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第 1 节
作者:套牢      更新:2021-02-20 15:33      字数:9322
  Robert Falconer
  by George MacDonald
  TO
  THE MEMORY
  OF THE MAN WHO
  STANDS HIGHEST IN THE ORATORY
  OF MY MEMORY;
  ALEXANDER JOHN SCOTT;
  I; DARING; PRESUME TO DEDICATE THIS BOOK。
  PART I。HIS BOYHOOD。
  CHAPTER I。
  A RECOLLECTION。
  Robert Falconer; school…boy; aged fourteen; thought he had never
  seen his father; that is; thought he had no recollection of having
  ever seen him。  But the moment when my story begins; he had begun to
  doubt whether his belief in the matter was correct。  And; as he went
  on thinking; he became more and more assured that he had seen his
  father somewhere about six years before; as near as a thoughtful boy
  of his age could judge of the lapse of a period that would form half
  of that portion of his existence which was bound into one by the
  reticulations of memory。
  For there dawned upon his mind the vision of one Sunday afternoon。
  Betty had gone to church; and he was alone with his grandmother;
  reading The Pilgrim's Progress to her; when; just as Christian
  knocked at the wicket…gate; a tap came to the street door; and he
  went to open it。  There he saw a tall; somewhat haggard…looking man;
  in a shabby black coat (the vision gradually dawned upon him till it
  reached the minuteness of all these particulars); his hat pulled
  down on to his projecting eyebrows; and his shoes very dusty; as
  with a long journey on footit was a hot Sunday; he remembered
  thatwho looked at him very strangely; and without a word pushed
  him aside; and went straight into his grandmother's parlour;
  shutting the door behind him。  He followed; not doubting that the
  man must have a right to go there; but questioning very much his
  right to shut him out。  When he reached the door; however; he found
  it bolted; and outside he had to stay all alone; in the desolate
  remainder of the house; till Betty came home from church。
  He could even recall; as he thought about it; how drearily the
  afternoon had passed。  First he had opened the street door; and
  stood in it。  There was nothing alive to be seen; except a sparrow
  picking up crumbs; and he would not stop till he was tired of him。
  The Royal Oak; down the street to the right; had not even a
  horseless gig or cart standing before it; and King Charles; grinning
  awfully in its branches on the signboard; was invisible from the
  distance at which he stood。  In at the other end of the empty
  street; looked the distant uplands; whose waving corn and grass were
  likewise invisible; and beyond them rose one blue truncated peak in
  the distance; all of them wearily at rest this weary Sabbath day。
  However; there was one thing than which this was better; and that
  was being at church; which; to this boy at least; was the very fifth
  essence of dreariness。
  He closed the door and went into the kitchen。  That was nearly as
  bad。  The kettle was on the fire; to be sure; in anticipation of
  tea; but the coals under it were black on the top; and it made only
  faint efforts; after immeasurable intervals of silence; to break
  into a song; giving a hum like that of a bee a mile off; and then
  relapsing into hopeless inactivity。  Having just had his dinner; he
  was not hungry enough to find any resource in the drawer where the
  oatcakes lay; and; unfortunately; the old wooden clock in the corner
  was going; else there would have been some amusement in trying to
  torment it into demonstrations of life; as he had often done in less
  desperate circumstances than the present。  At last he went up…stairs
  to the very room in which he now was; and sat down upon the floor;
  just as he was sitting now。  He had not even brought his Pilgrim's
  Progress with him from his grandmother's room。  But; searching about
  in all holes and corners; he at length found Klopstock's Messiah
  translated into English; and took refuge there till Betty came home。
  Nor did he go down till she called him to tea; when; expecting to
  join his grandmother and the stranger; he found; on the contrary;
  that he was to have his tea with Betty in the kitchen; after which
  he again took refuge with Klopstock in the garret; and remained
  there till it grew dark; when Betty came in search of him; and put
  him to bed in the gable…room; and not in his usual chamber。  In the
  morning; every trace of the visitor had vanished; even to the thorn
  stick which he had set down behind the door as he entered。
  All this Robert Falconer saw slowly revive on the palimpsest of his
  memory; as he washed it with the vivifying waters of recollection。
  CHAPTER II。
  A VISITOR。
  It was a very bare little room in which the boy sat; but it was his
  favourite retreat。  Behind the door; in a recess; stood an empty
  bedstead; without even a mattress upon it。  This was the only piece
  of furniture in the room; unless some shelves crowded with papers
  tied up in bundles; and a cupboard in the wall; likewise filled with
  papers; could be called furniture。  There was no carpet on the
  floor; no windows in the walls。  The only light came from the door;
  and from a small skylight in the sloping roof; which showed that it
  was a garret…room。  Nor did much light come from the open door; for
  there was no window on the walled stair to which it opened; only
  opposite the door a few steps led up into another garret; larger;
  but with a lower roof; unceiled; and perforated with two or three
  holes; the panes of glass filling which were no larger than the
  small blue slates which covered the roof: from these panes a little
  dim brown light tumbled into the room where the boy sat on the
  floor; with his head almost between his knees; thinking。
  But there was less light than usual in the room now; though it was
  only half…past two o'clock; and the sun would not set for more than
  half…an…hour yet; for if Robert had lifted his head and looked up;
  it would have been at; not through; the skylight。  No sky was to be
  seen。  A thick covering of snow lay over the glass。  A partial thaw;
  followed by frost; had fixed it therea mass of imperfect cells and
  confused crystals。  It was a cold place to sit in; but the boy had
  some faculty for enduring cold when it was the price to be paid for
  solitude。  And besides; when he fell into one of his thinking moods;
  he forgot; for a season; cold and everything else but what he was
  thinking abouta faculty for which he was to be envied。
  If he had gone down the stair; which described half the turn of a
  screw in its descent; and had crossed the landing to which it
  brought him; he could have entered another bedroom; called the gable
  or rather ga'le room; equally at his service for retirement; but;
  though carpeted and comfortably furnished; and having two windows at
  right angles; commanding two streets; for it was a corner house; the
  boy preferred the garret…roomhe could not tell why。  Possibly;
  windows to the streets were not congenial to the meditations in
  which; even now; as I have said; the boy indulged。
  These meditations; however; though sometimes as abstruse; if not so
  continuous; as those of a metaphysicianfor boys are not
  unfrequently more given to metaphysics than older people are able
  or; perhaps; willing to believewere not by any means confined to
  such subjects: castle…building had its full share in the occupation
  of those lonely hours; and for this exercise of the constructive
  faculty; what he knew; or rather what he did not know; of his own
  history gave him scope enough; nor was his brain slow in supplying
  him with material corresponding in quantity to the space afforded。
  His mother had been dead for so many years that he had only the
  vaguest recollections of her tenderness; and none of her person。
  All he was told of his father was that he had gone abroad。  His
  grandmother would never talk about him; although he was her own son。
  When the boy ventured to ask a question about where he was; or when
  he would return; she always replied'Bairns suld haud their
  tongues。'  Nor would she vouchsafe another answer to any question
  that seemed to her from the farthest distance to bear down upon that
  subject。 'Bairns maun learn to haud their tongues;' was the sole
  variation of which the response admitted。  And the boy did learn to
  hold his tongue。  Perhaps he would have thought less about his
  father if he had had brothers or sisters; or even if the nature of
  his grandmother had been such as to admit of their relationship
  being drawn closerinto personal confidence; or some measure of
  familiarity。  How they stood with regard to each other will soon
  appear。
  Whether the visions vanished from his brain because of the
  thickening of his blood with cold; or he merely acted from one of
  those undefined and inexplicable impulses which occasion not a few
  of our actions; I cannot tell; but all at once Robert started to his
  feet and hurried from the room。  At the foot of the garret stair;
  between it and th