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Weir of Hermiston-Part8_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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of birth, but is, perhaps, like Kirstie, a connection of her master's,

and at least knows the legend of her own family, and may count kinship



with some illustrious dead. For that is the mark of the Scot of all

classes: that he stands in an attitude towards the past unthinkable to



Englishmen, and remembers and cherishes the memory of his forebears,

good or bad; and there burns alive in him a sense of identity with the



dead even to the twentieth generation. No more characteristic" target="_blank" title="a.特有的 n.特性">characteristic instance

could be found than in the family of Kirstie Elliott. They were all,



and Kirstie the first of all, ready and eager to pour forth the

particulars of their genealogy, embellished with every detail that



memory had handed down or fancy fabricated; and, behold! from every

ramification of that tree there dangled a halter. The Elliotts



themselves have had a chequered history; but these Elliotts deduced,

besides, from three of the most unfortunate of the border clans - the



Nicksons, the Ellwalds, and the Crozers. One ancestor after another

might be seen appearing a moment out of the rain and the hill mist upon



his furtive business, speeding home, perhaps, with a paltry booty of

lame horses and lean kine, or squealing and dealing death in some



moorland feud of the ferrets and the wild cats. One after another

closed his obscure adventures in mid-air, triced up to the arm of the



royal gibbet or the Baron's dule-tree. For the rusty blunderbuss of

Scots criminal justice, which usually hurt nobody but jurymen, became a



weapon of precision for the Nicksons, the Ellwalds, and the Crozers.

The exhilaration of their exploits seemed to haunt the memories of their



descendants alone, and the shame to be forgotten. Pride glowed in their

bosoms to publish their relationship to "Andrew Ellwald of the



Laverockstanes, called `Unchancy Dand,' who was justifeed wi' seeven

mair of the same name at Jeddart in the days of King James the Sax." In



all this tissue of crime and misfortune, the Elliotts of Cauldstaneslap

had one boast which must appear legitimate: the males were gallows-



birds, born outlaws, petty thieves, and deadly brawlers; but, according

to the same tradition, the females were all chaste and faithful. The



power of ancestry on the character is not limited to the inheritance of

cells. If I buy ancestors by the gross from the benevolence of Lyon



King of Arms, my grandson (if he is Scottish) will feel a quickening

emulation of their deeds. The men of the Elliotts were proud, lawless,



violent as of right, cherishing and prolonging a tradition. In like

manner with the women. And the woman, essentiallypassionate and



reckless, who crouched on the rug, in the shine of the peat fire,

telling these tales, had cherished through life a wild integrity of



virtue.

Her father Gilbert had been deeply pious, a savage disciplinarian in the



antique style, and withal a notorious smuggler. "I mind when I was a

bairn getting mony a skelp and being shoo'd to bed like pou'try," she



would say. "That would be when the lads and their bit kegs were on the

road. We've had the riffraff of two-three counties in our kitchen,



mony's the time, betwix' the twelve and the three; and their lanterns

would be standing in the forecourt, ay, a score o' them at once. But



there was nae ungodly talk permitted at Cauldstaneslap. My faither was

a consistent man in walk and conversation; just let slip an aith, and



there was the door to ye! He had that zeal for the Lord, it was a fair

wonder to hear him pray, but the family has aye had a gift that way."



This father was twice married, once to a dark woman of the old Ellwald

stock, by whom he had Gilbert, presently of Cauldstaneslap; and,



secondly, to the mother of Kirstie. "He was an auld man when he married

her, a fell auld man wi' a muckle voice - you could hear him rowting



from the top o' the Kye-skairs," she said; "but for her, it appears she

was a perfit wonder. It was gentle blood she had, Mr. Archie, for it



was your ain. The country-side gaed gyte about her and her gowden hair.

Mines is no to be mentioned wi' it, and there's few weemen has mair hair



than what I have, or yet a bonnier colour. Often would I tell my dear

Miss Jeannie - that was your mother, dear, she was cruel ta'en up about



her hair, it was unco' tender, ye see - 'Houts, Miss Jeannie,' I would




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