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

“Because I place no confidence in your words, brother; as I said before, you countenances him.”

“Well,” said I, “I know nothing of your private concerns; I am come on an errand. Isopel Berners, down in the dell there, requests the pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro’s company at breakfast. She will be happy also to see you, madam,” said I, addressing Mrs. Chikno.

“Is that young female your wife, young man?” said Mrs. Chikno.

“My wife?” said I.

“Yes, young man; your wife, your lawful certificated wife?”

“No,” said I; “she is not my wife.”

“Then I will not visit with her,” said Mrs. Chikno; “I countenance nothing in the roving line.”

“What do you mean by the roving line?” I demanded.

“What do I mean by the roving line? Why, by it I mean such conduct as is not tatcheno. When ryes and rawnies live together in dingles, without being certificated, I call such behaviour being tolerably deep in the roving line, everything savouring of which I am determined not to sanctify. I have suffered too much by my own certificated husband’s outbreaks in that line to afford anything of the kind the slightest shadow of countenance.”

“It is hard that people may not live in dingles together without being suspected of doing wrong,” said I.

“So it is,” said Mrs. Petulengro, interposing; “and, to tell you the truth, I am altogether surprised at the illiberality of my sister’s remarks. I have often heard say, that is in good company⁠—and I have kept good company in my time⁠—that suspicion is king’s evidence of a narrow and uncultivated mind; on which account I am suspicious of nobody, not even of my own husband, whom some people would think I have a right to be suspicious of, seeing that on his account I once refused a lord; but ask him whether I am suspicious of him, and whether I seeks to keep him close tied to my apron-string; he will tell you nothing of the kind; but that, on the contrary, I always allows him an agreeable latitude, permitting him to go where he pleases, and to converse with anyone to whose manner of speaking he may take a fancy. But I have had the advantage of keeping good company, and therefore⁠—”

“Mek lis,” said Mrs. Chikno, “pray drop all that, sister; I believe I have kept as good company as yourself; and with respect to that offer with which you frequently fatigue those who keeps company with you, I believe, after all, it was something in the roving and uncertificated line.”

“In whatever line it was,” said Mrs. Petulengro, “the offer was a good one. The young duke⁠—for he was not only a lord, but a duke too⁠—offered to keep me a fine carriage, and to make me his second wife; for it is true that he had another who was old and stout, though mighty rich, and highly good-natured; so much so, indeed, that the young lord assured me that she would have no manner of objection to the arrangement; more especially if I would consent to live in the same house with her, being fond of young and cheerful society. So you see⁠—”

“Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Chikno, “I see what I before thought, that it was altogether in the uncertificated line.”

“Mek lis,” said Mrs. Petulengro; “I use your own word, madam, which is Romany: for my own part, I am not fond of using Romany words, unless I can hope to pass them off for French, which I cannot in the present company. I heartily wish that there was no such language, and do my best to keep it away from my children, lest the frequent use of it should altogether confirm them in low and vulgar habits. I have four children, madam, but⁠—”

“I suppose by talking of your four children you wish to check me for having none,” said Mrs. Chikno bursting into tears; “if I have no children, sister, it is no fault of mine, it is⁠—but why do I call you sister?” said she angrily; “you are no sister of mine, you are a grasni, a regular mare⁠—a pretty sister, indeed, ashamed of your own language. I remember well that by your high-flying notions you drove your own mother⁠—”

“We will drop it,” said Mrs. Petulengro; “I do not wish to raise my voice, and to make myself ridiculous. Young gentleman,” said she, “pray present my compliments to Miss Isopel Berners, and inform her that I am very sorry that I cannot accept her polite invitation. I am just arrived, and have some slight domestic matters to see to⁠—amongst others, to wash my children’s faces; but that in the course of the forenoon, when I have attended to what I have to do, and have dressed myself, I hope to do myself the honour of paying her a regular visit; you will tell her that, with my compliments. With respect to my husband, he can answer for himself, as I, not being of a jealous disposition, never interferes with his matters.”

“And tell Miss Berners,” said Mr. Petulengro, “that I shall be happy to wait upon her in company with my wife as soon as we are regularly settled: at present I have much on my hands, having not only to pitch my own tent, but this here jealous woman’s, whose husband is absent on my business.”

Thereupon I returned to the dingle, and, without saying anything about Mrs. Chikno’s observations, communicated to Isopel the messages of Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro; Isopel made no other reply than by replacing in her coffer two additional cups and saucers, which, in expectation of company, she had placed upon the board. The kettle was by this time boiling. We sat down, and, as we breakfasted, I gave Isopel Berners another lesson in the Armenian language.

About midday Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro came to the dingle to pay the promised visit. Belle, at the time of their arrival, was in her tent, but I was at the fireplace, engaged in hammering part of the outer-tire,