castle rackrent-第2部分

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ich　is　quoted　from　Sir　Walter　Scott's　Preface　to　his　Collected　Edition；　and　which　may　as　well　be　quoted　here：　'WITHOUT　BEING　SO　PRESUMPTUOUS　AS　TO　HOPE　TO　EMULATE　THE　RICH　HUMOUR；　THE　PATHETIC　TENDERNESS；　AND　ADMIRABLE　TRUTH　WHICH　PERVADE　THE　WORKS　OF　MY　ACCOMPLISHED　FRIEND；'　Sir　Walter　wrote；　I　FELT　THAT　SOMETHING　MIGHT　BE　ATTEMPTED　FOR　MY　OWN　COUNTRY　OF　THE　SAME　KIND　AS　THAT　WHICH　MISS　EDGEWORTH　SO　FORTUNATELY　ACHIEVED　FOR　IRELAND。'

In　the　MEMOIRS　of　Miss　Edgeworth　there　is　a　pretty　account　of　her　sudden　burst　of　feeling　when　this　passage　so　unexpected；　and　so　deeply　felt　by　her；　was　read　out　by　one　of　her　sisters；　at　a　time　when　Maria　lay　weak　and　recovering　from　illness　in　Edgeworthstown。

Our　host　took　us　that　day；　among　other　pleasant　things；　for　a　marvellous　and　delightful　flight　on　a　jaunting　car；　to　see　something　of　the　country。　　We　sped　through　storms　and　sunshine；　by　open　moors　and　fields；　and　then　by　villages　and　little　churches；　by　farms　where　the　pigs　were　standing　at　the　doors　to　be　fed；　by　pretty　trim　cottages。　　The　lights　came　and　went；　as　the　mist　lifted　we　could　see　the　exquisite　colours；　the　green；　the　dazzling　sweet　lights　on　the　meadows；　playing　upon　the　meadow…sweet　and　elder　bushes；　at　last　we　came　to　the　lovely　glades　of　Carriglass。　　It　seemed　to　me　that　we　had　reached　an　enchanted　forest　amid　this　green　sweet　tangle　of　ivy；　of　flowering　summer　trees；　of　immemorial　oaks　and　sycamores。

A　squirrel　was　darting　up　the　branches　of　a　beautiful　spreading　beech…tree；　a　whole　army　of　rabbits　were　flashing　with　silver　tails　into　the　brushwood；　swallows；　blackbirds；　peacock…　butterflies；　dragonflies　on　the　wing；　a　mighty　sylvan　life　was　roaming　in　this　lovely　orderly　wilderness。

The　great　Irish　kitchen　garden；　belonging　to　the　house；　with　its　seven　miles　of　wall；　was　also　not　unlike　a　part　of　a　fairy　tale。　Its　owner；　Mr。　Lefroy；　told　me　that　Miss　Edgeworth　had　been　constantly　there。　　She　was　a　great　friend　of　Judge　Lefroy。　　As　a　boy　he　remembered　her　driving　up　to　the　house　and　running　up　through　the　great　drawing…room　doors　to　greet　the　Judge。

Miss　Edgeworth　certainly　lived　in　a　fair　surrounding；　and；　with　Sophia　Western；　must　have　gone　along　the　way　of　life　heralded　by　sweetest　things；　by　the　song　of　birds；　by　the　gold　radiance　of　the　buttercups；　by　the　varied　shadows　of　those　beautiful　trees　under　which　the　cows　gently　tread　the　grass。　　English　does　not　seem　exactly　the　language　in　which　to　write　of　Ireland；　with　its　sylvan　wonders　of　natural　beauty。　　Madame　de　Sevigne's　descriptions　of　her　woods　came　to　my　mind。　　It　is　not　a　place　which　delights　one　by　its　actual　sensual　beauty；　as　Italy　does；　it　is　not　as　in　England；　where　a　thousand　associations　link　one　to　every　scene　and　aspectIreland　seems　to　me　to　contain　some　unique　and　most　impersonal　charm；　which　is　quite　unwritable。

All　that　evening　we　sat　talking　with　our　hosts　round　the　fire　（for　it　was　cold　enough　for　a　fire）；　and　I　remembered　that　in　Miss　Edgeworth's　MEMOIRS　it　was　described　how　the　snow　lay　upon　the　ground　and　upon　the　land；　when　the　family　came　home　in　June　to　take　possession　of　Edgeworthstown。

As　I　put　out　my　candle　in　the　spacious　guest…chamber　I　wondered　which　of　its　past　inhabitants　I　should　wish　to　see　standing　in　the　middle　of　the　room。　　I　must　confess　that　the　thought　of　the　beautiful　Honora　filled　me　with　alarm；　and　if　Miss　Seward　had　walked　in　in　her　pearls　and　satin　robe　I　should　have　fled　for　my　life。　　As　I　lay　there　experimentalising　upon　my　own　emotions　I　found　that　after　all；　natural　simple　people　do　not　frighten　one　whether　dead　or　alive。　　The　thought　of　them　is　ever　welcome；　it　is　the　artificial　people　who　are　sometimes　one　thing；　sometimes　another；　and　who　form　themselves　on　the　weaknesses　and　fancies　of　those　among　whom　they　live；　who　are　really　terrifying。

The　shadow　of　the　bird's　wing　flitted　across　the　window　of　my　bedroom；　and　the　sun　was　shining　next　morning　when　I　awoke。　　I　could　see　the　cows；　foot　deep　in　the　grass　under　the　hawthorns。　After　breakfast　we　went　out　into　the　grounds　and　through　an　arched　doorway　into　the　kitchen　garden。　　It　might　have　been　some　corner　of　Italy　or　the　South　of　France；　the　square　tower　of　the　granary　rose　high　against　the　blue；　the　gray　walls　were　hung　with　messy　fruit　trees；　pigeons　were　darting　and　flapping　their　wings；　gardeners　were　at　work；　the　very　vegetables　were　growing　luxuriant　and　romantic　and　edged　by　thick　borders　of　violet　pansy；　crossing　the　courtyard；　we　came　into　the　village　street；　also　orderly　and　white…washed。　　The　soft　limpid　air　made　all　things　into　pictures；　into　Turners；　into　Titians。　　A　Murillo…like　boy；　with　dark　eyes；　was　leaning　against　a　wall；　with　his　shadow；　watching　us　go　by；　strange　old　women；　with　draperies　round　their　heads；　were　coming　out　of　their　houses。　　We　passed　the　Post…　Office；　the　village　shops；　with　their　names；　the　Monaghans　and　Gerahtys；　such　as　we　find　again　in　Miss　Edgeworth's　novels。　　We　heard　the　local　politics　discussed　over　the　counter　with　a　certain　aptness　and　directness　which　struck　me　very　much。　　We　passed　the　boarding…house；　which　was　not　without　its　historya　long　low　building　erected　by　Mr。　and　Miss　Edgeworth　for　a　school；　where　the　Sandfords　and　Mertons　of　those　days　were　to　be　brought　up　together：　　a　sort　of　foreshadowing　of　the　High　Schools　of　the　present。　　Mr。　Edgeworth　was；　as　we　know；　the　very　spirit　of　progress；　though　his　experiment　did　not　answer　at　the　time。　　At　the　end　of　the　village　street；　where　two　roads　divide；　we　noticed　a　gap　in　the　decent　roadwaya　pile　of　ruins　in　a　garden。　　A　tumble…down　cottage；　and　beyond　the　cottage；　a　falling　shed；　on　the　thatched　roof　of　which　a　hen　was　clucking　and　scraping。　These　cottages　Mr。　Edgeworth　had；　after　long　difficulty；　bought　up　and　condemned　as　unfit　for　human　habitation。　　The　plans　had　been　considered；　the　orders　given　to　build　new　cottages　in　their　place；　which　were　to　be　let　to　the　old　tenants　at　the　old　rent；　but　the　last　remaining　inhabitant　absolutely　refused　to　leave；　we　saw　an　old　woman　in　a　hood　slowly　crossing　the　road；　and　carrying　a　pail　for　water；　no　threats　or　inducements　would　move　her；　not　even　the　sight　of　a　neat　little　house；　white…washed　and　painted；　and　all　ready　for　her　to　step　into。　　Her　present　rent　was　10d。　a　week；　Mr。　Edgeworth　told　me；　and　she　had　been　letting　the　tumble…　down　shed　to　a　large　family　for　1s。　4d。　This　sub…let　was　forcibly　put　an　end　to；　but　the　landlady　still　stops　there；　and　there　she　will　stay　until　the　roof　tumbles　down　upon　her　head。　　The　old　creature　passed　on　through　the　sunshine；　a　decrepit；　picturesque　figure　carrying　her　pail　to　the　stream；　defying　all　the　laws　of　progress　and　political　economy　and　civilisation　in　her　feebleness　and　determination。

Most　of　the　women　came　to　their　doors　to　see　us　go　by。　　They　all　looked　as　old　as　the　hillssome　dropt　curtseys；　others　threw　up　their　arms　in　benediction。　　From　a　cottage　farther　up　the　road　issued　a　strange；　shy　old　creature；　looking　like　a　bundle　of　hay；　walking　on　bare　legs。　　She　came　up　with　a　pinch　of　snuff；　and　a　shake　of　the　hand；　she　was　of　the　family　of　the　man　who　had　once　saved　Edgeworthstown　from　being　destroyed　by　the　rebels。　　'Sure　it　was　not　her　father；'　said　old　Peggy；'　it　was　her　grandfather　did　it！'　　So　she　explained；　but　it　was　hard　to　believe　that　such　an　old；　old　creature　had　ever　had　a　grandfather　in　the　memory　of　man。

The　glebe　lands　lie　beyond　the　village。　　They　reach　as　far　as　the　church　on　its　high　plateau；　from　which　you　can　see　the　Wicklow　Hills　on　a　fine　day；　and　the　lovely　shifting　of　the　lights　of　the　landscape。　　The　remains　of　the　great　pew　of　the　Edgeworth　family；　with　its　carved　canopy　of　wood；　is　still　a　feature　in　the　bare　church　from　which　so　much　has　been　swept　away。　　The　names　of　the　fathers　are　written　on　the　chancel　walls；　and　a　few　medallions　of　daughters　and　sisters　also。　　In　the　churchyard；　among　green　elder　bushes　and　tall　upspringing　grasses；　is　the　square　monument　erected　to　Mr。　Edgeworth　and　his　family；　and　as　we　stood　there　the　quiet　place　was　crossed　and　recrossed　by　swallows　with　their　beating　crescent　wings。


III

Whatever　one　may　think　of　Mr。　Edgeworth's　literary　manipulations　and　of　his　influence　upon　his　daughter's　writings；　one　cannot　but　respect　the　sincere　and　cordial　understanding　which　bound　these　two　people　together；　and　realise　the　added　interest　in　life；　in　its　machinery　and　evolutions；　which　Maria　owed　to　her　father's　active　intelligence。　　Her　own　gift；　I　think；　must　have　been　one　for　perceiving　through　the　minds　of　others；　and　for　realising　the　value　of　what　they　in　turn　reflected；　one　is　struck　again　and　again　by　the　odd　mixture　of　intuition；　and　of　absolute　matter　of　fact　which　one　finds　in　her　writings。

It　is　difficult　to　realise；　when　one　reads　the　memoirs　of　human　beings　who　loved　and　hated；　and　laughed　and　scolded；　and　wanted　things　and　did　without　them；　very　much　as　we　do　ourselves；　that　though　they　thought　as　we　do　and　felt　as　we　do　（only；　as　I　have　said；　with　greater　vehemence）；　they　didn't　LOOK　like　us　at　all；　and　Mr。　Edgeworth；　the　father　of　Maria　Edgeworth；　the　'gay　gallant；'　the　impetuous；　ingenious；　energetic　gentleman；　sat　writing　with　powdered　hair　and　a　queue；　with　tights　and　buck