
if encouraged.”

11. “You will find something very valuable if you keep your eyes open and watch closely.
You have twice passed over a treasure and missed it, but you will have a third opportunity.”

12. “You have done a great deal of good, or made the fortune or prosperity of persons who
have been very ungrateful.”

13. “You have been involved in several love affairs, but your conduct in all was really
perfectly blameless.”

14. “You have great capacity for something, and before long an occasion will present itself
for you to exert it to your advantage.”

By putting these points adroitly, and varying or combining them, startling
cases of conviction may be made. Yet even into this deception will glide
intuition, or the inexplicable insight to character, and the deceiver himself be
led to marvel, so true is it that he who flies from Brama goes towards him,
let him do what he will, for Truth is everywhere, and even lies lead to it.

The reader has often seen in London Italian women who have small birds,
generally parrakeets, or paraquitos, which will for a penny pick out for her
or for him slips of paper on which is printed a “fortune.” If he will invest his
pence in these he will in most instances find that they “fit his case” exactly,
because they are framed on these or other rules, which are of very general
application. There was, in 1882, an Italian named Toricelli. Whether he was
a descendant of the great natural philosopher of the same name who
discovered the law of the vacuum I do not know, but he certainly exhibited—
generally in Piccadilly—an ingenious application of it. He had a long glass
cylinder, filled with water, in which there was a blown glass image of an
imp. By pressing his hand on the top of the cover of the tube the folletto or
diavoletto was made to rise or fall—from which the prediction was drawn. It
will hardly be believed, but the unfortunate Toricelli was actually arrested
by the police and punished for “fortune-telling.”3 After this he took to
trained canaries or parrakeets, which picked out printed fortunes, for a
living. Whether the stern arm of British justice descended on him for this
latter form of sorcery and crime I do not know.
“Forse fu dal demonio trasportato,

Fiancheggiandosi del’ autorita
Di Origene o di San Girolamo.”

Now it may be admitted that to form such rules (and there are many more far
more ingenious and generally applicable) and to put them into practice with
tact, adapting them to intuitions of character, not only as seen in the face but
as heard in the voice or betrayed by gestures and dress and manner, must in
the end develop a power. And, further still, this power by frequent practice
enables its possessor to perform feats which are really marvellous and
perhaps inexplicable, as yet, to men of science. I have, I think, indicated the
road by which they travel to produce this result, but to what they arrived I do
not know.

Nor do they all get there. What genius is, physiology, with all the vast flood
of light spread by Francis Galton on hereditary gifts, cannot as yet explain.
It is an absolute thing of itself, and a “miracle.” Sometimes this wonderful
power of prediction and of reading thought and quickly finding and applying
rules falls into the hands of a genius. Then all our explanations of “humbug”
and “trickery” and juggling fall to the ground, because he or she works what
are absolutely as much miracles as if the artist had raised the dead. Such
geniuses are the prophets of old; sometimes they are poets. There are as
many clearly-defined and admirable predictions as to events in art and
politics in the works of Heine, which were fulfilled, as can be found
anywhere.

By the constant application of such rules, promptly and aptly, or boldly, the
fortune-teller acquires a very singular quickness of perception. There are
very few persons living who really know what this means and to what
apparently marvellous results constant practice in it may lead. Beginning
with very simple and merely mechanical exercises (“Practical Education,” p.
151. London: Whittaker & Co.), perception may be gradually developed
until not only the eye and ear observe a thousand things which escape
ordinary observation, and also many “images” at once, but finally the mind
notes innumerable traits of character which would have once escaped it,
combines these, and in a second draws conclusions which would amuse
those who are ignorant—as indeed all men are as yet—of the extraordinary
faculties latent in every man.

I beg the reader to pay special attention to this fact. There is nothing in all
the annals of prophecy, divination, fortune-telling, or prediction, which is
nearly so wonderful as what we may all do if we would by practice and
exercise bring out of ourselves our own innate power of perception. This is
not an assertion based on metaphysical theory; it is founded on fact, and is in
strict accordance with the soundest conclusions of modern physiology. By
means of it, joined to exercises in memorizing, all that there is in a child of
ordinary intellect may be unerringly drawn out; and when in due time
knowledge or information is gradually adduced, there is perhaps no limit to
what that intellect may become. The study, therefore, of quickness of
perception, as set forth or exercised in gypsy fortune-telling, is indeed
curious; but to the far-reaching observer who is interested in education it is
infinitely more useful, for it furnishes proof of the ability latent in every
mind to perform what appear to be more than feats of intelligence or
miracles, yet which often are all mere trifles compared to what man could
effect if he were properly trained to it.

Sorcery! We are all sorcerers, and live in a wonderland of marvel and beauty
if we did but know it. For the seed sprouting from the ground is as strange a
truth as though we saw the hosts of heaven sweeping onward in glory, or
could commune with fairies, or raise from his grave the master magician of
song who laid a curse on all who should dig his dust. But like children who
go to sleep in the grand opera, and are wild with delight at Punch, we turn
aside from the endless miracle of nature to be charmed and bewildered with
the petty thaumaturgy of guitars in the dark, cigarettes, and rope-tying,
because it corresponds to and is miracle enough for us. And perhaps it is as
well; for much thought on the Infinites made Jean Paul Richter and Thomas
Carlyle half mad and almost unfit for common life. Seek truth in Science
and we shall be well balanced in the little as well as the great.

1 Vide “Drawing and Designing.” London: Whittaker & Co., 1888. ↑
2 This was written long before I heard that the same idea had occurred to others. ↑
3 Another Italian was fined or imprisoned for the same thing in London in July, 1890—i.e., for
telling penny fortunes by the same machine. ↑

CHAPTER XII.

FORTUNE-TELLING (continued).—ROMANCE
BASED ON CHANCE, OR HOPE, AS REGARDS
THE FUTURE—FOLK- AND SORCERY-LORE—
AUTHENTIC INSTANCES OF GYPSY
PREDICTION.
I
t would seem to all who now live that life
would be really intolerably dry were it
utterly deprived of mystery, marvel, or
romance. This latter is the sentiment of
hopeful chance allied to the beautiful.
Youth is willing or eager to run great risks
if the road to or through them passes by
dark ravines, under castled rocks—
“o’er dewy grass
And waters wild and fleet”

—and ever has been from the beginning.
Now, it is a matter of serious importance to
know whether this romance is so deeply
inherent in man that it can never be
removed. For, rightly viewed, it means
current religion, poetry, and almost all art
—as art at least was once understood—and
it would seem as if we had come, or are
coming, to a time when science threatens to
deprive us of it all. Such is the hidden fear
of many a priest and poet—it may be worth while to consider whether it is
all to pass away into earnest prose or assume new conditions. Has the world

been hitherto a child, or a youth, were poetry and supernaturalism its toys,
and has the time come when it is to put away childish things?

We can only argue from what we are, and what we clearly know or
understand. And we know that there are in Nature, though measured by the
senses alone, phenomena which awake delightful or terrible, sublime or
beautiful, grave or gay feelings, or emotions, which inspire corresponding
thoughts. There is for us “an elf-home glory-land,” far over setting suns,
mysterious beauty in night and stars in their eternal course, grandeur of God
in the ocean, loveliness in woman, chiaroscuro in vapoury valleys and the
spray of waterfalls by moonlight, exciting emotions which are certainly not
within the domain of science—as yet—and which it is impossible for us, as
we are at present constituted, to imagine as regarded entirely from the
standpoint of chemical and physical analysis. To see in all this—as we are—
only hydro-carbons, oxygen, silex and aluminium, atoms, molecules, and
“laws”—that is to say, always the parts and combinations and no sense as
regards man that he is, with his emotional sense of beauty, anywhere in the
game or of any account—is going far too far. Setting teleology and theology
entirely aside, Man, as the highest organism, has a right to claim that, as the
highest faculties which have been as yet developed in him were caused by
natural phenomena, therefore there is in the phenomena a certain beauty
which is far more likely to lead to more advanced enjoyment of form, colour,
or what we call the æsthetic sense, than to shrink away and disappear. And it
seems to me that the most extended consideration of science leads to the
result or conclusion that under its influence we shall find that the chemical
and physical analyses of which I have spoken are only the dry A B C of a
marvellously grand literature, or of a Romance and Poetry and Beauty—
perhaps even of a wondrous “occult” philosophy, of whose beginning even
we have, as yet, no idea.

But, great as it may be, those who will make it must derive their summary of
facts or bases of observation from the past, and therefore I urge the
importance of every man who can write doing what he can to collect all that
illustrates Humanity as it is and as it was in by-gone ages. It hath not entered
into the heart of man to conceive what a Folk-lore or ethnological society in
ancient Greece, Rome, or Egypt might not have collected and preserved for

the delight of every civilized human being of the present day. It is very true
that the number of persons, as yet, who understand this—still less of those
who take a real interest in it—is extremely limited, and they do not extend in
England, America, or any other country, to more than a few hundreds. To the
vast multitude, even of learned men, Folk-lore is only a “craze” for small
literary bric-à-brac, a “fancy” which will have its run, and nothing more. To
its earnest devotees it is the last great development of the art of learning and
writing history, and a timely provision for future social science. It sets forth
the most intimate inner life of people as they were, and the origins of our life
as it is. In Folk-lore, Philology, Ethnology, and the study of Mythology or
Religion find their greatest aid.

The amount of Red Indian Folk-lore which has been suffered to perish in the
United States without exciting the least interest is beyond all belief. Thoreau
could find in the Algonkin legends of New England nothing but matter for
feeble-minded ridicule. But there are men coming, or a generation rising, to
whom every record of the past will be of value, for they are beginning to
perceive that while the collector is doing work of value the mere theorist,
who generally undervalues if he does not actually oppose the collector, will
with his rubbish be swept away “down the back-entry of time,” to be utterly
forgotten.

Gypsy sorcery-lore is of great value because all over the Aryan world
gypsies have in ancient or modern times been, so to speak, the wandering
priests of that form of popular religion which consists of a faith in fortune-
telling. This is really a very important part in every cult; the most remarkable
thing connected with it; as with charms, fetishes, incantations and protective
spells, being the extraordinary success with which the more respectable magi
have succeeded in convincing their followers that their own sorcery was not
“magic” at all, and that the world-old heathen rites, which are substantially
the same, are mere modern thieveries from the “established religion.”
Prediction and prophecy were the cornerstones of the classic mythology and
of the Jewish law; they were equally dear to the Celtic races, and all men
seem from the earliest times to have believed that coming events cast their
shadows before. How this began and grew requires no deep study. Many
disorders are prefaced by uneasy dreams or unaccountable melancholy, even

as the greatest disaster which befel the gods of Valhalla was preceded by the
troubled dreams of Balder. Sometimes the first symptom of gout is a
previous irritability. But if diseases are believed to be caused by the literal
occupation of the body by evil spirits these presages will be ascribed to
occult spiritual influences. A man in excellent health feels gay—he goes
hunting and has luck—of course his guardian spirit is believed to have
inspired him to go. Then comes the priest or the gypsy to predict, and the
hits are recorded and the misses are promptly forgotten.

The following instance has been related to me in good faith by a learned
friend, whose books are well known to all Folk-lorists:—

“I can quote from my own experience a strange event founded on a prediction made to me
by a gypsy in 1863. This was before I had learned the language of the Romany or had begun
to take any interest in them. At the time of which I speak, I met one day here, in T——, one
or two gypsy women bearing as usual babies on their shoulders, when the oldest as I was
passing by pointed me out to the bystanders, saying in German, ‘Der Herr hat viel Kummer
gehabt’ (‘That gentleman has had much trouble’—or sorrow).

“This was true enough, as I was suffering greatly at the time from a previous bereavement,
though I was no longer in mourning, nor was there at the instant any indication of gloom in
my looks, for I was in a cheerful humour. So I stopped to ask her why she had made her
remark. She replied, ‘Ja, geben Sie mir die linke Hand und legen Sie drei Silbermünze
darauf, wenn Sie weiteres hören wollen’ (‘Yes, give me your hand, and put three silver coins
on it, if you would hear more’). I did so, when she repeated her assertion as to my sorrow,
and added, ‘Aber eine Gräfinn steht für Ihnen’ (‘But there is a countess awaiting you’).

“I laughed at myself for listening to this, and for the strange feeling of interest or faith
which I felt in it, and which my common sense told me was ridiculous. And yet the
prediction, strangely enough, was fulfilled, though not in the sense in which I suppose most
people would have taken it. Soon after I lost another relative, and was overwhelmed with
that and other troubles when Providence sent me a friend in that most amiable and
remarkable woman the Countess B——, who, with that noble and gracious affability which
distinguishes her, as well as her husband, Sir ——, relieved my mind and cheered my
depressed spirits.

“I add to this a marvellous story of a gypsy prediction which was uttered here in T—— and
published last year in a small biography, but which is worth consideration because I have
heard it apparently well authenticated by trustworthy people. A very great disgrace to our
town—I am happy to say he was the only one—was a Mr. M——, of very good family. This
man kept a mistress named R. M——, who became acquainted with a young man who was
employed as a clerk at the Credit Anstalt, and who always at night carried on his person its
keys. This M—— learned, and formed the following plot: The victim was to be enticed by
the woman to her room, where she proposed to cut his throat, take the keys, and with the aid
of M—— to rob the bank and escape. It succeeded so far as that the young man was brought

to her room, but when she began to attempt to kill him he struggled, and was overpowering
her when M—— entered the room and shot him dead.

“The precious pair were subsequently arrested and tried, and in the report of the proceedings
there appears the following curious statement:—

“ ‘It is a singular thing (cosa piu singolare) that to this woman (M——’s mistress, Miss R
——), a gypsy woman who pretended to palmistry predicted that she would come to a bad
end (ch’essa finirebbe assai male).’ Which she effectually did, being condemned to fourteen
years’ hard labour, and would have been hung had not her “interesting state” inclined the
judge to mercy.

“There is the following addition in the pamphlet to what has been quoted: ‘Being begged by
the said Maria R—— to look more closely into the hand, the Zingara refused to do so, and
went away muttering strange or foreign words.’ (Borbottanda strane parole).”

To this my informant adds:—

“I know of a more cheerful case of gypsy prediction, and of quite another kind, and which
happened to a friend’s friend of mine, also here in T——. The ‘subject’ was a young lady,
who was ‘intended’ or betrothed, to an Italian actor, who had gone to play at Madrid; but for
two months she heard nothing from him, and, believing that he had neglected her, was in
despair.

“One morning she was passing through one of the main streets, and was talking with my
friend, when a dark gypsy girl going by, whispered to her in a hurried manner: ‘Domani
avrai una lettera e sarai felice’ (‘To-morrow you will receive a letter and be happy’).
Having said this and nothing more, without asking for money, she went away. The promised
letter was in fact received, all went well, and the lady is now married to the gentleman. This
is all simply true. I leave the comments on the case to investigators. Can it be that gypsies
are sometimes clairvoyant?”

My own comment on the case is that, admitting that the gypsy knew
beforehand all the circumstances or even the “parties” in the affair, she had
divined or “intuited” a result, and risked, as some might call it, or else
uttered from a real conviction, her prophecy. How the mind, without any
miracle—as miracles are commonly regarded—often arrives quite
unconsciously to such conclusions, I have already considered in another
chapter. Making every allowance for unconscious exaggeration and the
accretive power of transmission, I am willing to believe that the story is
actually true.

The following is also perfectly authentic: An English lady of excellent
family, meeting a gypsy, was told by the latter that in six months the most

important event of her life would come to pass. At the end of the time she
died. On her death-bed she said, “I thought the gypsy meant a marriage, but I
feel that something far more important is coming, for death is the great end
of life.”

The following was told me by a Hungarian gentleman of Szegedin:—

“There was in Arad a lady who went to a ball. She had a necklace to which were attached
four rings. During the evening she took this from her neck, and doubling it, wore it on her
arm as a bracelet. In the house where she lived was a young gentleman who came to
accompany her home from the ball. All at once, late at night, she missed her necklace and
the rings, which were of great value.

“The next day she sent for a gypsy woman, who, being consulted, declared that the collar
had been stolen by some one who was very intimate in her house. Her suspicions rested on
the young man who had accompanied her home. He was arrested, but discharged for want of
evidence.

“Three months after there came a kellner, a waiter, from some other city, to Arad. The lady,
being in a café or some such place of resort, was waited on by this man, and saw one of her
rings on his hand. He was arrested, and before the police declared that he held the ring in
pledge, having advanced money upon it to a certain gentleman. This gentleman was the
lady’s betrothed, and he had stolen her necklace and rings. The gypsy had truly enough said
that the articles had been taken by some one who was intimate in her house.”

The gentleman who told me this story also said that the death of his father
had been foretold by a gypsy—that is, by a lady who was of half-gypsy
blood.

It should be borne in mind, though few realize its truth, that in stages of
society where people believe earnestly in anything—for example, in
witchcraft or the evil eye—there results in time a state of mind or body in
which they are actually capable of being killed with a curse, or a fear of
seeing what is not before them in the body, and of many nervous conditions
which are absolutely impossible and incomprehensible to the world of
culture at the present day. But there are still places where witchcraft may be
said to exist literally, for there the professors of the art to all intents work
miracles, because they are believed in. There is abundance of such faith
extant, even in England. I have heard the names of three “white” witch
doctors in as many towns in the West of England, who are paid a guinea a
visit, their specialty being to “unlock,” or neutralize, or defeat the evil efforts

of black witches. This, as is indeed true, indicates that a rather high class of
patients put faith in them. In Hungary, in the country, the majority, even of
the better class, are very much influenced by gypsy-witches. Witness the
following, which is interesting simply because, while there is very little
indeed in it, it was related to me as a most conclusive proof of magic power:
—

“In a suburb of Szegedin, inhabited only by peasants, there is a school with a farm attached
to it. The pay of the teacher is trifling, but he can make a comfortable living from the land.
This was held by an old man, who had a young assistant. The old man died; the youth
succeeded him, and as he found himself doing well, in due time he took a wife. They lived
happily together for a year and had a daughter. In the spring the teacher had to work very
hard, not only in school but on his farm, and so for the first time contracted the habit of
going to the tavern to refresh himself, and what was worst, of concealing it from his wife
under plausible tales, to which she gave no trust. She began to be very unhappy, and,
naturally enough, suspected a rival.

“Of course she took advice from a gypsy woman, who heard all the story and consulted her
cards. ‘There is,’ she said, ‘no woman whatever in the way. There is no sign of one for good
or evil, na latchi na misec, in the cards. But beware! for there is a great and unexpected
misfortune coming, and more than this I cannot see.’ So she took her pay and departed.
Suddenly her child fell ill and died after eight days. Then the husband reformed his ways,
and all went well with them. So, you see, the gypsy foretold it all, wonderfully and
accurately.”

It requires no sorcery to conjecture that the gypsy already knew the habits of
the schoolmaster, as the Romany is generally familiar with the tavern of
every town. To predict a misfortune at large is a sure card for every
prophetess. What is remarkable is that a man of the world and one widely
travelled, as was my informant, attached great importance to the story. It is
evident that where so much of the sherris sack of faith accompanies such a
small crust of miracle there must be a state of society in which miracles in
their real sense are perfectly capable of being worked.

CHAPTER XIII.

PROVERBS REFERRING TO WITCHES,
GYPSIES, AND FAIRIES.
“Of Fairies, Witches, Gypsies,
My nourrice sang to me,
Sua Gypsies, Fairies, Witches,
I alsua synge to thee.”

(“Denham Tract.”)

D
r. Krauss has in his work, “Sreca, Gluck und
Schicksa
l im
Volksgla
uben der
Südslave
n,”
collected
a
number
of
sayings
in

reference
to his
subject,
from
which I
have
taken some, and added more from other sources.

Of an evil woman one says, as in all languages, “To je vila”—that is, “a
witch”; or it is uttered or muttered as, “To je vila ljutica”—that is, “a biting
(or bitter) witch”; or to a woman whom one dislikes, “Idi vilo!”—“Begone,
witch!” as in gypsy, “Jasa tu chovihani!”

Also, as in German, “Ako i je baba, nije vjestica”—“Though she is an old
woman she is no witch”; while, on the other hand, we have, “Svake baba
viestica, a djed vjestac”—“Every old woman is a witch, and every old man
a wizard.”

The proverb, “Bizi ko vistica od biloga luka”—“she runs from it like a
witch from white garlic”—will be found fully explained in the chapter on
“The Cure of Children,” in which it is shown that from early times garlic
has been a well-known witch-antidote.

Another saying is, “Uzkostrsila se ko vistica”—“Her hair is as tangled, or
twisted, as that of a witch”; English gypsy, “Lākis balia shan risserdi sār i
chovihanis.” But this has a slightly different meaning, since in the
Slavonian it refers to matted, wild-looking locks, while the Romany is
according to a belief that the hair of a witch is curled at the ends only.

Allied to this is the proverb, “Izgleda kao aa su ga coprnice doniele sa
Ivanjscica”—“He looks as if the witches had done for him (or brought him
away, ‘fetched’ him) on Saint John’s Eve”; English Romany, “Yuv dikela sá
soved a lay sār a chovihani”—“He looks as if he had lain with a witch.”

“Svaka vracara s vrazje strane”—“Every witch belongs to the devil’s
gang”—that is, she has, sold her soul to him and is in his interests. This is

allied to the saying, “Kud ce vjestica do u svoj rod?”—“Where should a
witch go if not to her kin?” or, “Birds of a feather flock together.”

“Jasa ga vjestice”—“The witches ride him”—refers to the ancient and
world-wide belief that witches turn men into animals and ride them in sleep.

The hazel tree and nut are allied to the supernatural or witchly in many
lands. For the divining rod, which is, according to “La Grande Bacchetta
Divinatoria O Verga rivelatrice” of the Abbate Valmont, the great
instrument for all magic and marvels, must be made of “un ramo forcuto di
nocciuòlo”—“a forked branch of hazel-nut”—whence a proverb,
“Vracarice, coprnjice, kuko ljeskova!”—“Sorceress, witch, hazel-stick.”
This is a reproach or taunt to a woman who pays great attention to magic
and witchcraft. “This reveals a very ancient belief of the witch as a wood-
spirit or fairy who dwells in the nut itself.” More generally it is the bush
which, in old German ballads, is often addressed as Lady Hazel. In this, as
in Lady Nightingale, we have a relic of addressing certain animals or plants
as if they were intelligences or spirits. In one very old song in “Des Knaben
Wunderhorn,” a girl, angry at the hazel, who has reproached her for having
loved too lightly or been too frail, says that her brother will come and cut
the bush down. To which Lady Hazel replies:—
“Although he comes and cuts me down,
I’ll grow next spring, ‘tis plain,
But if a virgin wreath should fade,
’Twill never bloom again.”

To keep children from picking unripe hazel-nuts in the Canton of Saint Gall
they cry to them, “S’ Haselnussfràuli chumt”—“The hazel-nut lady is
coming!” Hence a rosary of hazel-nuts or a hazel rod brings luck, and they
may be safely hung up in a house. The hazel-nut necklaces found in
prehistoric tombs were probably amulets as well as ornaments.

Among popular sayings we may include the following from the Gorski
Vijenac:—

“A eto si udrijo vladiko,
U nekakve smućene vjetrove,

Ko u marču što udre vještice.”

“But behold, O Vladika,
Thou hast thrown thyself into every storm,
As witches throw or change themselves to cattle.”

And with these we may include the curse, “Izjele te viestice”—“May the
witches eat you!” which has its exact parallel in Romany. Also the Scottish
saying, “Witches, warlocks, and gypsies soon ken ae the ither”:—
“Witches and warlocks without any bother,
Like gypsies on meeting well know one another.”

I may appropriately add to these certain proverbs which are given in an
extremely rare “Denham Tract,” of which only fifty copies were printed by
John Bell Richmond, “in. Com. Ebor.” This quaint little work of only six
pages is entitled, “A Few Popular Rhymes, Proverbs, and Sayings relating
to Fairies, Witches, and Gypsies,” and bears the dedication, “To every
individual Fairy, Witch, and Gypsy from the day of the Witch of Endor
down to that of Billy Dawson, the Wise Man of Stokesley, lately defunct,
this tract is inscribed.”

Witches.
Vervain and Dill
Hinder witches from their will.

The following refers to rowan or mountain-ash wood, which is supposed to
be a charm against witchcraft:—

If your whipstick’s made of rowan
You can ride your nag thro’ any town.

Much about a pitch,
Quoth the devil to the witch.

A hairy man’s a geary man,
But a hairy wife’s a witch.

Woe to the lad
Without a rowan-tree god.

A witch-wife and an evil
Is three-halfpence worse than the devil.

Hey-how for Hallow-e’en!
When all the witches are to be seen,
Some in black and some in green,
Hey-how for Hallow-e’en!
Thout! tout! a tout, tout!
Throughout and about.

Cummer goe ye before, cummer goe ye,
Gif ye will not goe before, cummer let me!

“These lines are said to have been sung by witches at North Berwick in
Lothian, accompanied by the music of a Jew’s harp or trump, which was
played by Geilles Duncan, a servant girl, before two hundred witches, who
joined hands in a short daunce or reel, singing (also) these lines with one
voice:—
“ ‘Witchy, witchy, I defy thee,
Four fingers round my thumb,
Let me go quietly by thee.’

“It will be seen that this is a phallic sign, and as such dreaded by witches. It
is difficult to understand why these verses with the sign should have been
given by witches.”

“The anti-witch rhyme used in Tweedesdale some sixty or seventy years
ago was:—
“ ‘Black-luggie, lammer bead,
Rowan-tree and reed thread,
Put the witches to their speed.’

“The meaning of ‘black-luggie’ I know not. ‘Lammer bead’ is a corruption
of ‘amber-bead.’ They are still worn by a few old people in Scotland as a
preservative against a variety of diseases, especially asthma, dropsy, and
toothache. They also preserve the wearer from the effects of witchcraft, as
stated in the text. I have seen a twig of rowan-tree, witch-wood, quick-bane,
wild ash, wicken-tree, wicky, wiggy, witchen, witch-bane, royne-tree,
mountain-ash, whitty, wiggin, witch-hazel, roden-quicken, roden-quicken-
royan, roun, or ran-tree, which had been gathered on the second of May
(observe this), wound round with some dozens of yards of red thread,
placed visible in the window to act as a charm in keeping witches and
Boggle-boes from the house. So also we have—
“ ‘Rowan-ash and reed thread
Keep the devils from their speed.’ ”

Ye brade o’ witches, ye can do no good to yourself.

Fair they came,
Fair they go,
And always their heels behind them.

Neither so sinful as to sink, nor so godly as to swim.

Falser than Waghorn, and he was nineteen times falser than the devil.

Ingratitude is worse than witchcraft.

Ye’re as mitch
As half a witch.

To milk the tether (i.e., the cow-tie).

This refers to a belief that witches can carry off the milk from any one’s
cow by milking at the end of the tether.

Go in God’s name—so you ride no witches.

“Rynt, you witch!” quoth Bess Lockit to her mother.

Rynt, according to Skeat, is the original Cumberland word for “aroint,” i.e.,
“aroint thee, get thee gone.” Icelandic ryma—“to make room, to clear the
way”—given, however, only as a guess. It seems to have been specially
applied to witches.
“ ‘Aroint thee, witch!’ the rump-fed ronyon cried.”

(“Macbeth”).

Halliwell gives the word as rynt, and devotes a column to it, without
coming to any satisfactory conclusion. I think it is simply the old word rynt
or wrynt, another form of writhe, meaning to twist or strangle, as if one
should say, “Be thou strangled!” which was indeed a frequent malediction.
Halliwell himself gives “wreint” as meaning “awry,” and “wreith
destordre”—“to wring or wreith” (“Hollyband’s Dictionarie,” 1593). The
commonest curse of English gypsies at the present day is “Beng tasser
tute!” “May the devil strangle you”—literally twist, which is an exact
translation of wrinthe or rynt.
“The gode man to hys cage can goo
And wrythed the pye’s neck yn to.”

(“MS. Cantab.” ap. H.)

Rynt may mean twist away, i.e., begone, as they say in America, “he
wriggled away.”
They that burn you for a witch lose all their coals.

Never talk of witches on a Friday.

Ye’re ower aude ffarand to be fraid o’ witches.

Witches are most apt to confess on a Friday.

Friday is the witches’ Sabbath.

To hug one as the devil hugs a witch.

As black
As cross
as a witch.
As ugly
As sinful

Four fingers and a thumb—witch, I defy thee.

In Italy the signs are made differently. In Naples the gettatura consists of
throwing out the fore and middle fingers, so as to imitate horns, with the
thumb and fingers closed. Some say the thumb should be within the middle
and third fingers. In Florence the anti-witch gesture is to fare la fica, or
stick the thumb out between the fore and middle fingers.
You’re like a witch, you say your prayers backward.

Witch-wood (i.e., the mountain ash).

You’re half a witch—i.e., very cunning.

Buzz! buzz! buzz!

“In the middle of the sixteenth century if a person waved his hat or bonnet
in the air and cried ‘Buzz!’ three times, under the belief that by this act he
could take the life of another, the old law and law-makers considered the
person so saying and acting to be worthy of death, he being a murderer in
intent, and having dealings with witches” (“Denham Tract”). Very doubtful,
and probably founded on a well known old story.
“I wish I was as far from God as my nails are free from dirt!”

Said to have been a witch’s prayer whilst she was in the act of cleaning her
nails. In logical accuracy this recalls the black boy in America, who on

being asked if he knew the way to a certain place, replied, “I only wish I
had as many dollars as I know my way there.”
A witch is afraid of her own blood.

A Pendle forest witch.

A Lancashire witch.

A witch cannot greet (i.e., weep).

To be hog, or witch-ridden.

Gypsies.
So many gypsies, so many smiths.

The gypsies are all akin.

One of the Faw gang,
Worse than the Faw gang.

The Faws or Faas are a gypsy family whose head-quarters are at Yetholme.
I have been among them and knew the queen of the gypsies and her son
Robert, who were of this clan or name.

“It is supposed the Faws acquired this appellation from Johnnie Faw, lord
and earl of Little Egypt; with whom James the Fourth and Queen Mary,
sovereigns of Scotland, saw not only the propriety, but also the necessity of
entering into special treaty” (“Denham Tract”).

“Francis Heron, king of the Faws, bur. (Yarrow) xiii. Jan., 1756” (Sharp’s
“Chron. Mir”).

Fairies.
Where the scythe cuts and the sock rives,
No more fairies and bee-hives.

Laugh like a pixy (i.e., fairy).

Waters locked! waters locked! (A favourite cry of fairies.)

Borram! borram! borram! (The cry of the Irish fairies after mounting their steeds.
Equivalent to the Scottish cry, “Horse! horse and hattock!”)

To live in the land of the Fair family. (A Welsh fairy saying.)

God grant that the fairies may put money in your shoes and keep your house clean. (One of
the good wishes of the old time.)

Fairies comb goats’ beards every Friday.

He who finds a piece of money will always find another in the same place, so long as he
keeps it a secret. (In reference to fairy gifts.)

It’s going on, like Stokepitch’s can.

A pixey or fairy saying, used in Devonshire. The family of Stokespitch or
Sukespic resided near Topsham, and a barrel of ale in their cellars had for
many years run freely without being exhausted. It was considered a
valuable heirloom, and was esteemed accordingly, till an inquisitive
maidservant took out the bung to ascertain the cause why it never run dry.
On looking into the cask she found it full of cobwebs, but the fairies, it
would seem, were offended, for on turning the cock, as usual, the ale had
ceased to flow.

It was a common reply at Topsham to the inquiry how any affair wen on:
“It’s going on like Stokepitch’s can,” or proceeding prosperously.

To laugh like Robin Goodfellow.

To laugh like old Bogie;

He caps Bogie.

(Amplified to “He caps Bogie, and Bogie capped old Nick.”)

To play the Puck. (An Irish saying, equivalent to the English one, “To play the deuce or
devil.” Keightley’s “Fairy Mythology.”)

He has got into Lob’s pound or pond. (That is, into the fairies’ pinfold. Keightley’s “Fairy
Mythology.”)

Pinch like a fairy. (“Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and shins.” “Merry
Wives of Windsor.”)

To be fairy-struck. (The paralysis is, or rather perhaps was, so called. Keightley’s “Fairy
Mythology.”)

There has never been a merry world since the Phynoderee lost his ground. [A Manx fairy
saying. See Train’s “Isle of Man,” ii. p. 148. “Popular Rhymes of the Isle of Man,” pp. 16,
17.]

To be pixey-led.

Led astray by fairies or goblins. “When a man has got a wee drap ower
muckle whuskey, misses his way home, and gets miles out of his direct
course, he tells a tale of excuse and whiles lays the blame on the innocent
pixies” (see Keightley’s “Fairy Mythology”). Also recalling Feufollet, or
the Will o’ the Wisp, and the traveller who
“thro’ bog and bush
Was lantern-led by Friar Rush.”

Gypsies have from their out of doors life much familiarity with these
“spirits” whom they call mullo dūdia, or mūllo doods, i.e., dead or ghost
lights. For an account of the adventure of a gypsy with them, see “The
English Gypsies and their Language,” by C. G. Leland. London: Trübner &
Co. “Pyxie-led is to be in a maze, to be bewildered as if led out of the way
by hobgoblins or puck, or one of the fairies. The cure is to turn one of your
garments the inside outward; some say that is for a woman to turn her cap
inside outward, and for a man to do the same with some of his clothes”
(MS. “Devon Glimpses”—Halliwell). “Thee pixie-led in Popish piety”
(Clobery’s “Divine Glimpses,” 1659).

The fairies’ lanthorn.

That is the glow-worm. In America a popular story represents an Irishman
as believing that a fire-fly was a mosquito “sakin’ his prey wid a lanthorn.”

God speed you, gentlemen!

“When an Irish peasant sees a cloud of dust sweeping along the road, he
raises his hat and utters this blessing in behoof of ye company of invisible
fairies who, as he believes, caused it” (“Fairy Mythology”).

The Phooka have dirtied the blackberries.

Said when the fruit of the blackberry is spoiled through age or covered with
dust at the end of the season. In the North of England we say “the devil has
set his foot on the Bumble-Kites” (“Denham Tract”).
Fairy, fairy, bake me a bannock and roast me a collop,
And I’ll give ye a spintle off my god end.

“This is spoken three times by the Clydesdale peasant when ploughing,
because he believes that on getting to the end of the fourth furrow those
good things will be found spread out on the grass” (Chambers’ “Popular
Rhymes, Scotland,” 3rd ed. p. 106).
Turn your clokes (i.e., coats),
For fairy folkes
Are in old oakes.

“I well remember that on more occasions than one, when a schoolboy, I
have turned and worn my coat inside out in passing through a wood in order
to avoid the ‘good people.’ On nutting days, those glorious red-letter
festivals in the schoolboy’s calendar, the use pretty generally prevailed. The
rhymes in the text are the English formula” (“Denham Tract”).

He’s got Pigwiggan.

“Vulgarly called Peggy Wiggan. A severe fall or somerset is so termed in
the B’prick. The fairy Pigwiggan is celebrated by Drayton in his

Nymphidia” (“Denham Tract”). To which may be added a few more from
other sources.
Do what you may, say what you can,
No washing e’er whitens the black Zingan.

(“Firdusi.”)

For every gypsy that comes to toon,
A hen will be a-missing soon,
And for every gypsy woman old,
A maiden’s fortune will be told.

Gypsy hair and devil’s eyes,
Ever stealing, full of lies,
Yet always poor and never wise.

He who has never lived like a gypsy does not know how to enjoy life as a gentleman.

I never enjoyed the mere living as regards all that constitutes ordinary
respectable life so keenly as I did after some weeks of great hunger,
exposure, and misery, in an artillery company in 1863, at the time of the
battle of Gettysburg.

Zigeuner Leben Greiner Leben. (Gipsy life a groaning life. Korte’s “Sprichwörter d. D.”)

Er taugt nicht zum Zigeuner. Spottisch vom Lügner gesagt weil er nicht wahr-sagt. (Korte,
“Sprichwörter.”)

“He would not do for a gypsy.” Said of a liar because he cannot tell the
truth. In German to predict or tell fortunes also means to speak truly, i.e.,
wahr = true, and sprechen = to speak.

Gypsy repentance for stolen hens is not worth much. (Old German Saying.)

The Romany chi
And the Romany chal
Love luripen
And lutchipen

And dukkeripen
And huknipen
And every pen
But latchipen
And tatchipen.

The gypsy woman
And gypsy man
Love stealing
And lewdness
And fortune telling
And lying
And every pen
But shame
And truth.

Pen is the termination of all verbal nouns.

(George Borrow, Quoted from memory.)

It’s a winter morning.

Meaning a bad day, or that matters look badly. In allusion to the Winters, a
gypsy clan with a bad name.

As wild as a gypsy.

Puro romaneskoes. (In the old gypsy fashion.)

Sie hat ‘nen Kobold. (“She has a brownie, or house-fairy.”)

“Said of a girl who does everything deftly and readily. In some places the
peasants believe that a fairy lives in the house, who does the work, brings
water or wood, or curries the horses. Where such a fairy dwells, all
succeeds if he or she is kindly treated” (Korte’s “German Proverbs”).

“Man siehet wohl wess Geisters Kind Sie (Er) ist.”

“One can well see what spirit was his sire.” In allusion to men of singular or
eccentric habits, who are believed to have been begotten by the incubus, or
goblins, or fairies. There are ceremonies by which spirits may be attracted
to come to people in dreams.

“There was a young man who lived near Monte Lupo, and one day he found
in a place among some old ruins a statue of a fate (fairy or goddess) all
naked. He set it up in its shrine, and admiring it greatly embraced it with
love (ut semen ejus profluit super statuam). And that night and ever after
the fate came to him in his dreams and lay with him, and told him where to
find treasures, so that he became a rich man. But he lived no more among
men, nor did he after that ever enter a church. And I have heard that any one
who will do as he did can draw the fate to come to him, for they are greatly
desirous to be loved and worshipped by men as they were in the Roman
times.”

The following are Hungarian or Transylvanian proverbs:—

False as a Tzigane, i.e., gypsy.

Dirty as a gypsy.

They live like gypsies (said of a quarrelsome couple).

He moans like a guilty Tzigane (said of a man given to useless lamenting).

He knows how to plow with the gypsies (said of a liar). Also: “He knows how to ride the
gypsies’ horse.”

He knows the gypsy trade (i.e., he is a thief).

Tzigane weather (i.e., a showery day).

It is gypsy honey (i.e., adulterated).

A gypsy duck i.e., a poor sort of wild duck.

“The gypsy said his favourite bird would be the pig if it had only wings” (in allusion to the
gypsy fondness for pork).

Mrs. Gerard gives a number of proverbs as current among Hungarian
gypsies which appear to be borrowed by them from those of other races.
Among them are:—

Who would steal potatoes must not forget the sack.

The best smith cannot make more than one ring at a time.

Nothing is so bad but it is good enough for somebody.

Bacon makes bold.

“He eats his faith as the gypsies ate their church.”

A Wallach proverb founded on another to the effect that the gypsy church
was made of pork and the dogs ate it. I shall never forget how an old gypsy
in Brighton laughed when I told her this, and how she repeated: “O Romani
kangri sos kerdo bāllovas te i juckli hawde lis.”

“No entertainment without gypsies.”

In reference to gypsy musicians who are always on hand at every festivity.

The Hungarian wants only a glass of water and a gypsy fiddler to make him drunk.

In reference to the excitement which Hungarians experience in listening to
gypsy music.

With a wet rag you can put to flight a whole village of gypsies (Hungarian).

It would not be advisable to attempt this with any gypsies in Great Britain,
where they are almost, without exception, only too ready to fight with
anybody.

Every gypsy woman is a witch.

“Every woman is at heart a witch.”

In the “Materials for the Study of the Gypsies,” by M. I. Kounavine, which
I have not yet seen, there are, according to A. B. Elysseeff (Gypsy-Lore
Journal, July, 1890), three or four score of gypsy proverbial sayings and
maxims. These refer to Slavonian or far Eastern Russian Romanis. I may
here state in this connection that all who are interested in this subject, or
aught relating to it, will find much to interest them in this journal of the
Gypsy-Lore Society, printed by T. & A. Constable, Edinburgh. The price of
subscription, including membership of the society, is £1 a year—Address:
David Mac Ritchie, 4, Archibald Place, Edinburgh.

CHAPTER XIV.1

A GYPSY MAGIC SPELL.—HOKKANI BĀSO—
LELLIN DUDIKABIN, OR THE GREAT SECRET
—CHILDREN’S RHYMES AND INCANTATIONS
—TEN LITTLE INDIAN BOYS AND TEN LITTLE
ACORN GIRLS OF MARCELLUS
BURDIGALENSIS.
T
here is a meaningless
rhyme very common
among children. It is
repeated while “counting
off”—or “out”—those
who are taking part in a
game, and allotting to
each a place. There are
many versions of it, but
the following is exactly
word for word what I
learned when a boy in
Philadelphia:—
Ekkeri (or ickery), akkery, u-kéry
an,
Fillisi’, follasy, Nicholas John,
Queebee-quabee—Irishman (or,
Irish Mary),
Stingle ‘em—stangle ‘em—buck!

With a very little
alteration in sounds, and