robert falconer-第1章

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Robert　Falconer



by　George　MacDonald








TO



THE　MEMORY



OF　THE　MAN　WHO



STANDS　HIGHEST　IN　THE　ORATORY



OF　MY　MEMORY；



ALEXANDER　JOHN　SCOTT；



I；　DARING；　PRESUME　TO　DEDICATE　THIS　BOOK。











PART　I。HIS　BOYHOOD。







CHAPTER　I。



A　RECOLLECTION。



Robert　Falconer；　school…boy；　aged　fourteen；　thought　he　had　never

seen　his　father；　that　is；　thought　he　had　no　recollection　of　having

ever　seen　him。　　But　the　moment　when　my　story　begins；　he　had　begun　to

doubt　whether　his　belief　in　the　matter　was　correct。　　And；　as　he　went

on　thinking；　he　became　more　and　more　assured　that　he　had　seen　his

father　somewhere　about　six　years　before；　as　near　as　a　thoughtful　boy

of　his　age　could　judge　of　the　lapse　of　a　period　that　would　form　half

of　that　portion　of　his　existence　which　was　bound　into　one　by　the

reticulations　of　memory。



For　there　dawned　upon　his　mind　the　vision　of　one　Sunday　afternoon。

Betty　had　gone　to　church；　and　he　was　alone　with　his　grandmother；

reading　The　Pilgrim's　Progress　to　her；　when；　just　as　Christian

knocked　at　the　wicket…gate；　a　tap　came　to　the　street　door；　and　he

went　to　open　it。　　There　he　saw　a　tall；　somewhat　haggard…looking　man；

in　a　shabby　black　coat　（the　vision　gradually　dawned　upon　him　till　it

reached　the　minuteness　of　all　these　particulars）；　his　hat　pulled

down　on　to　his　projecting　eyebrows；　and　his　shoes　very　dusty；　as

with　a　long　journey　on　footit　was　a　hot　Sunday；　he　remembered

thatwho　looked　at　him　very　strangely；　and　without　a　word　pushed

him　aside；　and　went　straight　into　his　grandmother's　parlour；

shutting　the　door　behind　him。　　He　followed；　not　doubting　that　the

man　must　have　a　right　to　go　there；　but　questioning　very　much　his

right　to　shut　him　out。　　When　he　reached　the　door；　however；　he　found

it　bolted；　and　outside　he　had　to　stay　all　alone；　in　the　desolate

remainder　of　the　house；　till　Betty　came　home　from　church。



He　could　even　recall；　as　he　thought　about　it；　how　drearily　the

afternoon　had　passed。　　First　he　had　opened　the　street　door；　and

stood　in　it。　　There　was　nothing　alive　to　be　seen；　except　a　sparrow

picking　up　crumbs；　and　he　would　not　stop　till　he　was　tired　of　him。

The　Royal　Oak；　down　the　street　to　the　right；　had　not　even　a

horseless　gig　or　cart　standing　before　it；　and　King　Charles；　grinning

awfully　in　its　branches　on　the　signboard；　was　invisible　from　the

distance　at　which　he　stood。　　In　at　the　other　end　of　the　empty

street；　looked　the　distant　uplands；　whose　waving　corn　and　grass　were

likewise　invisible；　and　beyond　them　rose　one　blue　truncated　peak　in

the　distance；　all　of　them　wearily　at　rest　this　weary　Sabbath　day。

However；　there　was　one　thing　than　which　this　was　better；　and　that

was　being　at　church；　which；　to　this　boy　at　least；　was　the　very　fifth

essence　of　dreariness。



He　closed　the　door　and　went　into　the　kitchen。　　That　was　nearly　as

bad。　　The　kettle　was　on　the　fire；　to　be　sure；　in　anticipation　of

tea；　but　the　coals　under　it　were　black　on　the　top；　and　it　made　only

faint　efforts；　after　immeasurable　intervals　of　silence；　to　break

into　a　song；　giving　a　hum　like　that　of　a　bee　a　mile　off；　and　then

relapsing　into　hopeless　inactivity。　　Having　just　had　his　dinner；　he

was　not　hungry　enough　to　find　any　resource　in　the　drawer　where　the

oatcakes　lay；　and；　unfortunately；　the　old　wooden　clock　in　the　corner

was　going；　else　there　would　have　been　some　amusement　in　trying　to

torment　it　into　demonstrations　of　life；　as　he　had　often　done　in　less

desperate　circumstances　than　the　present。　　At　last　he　went　up…stairs

to　the　very　room　in　which　he　now　was；　and　sat　down　upon　the　floor；

just　as　he　was　sitting　now。　　He　had　not　even　brought　his　Pilgrim's

Progress　with　him　from　his　grandmother's　room。　　But；　searching　about

in　all　holes　and　corners；　he　at　length　found　Klopstock's　Messiah

translated　into　English；　and　took　refuge　there　till　Betty　came　home。

Nor　did　he　go　down　till　she　called　him　to　tea；　when；　expecting　to

join　his　grandmother　and　the　stranger；　he　found；　on　the　contrary；

that　he　was　to　have　his　tea　with　Betty　in　the　kitchen；　after　which

he　again　took　refuge　with　Klopstock　in　the　garret；　and　remained

there　till　it　grew　dark；　when　Betty　came　in　search　of　him；　and　put

him　to　bed　in　the　gable…room；　and　not　in　his　usual　chamber。　　In　the

morning；　every　trace　of　the　visitor　had　vanished；　even　to　the　thorn

stick　which　he　had　set　down　behind　the　door　as　he　entered。



All　this　Robert　Falconer　saw　slowly　revive　on　the　palimpsest　of　his

memory；　as　he　washed　it　with　the　vivifying　waters　of　recollection。









CHAPTER　II。



A　VISITOR。



It　was　a　very　bare　little　room　in　which　the　boy　sat；　but　it　was　his

favourite　retreat。　　Behind　the　door；　in　a　recess；　stood　an　empty

bedstead；　without　even　a　mattress　upon　it。　　This　was　the　only　piece

of　furniture　in　the　room；　unless　some　shelves　crowded　with　papers

tied　up　in　bundles；　and　a　cupboard　in　the　wall；　likewise　filled　with

papers；　could　be　called　furniture。　　There　was　no　carpet　on　the

floor；　no　windows　in　the　walls。　　The　only　light　came　from　the　door；

and　from　a　small　skylight　in　the　sloping　roof；　which　showed　that　it

was　a　garret…room。　　Nor　did　much　light　come　from　the　open　door；　for

there　was　no　window　on　the　walled　stair　to　which　it　opened；　only

opposite　the　door　a　few　steps　led　up　into　another　garret；　larger；

but　with　a　lower　roof；　unceiled；　and　perforated　with　two　or　three

holes；　the　panes　of　glass　filling　which　were　no　larger　than　the

small　blue　slates　which　covered　the　roof：　from　these　panes　a　little

dim　brown　light　tumbled　into　the　room　where　the　boy　sat　on　the

floor；　with　his　head　almost　between　his　knees；　thinking。



But　there　was　less　light　than　usual　in　the　room　now；　though　it　was

only　half…past　two　o'clock；　and　the　sun　would　not　set　for　more　than

half…an…hour　yet；　for　if　Robert　had　lifted　his　head　and　looked　up；

it　would　have　been　at；　not　through；　the　skylight。　　No　sky　was　to　be

seen。　　A　thick　covering　of　snow　lay　over　the　glass。　　A　partial　thaw；

followed　by　frost；　had　fixed　it　therea　mass　of　imperfect　cells　and

confused　crystals。　　It　was　a　cold　place　to　sit　in；　but　the　boy　had

some　faculty　for　enduring　cold　when　it　was　the　price　to　be　paid　for

solitude。　　And　besides；　when　he　fell　into　one　of　his　thinking　moods；

he　forgot；　for　a　season；　cold　and　everything　else　but　what　he　was

thinking　abouta　faculty　for　which　he　was　to　be　envied。



If　he　had　gone　down　the　stair；　which　described　half　the　turn　of　a

screw　in　its　descent；　and　had　crossed　the　landing　to　which　it

brought　him；　he　could　have　entered　another　bedroom；　called　the　gable

or　rather　ga'le　room；　equally　at　his　service　for　retirement；　but；

though　carpeted　and　comfortably　furnished；　and　having　two　windows　at

right　angles；　commanding　two　streets；　for　it　was　a　corner　house；　the

boy　preferred　the　garret…roomhe　could　not　tell　why。　　Possibly；

windows　to　the　streets　were　not　congenial　to　the　meditations　in

which；　even　now；　as　I　have　said；　the　boy　indulged。



These　meditations；　however；　though　sometimes　as　abstruse；　if　not　so

continuous；　as　those　of　a　metaphysicianfor　boys　are　not

unfrequently　more　given　to　metaphysics　than　older　people　are　able

or；　perhaps；　willing　to　believewere　not　by　any　means　confined　to

such　subjects：　castle…building　had　its　full　share　in　the　occupation

of　those　lonely　hours；　and　for　this　exercise　of　the　constructive

faculty；　what　he　knew；　or　rather　what　he　did　not　know；　of　his　own

history　gave　him　scope　enough；　nor　was　his　brain　slow　in　supplying

him　with　material　corresponding　in　quantity　to　the　space　afforded。

His　mother　had　been　dead　for　so　many　years　that　he　had　only　the

vaguest　recollections　of　her　tenderness；　and　none　of　her　person。

All　he　was　told　of　his　father　was　that　he　had　gone　abroad。　　His

grandmother　would　never　talk　about　him；　although　he　was　her　own　son。

When　the　boy　ventured　to　ask　a　question　about　where　he　was；　or　when

he　would　return；　she　always　r