weir of hermiston(赫米斯顿的魏尔)-第19节
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but were capable of singular gambols at the voice of love。 Men drawing
near to an end of life's adventurous journey … maids thrilling with fear and
curiosity on the threshold of entrance … women who had borne and perhaps
buried children； who could remember the clinging of the small dead hands
and the patter of the little feet now silent … he marvelled that among all
those faces there should be no face of expectation； none that was mobile；
none into which the rhythm and poetry of life had entered。 〃O for a live
face；〃 he thought； and at times he had a memory of Lady Flora； and at
times he would study the living gallery before him with despair； and
would see himself go on to waste his days in that joyless pastoral place；
and death come to him； and his grave be dug under the rowans； and the
Spirit of the Earth laugh out in a thunder…peal at the huge fiasco。
On this particular Sunday； there was no doubt but that the spring had
come at last。 It was warm； with a latent shiver in the air that made the
warmth only the more welcome。 The shallows of the stream glittered and
tinkled among bunches of primrose。 Vagrant scents of the earth arrested
Archie by the way with moments of ethereal intoxication。 The grey
Quakerish dale was still only awakened in places and patches from the
sobriety of its winter colouring； and he wondered at its beauty； an essential
beauty of the old earth it seemed to him； not resident in particulars but
breathing to him from the whole。 He surprised himself by a sudden
impulse to write poetry … he did so sometimes； loose； galloping octo…
syllabics in the vein of Scott … and when he had taken his place on a
boulder； near some fairy falls and shaded by a whip of a tree that was
already radiant with new leaves； it still more surprised him that he should
have nothing to write。 His heart perhaps beat in time to some vast
indwelling rhythm of the universe。 By the time he came to a corner of the
valley and could see the kirk； he had so lingered by the way that the first
psalm was finishing。 The nasal psalmody； full of turns and trills and
graceless graces； seemed the essential voice of the kirk itself upraised in
thanksgiving； 〃Everything's alive；〃 he said； and again cries it aloud； 〃thank
God； everything's alive！〃 He lingered yet a while in the kirk…yard。 A tuft of
primroses was blooming hard by the leg of an old black table tombstone；
and he stopped to contemplate the random apologue。 They stood forth on
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the cold earth with a trenchancy of contrast； and he was struck with a
sense of incompleteness in the day； the season； and the beauty that
surrounded him … the chill there was in the warmth； the gross black clods
about the opening primroses； the damp earthy smell that was everywhere
intermingled with the scents。 The voice of the aged Torrance within rose in
an ecstasy。 And he wondered if Torrance also felt in his old bones the
joyous influence of the spring morning； Torrance； or the shadow of what
once was Torrance； that must come so soon to lie outside here in the sun
and rain with all his rheumatisms； while a new minister stood in his room
and thundered from his own familiar pulpit？ The pity of it； and something
of the chill of the grave； shook him for a moment as he made haste to
enter。
He went up the aisle reverently； and took his place in the pew with
lowered eyes； for he feared he had already offended the kind old
gentleman in the pulpit； and was sedulous to offend no further。 He could
not follow the prayer； not even the heads of it。 Brightnesses of azure；
clouds of fragrance； a tinkle of falling water and singing birds； rose like
exhalations from some deeper； aboriginal memory； that was not his； but
belonged to the flesh on his bones。 His body remembered； and it seemed
to him that his body was in no way gross； but ethereal and perishable like
a strain of music； and he felt for it an exquisite tenderness as for a child；
an innocent； full of beautiful instincts and destined to an early death。 And
he felt for old Torrance … of the many supplications； of the few days … a
pity that was near to tears。 The prayer ended。 Right over him was a tablet
in the wall； the only ornament in the roughly masoned chapel … for it was
no more； the tablet commemorated； I was about to say the virtues； but
rather the existence of a former Rutherford of Hermiston； and Archie；
under that trophy of his long descent and local greatness； leaned back in
the pew and contemplated vacancy with the shadow of a smile between
playful and sad； that became him strangely。 Dandie's sister； sitting by the
side of Clem in her new Glasgow finery； chose that moment to observe the
young laird。 Aware of the stir of his entrance； the little formalist had kept
her eyes fastened and her face prettily composed during the prayer。 It was
not hypocrisy； there was no one further from a hypocrite。 The girl had
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been taught to behave： to look up； to look down； to look unconscious； to
look seriously impressed in church； and in every conjuncture to look her
best。 That was the game of female life； and she played it frankly。 Archie
was the one person in church who was of interest； who was somebody new；
reputed eccentric； known to be young； and a laird； and still unseen by
Christina。 Small wonder that； as she stood there in her attitude of pretty
decency； her mind should run upon him！ If he spared a glance in her
direction； he should know she was a well…behaved young lady who had
been to Glasgow。 In reason he must admire her clothes； and it was possible
that he should think her pretty。 At that her heart beat the least thing in the
world； and she proceeded； by way of a corrective； to call up and dismiss a
series of fancied pictures of the young man who should now； by rights； be
looking at her。 She settled on the plainest of them； … a pink short young
man with a dish face and no figure； at whose admiration she could afford
to smile； but for all that； the consciousness of his gaze （which was really
fixed on Torrance and his mittens） kept her in something of a flutter till the
word Amen。 Even then； she was far too well…bred to gratify her curiosity
with any impatience。 She resumed her seat languidly … this was a Glasgow
touch … she composed her dress； rearranged her nosegay of primroses；
looked first in front； then behind upon the other side； and at last allowed
her eyes to move； without hurry； in the direction of the Hermiston pew。
For a moment； they were riveted。 Next she had plucked her gaze home
again like a tame bird who should have meditated flight。 Possibilities
crowded on her； she hung over the future and grew dizzy； the image of
this young man； slim； graceful； dark； with the inscrutable half…smile；
attracted and repelled her like a chasm。 〃I wonder； will I have met my
fate？〃 she thought； and her heart swelled。
Torrance was got some way into his first exposition； positing a deep
layer of texts as he went along； laying the foundations of his discourse；
which was to deal with a nice point in divinity； before Archie suffered his
eyes to wander。 They fell first of all on Clem； looking insupportably
prosperous； and patronising Torrance with the favour of a modified
attention； as of one who was used to better things in Glasgow。 Though he
had never before set eyes on him； Archie had no difficulty in identifying
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him； and no hesitation in pronouncing him vulgar； the worst of the family。
Clem was leaning
