Читать книгу The Wind that Shakes the Barley - James William Barke - Страница 18

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The summer following the birth of Isabella, William realised that his boys were sadly in need of contact with the more civilised world. So he arranged with the dominie in Dalrymple village to take Robin and Gilbert week about with the ostensible object of improving their handwriting.

In Dalrymple (lying a rough mile away, beyond Balsarroch hill) Robin met the smith’s son, James MacCandlish, a lad his own age and with much similar tastes in the way of learning.

If his handwriting did not greatly improve at Dalrymple, the whole tenor of his being was considerably toned up. Indeed he brightened in a day and his great eyes that had smouldered so long flashed with new fire and fresh interest.

“I’m more nor glad I fell in with you, Jamie,” said Robin one night as they roved the banks of the river Doon. “Your ideas are much the same as my own.”

“But where did you get your education, Robin?”

“Oh, I’m no’ educated the way you are. I had a good teacher when I was a bit laddie—a grand teacher—he’s been away in Paris; but I hear word of him coming back to Ayr... My father took Gilbert and me in grammar and arithmetic, aye, and anything that lay to hand in the way o learning.”

“Your father maun be a gey clever man?”

“Aye ... William Burns is learned above the lave, Jamie. But self-taught for a’ that. Still, I’ve read what I could myself—it’s a wonderful education reading ... if I could only get the right books.”

“An’ what kind o’ books are you after?”

“Any kind of books as long as they can teach me. Religion, geography, natural science, philosophy, history ... a man canna know too much; and there’s so much to be known. I carena what I learn, Jamie, as long as I’m learning.”

“Aye, that’s just the way I feel about things, Robin. An’ languages: we’ve got to master foreign tongues—especially the Latin. There’s nae learning without Latin. I’ll need to master Latin if I’ve got to go to the university... It’s a pity you couldna come.”

“Aye ... it’s a pity. But you see, Jamie, I had the misfortune to be born into poverty. Hard work will need to be my university. But I’m not grumbling: as long as I keep my health and strength I’ll manage ... someway. We’ll no’ aye be poor.”

“It’s a pity though: you’ve a grand head on your shoulders: I wish I had its neighbour.”

“We’re quits then, Jamie, for I envy yours. There’s method in all your learning—seeing you have a goal at the end o’t. But I’ve just got to store my head wi’ whatever comes my way.”

“But d’you no’ think you read poetry ower meikle? You’ve mair ballads off by heart than I ever kenned existed.”

“Poetry fires the mind, Jamie: you can feel your blood tinglin’ to it: it sets your thoughts singing. I would rather have the name o’ writing a guid sang than preaching a grand sermon.”

But here the smith’s son could not follow him. Though neither indifferent to beauty nor unresponsive to the clamour of humanity his mind had a hard rational bent; and he was much too honest to give himself airs about things he could not comprehend.

But in those few summer weeks in Dalrymple, walking and talking with James MacCandlish, Robin felt that he had accomplished more than he had done in the past few years.

He forgot his poverty and trembled no longer for his lean jaws. His mind was agog with ideas and his imagination flamed. He was beginning to have faith in himself; beginning to find his own foot-hold along the dizzy crags of human thought and speculation.

And he had talked so much that when he returned home his ears rang with the unaccustomed conversational silence.

William Burns noted with secret pride how much Robin had improved. So when summer came round again and he could spare him after the bog hay had been cut and dried, he arranged for him to go into Ayr for a week or two to lodge with John Murdoch and come under his tutoring.

It had been a proud day for William when Murdoch rode into the courtyard of Mount Oliphant on a borrowed pony to renew the old acquaintanceship.

Murdoch readily consented to take Robin under his wing for a few weeks on the payment of a small cheese and a couple of fowls past laying—and the promise of more to follow.

For all his travels, Murdoch was impecunious as ever and any foodstuff that would eke out his table in Ayr was as welcome as coin of the realm.

Robin plunged into his studies with tremendous zest. His keenness pleased Murdoch; but the progress he made astounded him. It was difficult indeed to realise that this was the same Robin who had sat under him at Alloway some seven years ago, shy, diffident and often dour. Verily they had not been lean years in the growth of his mental faculties.

So great indeed was Robin’s enthusiasm that Murdoch, grown somewhat cynical with the harsh realities of the world, was touched; and being touched he was moved to respond with genuine concern and application.

Towards the end of his stay in Ayr, Robin, flushed with the pride of his new learning, took a sheet of paper and jotted down some notes by way of a first draft of a letter to his good friend James MacCandlish:

My dear friend,

I now write to inform you of my latest progress. Mr. John Murdoch, concerning whom I have spoken much, returned to the school here some little time ago; and my father, thinking to improve me further in grammar, arranged with my old master to have me boarded with him for some three weeks so that I might attend his classes in the daytime while having the benefit of his individual tuition in the evenings.

As I am now about to finish here it occurred to me that some account of my studies would not come amiss...

My grammar and composition needed no more than a brush though I must own to making progress in syntax and construction...

You know how often I have expressed the desire to have some acquaintance with the French language. No sooner had I expressed my sentiments to Mr. Murdoch than he immediately plunged me into the grammar of that language.

We applied ourselves without stint. When we walked, or had a meal, Mr. Murdoch lost no opportunity of adding to my vocabulary by naming as many objects as possible in the French...

My progress has been rapid. I am now reading the Adventures of Telemachus in Fenelon’s own words...

The students here have been helpful to me. My young superiors never insulted the clouterly appearance of my ploughboy carcass, the two extremes of which have too often been exposed to the inclemencies of all the seasons...

Nevertheless, my dear James, despite the success I have made in my studies I cannot but admit that I have been much embittered by the inequalities... The veriest blockheads have nothing to do but waste the time of their masters. But because their fathers have money they may do so with impunity for as long as need be, while I must hurry hence and return to the Mount where harvest awaits me. Had I but more time...

I shall take my French books with me and shall apply myself to their further study with diligence... I have also made some little acquaintance with the Latin tongue and have secured a copy of Ruddiman’s grammar. As you know there is no difficulty in the pronunciation of this language; so with application...

As soon as harvest may be safely gathered I hope to see you at Dalrymple, or you may find your way over to the Mount...

Let me hear from you, my ever dear friend, and inform me of the progress of your own studies... And believe me to be ever your sincere friend...