Lost trumpet
(82)
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82
THE LOST TRUMPET
“Pelagueya, do you remember those days in
Kazan ?”
She nodded, her dear face mantling a little flush
across the clear pallor of her cheeks, under those
smooth cheek-bones. I heard myself go on, clear and
unincoherent at last in this business that had haunted
my life.
“I loved you then. You lived in my memory and
I loved you through thirteen long years, Pelagueya.
Why ? Because of your beauty, of course. Because
you have hair as you have it, and the way you smile,
and because even the loveliest clothes upon you
seem to me sacrilege, for the loveliness that they
alone know was surely meant for gladdening all the
world ”
Still that blue-black halo to my gaze, but her
voice very low and untremulous. “You might have
it to gladden you at least, if it would make you glad,
Anton, my dear.”
I flinched a little perhaps then, but it was my
moment and I held to it. “And the play of your
mind that seems to me a thing of beauty, because
even when I do not think as you yet I can under¬
stand your thoughts. And the fearlessness you
have, and the oh! stupendous ignorances, and
the sweet way your lips curl back, and the breath¬
taking thing it would be if you were the mother of
a child of mine. . . . All these things I could
remember in those twelve or thirteen years. They
came out of the darkness and lighted my saddest
moments, a fairy-tale and a fairy-princess remem-
THE LOST TRUMPET
“Pelagueya, do you remember those days in
Kazan ?”
She nodded, her dear face mantling a little flush
across the clear pallor of her cheeks, under those
smooth cheek-bones. I heard myself go on, clear and
unincoherent at last in this business that had haunted
my life.
“I loved you then. You lived in my memory and
I loved you through thirteen long years, Pelagueya.
Why ? Because of your beauty, of course. Because
you have hair as you have it, and the way you smile,
and because even the loveliest clothes upon you
seem to me sacrilege, for the loveliness that they
alone know was surely meant for gladdening all the
world ”
Still that blue-black halo to my gaze, but her
voice very low and untremulous. “You might have
it to gladden you at least, if it would make you glad,
Anton, my dear.”
I flinched a little perhaps then, but it was my
moment and I held to it. “And the play of your
mind that seems to me a thing of beauty, because
even when I do not think as you yet I can under¬
stand your thoughts. And the fearlessness you
have, and the oh! stupendous ignorances, and
the sweet way your lips curl back, and the breath¬
taking thing it would be if you were the mother of
a child of mine. . . . All these things I could
remember in those twelve or thirteen years. They
came out of the darkness and lighted my saddest
moments, a fairy-tale and a fairy-princess remem-
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| The books of Lewis Grassic Gibbon > Lost trumpet > (82) |
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| Permanent URL | https://digital.nls.uk/205190543 |
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| Description | J. Leslie Mitchell. |
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| Shelfmark | Vts.143.j.8 |
| Attribution and copyright: |
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More information
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| Description | Sixteen books written by Lewis Grassic Gibbon (1901-1935), regarded as the most important Scottish prose writer of the early 20th century. All were published in the last seven years of his life, mostly under his real name, James Leslie Mitchell. They include two works of science fiction, non-fiction works on exploration, short stories set in Egypt, a novel about Spartacus, and the classic 'Scots Quair' trilogy which includes 'Sunset Song'. Mitchell's first book 'Hanno, or the future of exploration' (1928) is rare and has never been republished. |
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