lavengro-第48章

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'What　brings　you　here？'



'The　fight；　brother。'



'Where　are　the　tents？'



'On　the　old　spot；　brother。'



'Any　news　since　we　parted？'



'Two　deaths；　brother。'



'Who　are　dead；　Jasper？'



'Father　and　mother；　brother。'



'Where　did　they　die？'



'Where　they　were　sent；　brother。'



'And　Mrs。　Herne？'



'She's　alive；　brother。'



'Where　is　she　now？'



'In　Yorkshire；　brother。'



'What　is　your　opinion　of　death；　Mr。　Petulengro？'　said　I；　as　I　sat　

down　beside　him。



'My　opinion　of　death；　brother；　is　much　the　same　as　that　in　the　old　

song　of　Pharaoh；　which　I　have　heard　my　grandam　sing　…





Cana　marel　o　manus　chivios　ande　puv；

Ta　rovel　pa　leste　o　chavo　ta　romi。





When　a　man　dies；　he　is　cast　into　the　earth；　and　his　wife　and　child　

sorrow　over　him。　　If　he　has　neither　wife　nor　child；　then　his　father　

and　mother；　I　suppose；　and　if　he　is　quite　alone　in　the　world；　why；　

then；　he　is　cast　into　the　earth；　and　there　is　an　end　of　the　

matter。'



'And　do　you　think　that　is　the　end　of　a　man？'



'There's　an　end　of　him；　brother；　more's　the　pity。'



'Why　do　you　say　so？'



'Life　is　sweet；　brother。'



'Do　you　think　so？'



'Think　so！　…　There's　night　and　day；　brother；　both　sweet　things；　

sun；　moon；　and　stars；　brother；　all　sweet　things；　there's　likewise　a　

wind　on　the　heath。　　Life　is　very　sweet；　brother；　who　would　wish　to　

die？'



'I　would　wish　to　die　…　'



'You　talk　like　a　gorgio　…　which　is　the　same　as　talking　like　a　fool　

…　were　you　a　Rommany　Chal　you　would　talk　wiser。　　Wish　to　die；　

indeed！　…　A　Rommany　Chal　would　wish　to　live　for　ever！'



'In　sickness；　Jasper？'



'There's　the　sun　and　stars；　brother。'



'In　blindness；　Jasper？'



'There's　the　wind　on　the　heath；　brother；　if　I　could　only　feel　that；　

I　would　gladly　live　for　ever。　　Dosta；　we'll　now　go　to　the　tents　and　

put　on　the　gloves；　and　I'll　try　to　make　you　feel　what　a　sweet　thing　

it　is　to　be　alive；　brother！'







CHAPTER　XXVI







The　flower　of　the　grass　…　Days　of　pugilism　…　The　rendezvous　…　Jews　

…　Bruisers　of　England　…　Winter；　spring　…　Well…earned　bays　…　The　

fight　…　Huge　black　cloud　…　Frame　of　adamant　…　The　storm　…　

Dukkeripens　…　The　barouche　…　The　rain…gushes。



HOW　for　everything　there　is　a　time　and　a　season；　and　then　how　does　

the　glory　of　a　thing　pass　from　it；　even　like　the　flower　of　the　

grass。　　This　is　a　truism；　but　it　is　one　of　those　which　are　

continually　forcing　themselves　upon　the　mind。　　Many　years　have　not　

passed　over　my　head；　yet；　during　those　which　I　can　recall　to　

remembrance；　how　many　things　have　I　seen　flourish；　pass　away；　and　

become　forgotten；　except　by　myself；　who；　in　spite　of　all　my　

endeavours；　never　can　forget　anything。　　I　have　known　the　time　when　

a　pugilistic　encounter　between　two　noted　champions　was　almost　

considered　in　the　light　of　a　national　affair；　when　tens　of　

thousands　of　individuals；　high　and　low；　meditated　and　brooded　upon　

it；　the　first　thing　in　the　morning　and　the　last　at　night；　until　the　

great　event　was　decided。　　But　the　time　is　past；　and　many　people　

will　say；　thank　God　that　it　is；　all　I　have　to　say　is；　that　the　

French　still　live　on　the　other　side　of　the　water；　and　are　still　

casting　their　eyes　hitherward　…　and　that　in　the　days　of　pugilism　it　

was　no　vain　blast　to　say　that　one　Englishman　was　a　match　for　two　of　

t'other　race；　at　present　it　would　be　a　vain　boast　to　say　so；　for　

these　are　not　the　days　of　pugilism。



But　those　to　which　the　course　of　my　narrative　has　carried　me　were　

the　days　of　pugilism；　it　was　then　at　its　height；　and　consequently　

near　its　decline；　for　corruption　had　crept　into　the　ring；　and　how　

many　things；　states　and　sects　among　the　rest；　owe　their　decline　to　

this　cause！　　But　what　a　bold　and　vigorous　aspect　pugilism　wore　at　

that　time！　and　the　great　battle　was　just　then　coming　off：　　the　day　

had　been　decided　upon；　and　the　spot　…　a　convenient　distance　from　

the　old　town；　and　to　the　old　town　were　now　flocking　the　bruisers　of　

England；　men　of　tremendous　renown。　　Let　no　one　sneer　at　the　

bruisers　of　England　…　what　were　the　gladiators　of　Rome；　or　the　

bull…fighters　of　Spain；　in　its　palmiest　days；　compared　to　England's　

bruisers？　　Pity　that　ever　corruption　should　have　crept　in　amongst　

them　…　but　of　that　I　wish　not　to　talk；　let　us　still　hope　that　a　

spark　of　the　old　religion；　of　which　they　were　the　priests；　still　

lingers　in　the　breasts　of　Englishmen。　　There　they　come；　the　

bruisers；　from　far　London；　or　from　wherever　else　they　might　chance　

to　be　at　the　time；　to　the　great　rendezvous　in　the　old　city；　some　

came　one　way；　some　another：　　some　of　tip…top　reputation　came　with　

peers　in　their　chariots；　for　glory　and　fame　are　such　fair　things　

that　even　peers　are　proud　to　have　those　invested　therewith　by　their　

sides；　others　came　in　their　own　gigs；　driving　their　own　bits　of　

blood；　and　I　heard　one　say：　　'I　have　driven　through　at　a　heat　the　

whole　hundred　and　eleven　miles；　and　only　stopped　to　bait　twice。'　　

Oh；　the　blood…horses　of　old　England！　but　they；　too；　have　had　their　

day　…　for　everything　beneath　the　sun　there　is　a　season　and　a　time。　　

But　the　greater　number　come　just　as　they　can　contrive；　on　the　tops　

of　coaches；　for　example；　and　amongst　these　there　are　fellows　with　

dark　sallow　faces　and　sharp　shining　eyes；　and　it　is　these　that　have　

planted　rottenness　in　the　core　of　pugilism；　for　they　are　Jews；　and；　

true　to　their　kind；　have　only　base　lucre　in　view。



It　was　fierce　old　Cobbett；　I　think；　who　first　said　that　the　Jews　

first　introduced　bad　faith　amongst　pugilists。　　He　did　not　always　

speak　the　truth；　but　at　any　rate　he　spoke　it　when　he　made　that　

observation。　　Strange　people　the　Jews　…　endowed　with　every　gift　but　

one；　and　that　the　highest；　genius　divine　…　genius　which　can　alone　

make　of　men　demigods；　and　elevate　them　above　earth　and　what　is　

earthy　and　grovelling；　without　which　a　clever　nation　…　and；　who　

more　clever　than　the　Jews？　…　may　have　Rambams　in　plenty；　but　never　

a　Fielding　nor　a　Shakespeare。　　A　Rothschild　and　a　Mendoza；　yes　…　

but　never　a　Kean　nor　a　Belcher。



So　the　bruisers　of　England　are　come　to　be　present　at　the　grand　

fight　speedily　coming　off；　there　they　are　met　in　the　precincts　of　

the　old　town；　near　the　field　of　the　chapel；　planted　with　tender　

saplings　at　the　restoration　of　sporting　Charles；　which　are　now　

become　venerable　elms；　as　high　as　many　a　steeple；　there　they　are　

met　at　a　fitting　rendezvous；　where　a　retired　coachman；　with　one　

leg；　keeps　an　hotel　and　a　bowling…green。　　I　think　I　now　see　them　

upon　the　bowling…green；　the　men　of　renown；　amidst　hundreds　of　

people　with　no　renown　at　all；　who　gaze　upon　them　with　timid　wonder。　　

Fame；　after　all；　is　a　glorious　thing；　though　it　lasts　only　for　a　

day。　　There's　Cribb；　the　champion　of　England；　and　perhaps　the　best　

man　in　England；　there　he　is；　with　his　huge　massive　figure；　and　face　

wonderfully　like　that　of　a　lion。　　There　is　Belcher；　the　younger；　

not　the　mighty　one；　who　is　gone　to　his　place；　but　the　Teucer　

Belcher；　the　most　scientific　pugilist　that　ever　entered　a　ring；　

only　wanting　strength　to　be；　I　won't　say　what。　　He　appears　to　walk　

before　me　now；　as　he　did　that　evening；　with　his　white　hat；　white　

greatcoat；　thin　genteel　figure；　springy　step；　and　keen；　determined　

eye。　　Crosses　him；　what　a　contrast！　grim；　savage　Shelton；　who　has　a　

civil　word　for　nobody；　and　a　hard　blow　for　anybody　…　hard！　one　

blow；　given　with　the　proper　play　of　his　athletic　arm；　will　unsense　

a　giant。　　Yonder　individual；　who　strolls　about　with　his　hands　

behind　him；　supporting　his　brown　coat　lappets；　under…sized；　and　who　

looks　anything　but　what　he　is；　is　the　king　of　the　light　weights；　so　

called　…　Randall！　the　terrible　Randall；　who　has　Irish　blood　in　his　

veins；　not　the　better　for　that；　nor　the　worse；　and　not　far　from　him　

is　his　last　antagonist；　Ned　Turner；　who；　though　beaten　by　him；　

still　thinks　himself　as　good　a　man；　in　which　he