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

or defence, which had come off from one of the wheels of my vehicle. On perceiving them I forthwith went to receive them. Mr. Petulengro was dressed in Roman fashion, with a somewhat smartly cut sporting-coat, the buttons of which were half-crowns, and a waistcoat scarlet and black, the buttons of which were spaded half-guineas; his breeches were of a stuff half-velveteen, half-corduroy, the cords exceedingly broad. He had leggings of buff cloth, furred at the bottom, and upon his feet were highlows. Under his left arm was a long black whalebone riding-whip, with a red lash, and an immense silver knob. Upon his head was a hat with a high peak, somewhat of the kind which the Spaniards call calañés,244 so much in favour with the bravos of Seville and Madrid. Now, when I have added that Mr. Petulengro had on a very fine white holland shirt, I think I have described his array. Mrs. Petulengro⁠—I beg pardon for not having spoken of her first⁠—was also arrayed very much in the Roman fashion. Her hair, which was exceedingly black and lustrous, fell in braids on either side of her head. In her ears were rings, with long drops of gold. Round her neck was a string of what seemed very much like very large pearls, somewhat tarnished, however, and apparently of considerable antiquity. “Here we are, brother,” said Mr. Petulengro; “here we are, come to see you⁠—wizard and witch, witch and wizard:⁠—

‘There’s a chovahanee, and a chovahano,
The nav se len is Petulengro.’ ”245

“Hold your tongue, sir,” said Mrs. Petulengro; “you make me ashamed of you with your vulgar ditties. We are come a visiting now, and everything low should be left behind.”

“True,” said Mr. Petulengro; “why bring what’s low to the dingle, which is low enough already?”

“What, are you a catcher at words?” said I. “I thought that catching at words had been confined to the pothouse farmers and village witty bodies.”

“All fools,” said Mrs. Petulengro, “catch at words, and very naturally, as by so doing they hope to prevent the possibility of rational conversation. Catching at words confined to pothouse farmers, and village witty bodies! No, not to Jasper Petulengro. Listen for an hour or two to the discourse of a set they call newspaper editors, and if you don’t go out and eat grass, as a dog does when he is sick, I am no female woman. The young lord whose hand I refused when I took up with wise Jasper, once brought two of them to my mother’s tan, when hankering after my company; they did nothing but carp at each other’s words, and a pretty hand they made of it. Ill-favoured dogs they were; and their attempts at what they called wit almost as unfortunate as their countenances.”

“Well,” said I, “madam, we will drop all catchings and carpings for the present. Pray take your seat on this stool, whilst I go and announce to Miss Isopel Berners your arrival.”

Thereupon I went to Belle’s habitation, and informed her that Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro had paid us a visit of ceremony, and were awaiting her at the fireplace. “Pray go and tell them that I am busy,” said Belle, who was engaged with her needle. “I do not feel disposed to take part in any such nonsense.” “I shall do no such thing,” said I; “and I insist upon your coming forthwith, and showing proper courtesy to your visitors. If you do not, their feelings will be hurt, and you are aware that I cannot bear that people’s feelings should be outraged. Come this moment, or⁠—” “Or what?” said Belle, half smiling. “I was about to say something in Armenian,” said I. “Well,” said Belle, laying down her work, “I will come.” “Stay,” said I, “your hair is hanging about your ears, and your dress is in disorder; you had better stay a minute or two to prepare yourself to appear before your visitors, who have come in their very best attire.” “No,” said Belle, “I will make no alteration in my appearance; you told me to come this moment, and you shall be obeyed.” So Belle and I advanced towards our guests. As we drew nigh, Mr. Petulengro took off his hat and made a profound obeisance to Belle, whilst Mrs. Petulengro rose from the stool and made a profound courtesy. Belle who had flung her hair back over her shoulders, returned their salutations by bending her head, and after slightly glancing at Mr. Petulengro, fixed her large blue eyes full upon his wife. Both these females were very handsome⁠—but how unlike! Belle fair, with blue eyes and flaxen hair; Mrs. Petulengro with olive complexion, eyes black, and hair dark⁠—as dark as could be. Belle, in demeanour calm and proud; the gypsy graceful, but full of movement and agitation. And then how different were those two in stature! The head of the Romany rawnie scarcely ascended to the breast of Isopel Berners. I could see that Mrs. Petulengro gazed on Belle with unmixed admiration; so did her husband. “Well,” said the latter, “one thing I will say, which is, that there is only one on earth worthy to stand up in front of this she, and that is the beauty of the world, as far as man flesh is concerned, Tawno Chikno; what a pity he did not come down!”

“Tawno Chikno,” said Mrs. Petulengro, flaring up; “a pretty fellow he to stand up in front of this gentlewoman, a pity he didn’t come, quotha? not at all, the fellow is a sneak, afraid of his wife. He stand up against this rawnie! why, the look she has given me would knock the fellow down.”

“It is easier to knock him down with a look than with a fist,” said Mr. Petulengro; “that is, if the look comes from a woman: not that I am disposed to doubt that this female gentlewoman is able to knock him down either one way or the other. I have heard of her often