Catriona

Page 114

So she

must sit alone in that room where she and I had been so merry, and

in the blink of that chimney whose light had shone upon our many

difficult and tender moments. There she must sit alone, and think

of herself as of a maid who had most unmaidenly proffered her

affections and had the same rejected. And in the meanwhile I would

be alone some other place, and reading myself (whenever I was

tempted to be angry) lessons upon human frailty and female

delicacy. And altogether I suppose there were never two poor fools

made themselves more unhappy in a greater misconception.

As for James, he paid not so much heed to us, or to anything in

nature but his pocket, and his belly, and his own prating talk.

Before twelve hours were gone he had raised a small loan of me;

before thirty, he had asked for a second and been refused. Money

and refusal he took with the same kind of high good nature.

Indeed, he had an outside air of magnanimity that was very well

fitted to impose upon a daughter; and the light in which he was

constantly presented in his talk, and the man's fine presence and

great ways went together pretty harmoniously. So that a man that

had no business with him, and either very little penetration or a

furious deal of prejudice, might almost have been taken in. To me,

after my first two interviews, he was as plain as print; I saw him

to be perfectly selfish, with a perfect innocency in the same; and

I would hearken to his swaggering talk (of arms, and "an old

soldier," and "a poor Highland gentleman," and "the strength of my

country and my friends") as I might to the babbling of a parrot.

The odd thing was that I fancy he believed some part of it himself,

or did at times; I think he was so false all through that he scarce

knew when he was lying; and for one thing, his moments of dejection

must have been wholly genuine. There were times when he would be

the most silent, affectionate, clinging creature possible, holding

Catriona's hand like a big baby, and begging of me not to leave if

I had any love to him; of which, indeed, I had none, but all the

more to his daughter. He would press and indeed beseech us to

entertain him with our talk, a thing very difficult in the state of

our relations; and again break forth in pitiable regrets for his

own land and friends, or into Gaelic singing.

"This is one of the melancholy airs of my native land," he would

say. "You may think it strange to see a soldier weep, and indeed

it is to make a near friend of you," says he. "But the notes of

this singing are in my blood, and the words come out of my heart.

And when I mind upon my red mountains and the wild birds calling

there, and the brave streams of water running down, I would scarce

think shame to weep before my enemies." Then he would sing again,

and translate to me pieces of the song, with a great deal of

boggling and much expressed contempt against the English language.

"It says here," he would say, "that the sun is gone down, and the

battle is at an end, and the brave chiefs are defeated. And it

tells here how the stars see them fleeing into strange countries or

lying dead on the red mountain; and they will never more shout the

call of battle or wash their feet in the streams of the valley.

But if you had only some of this language, you would weep also

because the words of it are beyond all expression, and it is mere

mockery to tell you it in English."

Well, I thought there was a good deal of mockery in the business,

one way and another; and yet, there was some feeling too, for which

I hated him, I think, the worst of all. And it used to cut me to

the quick to see Catriona so much concerned for the old rogue, and

weeping herself to see him weep, when I was sure one half of his

distress flowed from his last night's drinking in some tavern.

There were times when I was tempted to lend him a round sum, and

see the last of him for good; but this would have been to see the

last of Catriona as well, for which I was scarcely so prepared; and

besides, it went against my conscience to squander my good money on

one who was so little of a husband.

Robert Louis Stevenson
Classic Literature Library

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