The Zincali: An Account of the Gypsies of Spain

In Short

This work serves as a multifaceted ethnographic portrait of the Gitános, or Spanish Gypsies, written by a linguist and adventurer during his travels across the Iberian Peninsula. It weaves together personal vignettes, linguistic analysis, historical legislative records, and folklore to capture the essence of a people living on the margins of Spanish society. By preserving the language and customs of the Gitános at a time of significant cultural transition, the book stands as an essential, if idiosyncratic, record of a community defined by its defiance of mainstream norms.

The Story

The narrative begins with the author’s mission in Spain, where he balances his official task of distributing the Gospel with an insatiable, long-standing curiosity about the Gypsy race. He establishes his credentials early, noting that his interest in the Gitános dates back to his youth, which allowed him to bridge the gap between his role as an outsider and his position as a trusted observer among the Romany people. He provides a broad, international context, noting the connections between Spanish Gitános and their kin in Hungary and the East, illustrating how these groups maintained their identity across vast distances through trade, music, and an enduring, secret language.

As the account progresses, the author shifts from broad surveys to the sharp, granular reality of his encounters. He describes the Gitános of Spain as a people whose lives were, for centuries, governed by a cycle of poverty, petty crime, and shifting, often harsh, government legislation. He vividly recounts scenes in inns and private dwellings where he observes the "Gypsy law"—a code of mutual protection and cunning directed against the Busné, or non-Gypsy population. He details the methods of fortune-telling, horse-trading, and petty swindles, presenting these not merely as criminal acts but as survival strategies honed through generations of systematic exclusion.

A central point of historical reflection is the evolution of the Spanish state’s relationship with the Gitános. The author meticulously reviews old edicts and laws, specifically the efforts of monarchs like Philip IV to force the Gitános into assimilation by forbidding their language and dress. He argues that these draconian measures largely failed, whereas the later, more tolerant policies of Carlos III—which offered the prospect of integration rather than the threat of the gallows—had a more tangible impact on the decline of traditional Gitanismo.

The narrative culminates in the author’s own attempt to bridge the spiritual divide by translating the Gospel into the Romany dialect. While he finds that some Gitános accept his translations, they often view the text as a charm or a talisman rather than a theological guide. He concludes that while the "Gypsy law" of old is fading, the core identity of the people remains stubbornly intact, preserved by a history of resilience that neither the church nor the state has fully managed to subdue.

How It Unfolds

The traveler’s perspective. The author establishes his methodology, emphasizing that he gained his knowledge not through books, but through direct, often intimate, dialogue with the Gitános he met on the road.

A portrait of an ancient race. He sketches the historical migration of the Romany people, drawing parallels between the Gitános of Spain and their counterparts in Hungary, Wallachia, and the East.

The shadow of the law. The narrative examines centuries of repressive legislation, demonstrating the futility of state attempts to eradicate the Gypsy name, language, and nomadic lifestyle through forced assimilation.

Encounters in the field. He shifts to vivid, real-time reporting, describing his time in towns like Badajoz and Madrid, where he lived among the Gitános, witnessing their daily maneuvers and the complex social dynamics of their families.

The linguistic bridge. He details the creation of his translation of the Gospel of Luke into the Spanish Romany dialect, reflecting on the surprising ways his work was received—and misinterpreted—by his subjects.

The changing tides. The book concludes by assessing the influence of more modern, liberal policies, arguing that tolerance, rather than persecution, has been the primary force behind the erosion of traditional Gypsy insularity.

The People

The author, George Borrow, acts as both the narrator and an active participant. He is a man driven by a restless, intellectual energy and a sincere desire to convert, yet he is remarkably humble about his own influence, acknowledging that he was often viewed by the Gitános as an oddity or a useful pawn.

The Gitános, or the Calés, appear as a collective, resilient character. They are defined by their sharp wit, their suspicion of the Busné, and their profound loyalty to their own blood. Figures like the "Gypsy hag" and the silent, calculating men who haunt the wine-houses serve as individual archetypes. They are survivors who use the author’s presence to settle disputes or gain favor, yet they remain fundamentally detached from his, and the nation’s, values. They seek to "cross hands with silver" to ensure their daily bread, and their primary antagonist is the constant, looming threat of the Busné authority, which seeks to standardize them out of existence.

In Its Own Voice

‘For that which is unclean by nature, thou canst entertain no hope; no washing will turn the Gypsy white.’

This epigraph, attributed to the poet Ferdousi, sets the tone for the author’s exploration of the perceived, unchangeable nature of the Gypsy identity.

‘The poor fool who closes his mouth never winneth a dollar.’

The author offers this proverb to illustrate the pragmatic, opportunistic philosophy he observed among the Gitános during his travels.

What It's Really About

The central theme is the resilience of cultural identity in the face of institutional pressure. The author interrogates the morality of both the Gitános—who sustain themselves through deceit and exclusion—and the Spanish state, which he accuses of hypocrisy and "barbarism" in its failed attempts to legislate morality. The book questions whether a nation can truly integrate a people who have built their entire survival mechanism upon remaining distinct from the state. It is a study of how language, secret codes, and oral traditions function as a fortress for a marginalized culture, and how that fortress holds firm even when the outward habits of the people begin to shift under the influence of modern law.

Why Read It Today

This book is a fascinating, if sometimes challenging, relic of 19th-century travel writing. Those who enjoy deep dives into linguistic history and the grit of "low-life" history will find a wealth of detail here that is rarely captured in formal records. The author writes with a visceral, immediate style that makes the reader feel like a companion at a campfire or in a smoky tavern.

However, a modern reader must be prepared for the author’s period-specific attitudes; he frequently employs the vocabulary and paternalistic moralizing typical of his time. His fascination with the "exotic" and his focus on the criminal elements of Gypsy life reflect the prejudices of the 1840s, and his attempts to "civilize" his subjects through religious conversion can feel intrusive. Despite these barriers, the book remains a valuable, if complex, document because of its candidness. It is not a sanitized academic study, but a human one. You will likely walk away from it with a haunting sense of the struggle for identity—the way a culture keeps its secrets, its language, and its pride, even when the world around it is determined to make it disappear.