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Malcolm, a novel by George MacDonald |
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Chapter 33. The Library |
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_ CHAPTER XXXIII. THE LIBRARY Malcolm's first night was rather troubled,--not primarily from the fact that but a thin partition separated him from the wizard's chamber, but from the deadness of the silence around him; for he had been all his life accustomed to the near noise of the sea, and its absence had upon him the rousing effect of an unaccustomed sound. He kept hearing the dead silence--was constantly dropping, as it were into its gulf; and it was no wonder that a succession of sleepless fits, strung together rather than divided by as many dozes little better than startled rousings, should at length have so shaken his mental frame as to lay it open to the assaults of nightly terrors, the position itself being sufficient to seduce his imagination, and carry it over to the interests of the enemy. But Malcolm had early learned that a man's will must, like a true monarch, rule down every rebellious movement of its subjects, and he was far from yielding to such inroads as now assailed him: still it was long before he fell asleep, and then only to dream without quite losing consciousness of his peculiar surroundings. He seemed to know that he lay in his own bed, and yet to be somehow aware of the presence of a pale woman in a white garment, who sat on the side of the bed in the next room, still and silent, with her hands in her lap, and her eyes on the ground. He thought he had seen her before, and knew, notwithstanding her silence, that she was lamenting over a child she had lost. He knew also where her child was,--that it lay crying in a cave down by the seashore; but he could neither rise to go to her, nor open his mouth to call. The vision kept coming and coming, like the same tune played over and over on a barrel organ, and when he woke seemed to fill all the time he had slept. About ten o'clock he was summoned to the marquis's presence, and found him at breakfast with Lady Florimel. "Where did you sleep last night?" asked the marquis. "Neist door to the auld warlock," answered Malcolm. Lady Florimel looked up with a glance of bright interest: her father had just been telling her the story. "You did!" said the marquis. "Then Mrs Courthope--did she tell you the legend about him?" "Ay did she, my lord." "Well, how did you sleep?" "Middlin' only." "How was that?" "I dinna ken, 'cep it was 'at I was fule eneuch to fin' the place gey eerie like." "Aha!" said the marquis. "You've had enough of it! You won't try it again!" "What 's that ye say, my lord?" rejoined Malcolm. "Wad ye hae a man turn 's back at the first fleg? Na, na, my lord; that wad never du!" "Oh! then, you did have a fright?" "Na, I canna say that aither. Naething waur cam near me nor a dream 'at plaguit me--an' it wasna sic an ill ane efter a'." "What was it?" "I thocht there was a bonny leddy sittin' o' the bed i' the neist room, in her nichtgoon like, an' she was greitin' sair in her heirt, though she never loot a tear fa' doon. She was greitin' about a bairnie she had lost, an' I kent weel whaur the bairnie was-- doon in a cave upo' the shore, I thoucht--an' was jist yirnin' to gang till her an' tell her, an' stop the greitin' o' her hert, but I cudna muv han' nor fit, naither cud I open my mou' to cry till her. An' I gaed dreamin' on at the same thing ower an' ower, a' the time I was asleep. But there was naething sae frichtsome aboot that, my lord." "No, indeed," said his lordship. "Only it garred me greit tu, my lord, 'cause I cudna win at her to help her." His lordship laughed, but oddly, and changed the subject. "There's no word of that boat yet," he said. "I must write again." "May I show Malcolm the library, papa?" asked Lady Florimel. "I wad fain see the buiks," adjected Malcolm. "You don't know what a scholar he is, papa!" "Little eneuch o' that!" said Malcolm. "Oh yes! I do," said the marquis, answering his daughter. "But he must keep the skipper from my books and the scholar from my boat." "Ye mean a scholar wha wad skip yer buiks, my lord! Haith! sic wad be a skipper wha wad ill scull yer boat!" said Malcolm, with a laugh at the poor attempt. "Bravo!" said the marquis, who certainly was not over critical. "Can you write a good hand?" "No ill, my lord." "So much the better! I see you 'll be worth your wages." "That depen's on the wages," returned Malcolm. "And that reminds me you 've said nothing about them yet." "Naither has yer lordship." "Well, what are they to be?" "Whatever ye think proper, my lord. Only dinna gar me gang to Maister Crathie for them." The marquis had sent away the man who was waiting when Malcolm entered, and during this conversation Malcolm had of his own accord been doing his best to supply his place. The meal ended, Lady Florimel desired him to wait a moment in the hall. "He 's so amusing, papa!" she said. "I want to see him stare at the books. He thinks the schoolmaster's hundred volumes a grand library! He 's such a goose! It 's the greatest fun in the world watching him." "No such goose!" said the marquis; but he recognized himself in his child, and laughed. Florimel ran off merrily, as bent on a joke, and joined Malcolm. "Now, I 'm going to show you the library," she said. "Thank ye, my leddy; that will be gran'!" replied Malcolm. He followed her up two staircases, and through more than one long narrow passage: all the ducts of the house were long and narrow, causing him a sense of imprisonment--vanishing ever into freedom at the opening of some door into a great room. But never had be had a dream of such a room as that at which they now arrived. He started with a sort of marvelling dismay when she threw open the door of the library, and he beheld ten thousand volumes at a glance, all in solemn stillness. It was like a sepulchre of kings. But his astonishment took a strange form of expression, the thought in which was beyond the reach of his mistress. "Eh, my leddy!" he cried, after staring for a while in breathless bewilderment, "it's jist like a byke o' frozen bees! Eh! gien they war a' to come to life an' stick their stangs o' trowth intill a body, the waukin' up wad be awfu'!--It jist gars my heid gang roon'!" he added, after a pause. "It is a fine thing," said the girl, "to have such a library." "'Deed is 't, my leddy! It's ane o' the preevileeges o' rank," said Malcolm. "It taks a faimily that hauds on throu' centeries in a hoose whaur things gether, to mak sic an unaccoontable getherin' o' buiks as that. It's a gran' sicht--worth livin' to see." "Suppose you were to be a rich man some day," said Florimel, in the condescending tone she generally adopted when addressing him, "it would be one of the first things you would set about--wouldn't it--to get such a library together?" "Na, my leddy; I wad hae mair wut. A leebrary canna be made a' at ance, ony mair nor a hoose, or a nation, or a muckle tree: they maun a' tak time to grow, an' sae maun a leebrary. I wadna even ken what buiks to gang an' speir for. I daursay, gien I war to try, I cudna at a moment's notice tell ye the names o' mair nor a twa score o' buiks at the ootside. Fowk maun mak acquantance amo' buiks as they wad amo' leevin' fowk." "But you could get somebody who knew more about them than yourself to buy for you." "I wad as sune think o' gettin' somebody to ate my denner for me." "No, that's not fair," said Florimel. "It would only be like getting somebody who knew more of cookery than yourself, to order your dinner for you." "Ye 're richt, my leddy; but still I wad as sune think o' the tane 's the tither. What wad come o' the like o' me, div ye think, broucht up upo' meal brose, an' herrin', gien ye was to set me doon to sic a denner as my lord, yer father, wad ait ilka day, an' think naething o'? But gien some fowk hed the buyin' o' my buiks, I'm thinkin' the first thing I wad hae to du, wad be to fling the half o' them into the burn." "What good would that do?" "Clear awa' the rubbitch. Ye see, my leddy, it's no buiks, but what buiks. Eh! there maun be mony ane o' the richt sort here, though. I wonner gien Mr Graham ever saw them. He wad surely hae made mention o them i' my hearin'!" "What would be the first thing you would do, then, Malcolm, if you happened to turn out a great man after all?" said Florimel, seating herself in a huge library chair, whence, having arranged her skirt, she looked up in the young fisherman's face. "I doobt I wad hae to sit doon, an' turn ower the change a feow times afore I kent aither mysel' or what wad become me," he said. "That's not answering my question," retorted Florimel. "Weel, the second thing I wad du," said Malcolm, thoughtfully, and pausing a moment, "wad be to get Mr Graham to gang wi' me to Ebberdeen, an' cairry me throu' the classes there. Of coorse, I wadna try for prizes; that wadna be fair to them 'at cudna affoord a tutor at their lodgin's." "But it's the first thing you would do that I want to know," persisted the girl. "I tell't ye I wad sit doon an' think aboot it." "I don't count that doing anything." "'Deed, my leddy! thinkin 's the hardest wark I ken." "Well, what is it you would think about first?" said Florimel-- not to be diverted from her course. "Ow, the third thing I wad du--" "I want to know the first thing you would think about." "I canna say yet what the third thing wad be. Fower year at the college wad gie me time to reflec upon a hantle o' things." "I insist on knowing the first thing you would think about doing," cried Florimel, with mock imperiousness, but real tyranny. "Weel, my leddy, gien ye wull hae 't--but hoo great a man wad ye be makin' o' me?" "Oh!--let me see;--yes--yes--the heir to an earldom.-- That's liberal enough--is it not?" "That 's as muckle as say I wad come to be a yerl some day, sae be I didna dee upo' the ro'd?" "Yes--that's what it means." "An' a yerl's neist door till a markis--isna he?" "Yes--he's in the next lower rank." "Lower?--Ay!--No that muckle, maybe?" "No," said Lady Florimel consequentially; "the difference is not so great as to prevent their meeting on a level of courtesy." "I dinna freely ken what that means; but gien 't be yer leddyship's wull to mak a yerl o' me, I'm no to raise ony objections." He uttered it definitively, and stood silent. "Well?" said the girl. "What's yer wull, my leddy?" returned Malcolm, as if roused from a reverie. "Where's your answer?" "I said I wad be a yerl to please yer leddyship.--I wad be a flunky for the same rizzon, gien 't was to wait upo' yersel' an' nae ither." "I ask you," said Florimel, more imperiously than ever, "what is the first thing you would do, if you found yourself no longer a fisherman, but the son of an earl?" "But it maun be that I was a fisherman--to the en' o' a' creation, my leddy." "You refuse to answer my question?" "By no means, my leddy, gien ye wull hae an answer." "I will have an answer." "Gien ye wull hae 't than--But--" "No buts, but an answer!" "Weel--it's yer am wyte, my leddy!--I wad jist gang doon upo' my k-nees, whaur I stude afore ye, and tell ye a heap o' things 'at maybe by that time ye wad ken weel eneuch a'ready ." "What would you tell me?" "I wad tell ye 'at yer een war like the verra leme o' the levin (brightness of the lightning) itsel'; yer cheek like a white rose the licht frae a reid ane; yer hair jist the saft lattin' gang o' his han's whan the Maker cud du nae mair; yer mou' jist fashioned to drive fowk daft 'at daurna come nearer nor luik at it; an' for yer shape, it was like naething in natur' but itsel'.--Ye wad hae't my leddy!" he added apologetically--and well he might, for Lady Florimel's cheek had flushed, and her eye had been darting fire long before he got to the end of his Celtic outpouring. Whether she was really angry or not, she had no difficulty in making Malcolm believe she was. She rose from her chair--though not until he had ended--swept halfway to the door, then turned upon him with a flash. "How dare you?" she said, her breed well obeying the call of the game. "I'm verra sorry, my leddy," faltered Malcolm, trying to steady himself against a strange trembling that had laid hold upon him, "--but ye maun alloo it was a' yer ain wyte." "Do you dare to say 1 encouraged you to talk such stuff to me?" "Ye did gar me, my leddy." Florimel turned and undulated from the room, leaving the poor fellow like a statue in the middle of it, with the books all turning their backs upon him. "Noo," he said to himself, "she's aff to tell her father, and there'll be a bonny bane to pyke atween him an' me! But haith! I'll jist tell him the trowth o' 't, an' syne he can mak a kirk an' a mill o' 't, gien he likes." With this resolution he stood his ground, every moment expecting the wrathful father to make his appearance and at the least order him out of the house. But minute passed after minute, and no wrathful father came. He grew calmer by degrees, and at length began to peep at the titles of the books. When the great bell rang for lunch, he was embalmed rather than buried in one of Milton's prose volumes--standing before the shelf on which he had found it--the very incarnation of study. My reader may well judge that Malcolm could not have been very far gone in love, seeing he was thus able to read, remark in return that it was not merely the distance between him and Lady Florimel that had hitherto preserved his being from absorption and his will from annihilation, but also the strength of his common sense, and the force of his individuality. _ |
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