‘I take up with your pal, [36d] as you call him; you had better mind what you say,’ said Isopel Berners, ‘I take up with nobody.’
‘I merely mean taking up your quarters with him,’ said Mr. Petulengro, ‘and I was only about to say a better fellow-lodger you cannot have, or a more instructive, especially if you have a desire to be inoculated with tongues, as he calls them. I wonder whether you and he have had any tongue-work already.’
‘Have you and your wife anything particular to say, if you have nothing but this kind of conversation I must leave you, as I am going to make a journey this afternoon, and should be getting ready.’
‘You must excuse my husband, madam,’ said Mrs. Petulengro, ‘he is not overburdened with understanding, and has said but one word of sense since he has been here, which was that we came to pay our respects to you. We have dressed ourselves in our best Roman way, in order to do honour to you; perhaps you do not like it, if so, I am sorry. I have no French clothes, madam, if I had any, madam, I would have come in them in order to do you more honour.’
‘I like to see you much better as you are,’ said Belle; ‘people should keep to their own fashions, and yours is very pretty.’
‘I am glad you are pleased to think it so, madam, it has been admired in the great city, it created what they call a sensation, and some of the great ladies—the court ladies, imitated it, else I should not appear in it so often as I am accustomed, for I am not very fond of what is Roman, having an imagination that what is Roman is ungenteel; in fact, I once heard the wife of a rich citizen say that gypsies were vulgar creatures. I should have taken her saying very much to heart, but for her improper pronunciation; she could not pronounce her words, madam, which we gypsies, as they call us, usually can, so I thought she was no very high purchase. You are very beautiful, madam, though you are not dressed as I could wish to see you, and your hair is hanging down in sad confusion; allow me to assist you in arranging your hair, madam; I will dress it for you in our fashion; I would fain see how your hair would look in our poor gypsy fashion: pray allow me, madam?’ and she took Belle by the hand.
‘I really can do no such thing,’ said Belle withdrawing her hand; ‘I thank you for coming to see me, but—’
‘Do allow me to officiate upon your hair, madam,’ said Mrs. Petulengro, ‘I should esteem your allowing me a great mark of condescension. You are very beautiful, madam, and I think you doubly so, because you are so fair; I have a great esteem for persons with fair complexions and hair; I have a less regard for people with dark hair and complexions, madam.’
‘Then why did you turn off the lord, and take up with me?’ said Mr. Petulengro; ‘that same lord was fair enough all about him.’
‘People do when they are young and silly what they sometimes repent of when they are of riper years and understandings. I sometimes think that had I not been something of a simpleton, I might at this time be a great court lady. Now, madam,’ said she, again taking Belle by the hand, ‘do oblige me by allowing me to plait your hair a little?’
‘I have really a good mind to be angry with you,’ said Belle, giving Mrs. Petulengro a peculiar glance.
‘Do allow her to arrange your hair,’ said I, ‘she means no harm, and wishes to do you honour; do oblige her and me too, for I should like to see how your hair would look dressed in her fashion.’
‘You hear what the young rye says?’ said Mrs. Petulengro. ‘I am sure you will oblige the young rye, if not myself. Many people would be willing to oblige the young rye, if he would but ask them; but he is not in the habit of asking favours. He has a nose of his own, which he keeps tolerably exalted; he does not think small-beer of himself, madam; and all the time I have been with him, I never heard him ask a favour before; therefore, madam, I am sure you will oblige him. My sister Ursula would be very willing to oblige him in many things, but he will not ask her for anything, except for such a favour as a word, which is a poor favour after all. I don’t mean for her word; perhaps he will some day ask you for your word. If so—’
‘Why here you are, after railing at me for catching at words, catching at a word yourself,’ said Mr. Petulengro.
‘Hold your tongue, sir,’ said Mrs. Petulengro. ‘Don’t interrupt me in my discourse; if I caught at a word now, I am not in the habit of doing so. I am no conceited body; no newspaper Neddy; no pot-house witty person. I was about to say, madam, that if the young rye asks you at any time for your word, you will do as you deem convenient; but I am sure you will oblige him by allowing me to braid your hair.’
‘I shall not do it to oblige him,’ said Belle; ‘the young rye, as you call him, is nothing to me.’
‘Well, then, to oblige me,’ said Mrs. Petulengro; ‘do allow me to become your poor tire-woman.’
‘It is great nonsense,’ said Belle, reddening; ‘however, as you came to see me, and ask the matter as a particular favour to yourself—’
‘Thank you, madam,’ said Mrs. Petulengro, leading Belle to the stool; ‘please to sit down here. Thank you; your hair is very beautiful, madam,’ she continued, as she proceeded to braid Belle’s hair; ‘so is your countenance. Should you ever go to the great city, among the grand folks, you would make a sensation, madam. I have made one myself, who am dark; the chi she is kauley, [38] which last word signifies black, which I am not, though rather dark. There’s no colour like white, madam; it’s so lasting, so genteel. Gentility will carry the day, madam, even with the young rye. He will ask words of the black lass, but beg the word of the fair.’
In the meantime Mr. Petulengro and myself entered into conversation. ‘Any news stirring, Mr. Petulengro?’ said I. ‘Have you heard anything of the great religious movements?’
‘Plenty,’ said Mr. Petulengro; ‘all the religious people, more especially the Evangelicals—those that go about distributing tracts—are very angry about the fight between Gentleman Cooper and White-headed Bob, [39a] which they say ought not to have been permitted to take place; and then they are trying all they can to prevent the fight between the lion and the dogs, [39b] which they say is a disgrace to a Christian country. Now, I can’t say that I have any quarrel with the religious party and the Evangelicals; they are always civil to me and mine, and frequently give us tracts, as they call them, which neither I nor mine can read; but I cannot say that I approve of any movements, religious or not, which have in aim to put down all life and manly sport in this here country.’
‘Anything else?’ said I.
‘People are becoming vastly sharp,’ said Mr. Petulengro; ‘and I am told that all the old-fashioned, good-tempered constables are going to be set aside, and a paid body of men to be established, who are not to permit a tramper or vagabond on the roads of England;—and talking of roads, puts me in mind of a strange story I heard two nights ago, whilst drinking some beer at a public-house, in company with my cousin Sylvester. I had asked Tawno to go, but his wife would not let him. Just opposite me, smoking their pipes, were a couple of men, something like engineers, and they were talking of a wonderful invention which was to make a wonderful alteration in England; inasmuch as it would set aside all the old roads, which in a little time would be ploughed up, and sowed with corn, and cause all England to be laid down with iron roads, on which people would go thundering along in vehicles, pushed forward by fire and smoke. Now, brother, when I heard this, I did not feel very comfortable; for I thought to myself, what a queer place such a road would be to pitch one’s tent upon, and how impossible it would be for one’s cattle to find a bite of grass upon it; and I thought likewise of the danger to which one’s family would be exposed of being run over and severely scorched by these same flying, fiery vehicles; so I made bold to say, that I hoped such an invention would never be countenanced, because it was likely to do a great deal