John Bunyan and the Gipsies

In Short

This book acts as a polemic against the academic and social dismissal of the Gipsy identity. Through a series of letters and critiques, the author argues that John Bunyan was a member of the Romany race—a claim he contends is ignored due to deep-seated social prejudice rather than a lack of evidence. By scrutinizing the works of contemporaries like Charles Godfrey Leland, the author asserts that the Gipsy population has not vanished, but has instead assimilated into mainstream society, intentionally concealing their heritage to escape the stigma of their name.

The Story

The narrative arc of this work is one of persistent intellectual confrontation. The author begins by framing the "Gipsy problem" as a failure of historical inquiry. He posits that society—and specifically the literary and scholarly establishment—refuses to acknowledge the Gipsy presence in modern life. The author maintains that because the Romany people have, over centuries, intermarried with the native populations of Great Britain and America, they have become a "hidden" demographic. They live, work, and die in houses, occupying various social strata, all while maintaining their distinct lineage in private.

The central drama arises from the author’s attempt to place John Bunyan within this lineage. By labeling Bunyan the "prince of allegorists" and a "Great Original," the author demands that the residents of Bedford and the broader English public reconcile their reverence for Bunyan with his likely, though obscured, ancestry. He argues that Bunyan’s own reticence regarding his background was a necessary survival strategy in an age where being identified as a "Gipsy" invited legal and social ruin.

The author turns his critical attention to contemporary scholars, particularly Charles Godfrey Leland. He accuses Leland of hypocrisy, claiming that while Leland relied heavily on previous research—including the author's own work—to construct his theories on the Romany, he simultaneously advanced the "myth" that the Gipsy race was on the verge of extinction. The author systematically tears down these "confident assertions," arguing that Leland’s insistence that the "last Gipsy" is currently being born is a lazy, romanticized dismissal of a living, breathing, and thriving population.

The book concludes not with a resolution of the Gipsy question, but with a plea for the "social emancipation" of the race. The author insists that if the stigma against the name were removed, thousands of individuals would be free to acknowledge their heritage without fear of losing their social standing. He envisions a world where the Romany are recognized as "men and brethren" rather than as a dying curiosity or a social pariah. Throughout the text, the author remains steadfast: the Gipsies are not vanishing; they are simply refusing to be seen by a world that has historically only accepted them in the derogatory terms of the "open air" vagabond.

How It Unfolds

The charge of prejudice The author opens by asserting that the "Gipsy problem" is not a mystery of science, but a consequence of social caste. He argues that the refusal to investigate the race is a moral failing that prevents the acknowledgement of a large, integrated population.

The case for Bunyan Moving to his primary historical target, the author dissects the life of John Bunyan. He claims that Bunyan’s profession as a tinker and his own cryptic statements point toward a Romany origin, which he believes the public ignores out of an unpleasant bias.

The critique of Leland The focus shifts to a rigorous takedown of Charles Godfrey Leland, who is accused of plagiarizing the author’s earlier research while publicly promoting the false narrative that the Gipsies are an extinct or dying class.

The call for recognition The final beats involve the author demanding that the "middle wall of partition" between the Gipsy race and the rest of the world be broken down. He calls for institutions like the Church of England and the academic press to treat the Gipsy identity as a legitimate subject of history rather than a source of embarrassment.

The People

The author, James Simson, acts as the tireless investigator and polemicist. Driven by a sense of justice and historical accuracy, he views himself as the champion of an overlooked, "hidden" people. He is combative, precise, and frustrated by the intellectual laziness of his peers.

John Bunyan serves as the symbolic center of the conflict. To the author, he is the "illustrious pilgrim" whose true identity has been laundered by history to suit the sensitivities of a society that refuses to believe a genius could emerge from a marginalized race.

Charles Godfrey Leland is the antagonist of the author’s intellectual world. Representing the "literary journals" and the establishment, Leland is portrayed as a man who possesses the "entrée" to Gipsy circles but lacks the integrity to properly report his findings. He wants to romanticize the "wild" Gipsy of the past while ignoring the reality of the assimilated Gipsy of the present.

Finally, the "Gipsy race" themselves occupy the role of the subject. They are depicted as a resilient, intelligent, and highly adaptive group. Standing in their way is the "storm of indignation" from the public, which forces them to live under a permanent "lid of silence."

In Its Own Voice

The author highlights the pervasive fear of social repercussions that forces the Romany to hide their identity:

“As a consequence, no member of the race that can help it will own the blood unless he wants it to be known for his benefit.”

The author expresses his frustration with contemporary scholars who insist that the Romany are a dying, primitive curiosity rather than a modern, integrated people:

“One would naturally conclude that this race is not disappearing as ‘British birds are chasing American ones out of Philadelphia’; and that it could not be said that ‘the child is perhaps born who will see the last Gipsy,’ even in his primitive condition.”

What It's Really About

At its heart, this book is an argument against the erasure of identity. The author explores how class, shame, and social expectation conspire to rewrite history. He is interested in the "philosophy of existence" of a people who have survived by becoming invisible within a host culture. The core question is why society finds it more comfortable to relegate a group of people to the status of a "myth" than to admit their presence as neighbors, colleagues, or historical figures. The author suggests that our inability to acknowledge the Gipsy is actually a reflection of our own rigidity and our need to define "proper" society against an imagined, inferior "other."

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the history of ideas, the mechanics of prejudice, or the intersection of biography and sociology will find this book deeply compelling. It is a work of fierce, old-fashioned intellectual combat, and the voice is that of a man who has spent decades obsessed with a single, unpopular truth. The prose is direct and often quite sharp, carrying the weight of a century-old grudge against the literary establishment.

However, modern readers should be prepared for the author's idiosyncratic, mid-Victorian style and his occasionally repetitive, argumentative structure. He is not writing a balanced, detached history; he is fighting a war over a legacy. Because the text is deeply embedded in the specific controversies of 1882, the reader may occasionally need to navigate references to long-forgotten scholarly feuds. Yet, for those who value the process of historical inquiry and the courage to challenge established narratives, the book remains a fascinating study in persistence. You will likely walk away not necessarily with a firm conviction about Bunyan, but with a permanent suspicion of how "official" history is curated, and a new awareness of the many "hidden" stories that exist within the standard historical record.