SCENE III

AtProfessor Ferguson’shouse in Edinburgh, nearly a year later—in February.It is a cheerful, comfortable room, marked by the taste and culture of Edinburgh literary society at its best, with the elegance of fashion. A few portraits of Scots men of letters and action hang on the wall—Allan Ramsay, Robert Fergusson, James VI., Robert Bruce; in addition there are books and a pair or two of claymores, and two or three prints, including one by Bunbury of a dead soldier and his dog. On the mantelpiece is a bust of David Hume. The chill Scots winter day is brightened by a large fire in the grate; outside is snow.Folding doors are open to a room beyond, wherea luncheon party has been taking place. The ladies have left the table, and are seated round the room before us. They are the hostess,Mrs. Ferguson,theDuchess of Gordon,Mrs. Montgomery,Miss Taylor,and with them a boy of fifteen, the youngWalter Scott.Men’s voices can be heard from time to time.Another lady, young and beautiful,Mrs. Stewart of Stair,is seated at the piano, singing to her own accompaniment.

AtProfessor Ferguson’shouse in Edinburgh, nearly a year later—in February.

It is a cheerful, comfortable room, marked by the taste and culture of Edinburgh literary society at its best, with the elegance of fashion. A few portraits of Scots men of letters and action hang on the wall—Allan Ramsay, Robert Fergusson, James VI., Robert Bruce; in addition there are books and a pair or two of claymores, and two or three prints, including one by Bunbury of a dead soldier and his dog. On the mantelpiece is a bust of David Hume. The chill Scots winter day is brightened by a large fire in the grate; outside is snow.

Folding doors are open to a room beyond, wherea luncheon party has been taking place. The ladies have left the table, and are seated round the room before us. They are the hostess,Mrs. Ferguson,theDuchess of Gordon,Mrs. Montgomery,Miss Taylor,and with them a boy of fifteen, the youngWalter Scott.Men’s voices can be heard from time to time.

Another lady, young and beautiful,Mrs. Stewart of Stair,is seated at the piano, singing to her own accompaniment.

Flow gently, sweet Afton! among thy green braes,Flow gently, I’ll sing thee a song in thy praise;My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream—Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,And winds by the cot where my Mary resides!How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,As gathering sweet flow’rets she stems thy clear wave!Flow gently, sweet Afton! among thy green braes,Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays!My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream—Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Flow gently, sweet Afton! among thy green braes,Flow gently, I’ll sing thee a song in thy praise;My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream—Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Flow gently, sweet Afton! among thy green braes,

Flow gently, I’ll sing thee a song in thy praise;

My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream—

Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,And winds by the cot where my Mary resides!How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,As gathering sweet flow’rets she stems thy clear wave!

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,

And winds by the cot where my Mary resides!

How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,

As gathering sweet flow’rets she stems thy clear wave!

Flow gently, sweet Afton! among thy green braes,Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays!My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream—Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Flow gently, sweet Afton! among thy green braes,

Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays!

My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream—

Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

[At the end of the songWalter Scottgoes to a desk at the back of the room, and turns over the pages of a book.]

The Duchess: Bravo! A very beautiful song.

Miss Taylor(very fashionable, rather plain, towards fifty, and not for poetry): And you say he gave it to you?

Mrs. Stewart: He sent it this morning.

Miss Taylor: Rather indelicate, don’t you think—that piece about snowy feet?

Mrs. Stewart: I think it’s lovely.

Miss Taylor: Well, I must say I should feel rather embarrassed myself.

Mrs. Ferguson(benign and easy, the professor’s wife): I like that tune so much—Afton Water, isn’t it?

Mrs. Stewart: Yes.

Mrs. Ferguson: Jamie used to whistle it, I remember.

Mrs. Montgomery(marble, more the duchess thanGordonherself): I must say, Mrs. Ferguson, your young lion behaves himself quite prettily.

The Duchess: Why shouldn’t he, Mrs. Montgomery?

Mrs. Montgomery: Oh well, Duchess, you would hardly expect it from a ploughman, now would you?

The Duchess: ‘Flow gently, sweet Afton! among thy green braes’—wouldn’t you expect it of that?

Mrs. Stewart: His conversation is entrancing.

Miss Taylor: A very dangerous young man, and with those eyes too.

The Duchess: Nonsense, Martha. You needn’t alarm yourself.

Miss Taylor: Well, I shouldn’t like to be alone with him.

The Duchess: I am sure he would be discreet. I think you’re a very lucky woman, Mrs. Stewart. I wish Mr. Burns would write poems to me. My husband says there’s never been such a natural genius in Scotland before.

Mrs. Montgomery: Oh, come now. For an uncultivated talent it is pretty well, we may allow. But we must not turn his head.

Miss Taylor: I entirely agree with you, Mrs. Montgomery. Most unsafe.

Mrs. Stewart: I wonder he hasn’t married.

Mrs. Montgomery: Oh, my dear, haven’t you heard of the scandal in his own village? It would have been jail I’m told if it hadn’t been for some Mr. Gavin Hamilton who took a fancy to him. But I believe he has several families.

Miss Taylor: I really don’t think we oughtto encourage him. And one of his poems, I hear, is quite friendly to the Devil.

The Duchess:

But, fare-you-weel, auld Nickie-ben!O wad ye tak’ a thought an’ men’!Ye aiblins might—I dinna ken—Still hae a stake—I’m wae to think upo’ yon den,E’en for your sake!

But, fare-you-weel, auld Nickie-ben!

O wad ye tak’ a thought an’ men’!

Ye aiblins might—I dinna ken—

Still hae a stake—

I’m wae to think upo’ yon den,

E’en for your sake!

Miss Taylor: Most confusing.

Walter Scott(moving from his book toMrs. Stewart): Have you any more of his poems, ma’am?

Mrs. Stewart: I have his book, Walter.

Walter Scott: I wish I could read it.

Mrs. Stewart: I’ll lend it to you.

Walter Scott: Will you really? Thank you. He has got lovely eyes, hasn’t he? I should write poems if I had eyes like that. Couldn’t you sing again?

Mrs. Ferguson: Yes, please do, Mrs. Stewart.

Miss Taylor: Something with a little religion in it.

Mrs. Stewart(after a glance at this, sings):

Her flowing locks, the raven’s wing,Adown her neck and bosom hing;How sweet unto that breast to clingAnd round that neck entwine her!Her lips are roses wat wi’ dew,O, what a feast her bonnie mou’!Her cheeks a mair celestial hue,A crimson still diviner.

Her flowing locks, the raven’s wing,Adown her neck and bosom hing;How sweet unto that breast to clingAnd round that neck entwine her!

Her flowing locks, the raven’s wing,

Adown her neck and bosom hing;

How sweet unto that breast to cling

And round that neck entwine her!

Her lips are roses wat wi’ dew,O, what a feast her bonnie mou’!Her cheeks a mair celestial hue,A crimson still diviner.

Her lips are roses wat wi’ dew,

O, what a feast her bonnie mou’!

Her cheeks a mair celestial hue,

A crimson still diviner.

Miss Taylor: Really!

The Duchess: I think my husband is right, Miss Taylor.

[From the room beyond comes the sound of voices, or particularly of one voice, raised in argument.Mrs. Montgomerymajestically moves up to a view of the proceedings.]

Mrs. Montgomery: Dear me. Mr. Burns seems to be making a speech. I fear I was mistaken.

The Duchess: It’s that foolish man Robertson. He was speaking ill of Mr. Gray’sElegy. He was very provoking. Mr. Burns does quite right to defend it.

Burns’s voice(from the far room): Sir, I now perceive a man may be an excellent judge of poetry by square and rule, and after all be a damned blockhead.

[TheReverend Mr. Robertson,a pedantic and acidulated clergyman, comes hurriedly through the door accompanied by his host,Professor Ferguson,followed byBurns.]

Mr. Robertson: Did you hear that?

Professor Ferguson: I beg you, Mr. Robertson—

Robertson: It is highly preposterous—

Burns: Will you allow me, sir, to apologise? I withdraw my observation, and you may call theElegywhat you will.

Ferguson: May I add my word—

Robertson: Very well, very well. I will overlook your indiscretion, Mr. Burns. And believe me Gray is a very inferior poet.

[They are now followed into the room byDr. Blacklock,the aged blind poet, andLord Muir,a middle-aged sporting laird.Blacklocksits beside theDuchessof Gordon,conducted byFerguson;RobertsonbyMiss Taylor;Muiron a chair near them;Fergusongoes toWalter Scott,who has returned to his book at the window; andBurnsjoinsMrs. Stewart,who is still seated at the piano. There is an undercurrent of conversation from the various groups.]

Miss Taylor(toRobertson): That was extremely generous of you, dear Mr. Robertson.

Robertson: Charity becomes my cloth, madam.

Muir(immensely pleased with the incident): Yes, but a damned blockhead. That’s straight riding, you must allow that, sir.

Robertson: I regret, your lordship, I am no Nimrod.

Muir: No, but damme, sir, we can all admire a straight line. I like the lad.

Miss Taylor: It’s all very well, Lord Muir, but it’s most unbecoming to call a reverend gentleman a—h’m—blockhead.

Muir: A damned blockhead, ma’am, that’s the word.

Robertson(turning his back to him, addressingMiss Taylor): As I was remarking to you at luncheon, the history of pew-rents is very misleading—

[They drift into their own conversation.]

Muir(toMrs. Montgomery,under his breath): That’s the kind of poetry I can understand.

Burns(toMrs. Stewart): You did me great honour in your singing.

Mrs. Stewart: The songs are their own recommendation, Mr. Burns.

Burns: Sponsored by such beauty, madam, they could not fail.

Mrs. Stewart(touching the piano very lightly to the air of ‘Afton Water’): Do you find Edinburgh agreeable?

Burns: Some moments of it.

Mrs. Stewart: I hear of your fame everywhere.

Burns: Fortunately it does not deceive me.

Mrs. Stewart: But you have the sincere interest of many.

Burns: There are not many whose interest is valuable. With most, I please for a season—a new fashion in the window.

Mrs. Stewart: A poet must not be bitter, Mr. Burns.

Burns: I am not bitter, madam. I know my friends from the rest, that is all.

Mrs. Stewart: Your friends should be happy.

Burns: You are very gracious. You forget the—condescensions.

Mrs. Stewart: But that would be impossible.

Burns: Believe me, it is common. My plough lends a virtue to flattery.

Mrs. Stewart: There is honest esteem as well—delight.

Burns: I am as sensitive to it, madam, as the top leaves to the last ripple of evening wind. You are bountiful.

The Duchess(speaking across): Mrs. Ferguson, do you think we might ask Mr. Burns to sing one of his songs himself?

Mrs. Ferguson: If he would be so kind.

Burns: Madam, if her Grace so compliments me. Will Mrs. Stewart play an air for me?

Muir: Couldn’t it be something with a chorus—eh? Nothing like opening the lungs, sir (to Robertson).

Robertson: I regret, your lordship, I am no Orpheus.

Muir: No, but damme, sir, sing cracked, what odds?

Burns: Do you know ‘The Campbells are Coming,’ madam?

Mrs. Stewart: This?

[She plays the air.]

Burns: Aye—that. I’ve made some new verses for it—thus—

[He sings.]

Upon the Lomonds I lay, I lay,Upon the Lomonds I lay, I lay,I looked down to bonnie LochlevenAnd saw three bonnie perches play.The Campbells are comin’, Oho! Oho!The Campbells are comin’, Oho! Oho!The Campbells are comin’ to bonnie Lochleven,The Campbells are comin’, Oho! Oho!Great Argyle he goes before;He makes the cannons and guns to roar,Wi’ sound o’ trumpet, fife and drum;The Campbells are comin’, Oho! Oho!The Campbells are comin’, etc.The Campbells they are a’ in arms,Their loyal faith and truth to show,Wi’ banners rattling in the wind,The Campbells are comin’, Oho! Oho!The Campbells are comin’, etc.

Upon the Lomonds I lay, I lay,Upon the Lomonds I lay, I lay,I looked down to bonnie LochlevenAnd saw three bonnie perches play.

Upon the Lomonds I lay, I lay,

I looked down to bonnie Lochleven

And saw three bonnie perches play.

The Campbells are comin’, Oho! Oho!The Campbells are comin’, Oho! Oho!The Campbells are comin’ to bonnie Lochleven,The Campbells are comin’, Oho! Oho!

The Campbells are comin’, Oho! Oho!

The Campbells are comin’ to bonnie Lochleven,

The Campbells are comin’, Oho! Oho!

Great Argyle he goes before;He makes the cannons and guns to roar,Wi’ sound o’ trumpet, fife and drum;The Campbells are comin’, Oho! Oho!

Great Argyle he goes before;

He makes the cannons and guns to roar,

Wi’ sound o’ trumpet, fife and drum;

The Campbells are comin’, Oho! Oho!

The Campbells are comin’, etc.

The Campbells they are a’ in arms,Their loyal faith and truth to show,Wi’ banners rattling in the wind,The Campbells are comin’, Oho! Oho!

The Campbells they are a’ in arms,

Their loyal faith and truth to show,

Wi’ banners rattling in the wind,

The Campbells are comin’, Oho! Oho!

The Campbells are comin’, etc.

[TheDuchess of Gordon,andMrs. Stewart,withBlacklockandFerguson,join enthusiastically in the choruses,Mrs. Fergusonmore mildly,Mrs. Montgomeryperfunctorily, andMuirexcitedly, moving about the room, vainly exhortingRobertsonandMiss Taylor.Walter Scott,tensewith wondering admiration, slowly approachesBurnsas he sings, and stands beside him.At the close of the song there is a burst of applause, and cries of, ‘Bravo! Bravo! Another please, Mr. Burns,’through which is heard.]

At the close of the song there is a burst of applause, and cries of, ‘Bravo! Bravo! Another please, Mr. Burns,’through which is heard.]

Miss Taylor(toRobertson): Very incendiary in sentiment, I must say.

Robertson: A very just criticism.

[The calls for another song persist.]

Burns: The tune of ‘The Collier’s Bonnie Lassie’?

[Mrs. Stewartplays the air, and he sings, very quietly, his audience nowMrs. Stewartalone.]

O saw ye bonnie Lesley,As she gaed o’er the Border?She’s gane, like Alexander,To spread her conquests farther.To see her is to love her,And love but her for ever;For Nature made her what she is,And never made anither!Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,Thy subjects, we before thee:Thou art divine, fair Lesley,The hearts o’ men adore thee.The Deil he could na scaith thee,Or aught that wad belang thee;He’d look into thy bonnie face,And say, ‘I canna wrang thee!’

O saw ye bonnie Lesley,As she gaed o’er the Border?She’s gane, like Alexander,To spread her conquests farther.

O saw ye bonnie Lesley,

As she gaed o’er the Border?

She’s gane, like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her,And love but her for ever;For Nature made her what she is,And never made anither!

To see her is to love her,

And love but her for ever;

For Nature made her what she is,

And never made anither!

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,Thy subjects, we before thee:Thou art divine, fair Lesley,The hearts o’ men adore thee.

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,

Thy subjects, we before thee:

Thou art divine, fair Lesley,

The hearts o’ men adore thee.

The Deil he could na scaith thee,Or aught that wad belang thee;He’d look into thy bonnie face,And say, ‘I canna wrang thee!’

The Deil he could na scaith thee,

Or aught that wad belang thee;

He’d look into thy bonnie face,

And say, ‘I canna wrang thee!’

[Very gravely and courteously he bows toMrs. Stewartat the end, and to a murmur of approval moves across to the fireplace.Mrs. Stewartremains talking toWalter.MuirfollowsBurnsto the fireplace.]

Muir: Very pretty, Mr. Burns—especially that one about the Campbells. I believe you join our little party at dinner to-night?

Burns: I am much obliged to your lordship.

Muir: The Barley Sheaf at seven. I subscribed for two copies of your book. Don’t understand most of it, but I daresay I’vespent money worse. And I like straight riding, sir. Seven o’clock. [Burnsbows to this.]

Muir(to theDuchess): Good-day, your Grace. (ToMrs. Ferguson.) Very entertaining, Mrs. Ferguson.

[He takes his leave generally and goes, speaking toFergusonon his way out.Robertsonis saying good-bye toMiss Taylor,and crosses toMrs. Ferguson.]

Robertson: Good-afternoon, Mrs. Ferguson. A most instructive gathering, I am sure.

Mrs. Ferguson: Good-afternoon, Mr. Robertson. It was very considerate of you to spare us the time.

Robertson(bowing stiffly toBurns): Good-afternoon, Mr. Burns. And may the Lord chasten your muse.

Burns: Yes, sir. I will speak to Him about it.

Robertson: I will remember it in my devotions.

[He followsMuir,taking leave of the company as he goes.]

Burns(toMrs. Ferguson): I fear I was a little heated before we left table. I beg your indulgence. (To theDuchess.) Ma’am.

The Duchess(privately to him): You were quite right. He is a—damned blockhead, I think you said.

Ferguson(toMiss Taylor): Very striking poems those, don’t you think, Miss Taylor?

Miss Taylor: Poetry is a pagan art, Mr. Ferguson.

Ferguson: But such fervour is refreshing.

Miss Taylor: Very irregular.

[Burnshas moved up toFerguson,and is studying the Bunbury print on the wall.]

Blacklock: That young man has the pure flame of genius in him.

Mrs. Montgomery: A little disconcerting, doctor. We have to remember society, you know.

Blacklock: Society may be trusted with its own preservation, Mrs. Montgomery, but Scotland has never heard songs the like of that before. We must cherish them.

Burns: There is a sublime pathos in that.(Reading from the print.) ‘The child of misery baptised in tears.’ Whose words are those?

Ferguson: I do not remember. Dr. Blacklock, perhaps—Doctor, ‘The child of misery baptised in tears’—do you recall the author?

Blacklock: No, I am afraid not.

[Walter Scottspeaks with some timid excitement toMrs. Stewart.]

Mrs. Stewart: Walter Scott here tells me they are by Langhorne.

Burns: Indeed, Langhorne. You read the poets?

Walter Scott: Every day.

Burns: They will never fail you. I am much indebted to you, Mr. Scott.

[He leaves the boy entirely elated, and moves towards his place by the fire.]

Blacklock: Mr. Burns.

Burns(crossing to him): Sir?

Blacklock: I am an old man, Mr. Burns, and I have been allowed, if I may say so, many honours. I would give them all to have written those songs.

Burns: They have often been my only security, sir.

Mrs. Montgomery: Dr. Blacklock is very considerate of your merit, Mr. Burns.

Burns: There are obligations, ma’am, not easy to discharge with modesty. I am very sensible of Dr. Blacklock’s kindness.

Blacklock: Mr. Burns is quite right, Mrs. Montgomery. I was not offering him compliments.

[He lifts his hand paternally forBurnsto take.Burns,with great tenderness, returns the salute, and goes back to the fireplace.Miss Taylorrises and moves over toMrs. Ferguson.]

Miss Taylor: Good-afternoon, Mrs. Ferguson. We meet on Friday.

Mrs. Ferguson: Yes, Miss Taylor.

Miss Taylor: Good-afternoon, Mr. Burns. I trust you will not neglect the vineyard.

Burns: There are no vineyards at Mossgiel, madam.

Miss Taylor: I mean the Lord’s. The labourer must be worthy of his hire.

Burns: The labourer—hired. Yes, I will remember.

[Miss Taylortakes leave of theDuchessand the company, and goes, accompanied to the door byMrs. Ferguson.Walter Scottcomes toMrs. Fergusonand shakes her hand. He stands a moment beforeBurns,looking at him uncertainly.]

[Miss Taylortakes leave of theDuchessand the company, and goes, accompanied to the door byMrs. Ferguson.

Walter Scottcomes toMrs. Fergusonand shakes her hand. He stands a moment beforeBurns,looking at him uncertainly.]

Burns(holding out his hand, whichWaltertakes): Good-bye.

Walter Scott: Good-bye, sir.

[LeavingBurnsrather poignantly taken aback by the unexpected ceremony of address, he bows to theDuchessand the others and goes.Mrs. Stewartis now standing byDr. Blacklock,and asMrs. Montgomeryrises, she takes her place.]

Mrs. Montgomery(to her hostess): Good-afternoon. Good-afternoon, Duchess. If I can help Mr. Burns with any recommendation, he will let me know. Word left at Wilson’s bookshop will reach me.

[She goes, escorted by theFergusons.]

The Duchess: Dr. Blair was praising your poems this morning, Mr. Burns. But he suggested that you might with advantage enlarge your scope. He spoke of Dr. Young and Mr. Akenside.

Burns: I fear my Pegasus is for light journeys only, your Grace.

[Mrs. Fergusonis now sitting oppositeMrs. StewartwithBlacklock.Fergusonjoins the group at the fire.]

Blacklock: If Mr. Burns would humour me before I go, might I ask for another of his—masterpieces.

The Duchess: Yes—please.

Burns: Will Mrs. Stewart favour me—the duet you were speaking of?

[Mrs. Stewartgoes to the piano, and they sing.]

SheAs I gaed down the water-side,There I met my shepherd lad,He row’d me sweetly in his plaid,And ca’d me his dearie.Ca’ the yowes to the knowes,Ca’ them where the heather grows,Ca’ them where the burnie rows,My bonnie dearie!HeWill ye gang down the water-side,And see the waves sae sweetly glide?Beneath the hazels spreading wideThe moon it shines fu’ clearly.Ca’ the yowes, etc.SheIf ye’ll but stand to what ye’ve said,I’se gang wi’ you, my shepherd lad,And ye may row me in your plaid,And I sall be your dearie.Ca’ the yowes, etc.

She

As I gaed down the water-side,There I met my shepherd lad,He row’d me sweetly in his plaid,And ca’d me his dearie.Ca’ the yowes to the knowes,Ca’ them where the heather grows,Ca’ them where the burnie rows,My bonnie dearie!

As I gaed down the water-side,

There I met my shepherd lad,

He row’d me sweetly in his plaid,

And ca’d me his dearie.

Ca’ the yowes to the knowes,

Ca’ them where the heather grows,

Ca’ them where the burnie rows,

My bonnie dearie!

Will ye gang down the water-side,And see the waves sae sweetly glide?Beneath the hazels spreading wideThe moon it shines fu’ clearly.Ca’ the yowes, etc.

Will ye gang down the water-side,

And see the waves sae sweetly glide?

Beneath the hazels spreading wide

The moon it shines fu’ clearly.

Ca’ the yowes, etc.

She

If ye’ll but stand to what ye’ve said,I’se gang wi’ you, my shepherd lad,And ye may row me in your plaid,And I sall be your dearie.Ca’ the yowes, etc.

If ye’ll but stand to what ye’ve said,

I’se gang wi’ you, my shepherd lad,

And ye may row me in your plaid,

And I sall be your dearie.

Ca’ the yowes, etc.

Blacklock: The sweetest voice of Caledonia’s sons, Mrs. Ferguson.

The Duchess(rising): Well, your poet has captivated me entirely, Mrs. Ferguson. I returnto Gordon Castle next week, Mr. Burns. I hope you will visit us there.

Burns(kissing her offered hand): If you will indulge me so far, your Grace.

[TheDuchesssays good-bye toMrs. StewartandDr. Blacklock,and goes out withMrs. Ferguson,passingFergusonat the door.Fergusonmoves down toBlacklock.]

Blacklock(rising): Mr. Ferguson? I am greatly your debtor. It has been one of the most memorable occasions in a long life. A very great privilege, Mr. Burns.

[He holds out his hand in the direction ofBurns,who takes it with real veneration.Then he goes,Fergusondirecting his steps.]

Burns: You are staying in Edinburgh long?

Mrs. Stewart: I leave to-morrow.

Burns(looking at his watch): I must go. Mrs. Ferguson will be tired of me. You sang enchantingly.

Mrs. Stewart: You are joining the Barley Sheaf party to-night?

Burns: Yes.

Mrs. Stewart: You are happy there?

Burns: I am free. And nobody patronises me.

Mrs. Stewart: But they have been very civil to you here.

Burns: Some of them. And there have been consolations even beyond that. The old man, and the boy, and you. But the others—you heard. Why should I? Where does it lead me?

Mrs. Stewart: Success at the Barley Sheaf is more gratifying?

Burns: I know, madam, I know. But I shall never learn discipline.

Mrs. Stewart: Not even for the sake of your friends?

Burns: In a few weeks I shall have passed out of all this—back from it, if you will. My friends, who will they be then? I do not expect remembrance.

Mrs. Stewart: That is not kind.

Burns: It is generous of you to think it. O, I am not ungrateful, believe me. I have beenfortunate in opinions that I shall cherish. But those—with their vineyards, and preachments over me, and Akensides, and Wilson’s bookshop—did you hear that? My time may come, but it is not now, in Edinburgh.

Mrs. Stewart: And so birthright may be wasted, at the Barley Sheaf?

Burns: Do not let me deceive you, madam. Like my songs—yes, I pray you will do that. But they thrive in that company—I am at home there. I am not proud of it, and it will settle my account early, likely enough. But I know my condition. Virtue was born a caprice in me, madam, and fortune has not husbanded her for me. I sing sometimes, and for the rest I have no talent, perhaps, but a little to know myself.

Mrs. Stewart: I understand. And you will be yourself.

Burns: Even through disaster, I must. It is the only honour I have.

[TheFergusonscome back.]

Mrs. Ferguson: Forgive us, please.

Burns: Thank you, Mrs. Ferguson, for your kindness—it was very obliging of you to bring me here. Good-afternoon.

Mrs. Ferguson: Good-afternoon, Mr. Burns.

Ferguson: Many flattering things have been said, Mr. Burns.

Burns(toMrs. Stewart): Good-afternoon, madam.

Mrs. Stewart: Good luck, Mr. Burns.

Ferguson(going out with him): Very flattering, I assure you. Most gratifying you must find it—

[They go out.]

Mrs. Ferguson: Shall you come with me, my dear, to Dr. Mackenzie’s?

Mrs. Stewart: I think I would rather stay at home this afternoon, Mrs. Ferguson.

[Fergusonreturns and goes to his desk for a book.]

Mrs. Ferguson: Certainly, my dear. I’ll tell Maggie.

Ferguson: Very pleasant. Dr. Robertson was most instructive at lunch upon the second epistle, don’t you think? Yes.

[He bustles out.]

Mrs. Ferguson: She shall bring tea to you here.

[She goes.]

[Mrs. Stewartplays a few notes of ‘Afton Water’ on the piano. Then she changes the air, and sings very softly.]

O whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad,O whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad,Tho’ father and mother and a’ should gae mad,O whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad.

[She pauses, and laughs lightly and humorously at herself, and]

THE CURTAIN FALLS

Back to Index Next