“Oh yes, my dear, you have been just as spellbound before, only you don’t remember it,” replied Salemina promptly1. “I have never seen a person more perilously2 appreciative3 or receptive than you.”
“‘Perilously’ is just the word,” chimed in Francesca delightedly; “when you care for a place you grow porous4, as it were, until after a time you are precisely5 like blotting-paper. Now, there was Italy, for example. After eight weeks in Venice, you were completely Venetian, from your fan to the ridiculous little crepe shawl you wore because an Italian prince had told you that centuries were usually needed to teach a woman how to wear a shawl, but that you had been born with the art, and the shoulders! Anything but a watery6 street was repulsive7 to you. Cobblestones? ‘Ordinario, duro, brutto! A gondola8? Ah, bellissima! Let me float for ever thus!’ You bathed your spirit in sunshine and colour; I can hear you murmur9 now, ‘O Venezia benedetta! non ti voglio lasciar!’”
“It was just the same when she spent a month in France with the Baroness10 de Hautenoblesse,” continued Salemina. “When she returned to America, it is no flattery to say that in dress, attitude, inflection, manner, she was a thorough Parisienne. There was an elegant superficiality and a superficial elegance11 about her that I can never forget, nor yet her extraordinary volubility in a foreign language,—the fluency12 with which she expressed her inmost soul on all topics without the aid of a single irregular verb, for these she was never able to acquire; oh, it was wonderful, but there was no affectation about it; she had simply been a kind of blotting-paper, as Miss Monroe says, and France had written itself all over her.”
“I don’t wish to interfere13 with anybody’s diagnosis,” I interposed at the first possible moment, “but perhaps after you’ve both finished your psychologic investigation15 the subject may be allowed to explain herself from the inside, so to speak. I won’t deny the spell of Italy, but I think the spell that Scotland casts over one is quite a different thing, more spiritual, more difficult to break. Italy’s charm has something physical in it; it is born of blue sky, sunlit waves, soft atmosphere, orange sails, and yellow moons, and appeals more to the senses. In Scotland the climate certainly has nought16 to do with it, but the imagination is somehow made captive. I am not enthralled17 by the past of Italy or France, for instance.”
“Of course you are not at the present moment,” said Francesca, “because you are enthralled by the past of Scotland, and even you cannot be the slave of two pasts at the same time.”
“I never was particularly enthralled by Italy’s past,” I argued with exemplary patience, “but the romance of Scotland has a flavour all its own. I do not quite know the secret of it.”
“It’s the kilts and the pipes,” said Francesca.
“No, the history.” (This from Salemina.)
“Or Sir Walter and the literature,” suggested Mr. Macdonald.
“There!” I exclaimed triumphantly21, “you see for yourselves you have named avenue after avenue along which one’s mind is led in charmed subjection. Where can you find battles that kindle22 your fancy like Falkirk and Flodden and Culloden and Bannockburn? Where a sovereign that attracts, baffles, repels23, allures24, like Mary Queen of Scots,—and where, tell me where, is there a Pretender like Bonnie Prince Charlie? Think of the spirit in those old Scottish matrons who could sing—
‘I’ll sell my rock, I’ll sell my reel,
My rippling-kame and spinning-wheel,
To buy my lad a tartan plaid,
A braidsword, durk and white cockade.’”
“Yes,” chimed in Salemina when I had finished quoting, “or that other verse that goes—
‘I ance had sons, I now hae nane,
But I would bear them a’ again
To lose them a’ for Charlie!’
Isn’t the enthusiasm almost beyond belief at this distance of time?” she went on; “and isn’t it a curious fact, as Mr. Macdonald told me a moment ago, that though the whole country was vocal26 with songs for the lost cause and the fallen race, not one in favour of the victors ever became popular?”
“Sympathy for the under dog, as Miss Monroe’s countrywomen would say picturesquely,” remarked Mr. Macdonald.
“I don’t see why all the vulgarisms in the dictionary should be foisted27 on the American girl,” retorted Francesca loftily, “unless, indeed, it is a determined28 attempt to find spots upon the sun for fear we shall worship it!”
“Quite so, quite so!” returned the Reverend Ronald, who has had reason to know that this phrase reduces Miss Monroe to voiceless rage.
“The Stuart charm and personal magnetism29 must have been a powerful factor in all that movement,” said Salemina, plunging30 hastily back into the topic to avert31 any further recrimination. “I suppose we feel it even now, and if I had been alive in 1745 I should probably have made myself ridiculous. ‘Old maiden32 ladies,’ I read this morning, ‘were the last leal Jacobites in Edinburgh; spinsterhood in its loneliness remained ever true to Prince Charlie and the vanished dreams of youth.’”
“Yes,” continued the Dominie, “the story is told of the last of those Jacobite ladies who never failed to close her Prayer-Book and stand erect33 in silent protest when the prayer for ‘King George III. and the reigning34 family’ was read by the congregation.”
“Do you remember the prayer of the Reverend Neil M’Vicar in St. Cuthbert’s?” asked Mr. Macdonald. “It was in 1745, after the victory at Prestonpans, when a message was sent to the Edinburgh ministers, in the name of ‘Charles, Prince Regent’ desiring them to open their churches next day as usual. M’Vicar preached to a large congregation, many of whom were armed Highlanders, and prayed for George II., and also for Charles Edward, in the following fashion: ‘Bless the king! Thou knowest what king I mean. May the crown sit long upon his head! As for that young man who has come among us to seek an earthly crown, we beseech35 Thee to take him to Thyself, and give him a crown of glory!’”
“Ah, what a pity the Bonnie Prince had not died after his meteor victory at Falkirk!” exclaimed Jean Dalziel, when we had finished laughing at Mr. Macdonald’s story.
“Or at Culloden, ‘where, quenched36 in blood on the Muir of Drummossie, the star of the Stuarts sank forever,’” quoted the Dominie. “There is where his better self died; would that the young Chevalier had died with it! By the way, doctor, we must not sit here eating goodies and sipping37 tea until the dinner-hour, for these ladies have doubtless much to do for their flitting” (a pretty Scots word for ‘moving’).
“We are quite ready for our flitting so far as packing is concerned,” Salemina assured him. “Would that we were as ready in spirit! Miss Hamilton has even written her farewell poem, which I am sure she will read for the asking.”
“She will read it without that formality,” murmured Francesca. “She has lived and toiled38 only for this moment, and the poem is in her pocket.”
“Delightful!” said the doctor flatteringly. “Has she favoured you already? Have you heard it, Miss Monroe?”
“Have we heard it!” ejaculated that young person. “We have heard nothing else all the morning! What you will take for local colour is nothing but our mental life-blood, which she has mercilessly drawn39 to stain her verses. We each tried to write a Scottish poem, and as Miss Hamilton’s was better, or perhaps I might say less bad, than ours, we encouraged her to develop and finish it. I wanted to do an imitation of Lindsay’s
‘Adieu, Edinburgh! thou heich triumphant20 town,
Within whose bounds richt blithefull have I been!
but it proved too difficult. Miss Hamilton’s general idea was that we should write some verses in good plain English. Then we were to take out all the final g’s, and indeed the final letters from all the words wherever it was possible, so that full, awful, call, ball, hall, and away should be fu’, awfu’, ca’, ba’, ha’, an’ awa’. This alone gives great charm and character to a poem; but we were also to change all words ending in ow into aw. This doesn’t injure the verse, you see, as blaw and snaw rhyme just as well as blow and snow, beside bringing tears to the common eye with their poetic40 associations. Similarly, if we had daughter and slaughter41, we were to write them dochter and slauchter, substituting in all cases doon, froon, goon, and toon, for down, frown gown, and town. Then we made a list of Scottish idols,—pet words, national institutions, stock phrases, beloved objects,—convinced if we could weave them in we should attain42 ‘atmosphere.’ Here is the first list; it lengthened43 speedily: thistle, tartan, haar, haggis, kirk, claymore, parritch, broom, whin, sporran, whaup, plaid, scone44, collops, whisky, mutch, cairngorm, oatmeal, brae, kilt, brose, heather. Salemina and I were too devoted45 to common-sense to succeed in this weaving process, so Penelope triumphed and won the first prize, both for that and also because she brought in a saying given us by Miss Dalziel, about the social classification of all Scotland into ‘the gentlemen of the North, men of the South, people of the West, fowk o’ Fife, and the Paisley bodies.’ We think that her success came chiefly from her writing the verses with a Scotch46 plaid lead-pencil. What effect the absorption of so much red, blue, and green paint will have I cannot fancy, but she ate off—and up—all the tartan glaze47 before finishing the poem; it had a wonderfully stimulating48 effect, but the end is not yet!”
Of course there was a chorus of laughter when the young wretch49 exhibited my battered50 pencil, bought in Princes Street yesterday, its gay Gordon tints51 sadly disfigured by the destroying tooth, not of Time, but of a bard52 in the throes of composition.
“We bestowed53 a consolation54 prize on Salemina,” continued Francesca, “because she succeeded in getting hoots55, losh, havers, and blethers into one line, but naturally she could not maintain such an ideal standard. Read your verses, Pen, though there is little hope that our friends will enjoy them as much as you do. Whenever Miss Hamilton writes anything of this kind, she emulates56 her distinguished57 ancestor Sir William Hamilton, who always fell off his own chair in fits of laughter when he was composing verses.”
With this inspiring introduction I read my lines as follows:—
AN AMERICAN GIRL’S FAREWELL TO EDINBURGH
I canna thole my ain toun,
Sin’ I hae dwelt i’ this;
The skirlin’ pipes gae bring,
With thistles fair tie up my hair,
While I of Scotia sing.
The collops an’ the cairngorms,
The haggis an’ the whin,
The ‘Staiblished, Free, an’ U.P. kirks,
The hairt convinced o’ sin,—
The parritch an’ the heather-bell,
The snawdrap on the shaw,
The bit lam’s bleatin’ on the braes,—
How can I leave them a’?
How can I leave the marmalade
The haar, the haddies, an’ the brose,
The East win’ blawin’ free?
How can I lay my sporran by,
An’ sit me doun at hame,
Wi’oot a Hieland philabeg
Or hyphenated name?
The Southern men I lo’e,
The canty people o’ the West,
The Paisley bodies too.
The pawky folk o’ Fife are dear,—
Sae dear are ane an’ a’,
That e’en to think that we maun pairt
Maist braks my hairt in twa.
An’ dye my tresses red;
I’d deck me like th’ unconquer’d Scots,
Wha hae wi’ Wallace bled.
My kilt an’ mutch gae bring;
M’Kinley’s no my king,—
For Charlie, bonnie Stuart Prince,
Has turned me Jacobite;
I’d wear displayed the white cockade.
An’ (whiles) for him I’ll fight!
An’ (whiles) I’d fight for a’ that’s Scotch,
Save whusky an’ oatmeal,
For wi’ their ballads i’ my bluid,
Nae Scot could be mair leal!
I fancied that I had pitched my verses in so high a key that no one could mistake their burlesque67 intention. What was my confusion, however, to have one of the company remark when I finished, ‘Extremely pretty; but a mutch, you know, is an article of WOMAN’S apparel, and would never be worn with a kilt!’
Mr. Macdonald flung himself gallantly68 into the breach69. He is such a dear fellow! So quick, so discriminating70, so warm-hearted!
“Don’t pick flaws in Miss Hamilton’s finest line! That picture of a fair American, clad in a kilt and mutch, decked in heather and scones, and brandishing71 a claymore, will live for ever in my memory. Don’t clip the wings of her imagination! You will be telling her soon that one doesn’t tie one’s hair with thistles, nor couple collops with cairngorms.”
Somebody sent Francesca a great bunch of yellow broom, late that afternoon. There was no name in the box, she said, but at night she wore the odorous tips in the bosom72 of her black dinner-gown, and standing73 erect in her dark hair like golden aigrettes.
When she came into my room to say good night, she laid the pretty frock in one of my trunks, which was to be filled with garments of fashionable society and left behind in Edinburgh. The next moment I chanced to look on the floor, and discovered a little card, a bent74 card with two lines written on it:—
‘Better lo’ed ye canna be,
Will ye no’ come back again?’
We have received many invitations in that handwriting. I know it well, and so does Francesca, though it is blurred75; and the reason for this, according to my way of thinking, is that it has been lying next the moist stems of flowers, and unless I do her wrong, very near to somebody’s warm heart as well.
I will not betray her to Salemina, even to gain a victory over that blind and deaf but much beloved woman. How could I, with my heart beating high at the thought of seeing my ain dear laddie before many days?
Oh, love, love, lassie,
Love is like a dizziness:
It winna lat a puir body
Gang aboot his business.’
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1
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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porous
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| adj.可渗透的，多孔的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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6
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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gondola
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| n.威尼斯的平底轻舟；飞船的吊船 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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baroness
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| n.男爵夫人，女男爵 | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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fluency
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| n.流畅，雄辩，善辩 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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14
hap
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| n.运气；v.偶然发生 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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nought
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| n.／adj.无，零 | |
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enthralled
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| 迷住，吸引住( enthrall的过去式和过去分词 )； 使感到非常愉快 | |
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ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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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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20
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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kindle
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| v.点燃，着火 | |
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repels
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| v.击退( repel的第三人称单数 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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allures
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| 诱引，吸引( allure的第三人称单数 ) | |
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25
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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27
foisted
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| 强迫接受，把…强加于( foist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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29
magnetism
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| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
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30
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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31
avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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32
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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33
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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34
reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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35
beseech
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| v.祈求，恳求 | |
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36
quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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37
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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39
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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scone
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| n.圆饼，甜饼，司康饼 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...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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glaze
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| v.因疲倦、疲劳等指眼睛变得呆滞，毫无表情 | |
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stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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51
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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52
bard
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| n.吟游诗人 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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hoots
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| 咄，啐 | |
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56
emulates
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| v.与…竞争( emulate的第三人称单数 )；努力赶上；计算机程序等仿真；模仿 | |
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57
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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reek
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| v.发出臭气；n.恶臭 | |
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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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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bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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lugs
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| 钎柄 | |
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burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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68
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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70
discriminating
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| a.有辨别能力的 | |
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71
brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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72
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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73
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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74
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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75
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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