Two Years Ago, Volume II. Charles Kingsley

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ then dropped out one wild suspicion after another.

      "Maybe he's surveying for a railroad?"

      "Maybe he's from the Trinity House, going to make a new harbour; or maybe a lighthouse. And then we'd better not meddle wi' him."

      "I'll tell you what he be. He's that here government chap as the Doctor said he'd bring down to set our drains right."

      "If he goes meddling with our drains, and knocking of our back-yards about, he'll find himself over quay before he's done."

      "Steady! Steady. He come with my loord, mind."

      "He might a' taken in his loordship, and be a Roossian spy to the bottom of him after all. They mak' munselves up into all manner of disguisements, specially beards. I've seed the Roossians with their beards many a time."

      "Maybe 'tis witchcraft. Look to mun, putting mun's head under that black bag now! He'm after no good, I'll warrant. If they ben't works of darkness, what be?"

      "Leastwise he'm no right to go spying here on our quay, and never ax with your leave, or by your leave. I'll just goo mak' mun out."

      And Claude, who had just retreated into his tent, had the pleasure of finding the curtain suddenly withdrawn, and as a flood of light rushed in, spoiling his daguerreotype plate, hearing a voice as of a sleepy bear—

      "Ax your pardon, sir; but what be you arter here?"

      "Murder! shut the screen!" But it was too late; and Claude came out, while the eldest-born of Anak stood sternly inquiring,—

      "I say, what be you arter here, mak' so boold?"

      "Taking sun-pictures, my good sir, and you have spoilt one for me."

      "Sun-picturs, saith a?" in a very incredulous tone.

      "Daguerreotypes of the place, for Lord Scoutbush."

      "Oh!—if it's his lordship's wish, of course! Only things is very well as they are, and needs no mending, thank God. Only, ax pardon, sir. You see, we don't generally allow no interfering on our pier without lave, sir; the pier being ourn, we pays for the repairing. So, if his lordship intends making of alterations, he'd better to have spoken to us first."

      "Alterations?" said Claude, laughing; "the place is far too pretty to need any improvement."

      "Glad you think so, sir! But whatever be you arter here?"

      "Taking views! I'm a painter, an artist! I'll take your portrait, if you like!" said Claude, laughing more and more.

      "Bless my heart, what vules we be! 'Tis a paainter gentleman, lads!" roared he.

      "What on earth did you take me for? A Russian spy?"

      The elder shook his head; grinned solemnly; and peace was concluded. "We'm old-fashioned folks here, you see, sir; and don't like no new-fangled meddlecomes. You'll excuse us; you'm very welcome to do what you like, and glad to see you here." And the old fellow made a stately bow, and moved away.

      "No, no! you must stay and have your portrait taken; you'll make a fine picture."

      "Hum; might ha', they used to say, thirty years agone; I'm over old now. Still, my old woman might like it. Make so bold, sir, but what's your charge?"

      "I charge nothing. Five minutes' talk with an honest man will pay me."

      "Hum: if you'd a let me pay you, sir, well and good; but I maunt take up your time for nought; that's not fair."

      However, Claude prevailed, and in ten minutes he had all the sailors on the quay round him; and one after another came forward blushing and grinning to be "taken off." Soon the children gathered round, and when Valencia and Major Campbell came on the pier, they found Claude in the midst of a ring of little dark-haired angels; while a dozen honest fellows grinned when their own visages appeared, and chaffed each other about the sweethearts who were to keep them while they were out at sea. And in the midst little Claude laughed and joked, and told good stories, and gave himself up, the simple, the sunny-hearted fellow, to the pleasure of pleasing, till he earned from one and all the character of "the pleasantest-spokenest gentleman that was ever into the town."

      "Here's her ladyship! make room for her ladyship!" But Claude held up a warning hand. He had just arranged a masterpiece,—half-a-dozen of the prettiest children, sitting beneath a broken boat, on spars, sails, blocks, lobster-pots, and what not, arranged in picturesque confusion; while the black-bearded sea-kings round were promising them rock and bulls-eyes, if they would only sit still like "gude maids."

      But at Valencia's coming the children all looked round, and jumped up and curtsied, and then were afraid to sit down again.

      "You have spoilt my group, Miss St. Just, and you must mend it!"

      Valencia caught the humour, regrouped them all forthwith; and then placed herself in front of them by Claude's side.

      "Now, be good children! Look straight at me, and listen!" And lifting up her finger, she began to sing the first song of which she could think, "The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers."

      She had no need to bid the children look at her and listen; for not only they, but every face upon the pier was fixed upon her; breathless, spell-bound, at once by her magnificent beauty and her magnificent voice, as up rose, leaping into the clear summer air, and rolling away over the still blue sea, that glorious melody which has now become the national anthem to the nobler half of the New World. Honour to woman, and honour to old England, that from Felicia Hemans came the song which will last, perhaps, when modern Europe shall have shared the fate of ancient Rome and Greece!

      Valencia's singing was the reflex of her own character; and therefore, perhaps, all the more fitted to the song, the place, and the audience. It was no modest cooing voice, tender, suggestive, trembling with suppressed emotion, such as, even though narrow in compass, and dull in quality, will touch the deepest fibres of the heart, and, as delicate scents will sometimes do, wake up long-forgotten dreams, which seem memories of some antenatal life.

      It was clear, rich, massive, of extraordinary compass, and yet full of all the graceful ease, the audacious frolic, of perfect physical health, and strength, and beauty; had there been a trace of effort in it, it might have been accused of "bravura:" but there was no need of effort where nature had bestowed already an all but perfect organ, and all that was left for science was to teach not power, but control. Above all, it was a voice which you trusted; after the first three notes you felt that that perfect ear, that perfect throat, could never, even by the thousandth part of a note, fall short of melody; and you gave your soul up to it, and cast yourself upon it, to bear you up and away, like a fairy steed, whither it would, down into the abysses of sadness, and up to the highest heaven of joy; as did those wild and rough, and yet tenderhearted and imaginative men that day, while every face spoke new delight, and hung upon those glorious notes,—

      "As one who drinks from a charmed cup

      Of sparkling, and foaming, and murmuring wine"—

      and not one of them, had he had the gift of words, but might have said with the poet:—

      "I have no life, Constantia, now but thee,

      While, like the world-surrounding air, thy song

      Flows on, and fills all things with melody.

      Now is thy voice tempest swift and strong,

      On which, like one in a trance upborne,

      Secure СКАЧАТЬ