Читать книгу The Canongate Burns - Robert Burns - Страница 12

First printed in the Kilmarnock edition, 1786.

’Twas in that place o’ Scotland’s isle

That bears the name of auld King COIL, old, Kyle

Upon a bonie day in June, bonny

When wearing thro’ the afternoon,

5 Twa Dogs, that were na thrang at hame, two, not busy, home

Forgather’d ance upon a time. met by chance, once

The first I’ll name, they ca’d him Caesar, called

Was keepet for his Honor’s pleasure: kept

His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, ears

10 Shew’d he was nane o’ Scotland’s dogs; none

But whalpet some place far abroad, pupped

Whare sailors gang to fish for Cod. where, go

His locked, letter’d, braw brass-collar

Shew’d him the gentleman an’ scholar;

15 But tho’ he was o’ high degree,

The fient a pride na pride had he; fiend, no

But wad hae spent an hour caressan, would have

Ev’n wi’ a Tinkler-gipsey’s messan; mongrel

At Kirk or Market, Mill or Smiddie, smithy

20 Nae tawtied tyke, tho’ e’er sae duddie, matted cur, so ragged

But he wad stan’t, as glad to see him, would have stood

An’ stroan’t on stanes an’ hillocks wi’ him. pissed, stones

The tither was a ploughman’s collie,

A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, fellow/character

25 Wha for his friend an’ comrade had him, who

And in his freaks had Luath ca’d him,

After some dog in Highland Sang,1

Was made lang syne, Lord knows how lang. long ago

He was a gash an’ faithfu’ tyke, wise, dog

30 As ever lap a sheugh or dyke! leapt, ditch, stone wall

His honest, sonsie, baws’nt face friendly, white marks

Ay gat him friends in ilka place; always got, every

His breast was white, his touzie back shaggy

Weel clad wi’ coat o’ glossy black; well covered

35 His gawsie tail, wi’ upward curl, fine/full

Hung owre his hurdies wi’ a swirl. over, buttocks

Nae doubt but they were fain o’ ither, no, fond of each other

And unco pack an’ thick thegither; kept secrets/confidential

Wi’ social nose whyles snuff’d an’ snowcket; whiles, sniffed

40 Whyles mice an’ moudiewurks they howcket; whiles, moles, dug for

Whyles scour’d awa’ in lang excursion, whiles, long

An’ worry’d ither in diversion;

Till tir’d at last wi’ monie a farce, many

They sat them down upon their arse,

45 An’ there began a lang digression long

About the lords o’ the creation.

CAESAR

I’ve aften wonder’d, honest Luath, often

What sort o’ life poor dogs like you have;

An’ when the gentry’s life I saw,

50 What way poor bodies liv’d ava. at all

Our Laird gets in his racked rents, extortionate

His coals, his kane, an’ a’ his stents: payments in kind, dues

He rises when he likes himsel;

His flunkies answer at the bell; servants

55 He ca’s his coach; he ca’s his horse; calls

He draws a bonie, silken purse, carries

As lang’s my tail, whare thro’ the steeks, long as, where, stiches

The yellow, letter’d Geordie keeks. guinea (King’s head) peeps

Frae morn to een it’s nought but toiling, from, evening, nothing

60 At baking, roasting, frying, boiling;

An’ tho’ the gentry first are steghan, cramming

Yet ev’n the ha’ folk fill their peghan hall (servants), stomach

Wi’ sauce, ragouts, an sic like trashtrie, such like rubbish

That’s little short o’ downright wastrie: wastage

65 Our Whipper-in, wee, blastit wonner, small, blasted wonder

Poor, worthless elf, it eats a dinner,

Better than onie Tenant-man any

His Honor has in a’ the lan’: all the land

An’ what poor Cot-folk pit their painch in, put, paunch

70 I own it’s past my comprehension.

LUATH

Trowth, Caesar, whyles they’re fash’d eneugh: sometimes, bothered

A Cotter howckan in a sheugh, farm labourer, digging, ditch

Wi’ dirty stanes biggan a dyke, stones, building, stone wall

Bairan a quarry, an’ sic like, clearing, such

75 Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains,

A smytrie o’ wee duddie weans, number, small ragged children

An’ nought but his han’-daurk, to keep hands’ work

Them right an’ tight in thack an’ raep. snug, thatch, rope

An’ when they meet wi’ sair disasters, sore

80 Like loss o’ health or want o’ masters,

Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, most would, longer

An’ they maun starve o’ cauld and hunger: should, cold

But how it comes, I never kend yet, knew

They’re maistly wonderfu’ contented; mostly

85 An’ buirdly chiels, an’ clever hizzies, stout lads, girls

Are bred in sic a way as this is. such

CAESAR

But then to see how ye’re neglecket, neglected

How huff’d, an’ cuff’d, an’ disrespecket! scolded, slapped, disrespected

Lord man, our gentry care as little

90 For delvers, ditchers, an’ sic cattle; labourers, diggers, such

They gang as saucy by poor folk, go, smugly

As I wad by a stinkan brock. would, badger

I’ve notic’d, on our Laird’s court-day,2

(An’ monie a time my heart’s been wae), many, sad

95 Poor tenant bodies, scant o’ cash, short of money

How they maun thole a Factor’s snash:3 would suffer, abuse

He’ll stamp an’ threaten, curse an’ swear

He’ll apprehend them, poind their gear; seize & sell their goods

While they maun staun’, wi’ aspect humble, must stand

100 An’ hear it a’, an’ fear an’ tremble! all

I see how folk live that hae riches; have

But surely poor-folk maun be wretches! must

LUATH

They’re nae sae wretched’s ane wad think: not so, as one would

Tho’ constantly on poortith’s brink, poverty’s

105 They’re sae accustom’d wi’ the sight, so

The view o’t gies them little fright. gives

Then chance an’ fortune are sae guided, so

They’re ay in less or mair provided; always, more

An’ tho’ fatigu’d wi’ close employment,

110 A blink o’ rest’s a sweet enjoyment.

The dearest comfort o’ their lives,

Their grushie weans an’ faithfu’ wives; thriving children

The prattling things are just their pride,

That sweetens a’ their fire-side.

115 An’ whyles twalpennie worth o’ nappy sometimes, ale

Can mak the bodies unco happy: folk, very

They lay aside their private cares,

To mind the Kirk an’ State affairs;

They’ll talk o’ patronage an’ priests,

120 Wi’ kindling fury i’ their breasts,

Or tell what new taxation’s comin,

An’ ferlie at the folk in LON’ON. wonder

As bleak-fac’d Hallowmass returns, festival of All-Saints

They get the jovial, rantan Kirns, harvest homes

125 When rural life, of ev’ry station,

Unite in common recreation;

Love blinks, Wit slaps, an’ social Mirth

Forgets there’s Care upo’ the earth.

That merry day the year begins,

130 They bar the door on frosty win’s; winds

The nappy reeks wi’ mantling ream, ale, foaming froth

An’ sheds a heart-inspiring steam;

The luntan pipe, an’ sneeshin mill, smoking, snuff box

Are handed round wi’ right guid will; good

135 The cantie, auld folks, crackan crouse, jolly old, chatting, cheerful

The young anes rantan thro’ the house — one, running

My heart has been sae fain to see them, so content

That I for joy hae barket wi’ them. have barked

Still it’s owre true that ye hae said over, have

140 Sic game is now owre aften play’d; such a, over often

There’s monie a creditable stock many

O’ decent, honest, fawsont folk, respectable

Are riven out baith root an’ branch, thrown out by force, both

Some rascal’s pridefu’ greed to quench,

145 Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster who

In favor wi’ some gentle Master,

Wha, aiblins thrang a parliamentin’, who, maybe crowd

For Britain’s guid his saul indentin’ — good, soul engaged

CAESAR

Haith, lad, ye little ken about it: an exclamation, know

150 For Britain’s guid! guid faith! I doubt it. good

Say rather, gaun as PREMIERS lead him: go

An’ saying aye or no ’s they bid him:

At Operas an’ Plays parading,

Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading:

155 Or maybe, in a frolic daft,

To HAGUE or CALAIS takes a waft,

To mak a tour an’ tak a whirl,

To learn bon ton, an’ see the worl’. Fr. good breeding

There, at VIENNA or VERSAILLES,

160 He rives his father’s auld entails; splits, old

Or by MADRID he taks the rout, road

To thrum guittarres an’ fecht wi’ nowt; strum, guitars, fight with cattle

Or down Italian Vista startles, courses

Whore-hunting amang groves o’ myrtles: among

165 Then bowses drumlie German-water, drinks muddy

To mak himsel look fair an’ fatter,

An’ clear the consequential sorrows,

Love-gifts of Carnival Signioras.

for britain’s guid! for her destruction!

170 Wi’ dissipation, feud an’ faction!

LUATH

Hech man! dear sirs! is that the gate way

They waste sae monie a braw estate! so many

Are we sae foughten an’ harass’d so troubled

For gear ta gang that gate at last! wealth to go

175 O would they stay aback frae courts, away from

An’ please themsels wi’ countra sports, country

It wad for ev’ry ane be better, would, every one

The Laird, the Tenant, an’ the Cotter!

For thae frank, rantan, ramblan billies, those, lads

180 Fient haet o’ them’s ill-hearted fellows; few of them are

Except for breakin o’ their timmer, timber

Or speakin lightly o’ their Limmer, mistress

Or shootin of a hare or moor-cock,

The ne’era-bit they’re ill to poor folk.

185 But will ye tell me, master Caesar,

Sure great folk’s life’s a life o’ pleasure?

Nae cauld nor hunger e’er can steer them, no cold, touch

The vera thought o’t need na fear them. very, not

CAESAR

Lord, man, were ye but whyles whare I am, whiles where

190 The Gentles, ye wad ne’er envy them! would

It’s true, they need na starve or sweat, not

Thro’ Winter’s cauld, or Simmer’s heat; cold, summer’s

They’ve nae sair-wark to craze their banes, no sore work, bones

An’ fill auld-age wi’ grips an’ granes: old-age, gripes & groans

195 But human bodies are sic fools, such

For a’ their Colledges an’ Schools,

That when nae real ills perplex them, no

They mak enow themsels to vex them;

An’ ay the less they hae to sturt them, always, have, fret

200 In like proportion, less will hurt them.

A countra fellow at the pleugh, country, plough

His acre’s till’d, he’s right eneugh; well enough

A countra girl at her wheel, country

Her dizzen’s done, she’s unco weel; dozens (yarn), very well

205 But Gentlemen, an’ Ladies warst,

Wi’ ev’n down want o’ wark they’re curst: work

They loiter, lounging, lank an’ lazy;

Tho’ deil-haet ails them, yet uneasy: nothing

Their days insipid, dull an’ tasteless;

210 Their nights unquiet, lang an’ restless. long

An’ ev’n their sports, their balls an’ races,

Their galloping thro’ public places,

There’s sic parade, sic pomp an’ art, such

The joy can scarcely reach the heart.

215 The Men cast out in party-matches, compete

Then sowther a’ in deep debauches; patch up

Ae night they’re mad wi’ drink an’ whoring, one

Niest day their life is past enduring. next

The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters,

220 As great an’ gracious a’ as sisters; all

But hear their absent thoughts o’ ither,

They’re a’ run deils an’ jads thegither. downright, together

Whyles, owre the wee bit cup an’ platie, whiles, over, plate

They sip the scandal-potion pretty;

225 Or lee-lang nights, wi’ crabbet leuks live-long, bad tempered looks

Pore owre the devil’s pictur’d beuks; over, books (playing cards)

Stake on a chance a farmer’s stackyard,

An’ cheat like onie unhang’d blackguard. any, villain

There’s some exceptions, man an’ woman;

230 But this is Gentry’s life in common.

By this, the sun was out o’ sight,

An’ darker gloamin brought the night; fading twilight

The bum-clock humm’d wi’ lazy drone; beetle

The kye stood rowtin i’ the loan; cattle, lowing, field

235 When up they gat, an’ shook their lugs, got, ears

Rejoic’d they were na men, but dogs; not

An’ each took aff his several way, went his different

Resolv’d to meet some ither day. other

Burns lived with animals, wild and domestic, in conditions of intimacy which few of us in this twenty-first century can easily appreciate. This poem, as much of his poetry, is filled with an empathetic, hence, detailed knowledge of them. The collie and the Newfoundland are sportively present to us. Throughout his writing there are also frequent, often obliquely political analogies, made between the lots of animals and men.

The genesis of this poem was his own collie, Luath, who, his brother tells us, was ‘killed by some wanton cruelty of some person the night before my father’s death’. This extraordinary witty, seminal poem is the result of his original intention to write, for the sinisterly murdered Luath, Stanzas to the Memory of a Quad- ruped Friend (Currie, Vol. 3, p. 386).

His wholly deliberate choice of opening The Kilmarnock edition with this particular poem is mockingly ironic. In that volume, he had no sooner come on stage with his highly successful self- promoting prose remarks about his poetic ploughman’s pastoral naïvety, than he immediately delivers a poetic performance of not only formidable linguistic and double-voiced dramatic subtlety but one which is eruditely allusive to earlier Scottish and English poetry. Indeed, it would be, as in ll. 26–28, an extremely odd ploughman who would not only name his dog from a character in Macpherson’s Ossian but also allude to that simmering controversy. Also both the octosyllabic verse and the dialogue form are derived from his beloved predecessor, Robert Fergusson’s The Mutual Complaint of Plainstanes and Causey, in their Mother Tongue.

While the poem formally and linguistically is not indebted to English poetry, the content certainly is. As William Empson (Some Versions of Pastoral, 1935) and Raymond Williams (The City and Country, 1975) have revealed, English poetry from the sixteenth century had been preoccupied with the nature and representation of country life as a reflection of the quarrel between largely conservative poets and their aristocratic patrons due to the disruptive evolution in the life of the common people caused by the accelerating participation by the aristocratic master class in agrarian capitalism. The greatest statement of this theme, as we shall see Burns demonstrably knew in his own A Winter’s Night, is Shakespeare’s King Lear. The consistently cogent McGuirk in discussing this poem locates its tap-roots in Augustan convention, especially Pope’s Moral Epistles. Burns also had, of course, the endorsement of his views from contemporary sources such as Goldsmith, particularly The Deserted Village. Although they diverged totally about the role of the monarchy, Burns and Goldsmith were also part of that rising late eighteenth-century tide of patriotic feeling about the ‘Frenchified’ degeneration of the British aristocracy as increasingly they squandered their ill-gotten agrarian rents in European fleshpots. (See Gerald Newman, The Rise of English Nationalism, London, 1987.) Hence that quite wonderfully sophisticated section, comparable to anything in Augustan satire, from ll. 149–170 where Caesar describes into what The Grand Tour has degenerated. This brilliantly echoes Fergusson’s pronouncedly anti-aristocratic lines from Hame Content:

Some daft chiel reads, and takes advice

The chaise is yokit in a trice;

Awa drives he like huntit deil,

And scarce tholes time to cool his wheel,

Till he’s Lord ken how far awa,

At Italy, or Well o’ Spaw,

Or to Montpelier’s safer air;

For far off fowls hae feathers fair.

There rest him weel; for eith can we

Spare mony glakit gouks like he;

They’ll tell whare Tibur’s water’s rise;

What sea receives the drumly prize,

That never wi’ their feet hae mett

The marches o’ their ain estate.

Stimulated by Fergusson, then, this dramatic dialogue, domesti- cates in the Scottish vernacular this great English poetic quarrel with a rapacious land-owning class. What further intensified this in Burns is that from childhood he had been exposed to both brutal- ising toil and chronic economic anxiety. Ll. 95–100 do, in fact, seem to refer to actual events on the family farm at Lochlea of which he wrote: ‘my indignation yet boils at the recollection of the scoundrel tyrant’s insolent threatening epistles which he used to set us all in tears’ (Letter 137). As Burns’s subsequent poetry reveals, this early trauma about debt, bankruptcy and possible homelessness was to be a subject of inflammatory repetition. Also, as much of his later poetry, the poem is filled with telling detail about the harsh, exposed, exhausting nature of farm work in the late eighteenth century as opposed to the pampered sloth of the aristocracy. Indeed, as in ll. 89–90, such brutal work leads to a Swiftian vision of the bestialisation of the common people: ‘Lord man, our gentry care as little/For delvers, ditchers and sic cattle’.

Burns’s strategy in the poem of course is to create through the dogs a kind of comic brio, which, at a primary level, disguises the poem’s incisive documentation and its anti-establishment values. Further, he does not do the ideologically obvious thing by creating an oppositional dialogue between the people’s collie and the master’s newly fashionable Newfoundland. Caesar is not so much a traitor to his class as a natural democrat who will put his nose anywhere as a possible prelude to even more intimate entangle- ments. It is he who really spills the beans about the condition of the working people and the lifestyle of their masters. In Luath’s speeches, especially ll. 103–38, we find the roots of Burns’s vision of the nobility of the common people which is to recur throughout his poetry though, at times, especially in ‘The Cotter’s Saturday Night’, somewhat questionably.

1 Cuchullin’s dog in Ossian’s Fingal, R.B.

2 The quarterly Circuit Court that travelled around the towns and counties of Scotland.

3 The title of Factor is that of an Estate manager, who, in the West of Scotland, cleared many ‘cottars’ from large estates during the late 18th century.