Eliot, George / 2008-06-26 00:00:00
1861
SILAS MARNER
by George Eliot
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
IN the days when the spinning-wheels hummed busily in the
farmhouses- and even great ladies, clothed in silk and thread-lace,
had their toy spinning-wheels of polished oak- there might be seen, in
districts far away among the lanes, or deep in the bosom of the hills,
certain pallid undersized men, who, by the side of the brawny
country-folk, looked like the remnants of a disinherited race. The
shepherd's dog barked fiercely when one of these alien-looking men
appeared on the upland, dark against the early winter sunset; for what
dog likes a figure bent under a heavy bag?- and these pale men
rarely stirred abroad without that mysterious burden. The shepherd
himself, though he had good reason to believe that the bag held
nothing but flaxen thread, or else the long rolls of strong linen spun
from that thread, was not quite sure that this trade of weaving,
indispensable though it was, could be carried on entirely without
the help of the Evil One. In that far-off time superstition clung
easily round every person or thing that was at all unwonted, or even
intermittent and occasional merely, like the visits of the pedlar or
the knife-grinder. No one knew where wandering men had their homes
or their origin; and how was a man to be explained unless you at least
knew somebody who knew his father and mother? To the peasants of old
times, the world outside their own direct experience was a region of
vagueness and mystery: to their untravelled thought a state of
wandering was a conception as dim as the winter life of the swallows
that came back with the spring; and even a settler, if he came from
distant parts, hardly ever ceased to be viewed with a remnant of
distrust, which would have prevented any surprise if a long course
of inoffensive conduct on his part had ended in the commission of a
crime; especially if he had any reputation for knowledge, or showed
any skill in handicraft.
Read more
Parts:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14