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Weir of Hermiston-Part15_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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'Grant that it is a ridiculous story, painfullyridiculous,' I keep



telling him. 'Be a man! Live it down, man!' But not he. Of course,

it's just solitude, and shame, and all that. But I confess I'm



beginning to fear the result. It would be all the pities in the world

if a really promising fellow like Weir was to end ill. I'm seriously



tempted to write to Lord Hermiston, and put it plainly to him."

"I would if I were you," some of his auditors would say, shaking the



head, sitting bewildered and confused at this new view of the matter, so

deftly indicated by a single word. "A capital idea!" they would add,



and wonder at the APLOMB and position of this young man, who talked as a

matter of course of writing to Hermiston and correcting him upon his



private affairs.

And Frank would proceed, sweetlyconfidential: "I'll give you an idea,



now. He's actually sore about the way that I'm received and he's left

out in the county - actuallyjealous and sore. I've rallied him and



I've reasoned with him, told him that every one was most kindly inclined

towards him, told him even that I was received merely because I was his



guest. But it's no use. He will neither accept the invitations he

gets, nor stop brooding about the ones where he's left out. What I'm



afraid of is that the wound's ulcerating. He had always one of those

dark, secret, angry natures - a little underhand and plenty of bile -



you know the sort. He must have inherited it from the Weirs, whom I

suspect to have been a worthy family of weavers somewhere; what's the



cant phrase? - sedentary occupation. It's precisely the kind of

character to go wrong in a false position like what his father's made



for him, or he's making for himself, whichever you like to call it. And

for my part, I think it a disgrace," Frank would say generously.



Presently the sorrow and anxiety of this disinterested friend took

shape. He began in private, in conversations of two, to talk vaguely of



bad habits and low habits. "I must say I'm afraid he's going wrong

altogether," he would say. "I'll tell you plainly, and between



ourselves, I scarcely like to stay there any longer; only, man, I'm

positively afraid to leave him alone. You'll see, I shall be blamed for



it later on. I'm staying at a great sacrifice. I'm hindering my

chances at the Bar, and I can't blind my eyes to it. And what I'm



afraid of is that I'm going to get kicked for it all round before all's

done. You see, nobody believes in friendship nowadays."



"Well, Innes," his interlocutor would reply, "it's very good of you, I

must say that. If there's any blame going, you'll always be sure of MY



good word, for one thing."

"Well," Frank would continue, "candidly, I don't say it's pleasant. He



has a very rough way with him; his father's son, you know. I don't say

he's rude - of course, I couldn't be expected to stand that - but he



steers very near the wind. No, it's not pleasant; but I tell ye, man,

in conscience I don't think it would be fair to leave him. Mind you, I



don't say there's anything actually wrong. What I say is that I don't

like the looks of it, man!" and he would press the arm of his momentary



confidant.

In the early stages I am persuaded there was no malice. He talked but



for the pleasure of airing himself. He was essentially glib, as becomes

the young advocate, and essentiallycareless of the truth, which is the



mark of the young ass; and so he talked at random. There was no

particular bias, but that one which is indigenous and universal, to



flatter himself and to please and interest the present friend. And by

thus milling air out of his mouth, he had presently built up a



presentation of Archie which was known and talked of in all corners of

the county. Wherever there was a residential house and a walled garden,



wherever there was a dwarfish castle and a park, wherever a quadruple

cottage by the ruins of a peel-tower showed an old family going down,



and wherever a handsome villa with a carriage approach and a shrubbery

marked the coming up of a new one - probably on the wheels of machinery



- Archie began to be regarded in the light of a dark, perhaps a vicious

mystery, and the future developments of his career to be looked for with



uneasiness and confidential whispering. He had done something

disgraceful, my dear. What, was not precisely known, and that good kind



young man, Mr. Innes, did his best to make light of it. But there it

was. And Mr. Innes was very anxious about him now; he was really






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