CHAPTER X
SUNDAY EVENING--URSULA--ACTION AT LAW--MERIDIANA--MARRIED ALREADY
I took tea that evening with Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro and Ursula, outsideof their tent. Tawno was not present, being engaged with his wife in hisown tabernacle; Sylvester was there, however, lolling listlessly upon theground. As I looked upon this man, I thought him one of the mostdisagreeable fellows I had ever seen. His features were ugly, and,moreover, as dark as pepper; and, besides being dark, his skin was dirty.As for his dress, it was torn and sordid. His chest was broad, and hisarms seemed powerful; but, upon the whole, he looked a very caitiff. 'Iam sorry that man has lost his wife,' thought I; 'for I am sure he willnever get another.' What surprises me is, that he ever found a womandisposed to unite her lot with his!
After tea I got up and strolled about the field. My thoughts were uponIsopel Berners. I wondered where she was, and how long she would stayaway. At length becoming tired and listless, I determined to return tothe dingle, and resume the reading of the Bible at the place where I hadleft off. 'What better could I do,' methought, 'on a Sunday evening?' Iwas then near the wood which surrounded the dingle, but at that sidewhich was farthest from the encampment, which stood near the entrance.Suddenly, on turning round the southern corner of the copse, whichsurrounded the dingle, I perceived Ursula seated under a thorn-bush. Ithought I never saw her look prettier than then, dressed as she was, inher Sunday's best.
'Good-evening, Ursula,' said I; 'I little thought to have the pleasure ofseeing you here.'
'Nor would you, brother,' said Ursula, 'had not Jasper told me that youhad been talking about me, and wanted to speak to me under a hedge; so,hearing that, I watched your motions, and came here and sat down.'
'I was thinking of going to my quarters in the dingle, to read the Bible,Ursula, but--'
'Oh, pray then, go to your quarters, brother, and read the Miduveleskoelil; {64} you can speak to me under a hedge some other time.'
'I think I will sit down with you, Ursula; for, after all, reading godlybooks in dingles at eve, is rather sombre work. Yes, I think I will sitdown with you;' and I sat down by her side.
'Well, brother, now you have sat down with me under the hedge, what haveyou to say to me?'
'Why, I hardly know, Ursula.'
'Not know, brother; a pretty fellow you to ask young women to come andsit with you under hedges, and, when they come, not know what to say tothem.'
'Oh! ah! I remember; do you know, Ursula, that I take a great interestin you?'
'Thank ye, brother; kind of you, at any rate.'
'You must be exposed to a great many temptations, Ursula.'
'A great many indeed, brother. It is hard to see fine things, such asshawls, gold watches, and chains in the shops, behind the big glasses,and to know that they are not intended for one. Many's the time I havebeen tempted to make a dash at them; but I bethought myself that by sodoing I should cut my hands, besides being almost certain of beinggrabbed and sent across the gull's bath to the foreign country.'
'Then you think gold and fine things temptations, Ursula?'
'Of course, brother, very great temptations; don't you think them so?'
'Can't say I do, Ursula.'
'Then more fool you, brother; but have the kindness to tell me what youwould call a temptation?'
'Why, for example, the hope of honour and renown, Ursula.'
'The hope of honour and renown! very good, brother; but I tell you onething, that unless you have money in your pocket, and good broadcloth onyour back, you are not likely to obtain much honour and--what do you callit? amongst the gorgios, to say nothing of the Romany chals.'
'I should have thought, Ursula, that the Romany chals, roaming about theworld as they do, free and independent, were above being led by suchtrifles.'
'Then you know nothing of the gypsies, brother; no people on earth arefonder of those trifles, as you call them, than the Romany chals, andmore disposed to respect those who have them.'
'Then money and fine clothes would induce you to do anything, Ursula?'
'Ay, ay; brother, anything.'
'To chore, {65a} Ursula?'
'Like enough, brother; gypsies have been transported before now forchoring.'
'To hokkawar?' {65b}
'Ay, ay, I was telling dukkerin only yesterday, brother.'
'In fact, to break the law in everything?'
'Who knows, brother, who knows? as I said before, gold and fine clothesare great temptations.'
'Well, Ursula, I am sorry for it, I should never have thought you sodepraved.'
'Indeed, brother.'
'To think that I am seated by one who is willing to--to--'
'Go on, brother.'
'To play the thief.'
'Go on, brother.'
'The liar.'
'Go on, brother.'
'The--the--'
'Go on, brother.'
'The--the lubbeny.' {66}
'The what, brother?' said Ursula, starting from her seat.
'Why, the lubbeny; don't you--'
'I tell you what, brother,' said Ursula, looking somewhat pale, andspeaking very low, 'if I had only something in my hand, I would do you amischief.'
'Why, what is the matter, Ursula?' said I; 'how have I offended you?'
'How have you offended me? Why, didn't you insinivate just now that Iwas ready to play the--the--'
'Go on, Ursula.'
'The--the--I'll not say it; but I only wish I had something in my hand.'
'If I have offended, Ursula, I am very sorry for it; any offence I mayhave given you was from want of understanding you. Come, pray be seated,I have much to question you about--to talk to you about.'
'Seated, not I! It was only just now that you gave me to understand thatyou was ashamed to be seated by me, a thief, a liar.'
'Well, did you not almost give me to understand that you were both,Ursula?'
'I don't much care being called a thief and a liar,' said Ursula, 'aperson may be a liar and a thief, and yet a very honest woman, but--'
'Well, Ursula.'
'I tell you what, brother, if you ever sinivate again that I could be thethird thing, so help me duvel! {67} I'll do you a mischief. By my God Iwill!'
'Well, Ursula, I assure you that I shall sinivate, as you call it,nothing of the kind about you. I have no doubt, from what you have said,that you are a very paragon of virtue--a perfect Lucretia; but--'
'My name is Ursula, brother, and not Lucretia: Lucretia is not of ourfamily, but one of the Bucklands; she travels about Oxfordshire; yet I amas good as she any day.'
'Lucretia! how odd! Where could she have got that name? Well, I make nodoubt, Ursula, that you are quite as good as she, and she as her namesakeof ancient Rome; but there is a mystery in this same virtue, Ursula,which I cannot fathom; how a thief and a liar should be able, or indeedwilling, to preserve her virtue is what I don't understand. You confessthat you are very fond of gold. Now, how is it that you don't barteryour virtue for gold sometimes? I am a philosopher, Ursula, and like toknow everything. You must be every now and then exposed to greattemptation, Ursula; for you are of a beauty calculated to captivate allhearts. Come, sit down and tell me how you are enabled to resist such atemptation as gold and fine clothes?'
'Well, brother,' said Ursula, 'as you say you mean no harm, I will sitdown beside you, and enter into discourse with you; but I will upholdthat you are the coolest hand that I ever came nigh, and say the coolestthings.'
And thereupon Ursula sat down by my side.
'Well, Ursula, we will, if you please, discourse on the subject of yourtemptations. I suppose that you travel very much about, and showyourself in all kinds of places?'
'In all kinds, brother; I travels, as you say, very much about, attendsfairs and races, and enters booths and public-houses, where I tellsfortunes, and sometimes dances and sings.'
'And do not people often address you in a very free manner?'
'Fr
equently, brother; and I give them tolerably free answers.'
'Do people ever offer to make you presents? I mean presents of value,such as--'
'Silk handkerchiefs, shawls, and trinkets; very frequently, brother.'
'And what do you do, Ursula?'
'I take what people offers me, brother, and stows it away as soon as Ican.'
'Well, but don't people expect something for their presents? I don'tmean dukkerin, dancing, and the like; but such a moderate and innocentthing as a choomer, {68a} Ursula?'
'Innocent thing, do you call it, brother?'
'The world calls it so, Ursula. Well, do the people who give you thefine things never expect a choomer in return?'
'Very frequently, brother.'
'And do you ever grant it?'
'Never, brother.'
'How do you avoid it?'
'I gets away as soon as possible, brother. If they follows me, I triesto baffle them, by means of jests and laughter; and if they persist, Iuses bad and terrible language, of which I have plenty in store.'
'But if your terrible language has no effect?'
'Then I screams for the constable, and if he comes not, I uses my teethand nails.'
'And are they always sufficient?'
'I have only had to use them twice, brother; but then I found themsufficient.'
'But suppose the person who followed you was highly agreeable, Ursula? Ahandsome young officer of local militia, for example, all dressed inLincoln green, would you still refuse him the choomer?'
'We makes no difference, brother; the daughters of the gypsy-father makesno difference; and, what's more, sees none.'
'Well, Ursula, the world will hardly give you credit for suchindifference.'
'What cares we for the world, brother! we are not of the world.'
'But your fathers, brothers, and uncles, give you credit I suppose,Ursula.'
'Ay, ay, brother, our fathers, brothers, and cokos {68b} gives us allmanner of credit; for example, I am telling lies and dukkerin in apublic-house where my batu {69} or coko--perhaps both--are playing on thefiddle; well, my batu and my coko beholds me amongst the public-housecrew, talking nonsense and hearing nonsense; but they are under noapprehension; and presently they sees the good-looking officer ofmilitia, in his greens and Lincolns, get up and give me a wink, and I goout with him abroad, into the dark night perhaps; well, my batu and mycoko goes on fiddling, just as if I were six miles off asleep in thetent, and not out in the dark street with the local officer, with hisLincolns and his greens.'
'They know they can trust you, Ursula?'
'Ay, ay, brother; and, what's more, I knows I can trust myself.'
'So you would merely go out to make a fool of him, Ursula?'
'Merely go out to make a fool of him, brother, I assure you.'
'But such proceedings really have an odd look, Ursula.'
'Amongst gorgios, very so, brother.'
'Well, it must be rather unpleasant to lose one's character even amongstgorgios, Ursula; and suppose the officer, out of revenge for beingtricked and duped by you, were to say of you the thing that is not, wereto meet you on the race-course the next day, and boast of receivingfavours which he never had, amidst a knot of jeering militia-men, howwould you proceed, Ursula? would you not be abashed?'
'By no means, brother; I should bring my action of law against him.'
'Your action at law, Ursula?'
'Yes, brother; I should give a whistle, whereupon all one's cokos andbatus, and all my near and distant relations, would leave their fiddling,dukkerin, and horse-dealing, and come flocking about me. "What's thematter, Ursula?" says my coko. "Nothing at all," I replies, "save andexcept that gorgio, in his greens and his Lincolns, says that I haveplayed the --- with him." "Oho, he does, Ursula," says my coko, "tryyour action of law against him, my lamb," and he puts something privilyinto my hands; whereupon I goes close up to the grinning gorgio, andstaring him in the face, with my head pushed forward, I cries out: "Yousay I did what was wrong with you last night when I was out with youabroad?" "Yes," says the local officer, "I says you did," looking downall the time. "You are a liar," says I, and forthwith I breaks his headwith the stick which I holds behind me, and which my coko has conveyedprivily into my hand.'
'And this is your action at law, Ursula?'
'Yes, brother, this is my action at club-law.'
'And would your breaking the fellow's head quite clear you of allsuspicion in the eyes of your batus, cokos, and what not?'
'They would never suspect me at all, brother, because they would knowthat I would never condescend to be over intimate with a gorgio; thebreaking the head would be merely intended to justify Ursula in the eyesof the gorgios.'
'And would it clear you in their eyes?'
'Would it not, brother? When they saw the blood running down from thefellow's cracked poll on his greens and Lincolns, they would be quitesatisfied; why the fellow would not be able to show his face at fair ormerry-making for a year and three-quarters.'
'Did you ever try it, Ursula?'
'Can't say I ever did, brother, but it would do.'
'And how did you ever learn such a method of proceeding?'
'Why 't is advised by gypsy liri, {70} brother. It's part of our way ofsettling difficulties amongst ourselves; for example, if a young Romanwere to say the thing which is not respecting Ursula and himself, Ursulawould call a great meeting of the people, who would all sit down in aring, the young fellow amongst them; a coko would then put a stick inUrsula's hand, who would then get up and go to the young fellow, and say,"Did I play the --- with you?" and were he to say "Yes," she would crackhis head before the eyes of all.'
'Well,' said I, 'Ursula, I was bred an apprentice to gorgio law, and ofcourse ought to stand up for it, whenever I conscientiously can, but Imust say the gypsy manner of bringing an action for defamation is muchless tedious, and far more satisfactory than the gorgiko one. I wish younow to clear up a certain point which is rather mysterious to me. Yousay that for a Romany chi to do what is unseemly with a gorgio, is quiteout of the question, yet only the other day I heard you singing a song inwhich a Romany chi confesses herself to be cambri {71a} by a grandgorgious gentleman.'
'A sad let down,' said Ursula.
'Well,' said I, 'sad or not, there's the song that speaks of the thing,which you give me to understand is not.'
'Well, if the thing ever was,' said Ursula, 'it was a long time ago, andperhaps after all not true.'
'Then why do you sing the song?'
'I'll tell you, brother; we sings the song now and then to be a warningto ourselves to have as little to do as possible in the way ofacquaintance with the gorgios; and a warning it is; you see how the youngwoman in the song was driven out of her tent by her mother, with all kindof disgrace and bad language; but you don't know that she was afterwardsburied alive by her cokos and pals {71b} in an uninhabited place; thesong doesn't say it, but the story says it, for there is a story aboutit, though, as I said before, it was a long time ago, and perhaps, afterall, wasn't true.'
'But if such a thing were to happen at present, would the cokos and palsbury the girl alive?'
'I can't say what they would do,' said Ursula; 'I suppose they are not sostrict as they were long ago; at any rate she would be driven from thetan, {71c} and avoided by all her family and relations as a gorgio'sacquaintance, so that, perhaps, at last, she would be glad if they wouldbury her alive.'
'Well, I can conceive that there would be an objection on the part of thecokos and batus that a Romany chi should form an improper acquaintancewith a gorgio, but I should think that the batus and cokos could hardlyobject to the chi's entering into the honourable estate of wedlock with agorgio.'
Ursula was silent.
'Marriage is an honourable estate, Ursula.'
'Well, brother, suppose it be?'
'I don't see why a Romany chi should object to enter into the honourableestate of wedlock with a gorgio.'
'You
don't, brother; don't you?'
'No,' said I, 'and, moreover, I am aware, notwithstanding your evasion,Ursula, that marriages and connections now and then occur between gorgiosand Romany chies; the result of which is the mixed breed calledhalf-and-half, which is at present travelling about England, and to whichthe Flaming Tinman belongs, otherwise called Anselo Herne.'
'As for the half-and-halfs,' said Ursula, 'they are a bad set; and thereis not a worse blackguard in England than Anselo Herne.' {72}
'All what you say may be very true, Ursula, but you admit that there arehalf-and-halfs.'
'The more's the pity, brother.'
'Pity or not, you admit the fact; but how do you account for it?'
'How do I account for it? Why, I will tell you, by the break up of aRoman family, brother--the father of a small family dies, and perhaps themother, and the poor children are left behind, sometimes they aregathered up by their relations, and sometimes, if they have none, bycharitable Romans, who bring them up in the observance of gypsy law; butsometimes they are not so lucky, and falls into the company of gorgios,trampers, and basket-makers, who live in caravans, with whom they takeup, and so--I hate to talk of the matter, brother, but so comes this raceof the half-and-halfs.'
'Then you mean to say, Ursula, that no Romany chi, unless compelled byhard necessity, would have anything to do with a gorgio?'
'We are not over fond of gorgios, brother, and we hates basket-makers,and folks that live in caravans.'
'Well,' said I, 'suppose a gorgio, who is not a basket-maker, a finehandsome gorgious gentleman, who lives in a fine house--'
'We are not fond of houses, brother, I never slept in a house in mylife.'
'But would not plenty of money induce you?'
'I hate houses, brother, and those who live in them.'
'Well, suppose such a person were willing to resign his fine house, andfor love of you to adopt gypsy law, speak Romany, and live in a tan,would you have nothing to say to him?'
'Bringing plenty of money with him, brother?'
'Well, bringing plenty of money with him, Ursula.'
'Well, brother, suppose you produce your man; where is he?'
'I was merely supposing such a person, Ursula.'
'Then you don't know of such a person, brother?'
'Why, no, Ursula; why do you ask?'
'Because, brother, I was almost beginning to think that you meantyourself.'
'Myself! Ursula; I have no fine house to resign; nor have I money.Moreover, Ursula, though I have a great regard for you, and though Iconsider you very handsome, quite as handsome, indeed, as Meridiana in--'
'Meridiana! where did you meet with her?' said Ursula, with a toss of herhead.
'Why in old Pulci's--'
'At old Fulcher's! that's not true, brother. Meridiana is a Borzlam,{73a} and travels with her own people, and not with old Fulcher, {73b}who is a gorgio, and a basket-maker.'
'I was not speaking of old Fulcher, but Pulci, a great Italian writer,who lived many hundred years ago, and who, in his poem called the"Morgante Maggiore," speaks of Meridiana, the daughter of--'
'Old Carus Borzlam,' said Ursula; 'but if the fellow you mention lived somany hundred years ago, how, in the name of wonder, could he knowanything of Meridiana?'
'The wonder, Ursula, is, how your people could ever have got hold of thatname, and similar ones. The Meridiana of Pulci was not the daughter ofold Carus Borzlam, but of Caradoro, a great pagan king of the East, who,being besieged in his capital by Manfredonio, another mighty pagan king,who wished to obtain possession of his daughter, who had refused him, wasrelieved in his distress by certain paladins of Charlemagne, with one ofwhom, Oliver, his daughter Meridiana fell in love.'
'I see,' said Ursula, 'that it must have been altogether a differentperson, for I am sure that Meridiana Borzlam would never have fallen inlove with Oliver. Oliver! why that is the name of the curo-mengro, {73c}who lost the fight near the chong gav, {74a} the day of the greattempest, when I got wet through. {74b} No, no! Meridiana Borzlam wouldnever have so far forgot her blood as to take up with Tom Oliver.'
'I was not talking of that Oliver, Ursula, but of Oliver, peer of France,and paladin of Charlemagne, with whom Meridiana, daughter of Caradoro,fell in love, and for whose sake she renounced her religion and became aChristian, and finally ingravidata, or cambri, by him:
'"E nacquene un figliuol, dice la storia, Che dette a Carlo-man poi gran vittoria:"
which means--'
'I don't want to know what it means,' said Ursula; 'no good, I'm sure.Well, if the Meridiana of Charles's wain's pal was no handsomer thanMeridiana Borzlam, she was no great catch, brother; for though I am by nomeans given to vanity, I think myself better to look at than she, thoughI will say she is no lubbeny, and would scorn--'
'I make no doubt she would, Ursula, and I make no doubt that you are muchhandsomer than she, or even the Meridiana of Oliver. What I was about tosay, before you interrupted me, is this, that though I have a greatregard for you, and highly admire you, it is only in a brotherly way,and--'
'And you had nothing better to say to me,' said Ursula, 'when you wantedto talk to me beneath a hedge, than that you liked me in a brotherly way!well, I declare--'
'You seem disappointed, Ursula.'
'Disappointed, brother! not I.'
'You were just now saying that you disliked gorgios, so, of course, couldonly wish that I, who am a gorgio, should like you in a brotherly way; Iwished to have a conversation with you beneath a hedge, but only with theview of procuring from you some information respecting the song which yousung the other day, and the conduct of Roman females, which has alwaysstruck me as being highly unaccountable, so, if you thought anythingelse--'
'What else should I expect from a picker-up of old words, brother? Bah!I dislike a picker-up of old words worse than a picker-up of old rags.'
'Don't be angry, Ursula, I feel a great interest in you; you are veryhandsome, and very clever; indeed, with your beauty and cleverness, Ionly wonder that you have not long since been married.'
'You do, do you, brother?'
'Yes. However, keep up your spirits, Ursula, you are not much past theprime of youth, so--'
'Not much past the prime of youth! Don't be uncivil, brother, I was onlytwenty-two last month.'
'Don't be offended, Ursula, but twenty-two is twenty-two, or, I shouldrather say, that twenty-two, in a woman is more than twenty-six in a man.You are still very beautiful, but I advise you to accept the first offerthat's made to you.'
'Thank you, brother, but your advice comes rather late; I accepted thefirst offer that was made me five years ago.'
'You married five years ago, Ursula! is it possible?'
'Quite possible, brother, I assure you.'
'And how came I to know nothing about it?'
'How comes it that you don't know many thousand things about the Romans,brother? Do you think they tell you all their affairs?'
'Married Ursula! married! Well, I declare!'
'You seem disappointed, brother.'
'Disappointed! Oh! no, not at all; but Jasper, only a few weeks ago,told me that you were not married; and, indeed, almost gave me tounderstand that you would be very glad to get a husband.'
'And you believed him? I'll tell you, brother, for your instruction,that there is not in the whole world a greater liar than JasperPetulengro.'
'I am sorry to hear it, Ursula; but with respect to him you married--whomight he be? A gorgio, or a Romany chal?'
'Gorgio, or Romany chal? Do you think I would ever condescend to agorgio? It was a Camomescro, {75} brother, a Lovell, a distant relationof my own.'
'And where is he, and what became of him? Have you any family?'
'Don't think I am going to tell you all my history, brother; and, to tellyou the truth, I am tired of sitting under hedges with you, talkingnonsense. I shall go to my house.'
'Do sit a little longer, sister Ursula. I most heartily congra
tulate youon your marriage. But where is this same Lovell? I have never seen him:I should wish to congratulate him, too. You are quite as handsome as theMeridiana of Pulci, Ursula, ay, or the Despina of Riciardetto.Riciardetto, Ursula, is a poem written by one Fortiguerra, about ninetyyears ago, in imitation of the Morgante of Pulci. It treats of the warsof Charlemagne and his Paladins with various barbarous nations, who cameto besiege Paris. Despina was the daughter and heiress of Scricca, Kingof Cafria; she was the beloved of Riciardetto, and was beautiful as anangel; but I make no doubt you are quite as handsome as she.'
'Brother,' said Ursula--but the reply of Ursula I reserve for anotherchapter, the present having attained to rather an uncommon length, forwhich, however, the importance of the matter discussed is a sufficientapology.
The Romany Rye Page 15
