castle rackrent-第1部分

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Castle　Rackrent

by　Maria　Edgeworth


With　an　Introduction　by　Anne　Thackeray　Ritchie



INTRODUCTION


I

The　story　of　the　Edgeworth　Family；　if　it　were　properly　told；　should　be　as　long　as　the　ARABIAN　NIGHTS　themselves；　the　thousand　and　one　cheerful　intelligent　members　of　the　circle；　the　amusing　friends　and　relations；　the　charming　surroundings；　the　cheerful　hospitable　home；　all　go　to　make　up　an　almost　unique　history　of　a　county　family　of　great　parts　and　no　little　character。　　The　Edgeworths　were　people　of　good　means　and　position；　and　their　rental；　we　are　told；　amounted　to　nearly　L3000　a　year。　　At　one　time　there　was　some　talk　of　a　peerage　for　Mr。　Edgeworth；　but　he　was　considered　too　independent　for　a　peerage。

The　family　tradition　seems　to　have　been　unconventional　and　spirited　always。　　There　are　records　still　extant　in　the　present　Mr。　Edgeworth's　possession；papers　of　most　wonderful　vitality　for　parchment；where　you　may　read　passionate　remonstrances　and　adjurations　from　great…grandfathers　to　great…great…grandfathers；　and　where　great…great…grandmothers　rush　into　the　discussion　with　vehement　spelling　and　remonstrance；　and　make　matters　no　better　by　their　interference。　　I　never　read　more　passionately　eloquent　letters　and　appeals。　　There　are　also　records　of　a　pleasanter　nature；　merrymakings；　and　festive　preparations；　and　12s。　6d。　for　a　pair　of　silk　stockings　for　Miss　Margaret　Edgeworth　to　dance　in；　carefully　entered　into　the　family　budget。　　All　the　people　whose　portraits　are　hanging　up；　beruffled；　dignified；　calm；　and　periwigged；　on　the　old　walls　of　Edgeworthstown　certainly　had　extraordinarily　strong　impressions；　and　gave　eloquent　expression　to　them。　　I　don't　think　people　could　feel　quite　so　strongly　now　about　their　own　affairs　as　they　did　then；　there　are　so　many　printed　emotions；　so　many　public　events；　that　private　details　cannot　seem　quite　as　important。　　Edgeworths　of　those　days　were　farther　away　from　the　world　than　they　are　now；　dwelling　in　the　plains　of　Longford；　which　as　yet　were　not　crossed　by　iron　rails。　The　family　seems　to　have　made　little　of　distances；　and　to　have　ridden　and　posted　to　and　fro　from　Dublin　to　Edgeworthstown　in　storm　and　sunshine。


II

When　Messrs。　Macmillan　asked　me　to　write　a　preface　to　this　new　edition　of　Miss　Edgeworth's　stories　I　thought　I　should　like　to　see　the　place　where　she　had　lived　so　long　and　where　she　had　written　so　much；　and　so　it　happened　that　being　in　Ireland　early　this　year；　my　daughter　and　I　found　ourselves　driving　up　to　Broadstone　Station　one　morning　in　time　for　the　early　train　to　Edgeworthstown。　　As　we　got　out　of　our　cab　we　asked　the　driver　what　the　fare　should　be。　　'Sure　the　fare　is　half　a　crown；'　said　he；　'and　if　you　wish　to　give　me　more；　I　could　keep　it　for　myself！'

The　train　was　starting　and　we　bought　our　papers　to　beguile　the　road。　　'Will　you　have　a　Home　Rule　paper　or　one　of　them　others？'　said　the　newsboy；　with　such　a　droll　emphasis　that　we　couldn't　help　laughing。　　'Give　me　one　of　each；'　said　I；　then　he　laughed；　as　no　English　newsboy　would　have　done。　。　。　。　We　went　along　in　the　car　with　a　sad　couple　of　people　out　of　a　hospital；　compatriots　of　our　own；　who　had　been　settled　ten　years　in　Ireland；　and　were　longing　to　be　away。　　The　poor　things　were　past　consolation；　dull；　despairing；　ingrained　English；　sick　and　suffering　and　yearning　for　Brixton；　just　as　other　aliens　long　for　their　native　hills　and　moors。　　We　travelled　along　together　all　that　spring　morning　by　the　blossoming　hedges；　and　triumphal　arches　of　flowering　May；　the　hills　were　very　far　away；　but　the　lovely　lights　and　scents　were　all　about　and　made　our　journey　charming。　　Maynooth　was　a　fragrant　vision　as　we　flew　past；　of　vast　gardens　wall…enclosed；　of　stately　buildings。　　The　whole　line　of　railway　was　sweet　with　the　May　flowers；　and　with　the　pungent　and　refreshing　scent　of　the　turf…　bogs。　　The　air　was　so　clear　and　so　limpid　that　we　could　see　for　miles；　and　short…sighted　eyes　needed　no　glasses　to　admire　with。　Here　and　there　a　turf　cabin；　now　and　then　a　lake　placidly　reflecting　the　sky。　　The　country　seemed　given　over　to　silence；　the　light　sped　unheeded　across　the　delicate　browns　and　greens　of　the　bog…fields；　or　lay　on　the　sweet　wonderful　green　of　the　meadows。　　One　dazzling　field　we　saw　full　of　dancing　circles　of　little　fairy　pigs　with　curly　tails。　　Everything　was　homelike　but　NOT　England；　there　was　something　of　France；　something　of　Italy　in　the　sky；　in　the　fanciful　tints　upon　the　land　and　sea；　in　the　vastness　of　the　picture；　in　the　happy　sadness　and　calm　content　which　is　so　difficult　to　describe　or　to　account　for。　　Finally　we　reached　our　journey's　end。　　It　gave　one　a　real　emotion　to　see　EDGEWORTHSTOWN　written　up　on　the　board　before　us；　and　to　realise　that　we　were　following　in　the　steps　of　those　giants　who　had　passed　before　us。　　The　master　of　Edgeworthstown　kindly　met　us　and　drove　us　to　his　home　through　the　outlying　village；　shaded　with　its　sycamores；　underneath　which　pretty　cows　were　browsing　the　grass。　　We　passed　the　Roman　Catholic　Church；　the　great　iron　crucifix　standing　in　the　churchyard。　　Then　the　horses　turned　in　at　the　gate　of　the　park；　and　there　rose　the　old　home；　so　exactly　like　what　one　expected　it；　that　I　felt　as　if　I　had　been　there　before　in　some　other　phase　of　existence。

It　is　certainly　a　tradition　in　the　family　to　welcome　travellers！　I　thought　of　the　various　memoirs　I　had　read；　of　the　travellers　arriving　from　the　North　and　the　South　and　the　West；　of　Scott　and　Lockhart；　of　Pictet；　of　the　Ticknors；　of　the　many　visitants　who　had　come　up　in　turn；　whether　it　is　the　year　14；　or　the　year　94；　the　hospitable　doors　open　kindly　to　admit　them。　　There　were　the　French　windows　reaching　to　the　ground；　through　which　Maria　used　to　pass　on　her　way　to　gather　her　roses；　there　was　the　porch　where　Walter　Scott　had　stood；　there　grew　the　quaint　old…fashioned　bushes　with　the　great　pink　peonies　in　flower；　by　those　railings　which　still　divide　the　park　from　the　meadows　beyond；　there　spread　the　branches　of　the　century…old　trees。　　Only　last　winter　they　told　us　the　storms　came　and　swept　away　a　grove　of　Beeches　that　were　known　in　all　the　country　round；　but　how　much　of　shade；　of　flower；　still　remain！　　The　noble　Hawthorn　of　stately　growth；　the　pine…trees　（there　should　be　NAMES　for　trees；　as　there　are　for　rocks　or　ancient　strongholds）。　　Mr。　Edgeworth　showed　us　the　oak　from　Jerusalem；　the　grove　of　cypress　and　sycamore　where　the　beautiful　depths　of　ground　ivy　are　floating　upon　the　DEBRIS；　and　soften　the　gnarled　roots；　while　they　flood　the　rising　banks　with　green。

Mr。　and　Mrs。　Edgeworth　brought　us　into　the　house。　　The　ways　go　upstairs　and　downstairs；　by　winding　passages　and　side　gates；　a　pretty　domed　staircase　starts　from　the　central　hall；　where　stands　that　old　clock…case　which　Maria　wound　up　when　she　was　over　eighty　years　old。　　To　the　right　and　to　the　left　along　the　passages　were　rooms　opening　from　one　into　another。　　I　could　imagine　Sir　Walter's　kind　eyes　looking　upon　the　scene；　and　Wordsworth　coming　down　the　stairs；　and　their　friendly　entertainer　making　all　happy；　and　all　welcome　in　turn；　and　their　hostess；　the　widowed　Mrs。　Edgeworth；　responding　and　sympathising　with　each。　　We　saw　the　corner　by　the　fire　where　Maria　wrote；　we　saw　her　table　with　its　pretty　curves　standing　in　its　place　in　the　deep　casements。　　Miss　Edgeworth's　own　room　is　a　tiny　little　room　above　looking　out　on　the　back　garden。　　This　little　closet　opens　from　a　larger　one；　and　then　by　a　narrow　flight　of　stairs　leads　to　a　suite　of　ground…　floor　chambers；　following　one　from　another；　lined　with　bookcases　and　looking　on　the　gardens。　　What　a　strange　fellow…feeling　with　the　past　it　gave　one　to　stand　staring　at　the　old　books；　with　their　paper　backs　and　old…fashioned　covers；　at　the　gray　boards；　which　were　the　liveries　of　literature　in　those　early　days；　at　the　first　editions；　with　their　inscriptions　in　the　author's　handwriting；　or　in　Maria's　pretty　caligraphy。　　There　was　the　PIRATE　in　its　original　volumes；　and　Mackintosh's　MEMOIRS；　and　Mrs。　Barbauld's　ESSAYS；　and　Descartes's　ESSAYS；　that　Arthur　Hallam　liked　to　read；　Hallam's　CONSTITUTIONAL　HISTORY；　and　Rogers's　POEMS；　were　there　all　inscribed　and　dedicated。　　Not　less　interesting　were　the　piles　of　Magazines　that　had　been　sent　from　America。　　I　never　knew　before　how　many　Magazines　existed　even　those　early　days；　we　took　some　down　at　hazard　and　read　names；　dates；　and　initials。　。　。　。　Storied　urn　and　monumental　bust　do　not　bring　back　the　past　as　do　the　books　which　belong　to　it。　　Storied　urns　are　in　churches　and　stone　niches；　far　removed　from　the　lives　of　which　they　speak；　books　seem　a　part　of　our　daily　life；　and　are　like　the　sound　of　a　voice　just　outside　the　door。　　Here　they　were；　as　they　had　been　read　by　her；　stored　away　by　her　hands；　and　still　safely　preserved；　bringing　back　the　past　with；　as　it　were；　a　cheerful　encouraging　greeting　to　the　present。　　Other　relics　there　are　of　course；　but；　as　I　say；　none　which　touch　one　so　vividly。　There　is　her　silver　ink…stand；　the　little　table　her　father　left　her　on　which　she　wrote　（it　had　belonged　to　his　mother　before　him）。　　There　is　also　a　curious　trophya　table　which　was　sent　to　her　from　Edinburgh；　ornamented　by　promiscuous　views　of　Italy；　curiously　inappropriate　to　her　genius；　but　not　so　the　inscription；　which　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