"This will never do," we said to our old Norwegian. "You must row us to some quiet cove3 along the shore, and away from the town."
He nodded his head, solemn and mute as the dumb boatman of dead Elaine, rowed us out seaward for about half-a-mile, and then proceeded to fasten the boat to a big stone, and walk ashore4. The water still did not come much above his knees—he seemed quite indifferent to it. But we?
Well, we could but do at Rome as the Romans do. Toilette in an open boat was evidently the custom of the country. And the sun was warm, the sea safe and shallow. Indeed, so rapidly did it subside5, that by the time the bath was done, we were aground, and had to call at the top of our voices to our old man, who sat, with his back to us, dim in the distance, on another big stone, calmly smoking the pipe of peace.
"We'll not try this again," was the unanimous resolve, as, after politely declining a suggestion that "the ladies should walk ashore—" did he think we were amphibious?—we got ourselves floated off at last, and rowed to the nearest landing point, the entrance to St. Michael's Mount.
Probably nowhere in England is found the like of this place. Such a curious mingling6 of a mediæval fortress7 and modern residence; of antiquarian treasures and everyday business; for at the foot of the rock is a fishing village of about thirty cottages, which carries on a thriving trade; and here also is a sort of station for the tiny underground-railway, which worked by a continuous chain, fulfils the very necessary purpose (failing Giant Cormoran, and wife) of carrying up coals, provisions, luggage, and all other domestic necessaries to the hill top.
Thither8 we climbed by a good many weary steps, and thought, delightful9 as it may be to dwell on the top of a rock in the midst of the sea, like eagles in an eyrie, there are certain advantages in living on a level country road, or even in a town street. How in the world do the St. Aubyns manage when they go out to dinner? Two years afterwards, when I read in the paper that one of the daughters of the house, leaning over the battlements, had lost her balance and fallen down, mercifully unhurt, to the rocky slope below—the very spot where we to-day sat so quietly gazing out on the lovely sea view—I felt with a shudder11 that on the whole, it would be a trying thing to bring up a young family on St. Michael's Mount.
Still, generation after generation of honourable12 St. Aubyns have brought up their families there, and oh! what a beautiful spot it is! How fresh, and yet mild blew the soft sea-wind outside of it, and inside, what endless treasures there were for the archæological mind! The chapel13 alone was worth a morning's study, even though shown—odd anachronism—by a footman in livery, who pointed14 out with great gusto the entrance to a vault15 discovered during the last repairs, where was found the skeleton of a large man—his bones only—no clue whatever as to who he was or when imprisoned16 there. The "Jeames" of modern days told us this tale with a noble indifference17. Nothing of the kind was likely to happen to him.
Further still we were fortunate enough to penetrate18, and saw the Chevy Chase Hall, with its cornice of hunting scenes, the drawing-room, the school-room—only fancy learning lessons there, amidst the veritable evidence of the history one was studying! And perhaps the prettiest bit of it all was our young guide, herself a St. Aubyn, with her simple grace and sweet courtesy, worthy19 of one of the fair ladies worshipped by King Arthur's knights20.
We did not like encroaching on her kindness, though we could have stayed all day, admiring the curious things she showed us. So we descended21 the rock, and crossed the causeway, now dry, but very rough walking—certainly St. Michael's Mount has its difficulties as a modern dwelling-house—and went back to our inn. For, having given our horse a forenoon's rest, we planned a visit to that spot immortalised by nursery rhyme—
"As I was going to St. Ives
I met a man with seven wives.
Each wife had seven sacks;
Each sack had seven cats;
Kits, cats, sacks, and wives,—
How many were there going to St. Ives?"
—One; and after we had been there, we felt sure he never went again!
There were two roads, we learnt, to that immortal22 town; one very good, but dull; the other bad—and beautiful. We chose the latter, and never repented25.
Nor, in passing through Penzance, did we repent24 not having taken up our quarters there. It was pretty, but so terribly "genteel," so extremely civilised. Glancing up at the grand hotel, we thought with pleasure of our old-fashioned inn at Marazion, where the benign26 waiter took quite a fatherly interest in our proceedings27, even to giving us for dinner our very own blackberries, gathered yesterday on the road, and politely hindering another guest from helping28 himself to half a dishful, as "they belonged to the young ladies." Truly, there are better things in life than fashionable hotels.
But the neighbourhood of Penzance is lovely. Shrubs29 and flowers such as one sees on the shores of the Mediterranean30 grew and flourished in cottage-gardens, and the forest trees we drove under, whole avenues of them, were very fine; gentlemen's seats appeared here and there, surrounded with the richest vegetation, and commanding lovely views. As the road gradually mounted upwards31, we saw, clear as in a panorama32, the whole coast from the Lizard33 Point to the Land's End,—which we should behold34 to-morrow.
For, hearing that every week-day about a hundred tourists in carriages, carts, and omnibuses, usually flocked thither, we decided35 that the desire of our lives, the goal of our pilgrimage, should be visited by us on a Sunday. We thought that to drive us thither in solitary36 Sabbatic peace would be fully10 as good for Charles's mind and morals as to hang all day idle about Marazion; and he seemed to think so himself. Therefore, in prospect37 of to-morrow, he dealt very tenderly with his horse to-day, and turned us out to walk up the heaviest hills, of which there were several, between Penzance and Castle-an-Dinas.
"There it is," he said at last, stopping in the midst of a wide moor38 and pointing to a small building, sharp against the sky. "The carriage can't get further, but you can go on, ladies, and I'll stop and gather some blackberries for you."
For brambles, gorse bushes, and clumps39 of fading heather, with one or two small stunted40 trees, were now the only curiosities of this, King Arthur's famed hunting castle, and hunting ground, which spread before us for miles and miles. Passing a small farm-house, we made our way to the building Charles pointed out, standing41 on the highest ridge42 of the promontory43, whose furthest point is the Land's End. Standing there, we could see—or could have seen but that the afternoon had turned grey and slightly misty—the ocean on both sides. Inland, the view seemed endless. Roughtor and Brown Willy, two Dartmoor hills, are said to be visible sometimes. Nearer, little white dots of houses show the mining districts of Redruth and Camborne.
But here, all was desolate44 solitude45. A single wayfarer46, looking like a working man in his Sunday best going to visit friends, but evidently tired, as if he had walked for miles, just glanced at us, and passed on. We stood, all alone, on the very spot where many a time must have stood King Arthur, Queen Guinevere, Sir Launcelot, and the other knights—or the real human beings, whether barbarian47 or not, who formed the originals of those mythical48 personages.
All had vanished now. Nothing was left but a common-place little tower, built up of the fragments of the old castle, and a wide, pathless moor, over which the wind sighed, and the mist crept. No memorial whatever of King Arthur, except the tradition—which time and change have been powerless to annihilate—that such a man once existed. The long vitality49 which the legend keeps proves that he must have been a remarkable50 man in his day. Romance itself cannot exist without a foundation in reality.
So I preached to my incredulous juniors, who threw overboard King Arthur and took to blackberry-gathering; and to conversation with a most comely51 Cornishwoman, milking the prettiest of Cornish cows in the lonely farm-yard, which was the only sign of humanity for miles and miles. We admired herself and her cattle; we drank her milk, offering for it the usual payment. But the picturesque milkmaid shook her head and demanded just double what even the dearest of London milk-sellers would have asked for the quantity. Which sum we paid in silence, and I only record the fact here in order to state that spite of our foreboding railway friend at Falmouth, this was the only instance in which we were ever "taken in," or in the smallest degree imposed upon, in Cornwall.
Another hour, slowly driving down the gradual slope of the country, through a mining district much more cheerful than that beyond Marazion. The mines were all apparently52 in full work, and the mining villages were pretty, tidy, and cosy-looking, even picturesque. Approaching St. Ives the houses had quite a foreign look, but when we descended to the town, its dark, narrow streets, pervaded53 by a "most ancient and fish-like smell," were anything but attractive.
As was our hotel, where, as a matter of duty, we ordered tea, but doubted if we should enjoy it, and went out again to see what little there seemed to be seen, puzzling our way through the gloomy and not too fragrant54 streets, till at last in despair we stopped a bland55, elderly, Methodist-minister-looking gentleman, and asked him the way to the sea.
He eyed us over. "You're strangers here, ma'am?"
"And is it the pilchard fishery you want to see? It is just beginning. A few pilchards have been seen already. There are the boats, the fishermen are all getting ready. It's a fine sight to see them start. Would you like to come and look at them?"
He had turned back and was walking with us down the street, pointing out everything that occurred to him as noticeable, in the kindest and civilest way. When we apologised for troubling him, and would have parted company, our friend made no attempt to go.
"Oh, I've nothing at all to do, except"—he took out the biggest and most respectable of watches—"except to attend a prayer-meeting at half-past six. I should have time to show you the town; we think it is a very nice little town. I ought to know it; I've lived in it, boy and man for thirty-seven years. But now I have left my business to my sons, and I just go about and amuse myself, looking into the shop now and then just for curiosity. You must have seen my old shop, ladies, if you came down that street."
Which he named, and also gave us his own name, which we had seen over the shop door, but I shall not record either. Not that I think the honest man is ever likely to read such "light" literature as this book, or to recall the three wanderers to whom he was so civil and kind, and upon whom he poured out an amount of local and personal facts, which we listened to—as a student of human nature is prone57 to do—with an amused interest in which the comic verged58 on the pathetic. How large to each man seems his own little world, and what child-like faith he has in its importance to other people! I shall always recall our friend at St. Ives, with his prayer-meetings, his chapel-goings—I concluded he was a Methodist, a sect59 very numerous in Cornwall—his delight in his successful shop and well-brought-up sons, who managed it so well, leaving him to enjoy his otium cum dignitate—no doubt a municipal dignity, for he showed us the Town Hall with great gusto. Evidently to his honest, simple soul, St. Ives was the heart of the world.
By and by again he pulled out the turnip-like watch. "Just ten minutes to get to my prayer-meeting, and I never like to be late, I have been a punctual man all my life, ma'am," added he, half apologetically, till I suggested that this was probably the cause of his peace and success. Upon which he smiled, lifted his hat with a benign adieu, hoped we had liked St. Ives—we had liked his company at any rate—and with a final pointing across the street, "There's my shop, ladies, if you would care to look at it," trotted60 away to his prayer-meeting.
I believe the neighbourhood of St. Ives, especially Tregenna, its ancient mansion61 transformed into an hotel, is exceedingly pretty, but night was falling fast, and we saw nothing. Speedily we despatched a most untempting meal, and hurried Charles's departure, lest we should be benighted62, as we nearly were, during the long miles of straight and unlovely road—the good road—between here and Penzance. We had done our duty, we had seen the place, but as, in leaving it behind us, we laughingly repeated the nursery rhyme, we came to the conclusion that the man who was "going to St. Ives" was the least fortunate of all those notable individuals.
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1
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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subside
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| vi.平静，平息；下沉，塌陷，沉降 | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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12
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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16
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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18
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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19
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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21
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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23
kits
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| 衣物和装备( kit的名词复数 )； 成套用品； 配套元件 | |
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24
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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25
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26
benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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27
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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28
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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29
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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30
Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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31
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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32
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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33
lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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34
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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35
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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36
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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38
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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39
clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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40
stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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41
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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42
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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43
promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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44
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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45
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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46
wayfarer
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| n.旅人 | |
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47
barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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48
mythical
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| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
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49
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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50
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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51
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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52
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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53
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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55
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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56
humbling
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| adj.令人羞辱的v.使谦恭( humble的现在分词 )；轻松打败（尤指强大的对手）；低声下气 | |
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57
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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58
verged
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| 接近，逼近（verge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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59
sect
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| n.派别，宗教，学派，派系 | |
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60
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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61
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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62
benighted
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| adj.蒙昧的 | |
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