weir of hermiston-第15部分

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and　radiating　an　influence　from　their　low…browed　doors。　　He　knew　besides　

they　were　like　other　men；　below　the　crust　of　custom；　rapture　found　a　

way；　he　had　heard　them　beat　the　timbrel　before　Bacchus　…　had　heard　them　

shout　and　carouse　over　their　whisky…toddy；　and　not　the　most　Dutch…

bottomed　and　severe　faces　among　them　all；　not　even　the　solemn　elders　

themselves；　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　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　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　him；　and　no　hesitation　in　pronouncing　him　

vulgar；　the　worst　of　the　family。　　Clem　was　leaning　lazily　forward　when　

Archie　first　saw　him。　　Presently　he　leaned　nonchalantly　back；　and　that　

deadly　instrument；　the　maiden；　was　suddenly　unmasked　in　profile。　　Though　

not　quite　in　the　front　of　the　fashion　（had　anybody　cared！）；　certain　

artful　Glasgow　mantua…makers；　and　her　own　inherent　taste；　had　arrayed　

her　to　great　advantage。　　Her　accoutrement　was；　indeed；　a　cause　of　heart…

burning；　and　almost　of　scandal；　in　that　infinitesimal　kirk　company。　　

Mrs。　Hob　had　said　her　say　at　Cauldstaneslap。　　〃Daft…like！〃　she　had　

pronounced　it。　　〃A　jaiket　that'll　no　meet！　　Whaur's　the　sense　of　a　

jaiket　that'll　no　button　upon　you；　if　it　should　come　to　be　weet？　　What　

do　ye　ca'　thir　things？　　Demmy　brokens；　d'ye　say？　　They'll　be　brokens　wi'　

a　vengeance　or　ye　can　win　back！　　Weel；　I　have　nae　thing　to　do　wi'　it　…　

it's　no　good　taste。〃　　Clem；　whose　purse　had　thus　metamorphosed　his　

sister；　and　who　was　not　insensible　to　the　advertisement；　had　come　to　the　

rescue　with　a　〃Hoot；　woman！　　What　do　you　ken　of　good　taste　that　has　

never　been　to　the　ceety？〃　　And　Hob；　looking　on　the　girl　with　pleased　

smiles；　as　she　timidly　displayed　her　finery　in　the　midst　of　the　dark　

kitchen；　had　thus　ended　the　dispute：　〃The　cutty　looks　weel；〃　he　had　

said；　〃and　it's　no　very　like　rain。　　Wear　them　the　day；　hizzie；　but　it's　

no　a　thing　to　make　a　practice　o'。〃　　In　the　breasts　of　her　rivals；　coming　

to　the　kirk　very　conscious　of　white　under…linen；　and　their　faces　

splendid　with　much　soap；　the　sight　of　the　toilet　had　raised　a　storm　of　

varying　emotion；　from　the　mere　unenvious　admiration　that　was　expressed　

in　a　long…drawn　〃Eh！〃　to　the　angrier　feeling　that　found　vent　in　an　

emphatic　〃Set　her　up！〃　　Her　frock　was　of　straw…coloured　jaconet　muslin；　

cut　low　at　the　bosom　and　short　at　the　ankle；　so　as　to　display　her　DEMI…

BROQUINS　of　Regency　violet；　crossing　with　many　straps　upon　a　yellow　

cobweb　stocking。　　According　to　the　pretty　fashion　in　which　our　

grandmothers　did　not　hesitate　to　appear；　and　our　great…aunts　went　forth　

armed　for　the　pursuit　and　capt