I afterwards came to be Berry’s fag, and, though beaten by him daily, he allowed, of course, no one else to lay a hand upon me, and I got no more thrashing than was good for me. Thus an intimacy1 grew up between us, and after he left Slaughter2 House and went into the dragoons, the honest fellow did not forget his old friend, but actually made his appearance one day in the playground in moustaches and a braided coat, and gave me a gold pencil-case and a couple of sovereigns. I blushed when I took them, but take them I did; and I think the thing I almost best recollect4 in my life, is the sight of Berry getting behind an immense bay cab-horse, which was held by a correct little groom5, and was waiting near the school in Slaughter House Square. He proposed, too, to have me to “Long’s,” where he was lodging6 for the time; but this invitation was refused on my behalf by Doctor Buckle7, who said, and possibly with correctness, that I should get little good by spending my holiday with such a scapegrace.
Once afterwards he came to see me at Christ Church, and we made a show of writing to one another, and didn’t, and always had a hearty8 mutual9 goodwill10; and though we did not quite burst into tears on parting, were yet quite happy when occasion threw us together, and so almost lost sight of each other. I heard lately that Berry was married, and am rather ashamed to say, that I was not so curious as even to ask the maiden12 name of his lady.
Last summer I was at Paris, and had gone over to Versailles to meet a party, one of which was a young lady to whom I was tenderly — But, never mind. The day was rainy, and the party did not keep its appointment; and after yawning through the interminable Palace picture-galleries, and then making an attempt to smoke a cigar in the Palace garden — for which crime I was nearly run through the body by a rascally13 sentinel — I was driven, perforce, into the great bleak14 lonely place before the Palace, with its roads branching off to all the towns in the world, which Louis and Napoleon once intended to conquer, and there enjoyed my favourite pursuit at leisure, and was meditating15 whether I should go back to “Vefour’s” for dinner, or patronise my friend M. Duboux of the “Hotel des Reservoirs” who gives not only a good dinner, but as dear a one as heart can desire. I was, I say, meditating these things, when a carriage passed by. It was a smart low calash, with a pair of bay horses and a postilion in a drab jacket that twinkled with innumerable buttons, and I was too much occupied in admiring the build of the machine, and the extreme tightness of the fellow’s inexpressibles, to look at the personages within the carriage, when the gentleman roared out “Fitz!” and the postilion pulled up, and the lady gave a shrill18 scream, and a little black-muzzled spaniel began barking and yelling with all his might, and a man with moustaches jumped out of the vehicle, and began shaking me by the hand.
“Drive home, John,” said the gentleman: “I’ll be with you, my love, in an instant — it’s an old friend. Fitz, let me present you to Mrs. Berry.”
The lady made an exceedingly gentle inclination19 of her black-velvet bonnet20, and said, “Pray, my love, remember that it is just dinner-time. However, never mind ME.” And with another slight toss and a nod to the postilion, that individual’s white leather breeches began to jump up and down again in the saddle, and the carriage disappeared, leaving me shaking my old friend Berry by the hand.
He had long quitted the army, but still wore his military beard, which gave to his fair pink face a fierce and lion-like look. He was extraordinarily21 glad to see me, as only men are glad who live in a small town, or in dull company. There is no destroyer of friendships like London, where a man has no time to think of his neighbour, and has far too many friends to care for them. He told me in a breath of his marriage, and how happy he was, and straight insisted that I must come home to dinner, and see more of Angelica, who had invited me herself — didn’t I hear her?
“Mrs. Berry asked YOU, Frank; but I certainly did not hear her ask ME!”
“She would not have mentioned the dinner but that she meant me to ask you. I know she did,” cried Frank Berry. “And, besides — hang it — I’m master of the house. So come you shall. No ceremony, old boy — one or two friends — snug22 family party — and we’ll talk of old times over a bottle of claret.”
There did not seem to me to be the slightest objection to this arrangement, except that my boots were muddy, and my coat of the morning sort. But as it was quite impossible to go to Paris and back again in a quarter of an hour, and as a man may dine with perfect comfort to himself in a frock-coat, it did not occur to me to be particularly squeamish, or to decline an old friend’s invitation upon a pretext23 so trivial.
Accordingly we walked to a small house in the Avenue de Paris, and were admitted first into a small garden ornamented24 by a grotto26, a fountain, and several nymphs in plaster-of-Paris, then up a mouldy old steep stair into a hall, where a statue of Cupid and another of Venus welcomed us with their eternal simper; then through a salle-a-manger where covers were laid for six; and finally to a little saloon, where Fido the dog began to howl furiously according to his wont27.
It was one of the old pavilions that had been built for a pleasure-house in the gay days of Versailles, ornamented with abundance of damp Cupids and cracked gilt28 cornices, and old mirrors let into the walls, and gilded29 once, but now painted a dingy30 French white. The long low windows looked into the court, where the fountain played its ceaseless dribble31, surrounded by numerous rank creepers and weedy flowers, but in the midst of which the statues stood with their bases quite moist and green.
I hate fountains and statues in dark confined places: that cheerless, endless plashing of water is the most inhospitable sound ever heard. The stiff grin of those French statues, or ogling32 Canova Graces, is by no means more happy, I think, than the smile of a skeleton, and not so natural. Those little pavilions in which the old roues sported were never meant to be seen by daylight, depend on’t. They were lighted up with a hundred wax-candles, and the little fountain yonder was meant only to cool their claret. And so, my first impression of Berry’s place of abode33 was rather a dismal34 one. However, I heard him in the salle-a-manger drawing the corks35, which went off with a CLOOP, and that consoled me.
As for the furniture of the rooms appertaining to the Berrys, there was a harp36 in a leather case, and a piano, and a flute37-box, and a huge tambour with a Saracen’s nose just begun, and likewise on the table a multiplicity of those little gilt books, half sentimental38 and half religious, which the wants of the age and of our young ladies have produced in such numbers of late. I quarrel with no lady’s taste in that way; but heigho! I had rather that Mrs. Fitz-Boodle should read “Humphry Clinker!”
Besides these works, there was a “Peerage,” of course. What genteel family was ever without one?
I was making for the door to see Frank drawing the corks, and was bounced at by the amiable39 little black-muzzled spaniel, who fastened his teeth in my pantaloons, and received a polite kick in consequence, which sent him howling to the other end of the room, and the animal was just in the act of performing that feat40 of agility41, when the door opened and madame made her appearance. Frank came behind her, peering over her shoulder with rather an anxious look.
Mrs. Berry is an exceedingly white and lean person. She has thick eyebrows42, which meet rather dangerously over her nose, which is Grecian, and a small mouth with no lips — a sort of feeble pucker43 in the face as it were. Under her eyebrows are a pair of enormous eyes, which she is in the habit of turning constantly ceiling-wards. Her hair is rather scarce, and worn in bandeaux, and she commonly mounts a sprig of laurel, or a dark flower or two, which with the sham11 tour — I believe that is the name of the knob of artificial hair that many ladies sport — gives her a rigid44 and classical look. She is dressed in black, and has invariably the neatest of silk stockings and shoes: for forsooth her foot is a fine one, and she always sits with it before her, looking at it, stamping it, and admiring it a great deal. “Fido,” she says to her spaniel, “you have almost crushed my poor foot;” or, “Frank,” to her husband, “bring me a footstool:” or, “I suffer so from cold in the feet,” and so forth45; but be the conversation what it will, she is always sure to put HER FOOT into it.
She invariably wears on her neck the miniature of her late father, Sir George Catacomb, apothecary46 to George III.; and she thinks those two men the greatest the world ever saw. She was born in Baker47 Street, Portman Square, and that is saying almost enough of her. She is as long, as genteel, and as dreary48, as that deadly-lively place, and sports, by way of ornament25, her papa’s hatchment, as it were, as every tenth Baker Street house has taught her.
What induced such a jolly fellow as Frank Berry to marry Miss Angelica Catacomb no one can tell. He met her, he says, at a ball at Hampton Court, where his regiment49 was quartered, and where, to this day, lives “her aunt Lady Pash.” She alludes50 perpetually in conversation to that celebrated52 lady; and if you look in the “Baronetage” to the pedigree of the Pash family, you may see manuscript notes by Mrs. Frank Berry, relative to them and herself. Thus, when you see in print that Sir John Pash married Angelica, daughter of Graves Catacomb, Esquire, in a neat hand you find written, AND SISTER OF THE LATE SIR GEORGE CATACOMB, OF BAKER STREET, PORTMAN SQUARE: “A.B.” follows of course. It is a wonder how fond ladies are of writing in books, and signing their charming initials! Mrs. Berry’s before-mentioned little gilt books are scored with pencil-marks, or occasionally at the margin53 with a! — note of interjection, or the words “TOO TRUE, A.B.” and so on. Much may be learned with regard to lovely woman by a look at the books she reads in; and I had gained no inconsiderable knowledge of Mrs. Berry by the ten minutes spent in the drawing-room, while she was at her toilet in the adjoining bedchamber.
“You have often heard me talk of George Fitz,” says Berry, with an appealing look to madame.
“Very often,” answered his lady, in a tone which clearly meant “a great deal too much.” “Pray, sir,” continued she, looking at my boots with all her might, “are we to have your company at dinner?”
“Of course you are, my dear; what else do you think he came for? You would not have the man go back to Paris to get his evening coat, would you?”
“At least, my love, I hope you will go and put on YOURS, and change those muddy boots. Lady Pash will be here in five minutes, and you know Dobus is as punctual as clockwork.” Then turning to me with a sort of apology that was as consoling as a box on the ear, “We have some friends at dinner, sir, who are rather particular persons; but I am sure when they hear that you only came on a sudden invitation, they will excuse your morning dress. — Bah! what a smell of smoke!”
With this speech madame placed herself majestically55 on a sofa, put out her foot, called Fido, and relapsed into an icy silence. Frank had long since evacuated56 the premises57, with a rueful look at his wife, but never daring to cast a glance at me. I saw the whole business at once: here was this lion of a fellow tamed down by a she Van Amburgh, and fetching and carrying at her orders a great deal more obediently than her little yowling black-muzzled darling of a Fido.
I am not, however, to be tamed so easily, and was determined58 in this instance not to be in the least disconcerted, or to show the smallest sign of ill-humour: so to renouer the conversation, I began about Lady Pash.
“I heard you mention the name of Pash, I think?” said I. “I know a lady of that name, and a very ugly one it is too.”
“It is most probably not the same person,” answered Mrs. Berry, with a look which intimated that a fellow like me could never have had the honour to know so exalted59 a person.
“I mean old Lady Pash of Hampton Court. Fat woman — fair, ain’t she? — and wears an amethyst60 in her forehead, has one eye, a blond wig61, and dresses in light green?”
“Lady Pash, sir, is MY AUNT,” answered Mrs. Berry (not altogether displeased62, although she expected money from the old lady; but you know we love to hear our friends abused when it can be safely done).
“Oh, indeed! she was a daughter of old Catacomb’s of Windsor, I remember, the undertaker. They called her husband Callipash, and her ladyship Pishpash. So you see, madam, that I know the whole family!”
“Mr. Fitz-Simons!” exclaimed Mrs. Berry, rising, “I am not accustomed to hear nicknames applied63 to myself and my family; and must beg you, when you honour us with your company, to spare our feelings as much as possible. Mr. Catacomb had the confidence of his SOVEREIGN, sir, and Sir John Pash was of Charles II.‘s creation. The one was my uncle, sir; the other my grandfather!”
“My dear madam, I am extremely sorry, and most sincerely apologise for my inadvertence. But you owe me an apology too: my name is not Fitz-Simons, but Fitz-Boodle.”
“What! of Boodle Hall — my husband’s old friend; of Charles I.‘s creation? My dear sir, I beg you a thousand pardons, and am delighted to welcome a person of whom I have heard Frank say so much. Frank!” (to Berry, who soon entered in very glossy64 boots and a white waistcoat), “do you know, darling, I mistook Mr. Fitz-Boodle for Mr. Fitz-Simons — that horrid65 Irish horse-dealing person; and I never, never, never can pardon myself for being so rude to him.”
The big eyes here assumed an expression that was intended to kill me outright66 with kindness: from being calm, still, reserved, Angelica suddenly became gay, smiling, confidential67, and folatre. She told me she had heard I was a sad creature, and that she intended to reform me, and that I must come and see Frank a great deal.
Now, although Mr. Fitz-Simons, for whom I was mistaken, is as low a fellow as ever came out of Dublin, and having been a captain in somebody’s army, is now a blackleg and horse-dealer by profession; yet, if I had brought him home to Mrs. Fitz-Boodle to dinner, I should have liked far better that that imaginary lady should have received him with decent civility, and not insulted the stranger within her husband’s gates. And, although it was delightful68 to be received so cordially when the mistake was discovered, yet I found that ALL Berry’s old acquaintances were by no means so warmly welcomed; for another old school-chum presently made his appearance, who was treated in a very different manner.
This was no other than poor Jack16 Butts69, who is a sort of small artist and picture-dealer by profession, and was a dayboy at Slaughter House when we were there, and very serviceable in bringing in sausages, pots of pickles70, and other articles of merchandise, which we could not otherwise procure71. The poor fellow has been employed, seemingly, in the same office of fetcher and carrier ever since; and occupied that post for Mrs. Berry. It was, “Mr. Butts, have you finished that drawing for Lady Pash’s album?” and Butts produced it; and, “Did you match the silk for me at Delille’s?” and there was the silk, bought, no doubt, with the poor fellow’s last five francs; and, “Did you go to the furniture-man in the Rue54 St. Jacques; and bring the canary-seed, and call about my shawl at that odious72 dawdling73 Madame Fichet’s; and have you brought the guitar-strings?”
Butts hadn’t brought the guitar-strings; and thereupon Mrs. Berry’s countenance74 assumed the same terrible expression which I had formerly75 remarked in it, and which made me tremble for Berry.
“My dear Angelica,” though said he with some spirit, “Jack Butts isn’t a baggage-waggon, nor a Jack-of-all-trades; you make him paint pictures for your women’s albums, and look after your upholsterer, and your canary-bird, and your milliners, and turn rusty76 because he forgets your last message.”
“I did not turn RUSTY, Frank, as you call it elegantly. I’m very much obliged to Mr. Butts for performing my commissions — very much obliged. And as for not paying for the pictures to which you so kindly77 allude51, Frank, I should never have thought of offering payment for so paltry78 a service; but I’m sure I shall be happy to pay if Mr. Butts will send me in his bill.”
“By Jove, Angelica, this is too much!” bounced out Berry; but the little matrimonial squabble was abruptly79 ended, by Berry’s French man flinging open the door and announcing MILADI PASH and Doctor Dobus, which two personages made their appearance.
The person of old Pash has been already parenthetically described. But quite different from her dismal niece in temperament80, she is as jolly an old widow as ever wore weeds. She was attached somehow to the Court, and has a multiplicity of stories about the princesses and the old King, to which Mrs. Berry never fails to call your attention in her grave, important way. Lady Pash has ridden many a time to the Windsor hounds; she made her husband become a member of the Four-inhand Club, and has numberless stories about Sir Godfrey Webster, Sir John Lade, and the old heroes of those times. She has lent a rouleau to Dick Sheridan, and remembers Lord Byron when he was a sulky slim young lad. She says Charles Fox was the pleasantest fellow she ever met with, and has not the slightest objection to inform you that one of the princes was very much in love with her. Yet somehow she is only fifty-two years old, and I have never been able to understand her calculation. One day or other before her eye went out, and before those pearly teeth of hers were stuck to her gums by gold, she must have been a pretty-looking body enough. Yet, in spite of the latter inconvenience, she eats and drinks too much every day, and tosses off a glass of maraschino with a trembling pudgy hand, every finger of which twinkles with a dozen, at least, of old rings. She has a story about every one of those rings, and a stupid one too. But there is always something pleasant, I think, in stupid family stories: they are good-hearted people who tell them.
As for Mrs. Muchit, nothing need be said of her; she is Pash’s companion; she has lived with Lady Pash since the peace. Nor does my Lady take any more notice of her than of the dust of the earth. She calls her “poor Muchit,” and considers her a half-witted creature. Mrs. Berry hates her cordially, and thinks she is a designing toad-eater, who has formed a conspiracy81 to rob her of her aunt’s fortune. She never spoke82 a word to poor Muchit during the whole of dinner, or offered to help her to anything on the table.
In respect to Dobus, he is an old Peninsular man, as you are made to know before you have been very long in his company; and, like most army surgeons, is a great deal more military in his looks and conversation, than the combatant part of the forces. He has adopted the sham-Duke-of-Wellington air, which is by no means uncommon83 in veterans; and, though one of the easiest and softest fellows in existence, speaks slowly and briefly84, and raps out an oath or two occasionally, as it is said a certain great captain does. Besides the above, we sat down to table with Captain Goff, late of the — Highlanders; the Reverend Lemuel Whey, who preaches at St. Germains; little Cutler, and the Frenchman, who always WILL be at English parties on the Continent, and who, after making some frightful85 efforts to speak English, subsides86 and is heard no more. Young married ladies and heads of families generally have him for the purpose of waltzing, and in return he informs his friends of the club or the cafe that he has made the conquest of a charmante Anglaise. Listen to me, all family men who read this! and never LET AN UNMARRIED FRENCHMAN INTO YOUR DOORS. This lecture alone is worth the price of the book. It is not that they do any harm in one case out of a thousand, Heaven forbid! but they mean harm. They look on our Susannas with unholy dishonest eyes. Hearken to two of the grinning rogues87 chattering88 together as they clink over the asphalte of the Boulevard with lacquered boots, and plastered hair, and waxed moustaches, and turned-down shirt-collars, and stays and goggling89 eyes, and hear how they talk of a good simple giddy vain dull Baker Street creature, and canvass90 her points, and show her letters, and insinuate91 — never mind, but I tell you my soul grows angry when I think of the same; and I can’t hear of an Englishwoman marrying a Frenchman without feeling a sort of shame and pity for her. 4
To return to the guests. The Reverend Lemuel Whey is a tea-party man, with a curl on his forehead and a scented92 pocket-handkerchief. He ties his white neckcloth to a wonder, and I believe sleeps in it. He brings his flute with him; and prefers Handel, of course; but has one or two pet profane93 songs of the sentimental kind, and will occasionally lift up his little pipe in a glee. He does not dance, but the honest fellow would give the world to do it; and he leaves his clogs94 in the passage, though it is a wonder he wears them, for in the muddiest weather he never has a speck95 on his foot. He was at St. John’s College, Cambridge, and was rather gay for a term or two, he says. He is, in a word, full of the milk-and-water of human kindness, and his family lives near Hackney.
As for Goff, he has a huge shining bald forehead, and immense bristling96 Indian-red whiskers. He wears white wash-leather gloves, drinks fairly, likes a rubber, and has a story for after dinner, beginning, “Doctor, ye racklackt Sandy M’Lellan, who joined us in the West Indies. Wal, sir,” etc. These and little Cutler made up the party.
Now it may not have struck all readers, but any sharp fellow conversant97 with writing must have found out long ago, that if there had been something exceedingly interesting to narrate98 with regard to this dinner at Frank Berry’s, I should have come out with it a couple of pages since, nor have kept the public looking for so long a time at the dish-covers and ornaments99 of the table.
But the simple fact must now be told, that there was nothing of the slightest importance occurred at this repast, except that it gave me an opportunity of studying Mrs. Berry in many different ways; and, in spite of the extreme complaisance100 which she now showed me, of forming, I am sorry to say, a most unfavourable opinion of that fair lady. Truth to tell, I would much rather she should have been civil to Mrs. Muchit, than outrageously101 complimentary102 to your humble103 servant; and as she professed104 not to know what on earth there was for dinner, would it not have been much more natural for her not to frown, and bob, and wink17, and point, and pinch her lips as often as Monsieur Anatole, her French domestic, not knowing the ways of English dinner-tables, placed anything out of its due order? The allusions105 to Boodle Hall were innumerable, and I don’t know any greater bore than to be obliged to talk of a place which belongs to one’s elder brother. Many questions were likewise asked about the dowager and her Scotch106 relatives, the Plumduffs, about whom Lady Pash knew a great deal, having seen them at Court and at Lord Melville’s. Of course she had seen them at Court and at Lord Melville’s, as she might have seen thousands of Scotchmen besides; but what mattered it to me, who care not a jot107 for old Lady Fitz-Boodle? “When you write, you’ll say you met an old friend of her Ladyship’s,” says Mrs. Berry, and I faithfully promised I would when I wrote; but if the New Post Office paid us for writing letters (as very possibly it will soon), I could not be bribed108 to send a line to old Lady Fitz.
In a word, I found that Berry, like many simple fellows before him, had made choice of an imperious, ill-humoured, and underbred female for a wife, and could see with half an eye that he was a great deal too much her slave.
The struggle was not over yet, however. Witness that little encounter before dinner; and once or twice the honest fellow replied rather smartly during the repast, taking especial care to atone109 as much as possible for his wife’s inattention to Jack and Mrs. Muchit, by particular attention to those personages, whom he helped to everything round about and pressed perpetually to champagne110; he drank but little himself, for his amiable wife’s eye was constantly fixed111 on him.
Just at the conclusion of the dessert, madame, who had bouded Berry during dinner-time, became particularly gracious to her lord and master, and tenderly asked me if I did not think the French custom was a good one, of men leaving table with the ladies.
“Upon my word, ma’am,” says I, “I think it’s a most abominable112 practice.”
“And so do I,” says Cutler.
“A most abominable practice! Do you hear THAT?” cries Berry, laughing, and filling his glass.
“I’m sure, Frank, when we are alone you always come to the drawing-room,” replies the lady, sharply.
“Oh, yes! when we’re alone, darling,” says Berry, blushing; “but now we’re NOT alone — ha, ha! Anatole, du Bordeaux!”
“I’m sure they sat after the ladies at CarIton House; didn’t they, Lady Pash?” says Dobus, who likes his glass.
“THAT they did!” says my Lady, giving him a jolly nod.
“I racklackt,” exclaims Captain Goff, “when I was in the Mauritius, that Mestress MacWhirter, who commanded the Saxty-Sackond, used to say, ‘Mac, if ye want to get lively, ye’ll not stop for more than two hours after the leddies have laft ye: if ye want to get drunk, ye’ll just dine at the mass.’ So ye see, Mestress Barry, what was Mac’s allowance — haw, haw! Mester Whey, I’ll trouble ye for the o-lives.”
But although we were in a clear majority, that indomitable woman, Mrs. Berry, determined to make us all as uneasy as possible, and would take the votes all round. Poor Jack, of course, sided with her, and Whey said he loved a cup of tea and a little music better than all the wine of Bordeaux. As for the Frenchman, when Mrs. Berry said, “And what do you think, M. le Vicomte?”
“Vat you speak?” said M. de Blagueval, breaking silence for the first time during two hours. “Yase — eh? to me you speak?”
“Apry deeny, aimy-voo ally avec les dam?”
“Comment avec les dames113?”
“Ally avec les dam com a Parry, ou resty avec les Messew com on Onglyterre?”
“Ah, madame! vous me le demandez?” cries the little wretch114, starting up in a theatrical115 way, and putting out his hand, which Mrs. Berry took, and with this the ladies left the room. Old Lady Pash trotted116 after her niece with her hand in Whey’s, very much wondering at such practices, which were not in the least in vogue117 in the reign3 of George III.
Mrs. Berry cast a glance of triumph at her husband, at the defection; and Berry was evidently annoyed that three-eighths of his male forces had left him.
But fancy our delight and astonishment118, when in a minute they all three came back again; the Frenchman looking entirely119 astonished, and the parson and the painter both very queer. The fact is, old downright Lady Pash, who had never been in Paris in her life before, and had no notion of being deprived of her usual hour’s respite120 and nap, said at once to Mrs. Berry, “My dear Angelica, you’re surely not going to keep these three men here? Send them back to the dining-room, for I’ve a thousand things to say to you.” And Angelica, who expects to inherit her aunt’s property, of course did as she was bid; on which the old lady fell into an easy chair, and fell asleep immediately — so soon, that is, as the shout caused by the reappearance of the three gentlemen in the dining-room had subsided121.
I had meanwhile had some private conversation with little Cutler regarding the character of Mrs. Berry. “She’s a regular screw,” whispered he; “a regular Tartar. Berry shows fight, though, sometimes, and I’ve known him have his own way for a week together. After dinner he is his own master, and hers when he has had his share of wine; and that’s why she will never allow him to drink any.”
Was it a wicked, or was it a noble and honourable122 thought which came to us both at the same minute, to rescue Berry from his captivity123? The ladies, of course, will give their verdict according to their gentle natures; but I know what men of courage will think, and by their jovial124 judgment125 will abide126.
We received, then, the three lost sheep back into our innocent fold again with the most joyous127 shouting and cheering. We made Berry (who was, in truth, nothing loth) order up I don’t know how much more claret. We obliged the Frenchman to drink malgre lui, and in the course of a short time we had poor Whey in such a state of excitement, that he actually volunteered to sing a song, which he said he had heard at some very gay supper-party at Cambridge, and which begins:
“A pye sat on a pear-tree,
A pye sat on a pear-tree,
A pye sat on a pear-tree,
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, heigh-ho!”
Fancy Mrs. Berry’s face as she looked in, in the midst of that Bacchanalian128 ditty, when she saw no less a person than the Reverend Lemuel Whey carolling it!
“Is it you, my dear?” cries Berry, as brave now as any Petruchio. “Come in, and sit down, and hear Whey’s song.”
“Lady Pash is asleep, Frank,” said she.
“Well, darling! that’s the very reason. Give Mrs. Berry a glass, Jack, will you?”
“Would you wake your aunt, sir?” hissed129 out madame.
“NEVER MIND ME, LOVE! I’M AWAKE, AND LIKE IT!” cried the venerable Lady Pash from the salon130. “Sing away, gentlemen!”
At which we all set up an audacious cheer; and Mrs. Berry flounced back to the drawing-room, but did not leave the door open, that her aunt might hear our melodies.
Berry had by this time arrived at that confidential state to which a third bottle always brings the well-regulated mind; and he made a clean confession131 to Cutler and myself of his numerous matrimonial annoyances132. He was not allowed to dine out, he said, and but seldom to ask his friends to meet him at home. He never dared smoke a cigar for the life of him, not even in the stables. He spent the mornings dawdling in eternal shops, the evenings at endless tea-parties, or in reading poems or missionary133 tracts134 to his wife. He was compelled to take physic whenever she thought he looked a little pale, to change his shoes and stockings whenever he came in from a walk. “Look here,” said he, opening his chest, and shaking his fist at Dobus; “look what Angelica and that infernal Dobus have brought me to.”
I thought it might be a flannel135 waistcoat into which madame had forced him; but it was worse: I give you my word of honour it was a PITCH-PLASTER!
We all roared at this, and the doctor as loud as anyone; but he vowed136 that he had no hand in the pitch-plaster. It was a favourite family remedy of the late apothecary Sir George Catacomb, and had been put on by Mrs. Berry’s own fair hands.
When Anatole came in with coffee, Berry was in such high courage, that he told him to go to the deuce with it; and we never caught sight of Lady Pash more, except when, muffled137 up to the nose, she passed through the salle-a-manger to go to her carriage, in which Dobus and the parson were likewise to be transported to Paris. “Be a man, Frank,” says she, “and hold your own”— for the good old lady had taken her nephew’s part in the matrimonial business —“and you, Mr. Fitz-Boodle, come and see him often. You’re a good fellow, take old one-eyed Callipash’s word for it. Shall I take you to Paris?”
Dear kind Angelica, she had told her aunt all I said!
“Don’t go, George,” says Berry, squeezing me by the hand. So I said I was going to sleep at Versailles that night; but if she would give a convoy138 to Jack Butts, it would be conferring a great obligation on him; with which favour the old lady accordingly complied, saying to him, with great coolness, “Get up and sit with John in the rumble139, Mr. What-d’ye-call-’im.” The fact is, the good old soul despises an artist as much as she does a tailor.
Jack tripped to his place very meekly140; and “Remember Saturday,” cried the Doctor; and “Don’t forget Thursday!” exclaimed the divine — “a bachelor’s party, you know.” And so the cavalcade141 drove thundering down the gloomy old Avenue de Paris.
The Frenchman, I forgot to say, had gone away exceedingly ill long before; and the reminiscences of “Thursday” and “Saturday” evoked142 by Dobus and Whey, were, to tell the truth, parts of our conspiracy; for in the heat of Berry’s courage, we had made him promise to dine with us all round en garcon; with all except Captain Goff, who “racklacted” that he was engaged every day for the next three weeks: as indeed he is, to a thirty-sous ordinary which the gallant143 officer frequents, when not invited elsewhere.
Cutler and I then were the last on the field; and though we were for moving away, Berry, whose vigour144 had, if possible, been excited by the bustle145 and colloquy146 in the night air, insisted upon dragging us back again, and actually proposed a grill147 for supper!
We found in the salle-a-manger a strong smell of an extinguished lamp, and Mrs. Berry was snuffing out the,candles on the sideboard.
“Hullo, my dear!” shouts Berry: “easy, if you please; we’ve not done yet!”
“Not done yet, Mr. Berry!” groans148 the lady, in a hollow sepulchral149 tone.
“No, Mrs. B., not done yet. We are going to have some supper, ain’t we, George?”
“I think it’s quite time to go home,” said Mr. Fitz-Boodle (who, to say the truth, began to tremble himself).
“I think it is, sir; you are quite right, sir; you will pardon me, gentlemen, I have a bad headache, and will retire.”
“Good-night, my dear!” said that audacious Berry. “Anatole, tell the cook to broil150 a fowl151 and bring some wine.”
If the loving couple had been alone, or if Cutler had not been an attache to the embassy, before whom she was afraid of making herself ridiculous, I am confident that Mrs. Berry would have fainted away on the spot; and that all Berry’s courage would have tumbled down lifeless by the side of her. So she only gave a martyrised look, and left the room; and while we partook of the very unnecessary repast, was good enough to sing some hymn-tunes to an exceedingly slow movement in the next room, intimating that she was awake, and that, though suffering, she found her consolations152 in religion.
These melodies did not in the least add to our friend’s courage. The devilled fowl had, somehow, no devil in it. The champagne in the glasses looked exceedingly flat and blue. The fact is, that Cutler and I were now both in a state of dire153 consternation154, and soon made a move for our hats, and lighting155 each a cigar in the hall, made across the little green where the Cupids and nymphs were listening to the dribbling156 fountain in the dark.
“I’m hanged if I don’t have a cigar too!” says Berry, rushing after us; and accordingly putting in his pocket a key about the size of a shovel157, which hung by the little handle of the outer grille, forth he sallied, and joined us in our fumigation158.
He stayed with us a couple of hours, and returned homewards in perfect good spirits, having given me his word of honour he would dine with us the next day. He put his immense key into the grille, and unlocked it; but the gate would not open: IT WAS BOLTED WITHIN.
He began to make a furious jangling and ringing at the bell; and in oaths, both French and English, called upon the recalcitrant159 Anatole.
After much tolling160 of the bell, a light came cutting across the crevices161 of the inner door; it was thrown open, and a figure appeared with a lamp — a tall slim figure of a woman, clothed in white from head to foot.
It was Mrs. Berry, and when Cutler and I saw her, we both ran away as fast as our legs could carry us.
Berry, at this, shrieked162 with a wild laughter. “Remember tomorrow, old boys,” shouted he — “six o’clock;” and we were a quarter of a mile off when the gate closed, and the little mansion163 of the Avenue de Paris was once more quiet and dark.
The next afternoon, as we were playing at billiards164, Cutler saw Mrs. Berry drive by in her carriage; and as soon as rather a long rubber was over, I thought I would go and look for our poor friend, and so went down to the Pavilion. Every door was open, as the wont is in France, and I walked in unannounced, and saw this:
He was playing a duet with her on the flute. She had been out but for half-an-hour, after not speaking all the morning; and having seen Cutler at the billiard-room window, and suspecting we might take advantage of her absence, she had suddenly returned home again, and had flung herself, weeping, into her Frank’s arms, and said she could not bear to leave him in anger. And so, after sitting for a little while sobbing165 on his knee, she had forgotten and forgiven every thing!
The dear angel! I met poor Frank in Bond Street only yesterday; but he crossed over to the other side of the way. He had on goloshes, and is grown very fat and pale. He has shaved off his moustaches, and, instead, wears a respirator. He has taken his name off all his clubs, and lives very grimly in Baker Street. Well, ladies, no doubt you say he is right: and what are the odds166, so long as YOU are happy?
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收听单词发音
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1
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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rascally
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| adj. 无赖的，恶棍的 adv. 无赖地，卑鄙地 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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22
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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24
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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26
grotto
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| n.洞穴 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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30
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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31
dribble
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| v.点滴留下，流口水；n.口水 | |
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32
ogling
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| v.（向…）抛媚眼，送秋波( ogle的现在分词 ) | |
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33
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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corks
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| n.脐梅衣；软木( cork的名词复数 )；软木塞 | |
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harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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39
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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40
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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41
agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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42
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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43
pucker
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| v.撅起，使起皱；n.（衣服上的）皱纹，褶子 | |
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44
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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45
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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apothecary
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| n.药剂师 | |
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baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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48
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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50
alludes
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| 提及，暗指( allude的第三人称单数 ) | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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52
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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53
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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54
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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55
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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56
evacuated
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| 撤退者的 | |
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57
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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58
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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59
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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60
amethyst
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| n.紫水晶 | |
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61
wig
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| n.假发 | |
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62
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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63
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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64
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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65
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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66
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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67
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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68
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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69
butts
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| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
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70
pickles
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| n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 )；处于困境；遇到麻烦；菜酱 | |
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71
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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72
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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73
dawdling
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| adj.闲逛的，懒散的v.混（时间）( dawdle的现在分词 ) | |
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74
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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75
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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76
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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77
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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78
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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79
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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80
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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81
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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82
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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83
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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84
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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85
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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86
subsides
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的第三人称单数 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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87
rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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88
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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89
goggling
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| v.睁大眼睛瞪视， （惊讶的）转动眼珠( goggle的现在分词 ) | |
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90
canvass
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| v.招徕顾客，兜售；游说；详细检查，讨论 | |
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91
insinuate
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| vt.含沙射影地说，暗示 | |
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92
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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93
profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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94
clogs
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| 木屐； 木底鞋，木屐( clog的名词复数 ) | |
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95
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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96
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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97
conversant
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| adj.亲近的，有交情的，熟悉的 | |
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98
narrate
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| v.讲，叙述 | |
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99
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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100
complaisance
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| n.彬彬有礼，殷勤，柔顺 | |
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101
outrageously
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| 凶残地； 肆无忌惮地； 令人不能容忍地； 不寻常地 | |
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102
complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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103
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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104
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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105
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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106
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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107
jot
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| n.少量；vi.草草记下；vt.匆匆写下 | |
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108
bribed
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| v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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109
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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110
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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111
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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112
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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113
dames
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| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
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114
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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115
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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116
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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117
Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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118
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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119
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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120
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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121
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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122
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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123
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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124
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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125
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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126
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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127
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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128
bacchanalian
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| adj.闹酒狂饮的；n.发酒疯的人 | |
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129
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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130
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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131
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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132
annoyances
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| n.恼怒( annoyance的名词复数 )；烦恼；打扰；使人烦恼的事 | |
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133
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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134
tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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135
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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136
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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137
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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138
convoy
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| vt.护送，护卫，护航；n.护送；护送队 | |
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139
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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140
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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141
cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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142
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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143
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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144
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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145
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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146
colloquy
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| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
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147
grill
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| n.烤架，铁格子，烤肉；v.烧，烤，严加盘问 | |
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148
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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149
sepulchral
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| adj.坟墓的，阴深的 | |
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150
broil
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| v.烤，烧，争吵，怒骂；n.烤，烧，争吵，怒骂 | |
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151
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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152
consolations
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| n.安慰，慰问( consolation的名词复数 )；起安慰作用的人（或事物） | |
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153
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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154
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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155
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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156
dribbling
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| n.（燃料或油从系统内）漏泄v.流口水( dribble的现在分词 )；（使液体）滴下或作细流；运球，带球 | |
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157
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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158
fumigation
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| n.烟熏，熏蒸；忿恨 | |
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159
recalcitrant
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| adj.倔强的 | |
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160
tolling
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| [财]来料加工 | |
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161
crevices
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| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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162
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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163
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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164
billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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165
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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166
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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