SILAS MARNER George Eliot Author
- nouveau livreISBN: 2940012348715
PART ONECHAPTER IIn the days when the spinning-wheels hummed busily in thefarmhouses--and even great ladies, clothed in silk and thread-lace, hadtheir toy spinning-wheels of polished oak-… Plus…
PART ONECHAPTER IIn the days when the spinning-wheels hummed busily in thefarmhouses--and even great ladies, clothed in silk and thread-lace, hadtheir toy spinning-wheels of polished oak--there might be seen indistricts far away among the lanes, or deep in the bosom of the hills,certain pallid undersized men, who, by the side of the brawnycountry-folk, looked like the remnants of a disinherited race. Theshepherd's dog barked fiercely when one of these alien-looking menappeared on the upland, dark against the early winter sunset; for whatdog likes a figure bent under a heavy bag?--and these pale men rarelystirred abroad without that mysterious burden. The shepherd himself,though he had good reason to believe that the bag held nothing butflaxen thread, or else the long rolls of strong linen spun from thatthread, was not quite sure that this trade of weaving, indispensablethough it was, could be carried on entirely without the help of theEvil One. In that far-off time superstition clung easily round everyperson or thing that was at all unwonted, or even intermittent andoccasional merely, like the visits of the pedlar or the knife-grinder.No one knew where wandering men had their homes or their origin; andhow was a man to be explained unless you at least knew somebody whoknew his father and mother? To the peasants of old times, the worldoutside their own direct experience was a region of vagueness andmystery: to their untravelled thought a state of wandering was aconception as dim as the winter life of the swallows that came backwith the spring; and even a settler, if he came from distant parts,hardly ever ceased to be viewed with a remnant of distrust, which wouldhave prevented any surprise if a long course of inoffensive conduct onhis part had ended in the commission of a crime; especially if he hadany reputation for knowledge, or showed any skill in handicraft. Allcleverness, whether in the rapid use of that difficult instrument thetongue, or in some other art unfamiliar to villagers, was in itselfsuspicious: honest folk, born and bred in a visible manner, were mostlynot overwise or clever--at least, not beyond such a matter as knowingthe signs of the weather; and the process by which rapidity anddexterity of any kind were acquired was so wholly hidden, that theypartook of the nature of conjuring. In this way it came to pass thatthose scattered linen-weavers--emigrants from the town into thecountry--were to the last regarded as aliens by their rusticneighbours, and usually contracted the eccentric habits which belong toa state of loneliness.In the early years of this century, such a linen-weaver, named SilasMarner, worked at his vocation in a stone cottage that stood among thenutty hedgerows near the village of Raveloe, and not far from the edgeof a deserted stone-pit. The questionable sound of Silas's loom, sounlike the natural cheerful trotting of the winnowing-machine, or thesimpler rhythm of the flail, had a half-fearful fascination for theRaveloe boys, who would often leave off their nutting or birds'-nestingto peep in at the window of the stone cottage, counterbalancing acertain awe at the mysterious action of the loom, by a pleasant senseof scornful superiority, drawn from the mockery of its alternatingnoises, along with the bent, tread-mill attitude of the weaver. Butsometimes it happened that Marner, pausing to adjust an irregularity inhis thread, became aware of the small scoundrels, and, though chary ofhis time, he liked their intrusion so ill that he would descend fromhis loom, and, opening the door, would fix on them a gaze that wasalways enough to make them take to their legs in terror. For how wasit possible to believe that those large brown protuberant eyes in SilasMarner's pale face really saw nothing very distinctly that was notclose to them, and not rather that their dreadful stare could dartcramp, or rickets, or a wry mouth at any boy who happened to be in therear? They had, perhaps, heard their fathers and mothers hint thatSilas Marner could cure folks' rheumatism if he had a mind, and add,still more darkly, that if you could only speak the devil fair enough,he might save you the cost of the doctor. Digital Content>E-books>Juv Workbooks>Juv Grade 3>Juv G3 Reading, SAP Digital >16<
