Grandpapa was a sombre-visaged little gentleman, not in the least like his formidable daughter. He had very dark eyes, and he often assured me that Stevie got his beautiful red-brown hair from him. I needed the assurance pretty frequently, for grandpapa's hair was white. He proudly drew my attention to the fact that there was not a bald spot, however.
In all ordinary matters of existence, grandpapa was of a happy facility. He tolerated every error, every crime, I believe, except a false note or an inferior taste in music. He loved me, not because of the accuracy of my ear, for I had none to speak of, but because of my instinctive3 passion for music. Still, in middle life, I can say there never has been for me a grief that could resist the consolation4 of music well interpreted.
If grandpapa found me in a corner white and dejected, he asked no questions,—he wished to be in ignorance of his daughter's domestic affairs, which was the reason, I suppose, he so sedulously5 avoided the society of my stepfather—but he took me off with him to hear music or singing somewhere. In winter he took me to the pantomime, and we sat in the pit, and he indulged me with an orange to suck.
In the Dublin season he took me to the Opera or the Opera-Bouffe with equal readiness. Sometimes there were morning or afternoon concerts, and I sat out with exemplary gravity sonatas6 and concerts or part-singing, and woke up to genial7 comprehension of the ballads8 and simple melodies.
Grandpapa had one great charm. He never spoke9 to me as a child, and I rarely understood the tenth of his talk. That was why, no doubt, as a personage grandpapa appealed so delightfully10 to my imagination. He was a mystery, a[Pg 51] problem, a permanent excitement. A month or a year—perhaps, to be more accurate, a month—would elapse without my seeing him, and then suddenly he would again enter the chaos11 of dreams and visions, a smiling dark-eyed old gentleman, with a long black cloak flung round his shoulder and a slouched felt hat that left revealed his abundant white hair.
He would place a finger on his lip and say, "Hush12!" so mysteriously, looking round the room. How well I, who lived in such fear of my mother's presence, understood that attitude and look.
I have since been assured that grandpapa was a harmless lunatic. If so, he made lunacy more attractive to a child than sanity13.
"Hush! I have that to say to you, child, which common ears may not hear. These people call me Cameron. But, Angela, my real name is Hamlet. I was born at Elsinore. I will take you to Elsinore some day. It is far away in a country called Denmark. You yourself, Angela, look like a Dane, with your yellow hair and blue eyes. Come, there is a concert at Earlsfort Terrace. They play Bach. I will take you."
Could anything be more calculated to win a child's esteem14 and reverence15 than this assertion[Pg 52] that the world knew him by a false name?—that he was really quite another person from the person they believed him to be? Then, what sonorous16 words, Hamlet, Elsinore! Denmark I liked less—it sounded more like an everyday place—but Elsinore was as good as a fairy-tale in its awful beauty.
I asked him if you went in a ship over the sea to Elsinore, as Mary Jane told me you went to America; and when he nodded and said "Yes," I got to imagine there was no common sunlight on the sea as the ship crossed it to Elsinore, but the lovely white light I had seen at the theatre when the fairies danced, and all the people in the ship wore beautiful garments of white and green gauze, and there was soft music all the way, and the water shone like silver.
What I could not understand was why I should be a Dane because my eyes were blue, when grandpapa's, who was so obviously more of a Dane than I, were black. But grandpapa always frowned, and an odd flame shot into his mild glance, if you asked him questions.
He gave you facts, and expected you to make what you could of them. He was unreasonably17 proud, I thought, of his Scottish blood, all the same. He was a Highlander18, he said, while my[Pg 53] grandmother, he explained contemptuously, was a Glasgow lass. My uncle Douglas, he added, favoured his side, while my mother was a blonde Ferguson. Pity it was an intelligent little girl like me did not take more after the Camerons; but I had my uncle Douglas's nose, and with a Cameron nose I need never fear the future.
This was surely an excess of faith on my grandfather's side not justified19 by experience. He had been only saved from the poorhouse by a thrifty20 and judicious21 if hard-hearted wife, while my splendid uncle Douglas, with his curly head of Greek god, had wandered from debt through every expensive caprice, and was drowned sailing a little pleasure-boat on one of the Killarney lakes at the inappropriate age of twenty-four.
The Cameron nose has done as little for his young brother, my uncle Willie. I have always loved the image I have made to myself of my boy-uncle Willie, chiefly, I suppose, because of his brilliant promise and early death; but largely, I believe, because not only grandpapa Cameron, but others who remember him, tell me I resemble him in character and feature.
They say it was his death, coming so soon after the blow of uncle Douglas's doom22, that turned my grandfather's brain. Willie had been[Pg 54] articled to a well-known architect, who, being musical like my grandfather, was interested in his musical friend's bright-faced and witty23 lad, with about as much knowledge of music as a healthy puppy. This lamentable24 deficiency, however, brought about no disastrous25 clash between master and pupil.
The distinguished26 architect loved Willie Cameron for his good-humour, his industry, his quickness, and his impromptu27 jingling28 rhymes. He made everything rhyme with a delicious comic absurdity29, even the technical terms of his profession, and in consequence no one was jealous of the master's preference for his funny Scottish pupil. You see, he was so much more of an Irish than a Scottish lad. Born on Irish soil, he seems to have inherited the best of native virtues30, and was universally beloved. Even his eldest31 sister, who never sinned on the side of tenderness, could not speak of uncle Willie without a smile.
So there were universal congratulations when Willie, barely of age, got his first commission. No one accused the architect of favouritism, though the first commission of a son could not have been of greater moment to him. Uncle Willie posted triumphantly32 off to the country,[Pg 55] and the master told him to telegraph for his presence in the event of doubt or difficulty. The season was wet, and uncle Willie reached his inn that night drenched33 and shivering. They put him into damp sheets. The next day was no drier, and uncle Willie drove off on a car in the rain. It was his last drive alive. Ten days later what remained of him was driven to the cemetery34 amid plumes35 and crape and white flowers.
It was curious that while grandpapa Cameron was always ready to speak of his handsome son Douglas, of Willie, whom he loved best, he only spoke to me once,—that was when he showed me an indefinite boy's picture, and curtly36 told me it was my uncle Willie's portrait, and added, dreamily, that I was the only one of his grandchildren who resembled Willie.
That fact, perhaps, had more to do than my musical proclivities37 with his preference for me. He would give me five-shilling pieces from time to time, and beg me "not to mention it." I took the pieces gratefully, pleased with their brightness and largeness; but I own I found pennies more useful. A child can buy almost anything for a penny, but the only use of a silver five-shilling piece seemed to me to be able to look at it from time to time. Had I known anything[Pg 56] of arithmetic, I might have calculated how many pennies were contained in these big silver pieces, and have changed them for an inexhaustible store of my favourite coin.
But I was not clever enough to think of this, and by the time I was sent across the sea to school in Warwickshire a year later, I had as many as six five-shilling pieces in a box, which then did stout38 service in supplying cakes and sweets on the scarce occasions I was allowed to make such needful investments.
Grandpapa Cameron lived in a little cottage out of town, with a long back-garden, where he spent his time cultivating roses. He had a disagreeable old cook and a red-nosed gardener, and he saw no society but a couple of priests, who took it in turn to drop in of an evening to play cribbage.
On Sunday he went to the one church where Mozart's and Beethoven's masses were sung. Once a new hardy39 organist with a fanciful French taste introduced Gounod.
My grandfather's face changed. He cocked an indignant ear, turned abruptly40 in his seat facing the altar, and looked long and angrily up at the choir41. The horrid42 and sentimental43 strains of Gounod continued, and, unable to bear it any[Pg 57] longer, my grandfather clapped his hat over his eyes, with a disregard for the religious prejudices of his neighbours no less brutal44 than the new organist's disregard for his musical sensibilities.
He walked out of church, and meditated45 upon his protest for a week. When I mention my belief that my grandfather had only become a convert from Scottish Presbyterianism to Roman Catholicism because of Mozart's and Beethoven's masses, it will be recognised what a desperately46 serious matter for him was this impertinent introduction of light French music into church.
He succeeded in gathering47 a cluster of musical maniacs48, one of whom was his friend the distinguished architect. The four planted themselves, with arms folded and furious purpose in their eyes, not in the least like Christians49 come to Sunday prayers, but like heroes bent50 upon showing an uncompromising front to injury. They heard in silence the opening roll of the organ, then the thin sweetness of Monsieur Gounod's religious strains filled the church, and the faithful sat up to listen to the Kyrie Eleison.
A distinct and prolonged hiss51 burst from the lips of the four musical maniacs, and my grandfather began to pound his stick upon the floor with an eloquence52 that left no one in doubt as[Pg 58] to how he would treat the organist's head if he had it within reach. The officiating priests glanced round in surprise and astonishment53. People rubbed their eyes, and wondered if they were dreaming.
There sat the four maniacs, hissing54, booing, knocking their sticks on the floor, and "ohing" as they do in the House of Commons. Surprise was effaced55 in consternation56, and a priest came down to the miscreants57 from the altar.
"Let that fellow stop his French nonsense and we'll stop too," shouted my grandfather. "I've been coming to this church for the past twenty-five years, and during that time have paid bigger fees than any of my neighbours. Why? Because there was a decent feeling for music here. Because you respected yourselves and gave us the best. But if you're going to degrade yourselves and follow an ignoble58 fashion and adopt French fads—well, sir, I swear I'll wreck59 the church—I will indeed."
The fight ended in my grandfather's defeat, and he never put his foot again into church. He carried his indignation so far as to insult an old French acquaintance, Monsieur Pruvot, the manager of a large wine house. Still sore upon the triumph of Gounod, he was accosted[Pg 59] affably by Monsieur Pruvot, who cried out to him, waving his hat—
"How do you do, my dear Monsieur Camerone?"
"My name's Cameron, and I'm Mister, none of your damned French Monsieurs, Mr. Pruvot," roared my grandfather, pronouncing the mute t of the Frenchman's name with a vicious emphasis.
It is easy to imagine the amazement60 of the Frenchman, in ignorance of the Beethoven-Gounod episode, and who until then had always found my grandfather a genial and inoffensive neighbour. He made, by way of insinuating61 concessions62 to wrath63, a complimentary64 remark upon "this charming little town of Dublin," pronouncing it in the French way.
"We call it Dublin, sir. Yes, I've no doubt it is a finer town than your native Bordox. I see no reason, sir, why we in Dublin should treat your town with a courtesy you, residing here, deny ours. If you can't learn to say Dublin, we may well decline to say Bordeaux. A very good morning, Mr. Pruvot."
Poor grandpapa Cameron! This was his last battle on earth, either in the interests of Beethoven or Dublin. A few days later he was found in bed with his face to the wall—dead.
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1
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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2
blithely
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| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
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3
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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4
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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5
sedulously
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| ad.孜孜不倦地 | |
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6
sonatas
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| n.奏鸣曲( sonata的名词复数 ) | |
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7
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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8
ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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9
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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10
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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11
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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12
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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13
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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14
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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15
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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16
sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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17
unreasonably
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| adv. 不合理地 | |
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18
highlander
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| n.高地的人，苏格兰高地地区的人 | |
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19
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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20
thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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21
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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22
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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23
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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24
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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25
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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26
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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27
impromptu
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| adj.即席的，即兴的；adv.即兴的(地)，无准备的(地) | |
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28
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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29
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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30
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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31
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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32
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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33
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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34
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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35
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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36
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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37
proclivities
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| n.倾向，癖性( proclivity的名词复数 ) | |
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39
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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40
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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41
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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42
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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43
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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44
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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45
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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46
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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47
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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48
maniacs
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| n.疯子（maniac的复数形式） | |
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49
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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50
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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51
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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52
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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53
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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54
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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55
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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56
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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57
miscreants
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| n.恶棍，歹徒( miscreant的名词复数 ) | |
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58
ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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59
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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60
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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61
insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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62
concessions
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| n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权 | |
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63
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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64
complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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