Free Magnus Merriman by Eric Linklater Page B

Shakespeare?’ asked Magnus.
    Meiklejohn ignored him. ‘Let’s go upstairs. Perhaps the little man’s there.’
    On the upper floor of the tavern were another bar and a small dingy lounge. Following Meiklejohn up the stairs Magnus quoted, somewhat contentiously:
    And many a man there is, even at this present,
    Now, while I speak, holds his wife by the arm,
    That little thinks she has been sluiced in’s absence
    And his pond fished by his next neighbour, by
    Sir Smile, his neighbour,
    and asked: ‘Is that stuff for girls?’
    â€˜Certainly, if they’re nasty girls,’ said Meiklejohn.
    The upper floor was even noisier than the lower one, for on the latter had been nothing but men, but here there were women also. A few were elderly, pouchy-faced, wide in the hips, with over-flowing contours, but most were young. A cocksure strutting little creature with pointed breasts, black eyes, a loose mouth and oiled black hair took Magnus by the coat and said: ‘Hey! are you sleeping with me or am I sleeping with you tonight?’
    â€˜Neither,’ said Magnus.
    â€˜Och! Be a man! I’ll no tell your mother, if that’s what you’re thinking. Gie’s a drink, anyway.’
    â€˜What do you want?’
    â€˜Whisky, and a big one. And you needna bother about soda. There’s no guts in the drink here, and there’s no guts in the men either.’
    She took the drink and swallowed it at a gulp. ‘Come on,’ she pleaded, ‘it won’t cost you much.’
    â€˜No,’ said Magnus.
    â€˜Oh, well,’ said the slut, ‘there’s a kiss for your drink. It wasna worth more than that.’ And she reached up and kissed Magnus noisily.
    â€˜An honest little whore,’ said Meiklejohn.
    Magnus, with wicked intent, answered:
    Â Â Â  Those milk-paps
    That through the window-bars bore at men’s eyes,
    Are not within the leaf of pity writ.
    â€˜For God’s sake keep your tongue out of that plate,’ shouted Meiklejohn. ‘I take you to a good Scotch pub and you quote a noisy, dirty-minded, untidy, romantical Englishman to me! I detest Shakespeare, and I’m damned if I’ll listen to him for you or anyone else.’
    Meiklejohn was dogmatic in his tastes, and professing a large enthusiasm for Latin poetry of the Augustan age, for classical French literature, for Viennese music, for the bothy ballads and ruder verse of Scotland, he would recognize no merit in what was written outside those areas. Essentially a romantic himself, he hotly denounced all romantic writing, and confessed his passion for Johann Strauss only because those rosy melodies brought to his eyes such fond and copious tears that his weakness was immediately discernible. But to Magnus, as to many other people, depreciation of Shakespeare was dangerously near to blasphemy, and Meiklejohn’s scandalous denigration of England’s most mellifluous and triumphant voice roused in him hot anger and resentment. For his new-come patriotism was not yet exclusive.
    â€˜Forgive me for uttering so naked a commonplace,’ hesaid offensively, ‘but you drive me to it. Shakespeare is the greatest poet of all time,
    â€˜A fustian, long-winded, turgid, slovenly ranter who never missed the opportunity to make a dirty joke,’ retorted Meiklejohn.
    â€˜Name a better poet,’ said Magnus.
    â€˜Racine,’ said Meiklejohn promptly.
    â€˜That dull, pedantical schoolroom exercise! That prosy, plodding, weary, unimaginative padding for a deserted library! That’s not poetry: that’s route-marching to Parnassus with full pack and a sergeant alongside to see that you keep step.’
    Meiklejohn took Magnus by the lapel of his coat and shouted very loudly: ‘Listen to this, you chuff!’
    Le ciel de leurs soupirs approuvait l’innocence;
    Ils suivaient sans remords leur penchant amoureux;
    Tous les jours se levaient clairs et sereins