The mayor sat in the seat of honour

The mayor sat within the seat of honour, with Petrika on his proper, myself on his left, and the remainder of our occasion a-squat earlier than him, all inside a hoop of sitting and standing smiths, their darkish, sturdy faces illuminated by the dancing beams of the burning sticks, and by the steadier ray from the candle in my new lantern, which was positioned in the back of the tent, on the step of the taliga. The previous woman made espresso, and all of us drank raJcia; and the only topic of dialog was the uncorruptible integrity of Gypsy morals. However, once in a while I heard a smothered fluttering from the within of the waggon, which I’ve each motive to consider was made by a hen that had not too long ago come into our possession, as an involuntary present from some gadzho neighbour, and was supposed to grace our principal meal on the morrow.

When our visitor had departed, we visited the smiths’ homes to debate the incurable folly of gadzhe, and wound up the night with a riotous half-hour at a khan.


WE set off at about 5 o’clock by means of well- wooded nation, and by roads which had been nearly lanes, and reaching the outskirts of Rustshuk at about 9, turned sharply to the correct, and drove around the city to hunt a tenting place. There gave the impression to be some problem find one, and, ultimately, the previous folks, with the bori and the kid, drove in the direction of the barracks, whereas Turi and I turned inwards in the direction of the city. In a type of open market-place, the place just a few peasants’ carts nonetheless lingered, we met Gypsies, Turi’s acquaintances, to whom I used to be launched; and certainly one of them, an aged man, stared at me in silence lengthy and severely, with evident suspicion.

They gave us, nonetheless, the mandatory instructions, and accompanied us after we went to rejoin Petrika. There isn’t any common maliala in Rustshuk, however a number of households of Gypsies stay close to each other and, as regular, nearly equally close to the general public refuse-heap. Their homes are reasonably bigger than is common in Gypsy quarters, and have gardens or yards, into certainly one of which we tried to drive, though the gate was far too slender for the waggon. Having failed, we sat down on a rug in entrance of the home to speak quietly; however a sudden, violent, and intensely noisy altercation started between the ladies of our occasion and the gadzhe girls subsequent door, and in the midst of it Petrika out of the blue resolved to camp reverse his buddies’ residence, in an insanitary website on the very fringe of the refuse-heap, with a horrible barbed- wire fence near our backs.



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