Life at Mrs. M’Collop’s apartments in 22 Breadalbane Terrace is about as simple, comfortable, dignified1, and delightful2 as it well can be.
Her partner, who is also the cook, is a person introduced to us as Miss Diggity. We afterwards learned that this is spelled Dalgety, but it is not considered good form, in Scotland, to pronounce the names of persons and places as they are written. When, therefore, I allude5 to the cook, which will be as seldom as possible, I shall speak of her as Miss Diggity-Dalgety, so that I shall be presenting her correctly both to the eye and to the ear, and giving her at the same time a hyphenated name, a thing which is a secret object of aspiration6 in Great Britain.
In selecting our own letters and parcels from the common stock on the hall table, I perceive that most of our fellow-lodgers are hyphenated ladies, whose visiting-cards diffuse7 the intelligence that in their single persons two ancient families and fortunes are united. On the ground floor are the Misses Hepburn-Sciennes (pronounced Hebburn-Sheens); on the floor above us are Miss Colquhoun (Cohoon) and her cousin Miss Cockburn-Sinclair (Coburn-Sinkler). As soon as the Hepburn-Sciennes depart, Mrs. M’Collop expects Mrs. Menzies of Kilconquhar, of whom we shall speak as Mrs. Mingess of Kinyuchar. There is not a man in the house; even the Boots is a girl, so that 22 Breadalbane Terrace is as truly a castra puellarum as was ever the Castle of Edinburgh with its maiden8 princesses in the olden time.
We talked with Miss Diggity-Dalgety on the evening of our first day at Mrs. M’Collop’s, when she came up to know our commands. As Francesca and Salemina were both in the room, I determined9 to be as Scotch10 as possible, for it is Salemina’s proud boast that she is taken for a native of every country she visits.
“We shall not be entertaining at present, Miss Diggity,” I said, “so you can give us just the ordinary dishes,—no doubt you are accustomed to them: scones11, baps or bannocks with marmalade, finnan-haddie or kippered herring for breakfast; tea,—of course we never touch coffee in the morning” (here Francesca started with surprise); “porridge, and we like them well boiled, please” (I hope she noted12 the plural13 pronoun; Salemina did, and blanched14 with envy); “minced collops for luncheon15, or a nice little black-faced chop; Scotch broth16, pease brose or cockyleekie soup at dinner, and haggis now and then, with a cold shape for dessert. That is about the sort of thing we are accustomed to,—just plain Scotch living.”
I was impressing Miss Diggity-Dalgety,—I could see that clearly; but Francesca spoiled the effect by inquiring, maliciously17, if we could sometimes have a howtowdy wi’ drappit eggs, or her favourite dish, wee grumphie wi’ neeps.
Here Salemina was obliged to poke18 the fire in order to conceal19 her smiles, and the cook probably suspected that Francesca found howtowdy in the Scotch glossary20; but we amused each other vastly, and that is our principal object in life.
Miss Diggity-Dalgety’s forebears must have been exposed to foreign influences, for she interlards her culinary conversation with French terms, and we have discovered that this is quite common. A ‘jigget’ of mutton is of course a gigot, and we have identified an ‘ashet’ as an assiette. The ‘petticoat tails’ she requested me to buy at the confectioner’s were somewhat more puzzling, but when they were finally purchased by Susanna Crum they appeared to be ordinary little cakes; perhaps, therefore, petits gastels, since gastel is an old form of gateau, as was bel for beau. Susanna, on her part, speaks of the wardrobe in my bedroom as an ‘awmry.’ It certainly contains no weapons, so cannot be an armoury, and we conjecture21 that her word must be a corruption22 of armoire.
“That was a remarkable23 touch about the black-faced chop,” laughed Salemina, when Miss Diggity-Dalgety had retired24; “not that I believe they ever say it.”
“I am sure they must,” I asserted stoutly25, “for I passed a flesher’s on my way home, and saw a sign with ‘Prime Black-Faced Mutton’ printed on it. I also saw ‘Fed Veal,’ but I forgot to ask the cook for it.”
“We ought really to have kept house in Edinburgh,” observed Francesca, looking up from the Scotsman. “One can get a ‘self-contained residential26 flat’ for twenty pounds a month. We are such an enthusiastic trio that a self-contained flat would be everything to us; and if it were not fully27 furnished, here is a firm that wishes to sell a ‘composite bed’ for six pounds, and a ‘gent’s stuffed easy’ for five. Added to these inducements there is somebody who advertises that parties who intend ‘displenishing’ at the Whit28 Term would do well to consult him, as he makes a specialty29 of second-handed furniture and ‘cyclealities.’ What are ‘cyclealities,’ Susanna?” (She had just come in with coals.)
“I cudna say, mam.”
“Thank you; no, you need not ask Mrs. M’Collop; it is of no consequence.”
Susanna Crum is a most estimable young woman, clean, respectful, willing, capable, and methodical, but as a Bureau of Information she is painfully inadequate30. Barring this single limitation she seems to be a treasure-house of all good practical qualities; and being thus clad and panoplied31 in virtue32, why should she be so timid and self-distrustful?
She wears an expression which can mean only one of two things: either she has heard of the national tomahawk and is afraid of violence on our part, or else her mother was frightened before she was born. This applies in general to her walk and voice and manner, but is it fear that prompts her eternal ‘I cudna say,’ or is it perchance Scotch caution and prudence33? Is she afraid of projecting her personality too indecently far? Is it the indirect effect of heresy34 trials on her imagination? Does she remember the thumbscrew of former generations? At all events, she will neither affirm nor deny, and I am putting her to all sorts of tests, hoping to discover finally whether she is an accident, an exaggeration, or a type.
Salemina thinks that our American accent may confuse her. Of course she means Francesca’s and mine, for she has none; although we have tempered ours so much for the sake of the natives, that we can scarcely understand each other any more. As for Susanna’s own accent, she comes from the heart of Aberdeenshire, and her intonation35 is beyond my power to reproduce.
We naturally wish to identify all the national dishes; so, “Is this cockle soup, Susanna?” I ask her, as she passes me the plate at dinner.
“I cudna say.”
“This vegetable is new to me, Susanna; is it perhaps sea-kale?”
“I canna say, mam.”
Then finally, in despair, as she handed me a boiled potato one day, I fixed36 my searching Yankee brown eyes on her blue-Presbyterian, non-committal ones, and asked, “What is this vegetable, Susanna?”
In an instant she withdrew herself, her soul, her ego37, so utterly38 that I felt myself gazing at an inscrutable stone image, as she replied, “I cudna say, mam.”
This was too much! Her mother may have been frightened, very badly frightened, but this was more that I could endure without protest. The plain boiled potato is practically universal. It is not only common to all temperate39 climates, but it has permeated40 all classes of society. I am confident that the plain boiled potato has been one of the chief constituents41 in the building up of that frame in which Susanna Crum conceals42 her opinions and emotions. I remarked, therefore, as an, apparent afterthought, “Why, it is a potato, is it not, Susanna?”
What do you think she replied, when thus hunted into a corner, pushed against a wall, driven to the very confines of her personal and national liberty? She subjected the potato to a second careful scrutiny43, and answered, “I wudna say it’s no’!”
Now there is no inherited physical terror in this. It is the concentrated essence of intelligent reserve, caution, and obstinacy44; it is a conscious intellectual hedging; it is a dogged and determined attempt to build up barriers of defence between the questioner and the questionee: it must be, therefore, the offspring of the catechism and the heresy trial.
Once again, after establishing an equally obvious fact, I succeeded in wringing45 from her the reluctant admission, “It depends,” but she was so shattered by the bulk and force of this outgo, so fearful that in some way she had imperilled her life or reputation, so anxious concerning the effect that her unwilling46 testimony47 might have upon unborn generations, that she was of no real service the rest of the day.
I wish that the Lord Advocate, or some modern counterpart of Braxfield, the hanging judge, would summon Susanna Crum as a witness in an important case. He would need his longest plummet48 to sound the depths of her consciousness.
I have had no legal experience, but I can imagine the scene.
“Is the prisoner your father, Susanna Crum?”
“I cudna say, my lord.”
“You have not understood the question, Susanna. Is the prisoner your father?”
“I cudna say, my lord.”
“Come, come, my girl! you must answer the questions put you by the court. You have been an inmate49 of the prisoner’s household since your earliest consciousness. He provided you with food, lodging50, and clothing during your infancy51 and early youth. You have seen him on annual visits to your home, and watched him as he performed the usual parental52 functions for your younger brothers and sisters. I therefore repeat, is the prisoner your father, Susanna Crum?”
“I wudna say he’s no’, my lord.”
“This is really beyond credence53! What do you conceive to be the idea involved in the word ‘father,’ Susanna Crum?”
“It depends, my lord.”
And this, a few hundred years earlier, would have been the natural and effective moment for the thumbscrews.
I do not wish to be understood as defending these uncomfortable appliances. They would never have been needed to elicit54 information from me, for I should have spent my nights inventing matter to confess in the daytime. I feel sure that I should have poured out such floods of confessions55 and retractations that if all Scotland had been one listening ear it could not have heard my tale. I am only wondering if, in the extracting of testimony from the common mind, the thumbscrew might not have been more necessary with some nations than with others.
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1
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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aspiration
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| n.志向，志趣抱负；渴望；(语)送气音；吸出 | |
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diffuse
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| v.扩散；传播；adj.冗长的；四散的，弥漫的 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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scones
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| n.烤饼，烤小圆面包( scone的名词复数 ) | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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plural
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| n.复数；复数形式；adj.复数的 | |
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blanched
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| v.使变白( blanch的过去式 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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broth
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| n.原(汁)汤(鱼汤、肉汤、菜汤等) | |
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maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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glossary
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| n.注释词表；术语汇编 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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residential
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| adj.提供住宿的；居住的；住宅的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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specialty
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| n.(speciality)特性，特质；专业，专长 | |
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inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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panoplied
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| adj.全套披甲的，装饰漂亮的 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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heresy
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| n.异端邪说；异教 | |
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intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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ego
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| n.自我，自己，自尊 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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permeated
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| 弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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constituents
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| n.选民( constituent的名词复数 )；成分；构成部分；要素 | |
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conceals
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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45
wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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46
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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plummet
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| vi.(价格、水平等)骤然下跌；n.铅坠；重压物 | |
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inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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51
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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52
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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53
credence
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| n.信用，祭器台，供桌，凭证 | |
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54
elicit
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| v.引出,抽出,引起 | |
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55
confessions
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| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
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