A DIFFERENCE.
Notwithstanding his keenness of judgment and sobriety in action,
Malcolm had yet a certain love for effect, a delight, that is, in the
show of concentrated results, which, as I believe I have elsewhere
remarked, belongs especially to the Celtic nature, and is one form
in which the poetic element vaguely embodies itself. Hence arose the
temptation to try on Blue Peter the effect of a literally theatrical
surprise. He knew well the prejudices of the greater portion of the
Scots people against every possible form of artistic, most of all,
dramatic representation. He knew, therefore, also, that Peter would
never be persuaded to go with him to the theatre: to invite him would
be like asking him to call upon Beelzebub; but as this feeling was
cherished in utter ignorance of its object, he judged he would be doing
him no wrong if he made experiment how the thing itself would affect
the heart and judgment of the unsophisticated fisherman.
Finding that _The Tempest_ was still the play represented, he
contrived, as they walked together, so to direct their course that they
should be near Drury Lane towards the hour of commencement. He did not
want to take him in much before the time: he would not give him scope
for thought, doubt, suspicion, discovery.
When they came in front of the theatre, people were crowding in, and
carriages setting down their occupants. Blue Peter gave a glance at the
building.
“This’ll be ane o’ the Lon’on kirks, I’m thinkin’?” he said. “It’s
a muckle place; an’ there maun be a heap o’ guid fowk in Lon’on,
for as ill ’s it’s ca’d, to see sae mony, an’ i’ their cairritches,
comin’ to the kirk--on a Setterday nicht tu. It maun be some kin’ o’ a
prayer-meetin’, I’m thinkin’.”
Malcolm said nothing, but led the way to the pit entrance.
“That’s no an ill w’y o’ getherin’ the baubees,” said Peter, seeing how
the in-comers paid their money. “I hae h’ard o’ the plate bein’ robbit
in a muckle toon afore noo.”
When at length they were seated, and he had time to glance reverently
around him, he was a little staggered at sight of the decorations;
and the thought crossed his mind of the pictures and statues he had
heard of in catholic churches; but he remembered Westminster Abbey,
its windows and monuments, and returned to his belief that he was, if
in an episcopal, yet in a protestant church. But he could not help the
thought that the galleries were a little too gaudily painted, while
the high pews in them astonished him. Peter’s nature, however, was one
of those calm, slow ones which, when occupied by an idea or a belief,
are by no means ready to doubt its correctness, and are even ingenious
in reducing all apparent contradictions to theoretic harmony with
it--whence it came that to him all this was only part of the church
furniture according to the taste and magnificence of London. He sat
quite tranquil, therefore, until the curtain rose, revealing the ship’s
company in all the confusion of the wildest of sea storms.
Malcolm watched him narrowly. But Peter was first so taken by surprise,
and then so carried away with the interest of what he saw, that
thinking had ceased in him utterly, and imagination lay passive as a
mirror to the representation. Nor did the sudden change from the first
to the second scene rouse him, for before his thinking machinery could
be set in motion, the delight of the new show had again caught him in
its meshes. For to him, as it had been to Malcolm, it was the shore at
Portlossie, while the cave that opened behind was the Bailie’s Barn,
where his friends the fishers might at that moment, if it were a fine
night, be holding one of their prayer meetings. The mood lasted all
through the talk of Prospero and Miranda; but when Ariel entered there
came a snap, and the spell was broken. With a look in which doubt
wrestled with horror, Blue Peter turned to Malcolm, and whispered with
bated breath--
“I’m jaloosin’--it canna be--it’s no a playhoose, this?”
Malcolm merely nodded, but from the nod Peter understood that _he_ had
had no discovery to make as to the character of the place they were in.
“Eh!” he groaned, overcome with dismay. Then rising suddenly-- “Guid
nicht to ye, my lord,” he said, with indignation, and rudely forced his
way from the crowded house.
Malcolm followed in his wake, but said nothing till they were in the
street. Then, forgetting utterly his resolves concerning English in the
distress of having given his friend ground to complain of his conduct
towards him, he laid his hand on Blue Peter’s arm, and stopped him in
the middle of the narrow street.
“I but thoucht, Peter,” he said, “to get ye to see wi’ yer ain een, an’
hear wi’ yer ain ears, afore ye passed jeedgment; but ye’re jist like
the lave.”
“An’ what for sudna I be jist like the lave?” returned Peter, fiercely.
“’Cause it’s no fair to set doon a thing for wrang ’at ye ha’e been
i’ the w’y o’ hearing aboot by them ’at kens as little aboot them as
yersel’. I cam here mysel’, ohn kent whaur I was gaein’, the ither
nicht, for the first time i’ my life; but I wasna fleyt like you,
’cause I kent frae the buik a’ ’at was comin’. I ha’e h’ard in a kirk
in ae ten meenutes jist a sicht o’ what maun ha’e been sair displeasin’
to the hert a’ the maister o’ ’s a’; but that nicht I saw nae ill an’
h’ard nae ill, but was weel peyed back upo’ them ’at did it an’ said
it afore the business was ower, an’ that’s mair nor ye’ll see i’ the
streets o’ Portlossie ilka day. The play-hoose is whaur ye gang to see
what comes o’ things ’at ye canna follow oot in ordinar’ life.”
Whether Malcolm, after a year’s theatre-going, would have said
precisely the same is hardly doubtful. He spoke of the ideal theatre to
which Shakspere is true, and in regard to that he spoke rightly.
“Ye decoy’t me intill the hoose o’ ineequity!” was Peter’s indignant
reply; “an’ it’s no what ye ever ga’e me cause to expec’ o’ ye, sae ’at
I micht ha’e ta’en tent o’ ye.”
“I thoucht nae ill o’ ’t,” returned Malcolm.
“Weel, _I div_,” retorted Peter.
“Then perhaps you are wrong,” said Malcolm, “for charity thinketh no
evil. You wouldn’t stay to see the thing out.”
“There ye are at yer English again! an’ misgugglin’ Scriptur’ wi’ ’t,
an’ a’ this upo’ Setterday nicht--maist the Sawbath day! Weel, I ha’e
aye h’ard ’at Lon’on was an awfu’ place, but I little thoucht the verra
air o’ ’t wad sae sune turn an honest laad like Ma’colm MacPhail intill
a scoffer. But maybe it’s the markis o’ ’im, an’ no the muckle toon
’at’s made the differ. Ony gait, I’m thinkin’ it’ll be aboot time for
me to be gauin’ hame.”
Malcolm was vexed with himself, and both disappointed and troubled at
the change which had come over his friend, and threatened to destroy
the life-long relation between them; his feelings therefore held him
silent. Peter concluded that _the marquis_ was displeased, and it
clenched his resolve to go.
“What w’y am I to win hame, my lord?” he said, when they had walked
some distance without word spoken.
“By the Aberdeen smack,” returned Malcolm. “She sails on Tuesday.
I will see you on board. You must take young Davy with you, for I
wouldn’t have him here after you are gone. There will be nothing for
him to do.”
“Ye’re unco ready to pairt wi’ ’s noo ’at ye ha’e nae mair use for ’s,”
said Peter.
“No sae ready as ye seem to pairt wi’ yer chairity,” said Malcolm, now
angry too.
“Ye see Annie ’ill be thinkin’ lang,” said Peter, softening a little.
No more angry words passed between them, but neither did any thoroughly
cordial ones, and they parted at the stairs in mutual, though, with
such men, it could not be more than superficial estrangement.