Читать книгу: «Friend Mac Donald», страница 7

CHAPTER XIX

Higher Education in Scotland. – The Universities. – How they differ from English Universities. – Is he a Gentleman? – Scholarships. – A Visit to the University of Aberdeen. – English Prejudice against Scotch Universities.

Scotland boasts four universities: Edinburgh, Glasgow, Aberdeen, and St. Andrew's.

These four great centres of learning constitute the system of Higher Education in Scotland.

These universities differ essentially from the two great English ones, first because men go there to work, secondly because they are open to the people. A peasant's son, like Thomas Carlyle for instance, can go there without fearing that his fellow-students will avoid him because he comes of a poor family.

When a new student arrives at Oxford or Cambridge, the others do not enquire whether he is a clever fellow or a dunce; what they want to know is what his father is, and who was his grandfather. It is only after obtaining a satisfactory answer to these questions that they associate with the new comer.

In Scotland, as in France, every man who is well educated and has the manners of good society is a gentleman. The son of a peasant possessing these is received everywhere.

Each Scotch university offers from fifty to eighty scholarships, varying in value from £8 to £70. These sums, paid annually to the winners of the scholarships, help them to live while they are devoting their time to study.

The most admirable thing about high education in Scotland is that it is put within the reach of all, and is not, as it is in England, a sugarplum held so high as to be often unattainable.

The result is that every intelligent young Scotchman may aim at entering a profession. There may be in this a little danger to the commerce and agriculture of the country. However, these young men do not encumber Scotland; their studies fit them for a lucrative career, which they often go and seek in the Colonies. An Australian friend told me recently that more than half the doctors in Victoria were Scotchmen.

I have spoken, in a previous chapter, of the privations that Scotch undergraduates will often impose upon themselves. Nothing is more remarkable than the sustained application and indefatigable will which they bring to bear on their studies. Nothing distracts them from their aim; they never lose sight of the diploma that will be their bread-winner. I have seen them at work, these Scotch students. I visited the School of Medicine at Aberdeen University, in the company of Dr. John Struthers, the learned Professor of Anatomy. I was struck, in passing through the dissecting room, to see about fifty students, without any professor, so absorbed in their work that not one of them lifted his head as we passed.

In France it would have been very different: every eye would have been turned to the stranger, and all through the room there would have been a whisper of Qui ça? And then remarks and jokes would have run rife.

The English are very prejudiced against the Scotch universities.

How many times have I been told in England that young fellows, who fail to obtain their medical diploma in England, could get them easily enough in Scotland. Nothing is more absurd; if ever it was so, it was a long while ago. In these days, the examinations of the four Scotch faculties are quite as severe and quite as difficult as the English ones.

Whenever there is a vacant mastership in an English public school advertised in the newspapers, it is always stated that the candidates for the post must be graduates of one of the universities of the United Kingdom. This does not alter the fact that candidates, who are not Oxford or Cambridge men, have no chance of being elected. I have known Scotch masters in the public schools. They had studied at Edinburgh, Glasgow, or Aberdeen, but had gone to Oxford or Cambridge to reside, in order to obtain an English degree.

Why is this?

Simply because these two great English universities give their old scholars an importance, not necessarily literary or scientific, but social; they stamp them gentlemen.

Whatever the English may say, the universities of old Scotland are the nurseries of learned and useful citizens. Of this they would soon be convinced if they would visit those great centres of intellectual activity. But this is just what they avoid doing. When the English go to Scotland, it is to fish or to shoot in the Highlands, and whatever they may get in the way of game or fish, they do not pick up much serious information on the subject of Scotland.

CHAPTER XX

Scotch Literature. – Robert Burns. – Walter Scott. – Thomas Carlyle and Adam Smith. – Burns Worship. – Scotch Ballads and Poetry.

Scotland possesses a national literature of which the greatest nations might justly be proud.

To take only the great names, it may safely be said that more touching and sublime poetry than that of Burns was never written, that Walter Scott was the greatest novelist of the century, that Thomas Carlyle has never been surpassed as a historian and essayist, and that Adam Smith's The Wealth of Nations can be considered as the basis of modern political economy.

I pass over the Humes, Smolletts, and other illustrious representatives of Scotch literature, on whom I certainly do not intend to write an essay.

But how can one speak of Scotland without devoting a few words to Robert Burns? In their worship of their great poet I see a trait characteristic of the Scotch people.

Scotland is above all things full of practical common sense, but it is steeped to the brim in poetry. There is poetry at the core of every Scot. Visit the castle of the rich, or the cottage of the poor, or step into your hotel bedroom, and you will see the portrait of the graceful bard.

I happened to be in Edinburgh on the 25th of January, the anniversary of Burns' birth. The theatres were empty. Everyone was celebrating the anniversary. Dinners, meetings, lectures were consecrated to Burns; and that which was passing in Edinburgh was also passing, on a small scale, in every little Scotch village.

It was a national communion.

Burns wrote in Scotch, and in celebrating the anniversary of his birth, they celebrated a national fête. His poetry reminds them that they belong to a nation perfectly distinct from England, a nation having a literature of her own. This is why his memory is revered by high and low alike. The Scotch could no more part with their Burns than England with Shakespeare, or Italy with Dante. The Gaelic tongue is rapidly dying out, Scotch customs become more and more English every day, but each year only adds to the glory of Robert Burns. His poems have run rapidly through many editions – they have reached more than a hundred up to now – the sad story of his life is retold every year, and his portrait is still in great demand. The popularity Burns still enjoys in Scotland may be judged from the fact than in one single shop in Edinburgh there are twenty thousand portraits of the poet sold annually.

Whilst the English allow the house which Carlyle inhabited for so many years at Chelsea to go to ruins, the Scotch take a pride in showing the stranger the little clay cottage where Burns first saw the light on the 25th of January, 1759.

It is with real regret that I turn from the subject of the "Ayrshire Ploughman," his life and his works. Few poets have united as he has, delicate pathos and comic force, pure rêverie and the sense of the grotesque. But after all, I should but do what has been done over and over again by his numerous biographers, the chief of whom are Carlyle, Chambers, and Professor Shairp.

Longfellow has said that what Jasmin, the author of the The Blind Girl of Castel Cuillé, was to the south of France, Burns was to the south of Scotland: the representative of the heart of the people.

Nothing can be more suave, piquant, and picturesque than the wild and primitive melodies of the songs of Scotland. The Scotch ballad is the spontaneous production of the touching and simple genius of the nation.

The words are full of pathos and rustic humour. The music is light, often plaintive, always graceful. The whole has a delicious perfume of the mountain. I know of no other kind of song to compare with it, unless it were perhaps the songs of the Tyrol and a few Breton ballads.

The verses of Burns and other Scotch poets have inspired some of the greatest musicians. Mendelssohn was a great admirer of them.

Madame Patti delights to charm her audiences with "Comin' thro' the rye," or "Within a mile o' Edinbro' town," and these vocal gems suit the supple voice of the inimitable songstress; they even suit her very person, as she sings them in her arch manner, and finishes up with a saucy little curtsey.

The songs of Scotland, old as they are most of them, have lost nothing of their freshness. They are still the delight of the nation.⁵

CHAPTER XXI

The Dance in Scotland. – Reels and Highland Schottische. – Is Dancing a Sin? – Dances of Antiquity. – There is no Dancing now.

People do not dance now – in drawing-rooms at least – they walk, says M. Ratisbonne.

In Scotland, however, people still dance.

The Scotch have preserved the primitive, innocent, pastoral character of this exercise.

Nothing is more graceful than the reel and schottische of the Highlands.

The reel demands great agility. Two swords are placed crosswise on the ground and, to the sound of bagpipes, Donald executes double and triple pirouettes in and out, carefully avoiding the weapons.

Ask me how Society dances in Scotland and I will answer: just as it does elsewhere, but with a gravity that would do honour to our senators.

The Scotch are not all agreed as to whether dancing is sinful or not.

Certain dwellers in the Highlands look on it as the eighth deadly sin; the Shakers, on the contrary, consider it as the most edifying of religious exercises.

Between the two, the margin is wide.

Socrates, the wisest of men in the eyes of Apollo, admired this exercise and learned dancing in his old age. Homer speaks of Merion as a good dancer, and adds that the grace and agility he had acquired in dancing rendered him superior to all the Greek and Trojan warriors.

Dancing was among the religious acts of the Hebrews, Greeks, and Egyptians. The early Fathers of the Church led the dance of the children at solemn festivals.

The holy king David danced in front of the Ark, as we know by the Scriptures.

Real virtue is amiable, and tolerance and gaiety are its distinguishing marks.

For my part, I know no more charming sight than those village dances, becoming, alas! more and more rare. Boys and girls gave themselves up to mirthful pleasure without thought of harm, and these pastoral fêtes kept alive joy and innocence in the hearts of our villagers. We are growing too serious, the railways and telegraph have upset us and enervated us, we are getting languid and dull.

If I am to believe the Scotch, with whom I have talked on the subject, it is not dancing that they object to, it is the fashion in which people dance nowadays. They admire the contre-dance and minuet, but consider it improper that a man should whirl round a room with a half-dressed lady in his arms.

CHAPTER XXII

The Wisdom of Scotland. – Proverbs. – Morals in Words and Morals in Deeds. – Maxims. – The Scot is a Judge of Human Nature. – Scotch and Norman Proverbs compared. – Practical Interpretation of a Passage of the Bible.

In a country where everyone moralises, one may expect to find a great number of proverbs, those time-honoured oracles of the wisdom of nations.

And, indeed, Scotland, the home of moral phrases par excellence, owns more than three thousand proverbs.

These proverbs show up all the characteristics of the Scotch people, their prudence, caution, sagacity, self-confidence, and knowledge of human nature.

Several of them are not exclusively Scotch, whatever the Scotch people may say. We have, in Normandy, many which may differ slightly in the wording, but which express the same ideas, a fact which shows once more how many traits of character the Scot has in common with the Norman.

Here are a few:

Mony smas mak a muckle. The French say "Little streams make big rivers."

Anes payit never cravit (no more debts, no more bothers). The French go further when they say: "A man is the richer for paying his debts." I am afraid the truth of this adage might fail to strike the Scotchman at first sight. The only privilege of a proverb is to be incontestable. This French proverb smacks of the sermon, it oversteps the mark.

A cat may look at a king. One man is as good as another. This illustrates the independence of the Scotch character.

Be a frien' to yoursel', an sae will ithers. "Help yourself and Heaven will help you."

We'll bark oursels ere we buy dogs sae dear. A good maxim of political economy: "Don't pay others to do what you can do for yourself."

A' Stuarts are na sib to the King: All Stuarts are not related to the King. The French say: "The frock does not make the monk."

Guid folk are scarce, tak care o' me. The Normans say: "Good folks are scarce in the parish, take care of me."

He that cheats me ance, shame fa' him; he that cheats me twice, shame fa' me. A proverb that well illustrates Scotch caution.

The fear of the devil has inspired many Scotch proverbs, which are in constant use still.

The de'il's nae sae ill as he's caaed. A delicate little compliment to his Satanic Majesty: the Scot is right, one never knows what may happen, it is as well to make friends with the mammon of unrighteousness. A personage who receives so few compliments is likely to remember with pleasure the folks who pay them.

The same neat spirit of flattery is visible in the following proverb:

It's a sin to lee on the de'il.

The de'il's bairns hae de'il's luck, and the de'il's aye gude to his ain, are used to hurl at people who excite jealousy by their success.

Scotch sarcasm is well illustrated in such a proverb as:

Ye wad do little for God gin the de'il war deid. This is reducing the unco' guid to the level of devil dodgers.

It's ill to wauken sleepin' dogs. This is rather hard on the dog, who certainly cannot be considered the emblem of wickedness and hypocrisy. In France we say: "Do not waken the sleeping cat," and I think with more show of reason.

The following is full of poetry:

The evening bring a' hame. The evening brings the family together around the hearth, and in the evening of life man turns his thoughts homewards, forgets the faults of his neighbours, and lays aside disputes and strivings.

Let him tak a spring on his ain fiddle, says a proverb that illustrates the coolness with which Donald will bide his time. A lawyer, who had to listen to an eloquent tirade of an opponent in court, contented himself with remarking: "Aweel, aweel, sir, you're welcome to a tune on your ain fiddle; but see if I dinna gar ye dance till't afore it's dune."

The same idea occurs in:

Ne'er let on but laugh i' your ain sleeve.

A travelled man has leave to lee: Folks will not go to far countries to prove his words. O Tartarin de Tarascon!

Better learn by your neighbour's skaith than your ain skin. So might Cleopatra have said when she tried the effect of poisons on her slaves before making her own choice.

Drink little that ye may drink lang, is a piece of advice Donald has well laid to heart, only he has modified the first part considerably.

I think I have quoted enough proverbs to prove that the Scot has the measure of his neighbour, and knows how to make use of him.

Most of them have a smack of realism which shows that Donald has a serious aim in life, that of being a successful man.

Even the use he makes of the precepts of the Bible proves it. He uses his Bible, but adapts to his purpose the lessons he finds therein.

The Bible is his servant rather than his master, and has this good about it, that with a little cleverness it can be made to prove anything.

If he sometimes come across a precept which is perfectly clear and irrefutable, Donald does not scruple to ignore it.

I was talking with a Scotchman one evening about the different religions of the world, and I remarked to him that when the Mussulmans call us "dogs of Christians," it is not because we are Christians, for they are admirers of the Christian religion, but simply because we do not follow the precepts of Christianity.

"The Mussulmans are quite right," I said, "Christianity is the grandest thing in the world; but Christians are mostly 'Pharisees and hypocrites' who believe little in their religion and act up to it still less."

He, on the contrary, maintained that Christians were no less admirable than their faith, that they followed the precepts contained in the Sermon on the Mount to the letter, and finally that of all Christians the Scotch were the cream.

We argued long without either of us convincing the other, and I must admit that my host, who was a much cleverer theologian than myself, had the last word.

In taking leave of him that night, I was bold enough to return to the charge. "Come, my dear sir," I began, "if we receive a blow on our right cheek, the Scriptures command us to offer our left also. If a man struck you on the right cheek, now what would you do?"

"What would I do?" he said after drawing a great whiff at his pipe. "What would I do? By Jove, I'd give him two that he wouldn't soon forget, I can tell you!"

I shook hands with my host, and retired in triumph.

CHAPTER XXIII

Massacre of the English Tongue. – Donald the Friend of France. – Scotch Anecdotes again. – Reason of their Drollery. – Picturesque Dialect. – Dry Old Faces. – A Scotch Chambermaid. – Oddly-placed Moustachios. – My Chimney smokes. – Sarcastic Spirit. – A good Chance of entering Paradise thrown away. – Robbie Burns and the Greenock Shopkeeper.

The Scotch may be recognised at the first word by the very strong,⁶ sonorous accent with which they speak English. It is like a German accent with the r's of the Normans. In the North of Scotland, the accent is so Teutonic that one seems to be listening to Germans talking English. The letters b, d, and v are changed into p, t, and f. The ch is perfectly German at the end of a word, such as loch. Ght becomes cht, and is pronounced as in the German word nacht.

Certainly there is nothing insurmountably difficult to understand in all this; but that rogue of a Donald has a way of eating the ends of many of his words, of running the mutilated remains in together with such bewildering rapidity, and accompanying the whole with such a tremendous rolling of r's, that the stranger is completely staggered until his ear grows accustomed to the jargon.

The English language is composed of about forty-three thousand words, out of which fourteen thousand are of Germanic origin, and twenty-nine thousand have come into it from the Latin through the Norman dialect. But in Scotland you will hear the people using numbers of modern French words, which are no part of the English vocabulary. These words are remnants of the close relations that existed between France and Scotland in the sixteenth century. They are mostly heard now in the mouths of the older inhabitants.

For nearly a hundred years past the English have been continually borrowing words from us (a loan which we return with interest), but they are words which will only be found in use among the upper classes. The case is different in Scotland. There the French words were adopted by the people, and it is the people that still use them, and not the better educated classes, for these latter avoid them as vulgar. In a hundred years they will probably have fallen into disuse. It may not therefore be out of place to give here a list, which I think is pretty complete, of the French words that form the last trace of an alliance which has left to this day a very pronounced sentiment of affection for France in the hearts of the Scotch.

There were doubtless many others in use formerly, but I have collected only those which may still be heard in everyday use among the Scotch populace:

These are not, as may be seen, words borrowed from our milliners and dressmakers; they are terms that express the necessaries of life, and which the Scotch housewives have not yet forgotten. They prove in an irrefutable manner that the two nations mixed and knew each other intimately.

The language spoken by the Scotch lends itself to humour. Their picturesque pronunciation gives their conversation a piquancy which defies imitation. A Scotch anecdote told in Scotch language never misses its effect. Tell it in English, or any other language, and it loses all its raciness.

As I have already remarked, the Scot does not seek to appear witty, still less amusing, and there lies the charm. His remarks are not intended to be quaint, but are intensely so. Their drollery lies in the dialect and the combination of ideas. The Scotch are quick to seize the humorous side of things, and that without being aware of it. Their remarks are made with an imperturbable gravity, without a gesture, or the movement of a muscle.

I fancy I see still the old Scotch servant with whom I was speaking on the subject of a fire which would not burn in my room at a hotel. All at once she interrupted the conversation; she had just perceived, on the top of my head, a somewhat solitary lock of hair.

"Are ye growin' a moustache on the top o' your heid?" she exclaimed without a smile.

My first impulse was to bid her mind her business, and make my fire draw. But though I disliked the familiarity, I saw immediately that the good creature, a bony Scotchwoman of at least fifty summers, had not had the least intention of joking me, still less of vexing me. Her stolid expression, her quaint accent, to say nothing of the incongruous idea that had come to her lips, it all diverted me intensely, and I laughed well over it to the great astonishment of the worthy woman, who went away grumbling at the fire which had proved very obdurate.

The chimney continued to smoke horribly, and presently I rang the bell again.

The woman reappeared.

"This chimney smokes atrociously still," I said.

You should have seen her dry old face as she simply remarked:

"Eh, mony a ane has complained o' that chimney."

The familiarity of the Scotch servant is an old theme. The good humour of the master in Scotland encourages familiarity in the servant, and the fidelity of the latter causes it to be overlooked.

I remember the dinner-gong had been sounded in a house where I was one day visiting, and not being quite ready, I was still in my room. Someone knocked at my door. It was an old servant. "Noo," said she, "it's time to come doun to your dinner."

Scotch wit is cutting, there is often a sarcastic thrust in it, sometimes even a little spice of malice.

You hear none of those good broad bulls, brimming over with innocence, that are so amusing in the Irish; the Scotch witticisms are sharp strokes that penetrate and strike home.

Lunardi, the aeronaut, having made an ascent in his balloon at Edinburgh, came down on the property of a Presbyterian minister in the neighbourhood of Cupar.

"We have been up a prodigious way," said the aeronaut to the minister; "I really believe we must have been close to the gates of Paradise."

"What a pity you did not go in!" replied the Scotchman, "you may never be so near again."

I might give numerous examples of this sarcastic wit that so often underlies Scotch anecdotes. I will only cite one more. This time we have Robert Burns for hero, and I extract the story from his biography:

The celebrated poet was one day walking on Greenock pier, when a rich tradesman, who happened to be there also, slipped and fell in the water. Being unable to swim, he would have been drowned but for the bravery of a sailor who threw himself, all dressed as he was, into the water, and brought him to land.

When the tradesman had regained consciousness and recovered from his fright, he bethought himself that he ought to reward his rescuer. Putting his hand in his pocket, he drew out a shilling, which he generously presented to the brave sailor.

The crowd that had gathered round in admiration of the sailor's heroic act could not restrain its indignation. Protestations were followed by hoots, and the object of their scorn came very near being returned to the water – to learn his way about.

Robbie Burns, however, succeeded in appeasing their wrath.

"Calm yourselves," said he; "this gentleman is certainly a better judge of his own value than you can be."