…it has come to me, sitting here in the barn feeling very full of cold rice, that there is something revolting about the way girls’ minds so often jump to marriage long before they jump to love. And most of those minds are shut to what marriage really means. Now I come to think of it, I am judging from books mostly, for I don’t know any girls except Rose and Topaz. But some characters in books are very real—Jane Austen’s are; and I know those five Bennets at the opening of Pride and Prejudice, simply waiting to raven the young men at Netherfield Park, are not giving one thought to the real facts of marriage. I wonder if Rose is? I must certainly try to make her before she gets involved in anything. Fortunately, I am not ignorant in such matters—no stepchild of Topaz’s could be. I know all about the facts of life. And I don’t think much of them.
’s e seo, feumaidh mi aideachadh an toiseach, fear dhe na leabhraichean as fheàrr leam; tha e, mar sin, caran doirbh bruidhinn mu dheidhinn, dìreach a rèir cò mheud rudan a bu toil leam a ràdh. feuchaidh mi, ge-tà, ris a’ chùis a chur ann am faclan mar as urrainn dhomh.
’s ann air clas a tha an nobhail seo — ach aig a’ cheart àm chan ann idir. tha an sgeulachd ga h-innse ann am faclan Chassandra Mortmain, nighean an ùghdair mhodranaich ainmeil James Mortmain, a sgrìobh, bho chionn mu dheichead (.i., sna 1920an) sàr-nobhail, Jacob Wrestling, agus nach eil air facal a sgrìobhadh bhon àm sinn. tha teaghlach Chassandra air fad — ’s e sin, ise; a piuthar nas sine, Rose; a bràthair nas òige, Thomas; a h-athair; a leas-màthair, Topaz; agus Stephen, balach dhen aon aois ri Cassandra a thogadh còmhla rithe mus do bhàsaich a mhàthair-san, tè a bha ag obair mar shearbhanta dha na Mortmains — a’ fuireach “ann an caisteal” (an da-rìribh ’s e a th’ ann ach taigh Bhioctoirianach co-cheangailte ri làraichean caisteil) ann an Suffolk, agus às dèidh deicheid gun ach glè bheag de dh’airgead air a bhith a’ tighinn a-steach tha an teaghlach gu ìre mhòr air a chreachadh. nochdaidh, an uair sin, na Cottons: Simon agus Neil, oighreachan beairteach (agus Amaireageanach) an t-seann uachdarain (nach maireann). leanaidh an leughadair beatha Chassandra tro na seachd mìosan às dèidh dha na Cottons a ruigsinn, fhad ’s a dh’fhàsas i o leanabachd — mar a theireadh i fhèin, co-dhiù — gu inbhe.
nobhail àlainn a th’ ann: sgrìobh Smith e nuair a bha i a’ fuireach anns na Stàitean Aonaichte leis an duine aice, agus i ag ionndrainn Sasainn gu mòr. mar sin, bha i a’ feuchainn ri seòrsa deilbh-chuimhne a thogail, a’ tarraing air a’ ghaol a bha i a’ faireachdainn airson dùthaich a breithe:
I have been resting, just staring down at the castle. I wish I could find words—serious, beautiful words—to describe it in the afternoon sunlight; the more I strive for them, the more they utterly elude me. How can one capture the pool of light in the courtyard, the golden windows, the strange long-ago look, the look that one sees in old paintings? I can only think of ‘the light of other days,‘ and I didn’t make that up……
san latha an-diugh (ri linn Bhrexit), ge-tà, faodaidh coltas caran…hm…dona a bhith air a seo aig amannan, ged a dhiùltas Cassandra “flags and Kipling and outposts of Empire and such”; their i gur e a tha i a’ ciallachadh le bhith ag ràdh gu bheil Sasainn “special” ach “the country and London and houses like Scoatney [.i., taigh-maineir nan Cottons]”, ach cha ghabh sgaradh furasta dèanamh eadar an dà thaobh seo, mar a tha luchd-breithneachaidh iar-cholonach agus Marcsach air dearbhadh dhuinn bho chionn cuid de dheicheadan a-nis. chithear an ceangal dùbhlanach seo san nobhail fhèin gu soilleir o àm gu àm, cuideachd (ged nach ann uabhasach tric): their Cassandra uaireigin, mar eisimpleir, gu bheil an cù aca, Heloïse, “out of purdah now” leis nach eil teas oirre tuilleadh — air neo, tha tè dhe na caractaran na dealbhadair, agus nuair a thadhaileas Cassandra air a taigh tha i a’ faicinn dealbhan de “a magnificent, quite naked N*gro, much larger than life. It reached from the floor up to the high ceiling and was terrifying”. tha an ceangal a nithear an seo eadar fear Dubh, feis, agus uabhas/eagal gu domhain stèidhichte ann an gnàth-ìomhaighean gràin-chinnidheach. gheibhear, cuideachd, cuid de dh’iomraidhean air Topaz (leas-mhàthair Chassandra) a bheir cuideam air dath ana-gheal a craicinn, “as if she belonged to some new race”. chan eil an liuthad mhòmaidean mar seo san nobhail, gu fortanach, ach tha iad ann.
tha an nobhail faireachail, cuideachd: ’s e prìomh-chuspair na sgeulachd na dàimhean a dh’èireas, air an dàrna làimh, eadar Rose agus Simon, a thuiteas — a rèir coltais — ann an gaol agus a tha gu bhith a’ pòsadh, agus, air an làimh eile, eadar Cassandra agus Simon. tuitidh i fhèin ann an gaol leis-san às dèidh dha a pòsadh aon oidhche nuair a tha e ag ionndrainn Rose. fàsaidh Cassandra gu math searbh mun a’ chùis seo:
the next morning, the weight on my heart was the worst I had ever known. It didn’t move at all while I got our breakfasts, and by the time Stephen and Thomas had gone and father had shut himself in the gatehouse, it was so bad that I found myself going around leaning against walls—I can’t think why misery makes me lean on walls, but it does.
chithear an seo rudeigin glè chudromach mun leabhar seo, ge-tà: tha e uabhasach èibhinn; fiù ’s aig na h-amannan as miosa, bidh àbhachdas air choreigin a’ briseadh a-steach tron t-searbhachd. chan e nach eil an t-searbhachd fhèin cudromach, no cumhachdach, oir ’s ann a tha — ach bidh solas a’ tilleadh, aig a’ cheann thall, ged as ann air èiginn, uaireannan.
’s e àbhachdas na nobhaile an rud as motha, saoileam, a tha air mo tharraing dhan leabhar seo uair is uair eile tro na bliadhnaichean. tha e dìreach cho èibhinn — tha rud sònraichte aig gach ball dhen teaghlach (Stephen nam measg). tha Topaz, gu sònraichte, na sgeig-aithris mhìorbhailich air seòrsa àraid luchd-ealain, a’ moladh, mar eisimpleir, gur dòcha gun dèan i “a lute concert in the village” gus cuid airgid a thogail dhaibh. tha Smith ag aithneachadh, cuideachd, gu bheil rudeigin caran ridiculous mu shuidheachadh nam Mortmains — chan e gu bheil i a’ magadh air a’ bhochdainn fhèin, ach air an dòigh ’s a tha na Mortmains, gu sònraichte, a’ dèiligeadh rithe:
“What will you have to read [san fhailc] to-night, Miss Cassandra?” asked Stephen.
I told him Vol. BIS TO CAL of our old Encyclopaedia, Man and Superman (which I have just re-borrowed from the Vicar—I feel I may have missed some of the finer points when I read it five years ago) and last week’s Home Chat, kindly lent by Miss Marcy. I like plenty of choice in my bath.
(dìreach cuid leughaidh aotruim — George Bernard Shaw agus an leabhar-eòlais.)
feumaidh mi aideachadh an seo, cuideachd, gur e fear dhe na h-adhbharan a tha mi cho measail air an leabhar seo gu bheil mi gu ìre ann an gaol le Stephen (agus chan ann a-mhàin air sgàth ’s gur e Henry Cavill a tha ga chluiche san fhilm), a tha (gu domhain agus gu h-eu-dòchasach) ann an gaol le Cassandra, a’ dèanamh a dhìchill gus siud a dhearbhadh dhi anns gach dòigh ’s as urrainn dha — airgead (nuair a tha e aige, co-dhiù), taic phearsanta, is bho àm gu àm bàrdachd, ged nach ann leis-san a tha e an-còmhnaidh:
Then [Stephen] dropped a tightly folded bit of paper on this journal. My heart sank, because I knew it would contain a poem; I suppose he has been working on it in the barn. It is written in his careful, rather beautiful script. The heading is, ‘“To Miss Cassandra” by Stephen Colly.’ It is a charming poem—by Robert Herrick.
tha gaol na phrìomh-chuspair san nobhail, cuideachd, le seòrsa loidhne a’ dol o Stephen gu Cassandra gu Simon gu Rose — ach gaol a th’ air a chomharrachadh le buaidh a’ chlas. ’s i a’ bhochdainn a bheir air Rose iarraidh gum pòs Simon i; ’s iad luachan sòisealta bùirdeasach (bàrdachd is ealainean is ceòl clasaigeach is mar sin) a thogas dàimh eadar Cassandra is Simon (agus gu ìre a sgaras Cassandra o Stephen); aig a’ cheann thall, ’s e an t-airgead, no dìth an airgid, a stiùireas an sgeulachd air fad. ged nach ruig Cassandra mothachadh-clas fhathast aig deireadh na nobhail, gu mì-fhortanach, tha i ag aithneachadh na còmhstrithe eadar na Cottons (mar bhùirdeasaich) agus a teaghlach-se (mar bhochdanan): “A thousand pounds for clothes—when one thinks how long poor people could live on it! When one things how long we could live on it!” ’s urrainn dhuinn a bhith an dòchas gum fàs am mothachadh-clas seo nas làidire às dèidh na nobhaile.
tha tòrr a bharrachd a bu toil leam a ràdh, ach fàgaidh mi an sin e. ma tha rud sam bith dhen a seo a’ tarraing d’ aire, mholainn gu mòr, mòr an leabhar seo.
(air ais: prìomh-dhuilleag · lèirmheasan a rèir ùghdair · lèirmheasan a rèir dùthcha · lèirmheasan eile on Rìoghachd Aonaichte)