Lavengro by George Borrow (read me a book txt) 📕

xml:lang="rom">engro, brother, in the old Roman fashion. He bit, he kicked, and screamed like a wild cat of Benygant; casting foam from his mouth, and fire from his eyes. Sometimes he was beneath the engro’s legs, and sometimes he was upon his shoulders. What the engro found the most difficult, was to get a firm hold of the chal, for no sooner did he seize the chal by any part of his wearing apparel, than the chal either tore himself away, or contrived to slip out of it; so that in a little time the chal was three parts naked; and as for holding him by the body, it was out of the question, for he was as slippery as an eel. At last the engro seized the chal by the Belcher’s handkerchief, which he wore in a knot round his neck, and do whatever the chal could, he could not free himself; and when the engro saw that, it gave him fresh heart, no doubt; ‘It’s of no use,’ said he; ‘you had better give in; hold out your hands for the darbies, or I will throttle you.’ ”

“And what did the other fellow do, who came with the chal?” said I.

“I sat still on my horse, brother.”

“You?” said I. “Were you the man?”

“I was he, brother.”

“And why did you not help your comrade?”

“I have fought in the ring, brother.”

“And what had fighting in the ring to do with fighting in the lane?”

“You mean not fighting. A great deal, brother; it taught me to prize fair play. When I fought Staffordshire Dick, t’other side of London, I was alone, brother. Not a Rommany chal to back me, and he had all his brother pals about him; but they gave me fair play, brother; and I beat Staffordshire Dick, which I couldn’t have done had they put one finger on his side the scale; for he was as good a man as myself, or nearly so. Now, brother, had I but bent a finger in favour of the Rommany chal the plastramengro would never have come alive out of the lane; but I did not, for I thought to myself fair play is a precious stone; so you see, brother⁠—”

“That you are quite right, Mr. Petulengro; I see that clearly; and now, pray proceed with your narration; it is both moral and entertaining.”

But Mr. Petulengro did not proceed with his narration, neither did he proceed upon his way; he had stopped his horse, and his eyes were intently fixed on a broad strip of grass beneath some lofty trees, on the left side of the road. It was a pleasant enough spot, and seemed to invite wayfaring people, such as we were, to rest from the fatigues of the road, and the heat and vehemence of the sun. After examining it for a considerable time, Mr. Petulengro said: “I say, brother, that would be a nice place for a tuzzle!”

“I daresay it would,” said I, “if two people were inclined to fight.”

“The ground is smooth,” said Mr. Petulengro; “without holes or ruts, and the trees cast much shade. I don’t think, brother, that we could find a better place,” said Mr. Petulengro, springing from his horse.

“But you and I don’t want to fight!”

“Speak for yourself, brother,” said Mr. Petulengro. “However, I will tell you how the matter stands. There is a point at present between us. There can be no doubt that you are the cause of Mrs. Hearne’s death, innocently, you will say, but still the cause. Now, I shouldn’t like it to be known that I went up and down the country with a pal who was the cause of my mother-in-law’s death⁠—that’s to say, unless he gave me satisfaction. Now, if I and my pal have a tuzzle, he gives me satisfaction; and if he knocks my eyes out, which I know you can’t do, it makes no difference at all, he gives me satisfaction; and he who says to the contrary, knows nothing of gypsy law, and is a dinelo into the bargain.”

“But we have no gloves!”

“Gloves!” said Mr. Petulengro contemptuously, “gloves! I tell you what, brother, I always thought you were a better hand at the gloves than the naked fist; and, to tell you the truth, besides taking satisfaction for Mrs. Hearne’s death, I wish to see what you can do with your morleys; so now is your time, brother, and this is your place, grass and shade, no ruts or holes; come on, brother, or I shall think you what I should not like to call you.”

LXXXII

And when I heard Mr. Petulengro talk in this manner, which I had never heard him do before, and which I can only account for by his being fasting and ill-tempered, I had of course no other alternative than to accept his challenge, so I put myself into a posture which I deemed the best both for offence and defence, and the tuzzle commenced; and when it had endured for about half an hour, Mr. Petulengro said: “Brother, there is much blood on your face, you had better wipe it off;” and when I had wiped it off, and again resumed my former attitude, Mr. Petulengro said: “I think enough has been done, brother, in the affair of the old woman; I have, moreover, tried what you are able to do, and find you as I thought, less apt with the naked morleys than the stuffed gloves; nay, brother, put your hands down; I’m satisfied; blood has been shed, which is all that can be reasonably expected for an old woman, who carried so much brimstone about her as Mrs. Hearne.”

So the struggle ended, and we resumed our route, Mr. Petulengro sitting sideways upon his horse as before, and I driving