Lost trumpet
(109)
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THE LOST TRUMPET 109
lights of Gault’s Turkish castle; overhead, neither
darkness nor light, the sky awaiting moon-rise. We
sat on a bank of turf by the side of the road. It was
very silent, the night world. Pelagueya turned a dim
face towards me. Her voice seemed to come from
very far away.
“Oh—any kind. ... A fairy-story. . . . Some¬
thing no one else can believe and you believe.”
I lighted my pipe. A fairy-story to suit the whim
of a moment—the whim of a princess. I went
searching back to my childhood. And then, slowly
up through the years of my own life, I saw a story
unfold. I heard myself begin to speak.
“This is the story of the Three Brothers. You
will not be cold ?”
There was a little laugh. “I hope I shall be
warmed.”
“Once upon a time, long ago, they set out on
their journey. But from where I do not know. Nor
in their lineage has the story any interest. They
were brothers, triplets, I think, but unakin, and with
no great respect for one another, as is the habit with
brothers. Setting forth, they went not together.
They travelled separately and apart.
“And the first of the brothers, as in all good
fairy tales, was the tallest and strongest, with a
handsome nose and proud, and garments gay and
costly upon his back. Round his middle he carried
slung a great purse—all the Brothers bore purses—
which fact is the central point of the story, and
which, like the ancient story-tellers, I give away
lights of Gault’s Turkish castle; overhead, neither
darkness nor light, the sky awaiting moon-rise. We
sat on a bank of turf by the side of the road. It was
very silent, the night world. Pelagueya turned a dim
face towards me. Her voice seemed to come from
very far away.
“Oh—any kind. ... A fairy-story. . . . Some¬
thing no one else can believe and you believe.”
I lighted my pipe. A fairy-story to suit the whim
of a moment—the whim of a princess. I went
searching back to my childhood. And then, slowly
up through the years of my own life, I saw a story
unfold. I heard myself begin to speak.
“This is the story of the Three Brothers. You
will not be cold ?”
There was a little laugh. “I hope I shall be
warmed.”
“Once upon a time, long ago, they set out on
their journey. But from where I do not know. Nor
in their lineage has the story any interest. They
were brothers, triplets, I think, but unakin, and with
no great respect for one another, as is the habit with
brothers. Setting forth, they went not together.
They travelled separately and apart.
“And the first of the brothers, as in all good
fairy tales, was the tallest and strongest, with a
handsome nose and proud, and garments gay and
costly upon his back. Round his middle he carried
slung a great purse—all the Brothers bore purses—
which fact is the central point of the story, and
which, like the ancient story-tellers, I give away
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| The books of Lewis Grassic Gibbon > Lost trumpet > (109) |
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| Permanent URL | https://digital.nls.uk/205190894 |
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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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