robert falconer-第39节

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sunlight　which　burned　on　the　brown　clay　floor。　　All　was　still　as

death。　　And　he　felt　the　white…washed　walls　even　more　desolate　than

if　they　had　been　smoke…begrimed。



Looking　about　him；　he　found　over　his　head　something　which　he　did　not

understand。　　It　was　as　big　as　the　stump　of　a　great　tree。　　Apparently

it　belonged　to　the　structure　of　the　cottage；　but　he　could　not；　in

the　imperfect　light；　and　the　dazzling　of　the　sun…spot　at　which　he

had　been　staring；　make　out　what　it　was；　or　how　it　came　to　be　up

thereunsupported　as　far　as　he　could　see。　　He　rose　to　examine　it；

lifted　a　bit　of　tarpaulin　which　hung　before　it；　and　found　a　rickety

box；　suspended　by　a　rope　from　a　great　nail　in　the　wall。　　It　had　two

shelves　in　it　full　of　books。



Now；　although　there　were　more　books　in　Mr。　Lammie's　house　than　in

his　grandmother's；　the　only　one　he　had　found　that　in　the　least

enticed　him　to　read；　was　a　translation　of　George　Buchanan's　History

of　Scotland。　　This　he　had　begun　to　read　faithfully；　believing　every

word　of　it；　but　had　at　last　broken　down　at　the　fiftieth　king　or　so。

Imagine；　then；　the　moon　that　arose　on　the　boy　when；　having　pulled　a

ragged　and　thumb…worn　book　from　among　those　of　James　Hewson　the

cottar；　he；　for　the　first　time；　found　himself　in　the　midst　of　The

Arabian　Nights。　　I　shrink　from　all　attempt　to　set　forth　in　words　the

rainbow…coloured　delight　that　coruscated　in　his　brain。　　When　Jessie

Hewson　returned；　she　found　him　seated　where　she　had　left　him；　so

buried　in　his　volume　that　he　did　not　lift　his　head　when　she　entered。



'Ye　hae　gotten　a　buik；'　she　said。



'Ay　have　I；'　answered　Robert；　decisively。



'It's　a　fine　buik；　that。　　Did　ye　ever　see　't　afore？'



'Na；　never。'



'There's　three　wolums　o'　't　about；　here　and　there；'　said　Jessie；　and

with　the　child　on　one　arm；　she　proceeded　with　the　other　hand　to

search　for　them　in　the　crap　o'　the　wa'；　that　is；　on　the　top　of　the

wall　where　the　rafters　rest。



There　she　found　two　or　three　books；　which；　after　examining　them；　she

placed　on　the　dresser　beside　Robert。



'There's　nane　o'　them　there；'　she　said；　'but　maybe　ye　wad　like　to

luik　at　that　anes。'



Robert　thanked　her；　but　was　too　busy　to　feel　the　least　curiosity

about　any　book　in　the　world　but　the　one　he　was　reading。　　He　read　on；

heart　and　soul　and　mind　absorbed　in　the　marvels　of　the　eastern

skald；　the　stories　told　in　the　streets　of　Cairo；　amidst　gorgeous

costumes；　and　camels；　and　white…veiled　women；　vibrating　here　in　the

heart　of　a　Scotch　boy；　in　the　darkest　corner　of　a　mud　cottage；　at

the　foot　of　a　hill　of　cold…loving　pines；　with　a　barefooted　girl　and

a　baby　for　his　companions。



But　the　pleasure　he　had　been　having　was　of　a　sort　rather　to　expedite

than　to　delay　the　subjective　arrival　of　dinner…time。　　There　was；

however；　happily　no　occasion　to　go　home　in　order　to　appease　his

hunger；　he　had　but　to　join　the　men　and　women　in　the　barley…field：

there　was　sure　to　be　enough；　for　Miss　Lammie　was　at　the　head　of　the

commissariat。



When　he　had　had　as　much　milk…porridge　as　he　could　eat；　and　a　good

slice　of　swack　（elastic）　cheese；　with　a　cap　（wooden　bowl）　of　ale；

all　of　which　he　consumed　as　if　the　good　of　them　lay　in　the　haste　of

their　appropriation；　he　hurried　back　to　the　cottage；　and　sat　there

reading　The　Arabian　Nights；　till　the　sun　went　down　in　the

orange…hued　west；　and　the　gloamin'　came；　and　with　it　the　reapers；

John　and　Elspet　Hewson；　and　their　son　George；　to　their　supper　and

early　bed。



John　was　a　cheerful；　rough；　Roman…nosed；　black…eyed　man；　who　took

snuff　largely；　and　was　not　careful　to　remove　the　traces　of　the

habit。　　He　had　a　loud　voice；　and　an　original　way　of　regarding

things；　which；　with　his　vivacity；　made　every　remark　sound　like　the

proclamation　of　a　discovery。



'Are　ye　there；　Robert？'　said　he；　as　he　entered。　　Robert　rose；

absorbed　and　silent。



'He's　been　here　a'　day；　readin'　like　a　colliginer；'　said　Jessie。



'What　are　ye　readin'　sae　eident　（diligent）；　man？'　asked　John。



'A　buik　o'　stories；　here；'　answered　Robert；　carelessly；　shy　of　being

supposed　so　much　engrossed　with　them　as　he　really　was。



I　should　never　expect　much　of　a　young　poet　who　was　not　rather

ashamed　of　the　distinction　which　yet　he　chiefly　coveted。　　There　is　a

modesty　in　all　young　delight。　　It　is　wild　and　shy；　and　would　hide

itself；　like　a　boy's　or　maiden's　first　love；　from　the　gaze　of　the

people。　　Something　like　this　was　Robert's　feeling　over　The　Arabian

Nights。



'Ay；'　said　John；　taking　snuff　from　a　small　bone　spoon；　'it's　a　gran'

buik　that。　　But　my　son　Charley；　him　'at　's　deid　an'　gane　hame；　wad

hae　tell't　ye　it　was　idle　time　readin'　that；　wi'　sic　a　buik　as　that

ither　lyin'　at　yer　elbuck。'



He　pointed　to　one　of　the　books　Jessie　had　taken　from　the　crap　o'　the

wa'　and　laid　down　beside　him　on　the　well…scoured　dresser。　　Robert

took　up　the　volume　and　opened　it。　　There　was　no　title…page。



'The　Tempest？'　he　said。　'What　is　't？　　Poetry？'



'Ay　is　't。　　It's　Shackspear。'



'I　hae　heard　o'　him；'　said　Robert。　'What　was　he？'



'A　player　kin'　o'　a　chiel'；　wi'　an　unco　sicht　o'　brains；'　answered

John。　'He　cudna　hae　had　muckle　time　to　gang　skelpin'　and　sornin'

aboot　the　country　like　maist　o'　thae　cattle；　gin　he　vrote　a'　that；

I'm　thinkin'。'



'Whaur　did　he　bide？'



'Awa'　in　Englan'maistly　aboot　Lonnon；　I'm　thinkin'。　　That's　the

place　for　a'　by…ordinar　fowk；　they　tell　me。'



'Hoo　lang　is　't　sin　he　deid？'



'I　dinna　ken。　　A　hunner　year　or　twa；　I　s'　warran'。　　It's　a　lang

time。　　But　I'm　thinkin'　fowk　than　was　jist　something　like　what　they

are　noo。　　But　I　ken　unco　little　aboot　him；　for　the　prent　's　some

sma'；　and　I'm　some　ill　for　losin'　my　characters；　and　sae　I　dinna　win

that　far　benn　wi'　him。　　Geordie　there　'll　tell　ye　mair　aboot　him。'



But　George　Hewson　had　not　much　to　communicate；　for　he　had　but　lately

landed　in　Shakspere's　country；　and　had　got　but　a　little　way　inland

yet。　　Nor　did　Robert　much　care；　for　his　head　was　full　of　The　Arabian

Nights。　　This；　however；　was　his　first　introduction　to　Shakspere。



Finding　himself　much　at　home；　he　stopped　yet　a　while；　shared　in　the

supper；　and　resumed　his　seat　in　the　corner　when　the　book　was　brought

out　for　worship。　　The　iron　lamp；　with　its　wick　of　rush…pith；　which

hung　against　the　side　of　the　chimney；　was　lighted；　and　John　sat　down

to　read。　　But　as　his　eyes　and　the　print；　too；　had　grown　a　little　dim

with　years；　the　lamp　was　not　enough；　and　he　asked　for　a

'fir…can'le。'　　A　splint　of　fir　dug　from　the　peat…bog　was　handed　to

him。　　He　lighted　it　at　the　lamp；　and　held　it　in　his　hand　over　the

page。　　Its　clear　resinous　flame　enabled　him　to　read　a　short　psalm。

Then　they　sang　a　most　wailful　tune；　and　John　prayed。　　If　I　were　to

give　the　prayer　as　he　uttered　it；　I　might　make　my　reader　laugh；

therefore　I　abstain；　assuring　him　only　that；　although　full　of　long

wordsamongst　the　rest；　aspiration　and　ravishmentthe　prayer　of

the　cheerful；　joke…loving　cottar　contained　evidence　of　a　degree　of

religious　development　rare；　I　doubt；　amongst　bishops。



When　Robert　left　the　cottage；　he　found　the　sky　partly　clouded　and

the　air　cold。　　The　nearest　way　home　was　across　the　barley…stubble　of

the　day's　reaping；　which　lay　under　a　little　hill　covered　with

various　species　of　the　pine。　　His　own　soul；　after　the　restful　day　he

had　spent；　and　under　the　reaction　from　the　new　excitement　of　the

stories　he　had　been　reading；　was　like　a　quiet；　moonless　night。　　The

thought　of　his　mother　came　back　upon　him；　and　her　written　words；　'O

Lord；　my　heart　is　very　sore'；　and　the　thought　of　his　father　followed

that；　and　he　limped　slowly　home；　laden　with　mournfulness。　　As　he

reached　the　middle　of　the　field；　the　wind　was　suddenly　there　with　a

low　sough　from　out　of　the　north…west。　　The　heads　of　barley　in　the

sheaves　leaned　away　with　a　soft　rustling　from　before　it；　and　Robert

felt　for　the　first　time　the　sadness　of　a　harvest…field。　　Then　the

wind　swept　away　to　the　pine…covered　hill；　and　raised　a　rushing　and　a

wailing　amongst　its　thin…clad　branches；　and　to　the　ear　of　Robert　the

trees　were　singing　over　again　in　their　night　solitudes　the　air　sung

by　the　cottar's　family。　　When　he　looked　to　the　north…west；　whence

the　wind　came；　he　saw　nothing　but　a　pale　cleft　in　the　sky。　　The

meaning；　the　music　of　the　night　awoke　in　his　soul；　he　forgot　his

lame　foot；　and　the　weight　of　Mr。　Lammie's　great　boots；　ran　home　and

up　the　stair　to　his　own　room；　seized　his　violin　with　eager　haste；

nor　laid　it　down　again　till　he　could　draw　from　it；　at　will；　a　sound

like　the　moaning　of　the　wind　over　the　stubble…field。　　Then　he　knew

that　he　could　play　the　Flowers　of　the　Forest。　　The　Wind　that　Shakes

the　Barley　cannot　have　been　named　from　the　barley　after　it　was　cut；

but　while　it　stood　in　the　field：　the　Flowers　of　the　Forest　was　of

the　gathered　harvest。



He　tried　the　air　once　over　in　the　dark；　and　then　carried　his　violin

down　to　the　room　where　Mr。　and　Miss　Lammie　sat。