The small farm of Little Rathie lies two miles from Thrums, and Tammas and I trudged6 manfully through the snow, adding to our numbers as we went. The dress of none differed materially from the precentor's, and the general effect was of septuagenarians in each other's best clothes, though living in low-roofed houses had bent7 most of them before their time. By a rearrangement of garments, such as making Tammas change coat, hat, and trousers with Cragiebuckle, Silva McQueen, and Sam'l Wilkie respectively, a dexterous8 tailor might perhaps have supplied each with a “fit.” The talk was chiefly of Little Rathie, and sometimes threatened to become animated9, when another mourner would fall in and restore the more fitting gloom.
“Ay, ay,” the new-comer would say, by way of responding to the sober salutation, “Ay, Johnny.” Then there was silence, but for the “gluck” with which we lifted our feet from the slush.
“So Little Rathie's been ta'en awa',” Johnny would venture to say by and by.
“He's gone, Johnny; ay, man, he is so.”
“Ay,” Lang Tammas would reply, putting on the coping-stone, “in the morning we are strong and in the evening we are cut down.”
“Little Rathie wasna a crittur I took till; no, I canna say he was,” said Bowie Haggart, so called because his legs described a parabola, “but be maks a vary creeditable corp [corpse12]. I will say that for him. It's wonderfu' hoo death improves a body. Ye cudna hae said as Little Rathie was a weel-faured man when he was i' the flesh.”
Bowie was the wright, and attended burials in his official capacity. He had the gift of words to an uncommon13 degree, and I do not forget his crushing blow at the reputation of the poet Burns, as delivered under the auspices14 of the Thrums Literary Society. “I am of opeenion,” said Bowie, “that the works of Burns is of an immoral15 tendency. I have not read them myself, but such is my opeenion.”
“He was a queer stock, Little Rathie, michty queer,” said Tammas Haggart, Bowie's brother, who was a queer stock himself, but was not aware of it; “but, ou, I'm thinkin' the wife had something to do wi't. She was ill to manage, an' Little Rathie hadna the way o' the women. He hadna the knack16 o' managin' them's yo micht say—no, Little Rathie hadna the knack.”
“They're kittle cattle, the women,” said the farmer of Craigiebuckle—son of the Craigiebuckle mentioned elsewhere—a little gloomily. “I've often thocht maiterimony is no onlike the lucky bags th' auld wifies has at the muckly. There's prizes an' blanks baith inside, but, losh, ye're far frae sure what ye'll draw oot when ye put in yer han'.”
“Ou, weel,” said Tammas complacently17, “there's truth in what ye say, but the women can be managed if ye have the knack.”
“Some o' them,” said Cragiebuckle woefully.
“Ye had yer wark wi' the wife yersel, Tammas, so ye had,” observed Lang Tammas, unbending to suit his company.
“Ye're speakin' aboot the bit wife's bural,” said Tammas Haggart, with a chuckle18; “ay, ay, that brocht her to reason.”
Without much pressure Haggart retold a story known to the majority of his hearers. He had not the “knack” of managing women apparently19 when he married, for he and his gypsy wife “agreed ill thegither” at first. Once Chirsty left him and took up her abode20 in a house just across the wynd. Instead of routing her out, Tammas, without taking any one into his confidence, determined21 to treat Chirsty as dead, and celebrate her decease in a “lyke wake”—a last wake. These wakes were very general in Thrums in the old days, though they had ceased to be common by the date of Little Rathie's death. For three days before the burial the friends and neighbors of the mourners were invited into the house to partake of food and drink by the side of the corpse. The dead lay on chairs covered with a white sheet. Dirges22 were sung and the deceased was extolled23, but when night came the lights were extinguished and the corpse was left alone. On the morning of the funeral tables were spread with a white cloth outside the house, and food and drink were placed upon them. No neighbor could pass the tables without paying his respects to the dead; and even when the house was in a busy, narrow thoroughfare, this part of the ceremony was never omitted. Tammas did not give Chirsty a wake inside the house; but one Friday morning—it was market-day, and the square was consequently full—it went through the town that the tables were spread before his door. Young and old collected, wandering round the house, and Tammas stood at the tables in his blacks inviting24 every one to eat and drink. He was pressed to tell what it meant; but nothing could be got from him except that his wife was dead. At times he pressed his hands to his heart, and then he would make wry25 faces, trying hard to cry. Chirsty watched from a window across the street, until she perhaps began to fear that she really was dead. Unable to stand it any longer, she rushed out into her husband's arms, and shortly afterward26 she could have been seen dismantling27 the tables.
“She's gone this fower year,” Tammas said, when he had finished his story, “but up to the end I had no more trouble wi' Chirsty. No, I had the knack o' her.'
“I've heard tell, though,” said the sceptical Craigiebuckle, “as Chirsty only cam back to ye because she cudna bear to see the fowk makkin' sae free wi' the whiskey.”
“I mind hoo she bottled it up at ance and drove the laddies awa',” said Bowie, “an' I hae seen her after that, Tammas, giein' ye up yer fut an' you no sayin' a word.”
“Ou, ay,” said the wife-tamer, in the tone of a man who could afford to be generous in trifles, “women maun talk, an' a man hasna aye time to conterdick them, but frae that day I had the knack o' Chirsty.”
“Donal Elshioner's was a vary seemilar case,” broke in Snecky Hobart shrilly28. “Maist o' ye'll mind 'at Donal was michty plagueit wi' a drucken wife. Ay, weel, wan day Bowie's man was carryin' a coffin29 past Donal's door, and Donal an' the wife was there. Says Donal, 'Put doon yer coffin, my man, an' tell's wha it's for.' The laddie rests the coffin on its end, an' says he, 'It's for Davie Fairbrother's guid-wife.' 'Ay, then,' says Donal, 'tak it awa', tak it awa' to Davie, an' tell 'im as ye kin3 a man wi' a wife 'at wid be glad to neifer [exchange] wi' him.' Man, that terrified Donal's wife; it did so.”
As we delved30 up the twisting road between two fields that leads to the farm of Little Rathie, the talk became less general, and another mourner who joined us there was told that the farmer was gone.
“We must all fade as a leaf,” said Lang Tammas.
“So we maun, so we maun,” admitted the new-comer. “They say,” he added, solemnly, “as Little Rathie has left a full teapot.”
The reference was to the safe in which the old people in the district stored their gains.
“He was thrifty,” said Tammas Haggart, “an' shrewd, too, was Little Rathie. I mind Mr. Dishart admonishin' him for no attendin' a special weather service i' the kirk, when Finny an' Lintool, the twa adjoinin' farmers, baith attendit. 'Ou,' says Little Rathie, 'I thocht to mysel, thinks I, if they get rain for prayin' for't on Finny an' Lintool, we're bound to get the benefit o't on Little Rathie.'”
“Tod,” said Snecky, “there's some sense in that; an' what says the minister?”
“I d'na kin what he said,” admitted Haggart; “but he took Little Rathie up to the manse, an' if ever I saw a man lookin' sma', it was Little Rathie when he cam oot.”
The deceased had left behind him a daughter (herself now known as Little Rathie), quite capable of attending to the ramshackle “but and ben;” and I remember how she nipped off Tammas' consolations31 to go out and feed the hens. To the number of about twenty we assembled round the end of the house to escape the bitter wind, and here I lost the precentor, who, as an Auld Licht elder, joined the chief mourners inside. The post of distinction at a funeral is near the coffin; but it is not given to every one to be a relative of the deceased, and there is always much competition and genteelly concealed32 disappointment over the few open vacancies33. The window of the room was decently veiled, but the mourners outside knew what was happening within, and that it was not all prayer, neither mourning. A few of the more reverent34 uncovered their heads at intervals35; but it would be idle to deny that there was a feeling that Little Rathie's daughter was favoring Tammas and others somewhat invidiously. Indeed, Robbie Gibruth did not scruple36 to remark that she had made “an inauspeecious beginning.” Tammas Haggart, who was melancholy37 when not sarcastic38, though he brightened up wonderfully at funerals, reminded Robbie that disappointment is the lot of man on his earthly pilgrimage; but Haggart knew who were to be invited back after the burial to the farm, and was inclined, to make much of his position. The secret would doubtless have been wormed from him had not public attention been directed into another channel. A prayer was certainly being offered up inside; but the voice was not the voice of the minister.
Lang Tammas told me afterward that it had seemed at one time “vary queistionable” whether Little Rathie would be buried that day at all. The incomprehensible absence of Mr. Dishart (afterward satisfactorily explained) had raised the unexpected question of the legality of a burial in a case where the minister had not prayed over the “corp.” There had even been an indulgence in hot words, and the Reverend Alexander Kewans, a “stickit minister,” but not of the Auld Licht persuasion39, had withdrawn40 in dudgeon on hearing Tammas asked to conduct the ceremony instead of himself. But, great as Tammas was on religious questions, a pillar of the Auld Licht kirk, the Shorter Catechism at his finger-ends, a sad want of words at the very time when he needed them most incapacitated him for prayer in public, and it was providential that Bowie proved himself a man of parts. But Tammas tells me that the wright grossly abused his position, by praying at such length that Craigiebuckle fell asleep, and the mistress had to rise and hang the pot on the fire higher up the joist, lest its contents should burn before the return from the funeral. Loury grew the sky, and more and more anxious the face of Little Rathie's daughter, and still Bowie prayed on. Had it not been for the impatience41 of the precentor and the grumbling42 of the mourners outside, there is no saying when the remains43 would have been lifted through the “bole,” or little window.
Hearses had hardly come in at this time, and the coffin was carried by the mourners on long stakes. The straggling procession of pedestrians44 behind wound its slow way in the waning45 light to the kirk-yard, showing startlingly black against the dazzling snow; and it was not until the earth rattled46 on the coffin-lid that Little Rathie's nearest male relative seemed to remember his last mournful duty to the dead. Sidling up to the favored mourners, he remarked casually47 and in the most emotionless tone he could assume; “They're expec'in' ye to stap doon the length o' Little Rathie noo. Aye, aye, he's gone. Na, na, nae refoosal, Da-avit; ye was aye a guid friend till him, an' it's onything a body can do for him noo.”
Though the uninvited slunk away sorrowfully, the entertainment provided at Auld Licht houses of mourning was characteristic of a stern and sober sect48. They got to eat and to drink to the extent, as a rule, of a “lippy” of short bread and a “brew” of toddy; but open Bibles lay on the table, and the eyes of each were on his neighbors to catch them transgressing49, and offer up a prayer for them on the spot. Ay me! there is no Bowie nowadays to fill an absent minister's shoes.
点击收听单词发音
1 covenanting | |
v.立约,立誓( covenant的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
2 auld | |
adj.老的,旧的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
3 kin | |
n.家族,亲属,血缘关系;adj.亲属关系的,同类的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
4 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
5 bagatelle | |
n.琐事;小曲儿 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
6 trudged | |
vt.& vi.跋涉,吃力地走(trudge的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
7 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
8 dexterous | |
adj.灵敏的;灵巧的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
9 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
10 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
11 wan | |
(wide area network)广域网 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
12 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
13 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
14 auspices | |
n.资助,赞助 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
15 immoral | |
adj.不道德的,淫荡的,荒淫的,有伤风化的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
16 knack | |
n.诀窍,做事情的灵巧的,便利的方法 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
17 complacently | |
adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
18 chuckle | |
vi./n.轻声笑,咯咯笑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
19 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
20 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
21 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
22 dirges | |
n.挽歌( dirge的名词复数 );忧伤的歌,哀歌 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
23 extolled | |
v.赞颂,赞扬,赞美( extol的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
24 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
25 wry | |
adj.讽刺的;扭曲的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
26 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
27 dismantling | |
(枪支)分解 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
28 shrilly | |
尖声的; 光亮的,耀眼的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
29 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
30 delved | |
v.深入探究,钻研( delve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
31 consolations | |
n.安慰,慰问( consolation的名词复数 );起安慰作用的人(或事物) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
32 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
33 vacancies | |
n.空房间( vacancy的名词复数 );空虚;空白;空缺 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
34 reverent | |
adj.恭敬的,虔诚的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
35 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
36 scruple | |
n./v.顾忌,迟疑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
37 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
38 sarcastic | |
adj.讥讽的,讽刺的,嘲弄的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
39 persuasion | |
n.劝说;说服;持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
40 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
41 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
42 grumbling | |
adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
43 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
44 pedestrians | |
n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
45 waning | |
adj.(月亮)渐亏的,逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 );(月)亏;变小;变暗淡 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
46 rattled | |
慌乱的,恼火的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
47 casually | |
adv.漠不关心地,无动于衷地,不负责任地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
48 sect | |
n.派别,宗教,学派,派系 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
49 transgressing | |
v.超越( transgress的现在分词 );越过;违反;违背 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
欢迎访问英文小说网 |