The Red Rover & Other Sea Adventures – 3 Novels in One Volume. Джеймс Фенимор Купер

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      His words suddenly ceased; for, as his eye unconsciously followed his hand, it rested on the still delicate, but no longer youthful, member of the governess Drawing a sigh, like one who felt himself awakened from an agreeable though complete illusion he turned away, leaving his sentence unfinished.

      “You would have music!” he recklessly exclaimed aloud. “Then music shall be heard, though its symphony be rung upon a gong!”

      As he spoke, the wayward and vacillating being we have been attempting to describe struck the instrument he named three blows, so quick and powerfully, as to drown all other sensations in the confusion produced by the echoing din. Though deeply mortified that he had so quickly escaped from the influence she had partially acquired, and secretly displeased at the unceremonious manner in which he had seen fit to announce his independence again, the governess was aware of the necessity of concealing her sentiments.

      “This is certainly not the harmony I invited,” she said, so soon as the overwhelming sounds had ceased to fill the ship; “nor do I think it of a quality to favour the slumbers of those who seek their rest.”

      “Fear nothing for them. The seaman sleeps with his ear near the port whence the cannon bellows, and awakes at the call of the boatswain’s whistle. He is too deeply schooled in habit, to think he has heard more than a note of the flute; stronger and fuller than common, if you will, but still a sound that has no interest for him. Another tap would have sounded the alarm of fire; but these three touches say no more than music. It was the signal for the band. The night is still, and favourable for their art, and we will listen to sweet sounds awhile.”

      His words were scarcely uttered before the low chords of wind instruments were heard without, where the men had probably stationed themselves by some previous order of their Captain. The Rover smiled, as if he exulted in this prompt proof of the sort of despotic or rather magical power he wielded; and, throwing his form on the divan, he sat listening to the sounds which followed.

      The strains which now rose upon the night, and which spread themselves soft and melodiously abroad upon the water, would in truth have done credit to far more regular artists. The air was wild and melancholy and perhaps it was the more in accordance with the present humour of the man for whose ear it was created. Then, losing the former character the whole power of the music was concentrated in softer and still gentler sounds, as if the genius who had given birth to the melody had been pouring out the feelings of his soul in pathos. The temper of the Rover’s mind answered to the changing expression of the music; and, when the strains were sweetest and most touching, he even bowed his head like one who wept.

      Though secretly under the influence of the harmony themselves, Mrs Wyllys and her pupil could but gaze on the singularly constituted being into whose hands their evil fortune had seen fit to cast them. The former was filled with admiration at the fearful contrariety of those passions which could reveal themselves, in the same individual, under so very different and so dangerous forms; while the latter, judging with the indulgence and sympathy of her years, was willing to believe that a man whose emotions could be thus easily and kindly excited was rather the victim of circumstances than the creator of his own luckless fortune.

      “There is Italy in those strains,” said the Rover, when the last chord had died upon his ear; “sweet, indolent, luxurious, forgetful Italy! It has never been your chance, Madam, to visit that land, so mighty in its recollections, and so impotent in its actual condition?”

      The governess made no reply; but, bowing her head, in turn, her companions believed she was submitting also to the influence of the music. At length, as though impelled by another changeful impulse, the Rover advanced towards Gertrude, and, addressing her with a courtesy that would have done credit to a very different scene, he said, in the laboured language that characterised the politeness of the age,—

      “One who in common speaks music should not have neglected the gifts of nature. You sing?”

      Had Gertrude possessed the power he affected to believe, her voice would have denied its services at his call. Bending to his compliment, she murmured her apologies in words that were barely audible. He listened intently; but, without pressing a point that it was easy to see was unwelcome, he turned away, gave the gong a light but startling tap.

      “Roderick,” he continued, when the gentle foot step of the lad was heard upon the stairs that led into the cabin below, “do you sleep?”

      The answer was slow and smothered; and, of course, in the negative.

      “Apollo was not absent at the birth of Roderick, Madam. The lad can raise such sounds as have been known to melt the stubborn feelings of a seaman. Go, place yourself by the cabin door, good Roderick, and bid the music run a low accompaniment to your words.”

      The boy obeyed, stationing his slight form so much in shadow, that the expression of his working countenance was not visible to those who sat within the stronger light of the lamp. The instruments then commenced a gentle symphony, which was soon ended; and twice had they begun the air, but still no voice was heard to mingle in the harmony.

      “Words, Roderick, words; we are but dull interpreters of the meaning of yon flutes.”

      Thus admonished of his duty, the boy began to sing in a full, rich contralto voice, which betrayed a tremour, however, that evidently formed no part of the air. His words, so far as they might be distinguished, ran as follows:—

      “The land was lying broad and fair

       Behind the western sea;

       And holy solitude was there,

       And sweetest liberty.

      The lingering sun, at ev’ning, hung

       A glorious orb, divinely beaming

       On silent lake and tree;

       And ruddy light was o’er all streaming,

       Mark, man! for thee;

       O’er valley, lake, and tree!

      And now a thousand maidens stray,

       Or range the echoing groves;

       While, flutt’ring near, on pinions gay,

       Fan twice ten thousand loves,

       In that soft clime, at even time,

       Hope says”——

      “Enough of this, Roderick,” impatiently interrupted his master. “There is too much of the Corydon in that song for the humour of a manner. Sing us of the sea and its pleasures, boy; and roll out the strains in such a fashion as may suit a sailor’s fancy.”

      The lad continued mute, perhaps in disinclination to the task, perhaps from utter inability to comply.

      “What, Roderick! does the muse desert thee? or is memory getting dull? You see the child is wilful in his melody, and must sing of loves and sunshine or he fails. Now touch us a stronger chord my men, and put life into your cadences, while I troll a sea air for the honour of the ship.”

      The band took the humour of the moment from their master, (for surely he well deserved the name), sounding a powerful and graceful symphony, to prepare the listeners for the song of the Rover. Those treacherous and beguiling tones which so often stole into his voice when, speaking, did not mislead expectation as to СКАЧАТЬ