weir of hermiston-第2节

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fluttering；　at　each　dish；　as　at　a　fresh　ordeal；　her　eye　hovered　toward　

my　lord's　countenance　and　fell　again；　if　he　but　ate　in　silence；　

unspeakable　relief　was　her　portion；　if　there　were　complaint；　the　world　

was　darkened。　　She　would　seek　out　the　cook；　who　was　always　her　SISTER　IN　

THE　LORD。　　〃O；　my　dear；　this　is　the　most　dreidful　thing　that　my　lord　can　

never　be　contented　in　his　own　house！〃　she　would　begin；　and　weep　and　pray　

with　the　cook；　and　then　the　cook　would　pray　with　Mrs。　Weir；　and　the　next　

day's　meal　would　never　be　a　penny　the　better　…　and　the　next　cook　（when　

she　came）　would　be　worse；　if　anything；　but　just　as　pious。　　It　was　often　

wondered　that　Lord　Hermiston　bore　it　as　he　did；　indeed；　he　was　a　stoical　

old　voluptuary；　contented　with　sound　wine　and　plenty　of　it。　　But　there　

were　moments　when　he　overflowed。　　Perhaps　half　a　dozen　times　in　the　

history　of　his　married　life　…　〃Here！　tak'　it　awa'；　and　bring　me　a　piece　

bread　and　kebbuck！〃　he　had　exclaimed；　with　an　appalling　explosion　of　his　

voice　and　rare　gestures。　　None　thought　to　dispute　or　to　make　excuses；　

the　service　was　arrested；　Mrs。　Weir　sat　at　the　head　of　the　table　

whimpering　without　disguise；　and　his　lordship　opposite　munched　his　bread　

and　cheese　in　ostentatious　disregard。　　Once　only；　Mrs。　Weir　had　ventured　

to　appeal。　　He　was　passing　her　chair　on　his　way　into　the　study。



〃O；　Edom！〃　she　wailed；　in　a　voice　tragic　with　tears；　and　reaching　out　to　

him　both　hands；　in　one　of　which　she　held　a　sopping　pocket…handkerchief。



He　paused　and　looked　upon　her　with　a　face　of　wrath；　into　which　there　

stole；　as　he　looked；　a　twinkle　of　humour。



〃Noansense！〃　he　said。　　〃You　and　your　noansense！　　What　do　I　want　with　a　

Christian　faim'ly？　　I　want　Christian　broth！　　Get　me　a　lass　that　can　

plain…boil　a　potato；　if　she　was　a　whure　off　the　streets。〃　　And　with　

these　words；　which　echoed　in　her　tender　ears　like　blasphemy；　he　had　

passed　on　to　his　study　and　shut　the　door　behind　him。



Such　was　the　housewifery　in　George　Square。　　It　was　better　at　Hermiston；　

where　Kirstie　Elliott；　the　sister　of　a　neighbouring　bonnet…laird；　and　an　

eighteenth　cousin　of　the　lady's；　bore　the　charge　of　all；　and　kept　a　trim　

house　and　a　good　country　table。　　Kirstie　was　a　woman　in　a　thousand；　

clean；　capable；　notable；　once　a　moorland　Helen；　and　still　comely　as　a　

blood　horse　and　healthy　as　the　hill　wind。　　High　in　flesh　and　voice　and　

colour；　she　ran　the　house　with　her　whole　intemperate　soul；　in　a　bustle；　

not　without　buffets。　　Scarce　more　pious　than　decency　in　those　days　

required；　she　was　the　cause　of　many　an　anxious　thought　and　many　a　

tearful　prayer　to　Mrs。　Weir。　　Housekeeper　and　mistress　renewed　the　parts　

of　Martha　and　Mary；　and　though　with　a　pricking　conscience；　Mary　reposed　

on　Martha's　strength　as　on　a　rock。　　Even　Lord　Hermiston　held　Kirstie　in　

a　particular　regard。　　There　were　few　with　whom　he　unbent　so　gladly；　few　

whom　he　favoured　with　so　many　pleasantries。　　〃Kirstie　and　me　maun　have　

our　joke；〃　he　would　declare　in　high　good…humour；　as　he　buttered　

Kirstie's　scones；　and　she　waited　at　table。　　A　man　who　had　no　need　either　

of　love　or　of　popularity；　a　keen　reader　of　men　and　of　events；　there　was　

perhaps　only　one　truth　for　which　he　was　quite　unprepared：　he　would　have　

been　quite　unprepared　to　learn　that　Kirstie　hated　him。　　He　thought　maid　

and　master　were　well　matched；　hard；　bandy；　healthy；　broad　Scots　folk；　

without　a　hair　of　nonsense　to　the　pair　of　them。　　And　the　fact　was　that　

she　made　a　goddess　and　an　only　child　of　the　effete　and　tearful　lady；　and　

even　as　she　waited　at　table　her　hands　would　sometimes　itch　for　my　lord's　

ears。



Thus；　at　least；　when　the　family　were　at　Hermiston；　not　only　my　lord；　but　

Mrs。　Weir　too；　enjoyed　a　holiday。　　Free　from　the　dreadful　looking…for　of　

the　miscarried　dinner；　she　would　mind　her　seam；　read　her　piety　books；　

and　take　her　walk　（which　was　my　lord's　orders）；　sometimes　by　herself；　

sometimes　with　Archie；　the　only　child　of　that　scarce　natural　union。　　The　

child　was　her　next　bond　to　life。　　Her　frosted　sentiment　bloomed　again；　

she　breathed　deep　of　life；　she　let　loose　her　heart；　in　that　society。　　

The　miracle　of　her　motherhood　was　ever　new　to　her。　　The　sight　of　the　

little　man　at　her　skirt　intoxicated　her　with　the　sense　of　power；　and　

froze　her　with　the　consciousness　of　her　responsibility。　　She　looked　

forward；　and；　seeing　him　in　fancy　grow　up　and　play　his　diverse　part　on　

the　world's　theatre；　caught　in　her　breath　and　lifted　up　her　courage　with　

a　lively　effort。　　It　was　only　with　the　child　that　she　forgot　herself　and　

was　at　moments　natural；　yet　it　was　only　with　the　child　that　she　had　

conceived　and　managed　to　pursue　a　scheme　of　conduct。　　Archie　was　to　be　a　

great　man　and　a　good；　a　minister　if　possible；　a　saint　for　certain。　　She　

tried　to　engage　his　mind　upon　her　favourite　books；　Rutherford's　LETTERS；　

Scougalls　GRACE　ABOUNDING；　and　the　like。　　It　was　a　common　practice　of　

hers　（and　strange　to　remember　now）　that　she　would　carry　the　child　to　the　

Deil's　Hags；　sit　with　him　on　the　Praying　Weaver's　stone；　and　talk　of　the　

Covenanters　till　their　tears　ran　down。　　Her　view　of　history　was　wholly　

artless；　a　design　in　snow　and　ink；　upon　the　one　side；　tender　innocents　

with　psalms　upon　their　lips；　upon　the　other；　the　persecutors；　booted；　

bloody…minded；　flushed　with　wine：　a　suffering　Christ；　a　raging　

Beelzebub。　　PERSECUTOR　was　a　word　that　knocked　upon　the　woman's　heart；　

it　was　her　highest　thought　of　wickedness；　and　the　mark　of　it　was　on　her　

house。　　Her　great…great…grandfather　had　drawn　the　sword　against　the　

Lord's　anointed　on　the　field　of　Rullion　Green；　and　breathed　his　last　

（tradition　said）　in　the　arms　of　the　detestable　Dalyell。　　Nor　could　she　

blind　herself　to　this；　that　had　they　lived　in　those　old　days；　Hermiston　

himself　would　have　been　numbered　alongside　of　Bloody　MacKenzie　and　the　

politic　Lauderdale　and　Rothes；　in　the　band　of　God's　immediate　enemies。　　

The　sense　of　this　moved　her　to　the　more　fervour；　she　had　a　voice　for　

that　name　of　PERSECUTOR　that　thrilled　in　the　child's　marrow；　and　when　

one　day　the　mob　hooted　and　hissed　them　all　in　my　lord's　travelling　

carriage；　and　cried；　〃Down　with　the　persecutor！　down　with　Hanging　

Hermiston！〃　and　mamma　covered　her　eyes　and　wept；　and　papa　let　down　the　

glass　and　looked　out　upon　the　rabble　with　his　droll　formidable　face；　

bitter　and　smiling；　as　they　said　he　sometimes　looked　when　he　gave　

sentence；　Archie　was　for　the　moment　too　much　amazed　to　be　alarmed；　but　

he　had　scarce　got　his　mother　by　herself　before　his　shrill　voice　was　

raised　demanding　an　explanation：　why　had　they　called　papa　a　persecutor？



〃Keep　me；　my　precious！〃　she　exclaimed。　　〃Keep　me；　my　dear！　this　is　

poleetical。　　Ye　must　never　ask　me　anything　poleetical；　Erchie。　　Your　

faither　is　a　great　man；　my　dear；　and　it's　no　for　me　or　you　to　be　judging　

him。　　It　would　be　telling　us　all；　if　we　behaved　ourselves　in　our　several　

stations　the　way　your　faither　does　in　his　high　office；　and　let　me　hear　

no　more　of　any　such　disrespectful　and　undutiful　questions！　　No　that　you　

meant　to　be　undutiful；　my　lamb；　your　mother　kens　that　…　she　kens　it　

well；　dearie！〃　　And　so　slid　off　to　safer　topics；　and　left　on　the　mind　of　

the　child　an　obscure　but　ineradicable　sense　of　something　wrong。



Mrs。　Weir's　philosophy　of　life　was　summed　in　one　expression　…　

tenderness。　　In　her　view　of　the　universe；　which　was　all　lighted　up　with　

a　glow　out　of　the　doors　of　hell；　good　people　must　walk　there　in　a　kind　

of　ecstasy　of　tenderness。　　The　beasts　and　plants　had　no　souls；　they　were　

here　but　for　a　day；　and　let　their　day　pass　gently！　　And　as　for　the　

immortal　men；　on　what　black；　downward　path　were　many　of　them　wending；　

and　to　what　a　horror　of　an　immortality！　　〃Are　not　two　sparrows；〃　

〃Whosoever　shall　smite　thee；〃　〃God　sendeth　His　rain；〃　〃Judge　not；　that　

ye　be　not　judged〃　…　these　texts　made　her　body　of　divinity；　she　put　them　

on　in　the　morning　with　her　clothes　and　lay　down　to　sleep　with　them　at　

night；　they　haunted　her　like　a　favourite　air；　they　clung　about　her　like　

a　favourite　perfume。　　Their　minister　was　a　marrowy　expounder　of　the　law；　

and　my　lord　sat　under　him　with　relish；　but　Mrs。　Weir　respected　him　from　

far　off；　heard　him　（like　the　cannon　of　a　beleaguered　city）　usefully　

booming　outside　on　the　dogmatic　ramparts；　and　meanwhile；　within　and　out　

of　shot；　dwelt　in　her　private　garden　which　she　watered　with　grateful　

tears。　　It　seems　strange　to　say　of　this　colourless　and　ineffectual　

woman；　but　she　was　a　true　enthusiast；　and　might　have　made　the　sunshine　

and　the　glory　of　a　cloister。　　Perhaps　none　but　Archie　knew　she　could　be　

eloquent；　perhaps　none　but　he　had　seen　her　…　her　colour　raised；　her　

hands　clasped　or　quivering　…　glow　with　gentle　ardour。　　There　is　a　corner　

of　the　policy　of　Hermiston；　where　you　come　suddenly　in　view　of　the　

summit　of　Black　Fell；　sometimes　like　the　mere　grass　top　of　a　hill；　

sometimes　（and　this　is　her　own　expr