I cannot deny but I was sometimes tempted13 to knock my Uncle Adam down; and indeed I believe it must have come to a rupture14 at last, if they had not given a dinner party at which I was the lion. On this occasion, I learned (to my surprise and relief) that the incivility to which I had been subjected was a matter for the family circle and might be regarded almost in the light of an endearment15. To strangers I was presented with consideration; and the account given of “my American brother- in-law, poor Janie’s man, James K. Dodd, the well-known millionnaire of Muskegon,” was calculated to enlarge the heart of a proud son.
An aged16 assistant of my grandfather’s, a pleasant, humble17 creature with a taste for whiskey, was at first deputed to be my guide about the city. With this harmless but hardly aristocratic companion, I went to Arthur’s Seat and the Calton Hill, heard the band play in the Princes Street Gardens, inspected the regalia and the blood of Rizzio, and fell in love with the great castle on its cliff, the innumerable spires18 of churches, the stately buildings, the broad prospects19, and those narrow and crowded lanes of the old town where my ancestors had lived and died in the days before Columbus.
But there was another curiosity that interested me more deeply — my grandfather, Alexander Loudon. In his time, the old gentleman had been a working mason, and had risen from the ranks more, I think, by shrewdness than by merit. In his appearance, speech, and manners, he bore broad marks of his origin, which were gall20 and wormwood to my Uncle Adam. His nails, in spite of anxious supervision21, were often in conspicuous22 mourning; his clothes hung about him in bags and wrinkles like a ploughman’s Sunday coat; his accent was rude, broad, and dragging: take him at his best, and even when he could be induced to hold his tongue, his mere23 presence in a corner of the drawing-room, with his open-air wrinkles, his scanty24 hair, his battered25 hands, and the cheerful craftiness26 of his expression, advertised the whole gang of us for a self-made family. My aunt might mince27 and my cousins bridle28; but there was no getting over the solid, physical fact of the stonemason in the chimney-corner.
That is one advantage of being an American: it never occurred to me to be ashamed of my grandfather, and the old gentleman was quick to mark the difference. He held my mother in tender memory, perhaps because he was in the habit of daily contrasting her with Uncle Adam, whom he detested29 to the point of frenzy30; and he set down to inheritance from his favourite my own becoming treatment of himself. On our walks abroad, which soon became daily, he would sometimes (after duly warning me to keep the matter dark from “Aadam”) skulk31 into some old familiar pot-house; and there (if he had the luck to encounter any of his veteran cronies) he would present me to the company with manifest pride, casting at the same time a covert32 slur33 on the rest of his descendants. “This is my Jeannie’s yin,” he would say. “He’s a fine fallow, him.” The purpose of our excursions was not to seek antiquities35 or to enjoy famous prospects, but to visit one after another a series of doleful suburbs, for which it was the old gentleman’s chief claim to renown36 that he had been the sole contractor37, and too often the architect besides. I have rarely seen a more shocking exhibition: the bricks seemed to be blushing in the walls, and the slates38 on the roof to have turned pale with shame; but I was careful not to communicate these impressions to the aged artificer at my side; and when he would direct my attention to some fresh monstrosity — perhaps with the comment, “There’s an idee of mine’s: it’s cheap and tasty, and had a graand run; the idee was soon stole, and there’s whole deestricts near Glesgie with the goathic adeetion and that plunth,”— I would civilly make haste to admire and (what I found particularly delighted him) to inquire into the cost of each adornment39. It will be conceived that Muskegon capitol was a frequent and a welcome ground of talk; I drew him all the plans from memory; and he, with the aid of a narrow volume full of figures and tables, which answered (I believe) to the name of Molesworth, and was his constant pocket companion, would draw up rough estimates and make imaginary offers on the various contracts. Our Muskegon builders he pronounced a pack of cormorants40; and the congenial subject, together with my knowledge of architectural terms, the theory of strains, and the prices of materials in the States, formed a strong bond of union between what might have been otherwise an ill-assorted pair, and led my grandfather to pronounce me, with emphasis, “a real intalligent kind of a cheild.” Thus a second time, as you will presently see, the capitol of my native State had influentially41 affected42 the current of my life.
I left Edinburgh, however, with not the least idea that I had done a stroke of excellent business for myself, and singly delighted to escape out of a somewhat dreary43 house and plunge44 instead into the rainbow city of Paris. Every man has his own romance; mine clustered exclusively about the practice of the arts, the life of Latin Quarter students, and the world of Paris as depicted45 by that grimy wizard, the author of the Comedie Humaine. I was not disappointed — I could not have been; for I did not see the facts, I brought them with me ready-made. Z. Marcas lived next door to me in my ungainly, ill-smelling hotel of the Rue47 Racine; I dined at my villainous restaurant with Lousteau and with Rastignac: if a curricle nearly ran me down at a street-crossing, Maxime de Trailles would be the driver. I dined, I say, at a poor restaurant and lived in a poor hotel; and this was not from need, but sentiment. My father gave me a profuse48 allowance, and I might have lived (had I chosen) in the Quartier de l’Etoile and driven to my studies daily. Had I done so, the glamour49 must have fled: I should still have been but Loudon Dodd; whereas now I was a Latin Quarter student, Murger’s successor, living in flesh and blood the life of one of those romances I had loved to read, to re-read, and to dream over, among the woods of Muskegon.
At this time we were all a little Murger-mad in the Latin Quarter. The play of the Vie de Boheme (a dreary, snivelling piece) had been produced at the Odeon, had run an unconscionable time — for Paris, and revived the freshness of the legend. The same business, you may say, or there and thereabout, was being privately50 enacted51 in consequence in every garret of the neighbourhood, and a good third of the students were consciously impersonating Rodolphe or Schaunard to their own incommunicable satisfaction. Some of us went far, and some farther. I always looked with awful envy (for instance) on a certain countryman of my own who had a studio in the Rue Monsieur le Prince, wore boots, and long hair in a net, and could be seen tramping off, in this guise52, to the worst eating-house of the quarter, followed by a Corsican model, his mistress, in the conspicuous costume of her race and calling. It takes some greatness of soul to carry even folly53 to such heights as these; and for my own part, I had to content myself by pretending very arduously54 to be poor, by wearing a smoking-cap on the streets, and by pursuing, through a series of misadventures, that extinct mammal, the grisette. The most grievous part was the eating and the drinking. I was born with a dainty tooth and a palate for wine; and only a genuine devotion to romance could have supported me under the cat- civets that I had to swallow, and the red ink of Bercy I must wash them down withal. Every now and again, after a hard day at the studio, where I was steadily55 and far from unsuccessfully industrious56, a wave of distaste would overbear me; I would slink away from my haunts and companions, indemnify myself for weeks of self-denial with fine wines and dainty dishes; seated perhaps on a terrace, perhaps in an arbour in a garden, with a volume of one of my favourite authors propped57 open in front of me, and now consulted awhile, and now forgotten:— so remain, relishing58 my situation, till night fell and the lights of the city kindled59; and thence stroll homeward by the riverside, under the moon or stars, in a heaven of poetry and digestion60.
One such indulgence led me in the course of my second year into an adventure which I must relate: indeed, it is the very point I have been aiming for, since that was what brought me in acquaintance with Jim Pinkerton. I sat down alone to dinner one October day when the rusty61 leaves were falling and scuttling62 on the boulevard, and the minds of impressionable men inclined in about an equal degree towards sadness and conviviality63. The restaurant was no great place, but boasted a considerable cellar and a long printed list of vintages. This I was perusing64 with the double zest65 of a man who is fond of wine and a lover of beautiful names, when my eye fell (near the end of the card) on that not very famous or familiar brand, Roussillon. I remembered it was a wine I had never tasted, ordered a bottle, found it excellent, and when I had discussed the contents, called (according to my habit) for a final pint66. It appears they did not keep Roussillon in half-bottles. “All right,” said I. “Another bottle.” The tables at this eating-house are close together; and the next thing I can remember, I was in somewhat loud conversation with my nearest neighbours. From these I must have gradually extended my attentions; for I have a clear recollection of gazing about a room in which every chair was half turned round and every face turned smilingly to mine. I can even remember what I was saying at the moment; but after twenty years, the embers of shame are still alive; and I prefer to give your imagination the cue, by simply mentioning that my muse67 was the patriotic68. It had been my design to adjourn69 for coffee in the company of some of these new friends; but I was no sooner on the sidewalk than I found myself unaccountably alone. The circumstance scarce surprised me at the time, much less now; but I was somewhat chagrined70 a little after to find I had walked into a kiosque. I began to wonder if I were any the worse for my last bottle, and decided71 to steady myself with coffee and brandy. In the Cafe de la Source, where I went for this restorative, the fountain was playing, and (what greatly surprised me) the mill and the various mechanical figures on the rockery appeared to have been freshly repaired and performed the most enchanting72 antics. The cafe was extraordinarily73 hot and bright, with every detail of a conspicuous clearness, from the faces of the guests to the type of the newspapers on the tables, and the whole apartment swang to and fro like a hammock, with an exhilarating motion. For some while I was so extremely pleased with these particulars that I thought I could never be weary of beholding74 them: then dropped of a sudden into a causeless sadness; and then, with the same swiftness and spontaneity, arrived at the conclusion that I was drunk and had better get to bed.
It was but a step or two to my hotel, where I got my lighted candle from the porter and mounted the four flights to my own room. Although I could not deny that I was drunk, I was at the same time lucidly75 rational and practical. I had but one preoccupation — to be up in time on the morrow for my work; and when I observed the clock on my chimney-piece to have stopped, I decided to go down stairs again and give directions to the porter. Leaving the candle burning and my door open, to be a guide to me on my return, I set forth76 accordingly. The house was quite dark; but as there were only the three doors on each landing, it was impossible to wander, and I had nothing to do but descend34 the stairs until I saw the glimmer77 of the porter’s night light. I counted four flights: no porter. It was possible, of course, that I had reckoned incorrectly; so I went down another and another, and another, still counting as I went, until I had reached the preposterous78 figure of nine flights. It was now quite clear that I had somehow passed the porter’s lodge5 without remarking it; indeed, I was, at the lowest figure, five pairs of stairs below the street, and plunged79 in the very bowels80 of the earth. That my hotel should thus be founded upon catacombs was a discovery of considerable interest; and if I had not been in a frame of mind entirely81 businesslike, I might have continued to explore all night this subterranean82 empire. But I was bound I must be up betimes on the next morning, and for that end it was imperative83 that I should find the porter. I faced about accordingly, and counting with painful care, remounted towards the level of the street. Five, six, and seven flights I climbed, and still there was no porter. I began to be weary of the job, and reflecting that I was now close to my own room, decided I should go to bed. Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen flights I mounted; and my open door seemed to be as wholly lost to me as the porter and his floating dip. I remembered that the house stood but six stories at its highest point, from which it appeared (on the most moderate computation) I was now three stories higher than the roof. My original sense of amusement was succeeded by a not unnatural84 irritation85. “My room has just GOT to be here,” said I, and I stepped towards the door with outspread arms. There was no door and no wall; in place of either there yawned before me a dark corridor, in which I continued to advance for some time without encountering the smallest opposition86. And this in a house whose extreme area scantily87 contained three small rooms, a narrow landing, and the stair! The thing was manifestly nonsense; and you will scarcely be surprised to learn that I now began to lose my temper. At this juncture88 I perceived a filtering of light along the floor, stretched forth my hand which encountered the knob of a door-handle, and without further ceremony entered a room. A young lady was within; she was going to bed, and her toilet was far advanced, or the other way about, if you prefer.
“I hope you will pardon this intrusion,” said I; “but my room is No. 12, and something has gone wrong with this blamed house.”
She looked at me a moment; and then, “If you will step outside for a moment, I will take you there,” says she.
Thus, with perfect composure on both sides, the matter was arranged. I waited a while outside her door. Presently she rejoined me, in a dressing-gown, took my hand, led me up another flight, which made the fourth above the level of the roof, and shut me into my own room, where (being quite weary after these contraordinary explorations) I turned in, and slumbered89 like a child.
I tell you the thing calmly, as it appeared to me to pass; but the next day, when I awoke and put memory in the witness-box, I could not conceal90 from myself that the tale presented a good many improbable features. I had no mind for the studio, after all, and went instead to the Luxembourg gardens, there, among the sparrows and the statues and the falling leaves, to cool and clear my head. It is a garden I have always loved. You sit there in a public place of history and fiction. Barras and Fouche have looked from these windows. Lousteau and de Banville (one as real as the other) have rhymed upon these benches. The city tramples91 by without the railings to a lively measure; and within and about you, trees rustle92, children and sparrows utter their small cries, and the statues look on forever. Here, then, in a seat opposite the gallery entrance, I set to work on the events of the last night, to disengage (if it were possible) truth from fiction.
The house, by daylight, had proved to be six stories high, the same as ever. I could find, with all my architectural experience, no room in its altitude for those interminable stairways, no width between its walls for that long corridor, where I had tramped at night. And there was yet a greater difficulty. I had read somewhere an aphorism93 that everything may be false to itself save human nature. A house might elongate94 or enlarge itself — or seem to do so to a gentleman who had been dining. The ocean might dry up, the rocks melt in the sun, the stars fall from heaven like autumn apples; and there was nothing in these incidents to boggle the philosopher. But the case of the young lady stood upon a different foundation. Girls were not good enough, or not good that way, or else they were too good. I was ready to accept any of these views: all pointed46 to the same conclusion, which I was thus already on the point of reaching, when a fresh argument occurred, and instantly confirmed it. I could remember the exact words we had each said; and I had spoken, and she had replied, in English. Plainly, then, the whole affair was an illusion: catacombs, and stairs, and charitable lady, all were equally the stuff of dreams.
I had just come to this determination, when there blew a flaw of wind through the autumnal gardens; the dead leaves showered down, and a flight of sparrows, thick as a snowfall, wheeled above my head with sudden pipings. This agreeable bustle95 was the affair of a moment, but it startled me from the abstraction into which I had fallen like a summons. I sat briskly up, and as I did so, my eyes rested on the figure of a lady in a brown jacket and carrying a paint-box. By her side walked a fellow some years older than myself, with an easel under his arm; and alike by their course and cargo96 I might judge they were bound for the gallery, where the lady was, doubtless, engaged upon some copying. You can imagine my surprise when I recognized in her the heroine of my adventure. To put the matter beyond question, our eyes met, and she, seeing herself remembered and recalling the trim in which I had last beheld97 her, looked swiftly on the ground with just a shadow of confusion.
I could not tell you to-day if she were plain or pretty; but she had behaved with so much good sense, and I had cut so poor a figure in her presence, that I became instantly fired with the desire to display myself in a more favorable light. The young man besides was possibly her brother; brothers are apt to be hasty, theirs being a part in which it is possible, at a comparatively early age, to assume the dignity of manhood; and it occurred to me it might be wise to forestall98 all possible complications by an apology.
On this reasoning I drew near to the gallery door, and had hardly got in position before the young man came out. Thus it was that I came face to face with my third destiny; for my career has been entirely shaped by these three elements — my father, the capitol of Muskegon, and my friend, Jim Pinkerton. As for the young lady with whom my mind was at the moment chiefly occupied, I was never to hear more of her from that day forward: an excellent example of the Blind Man’s Buff that we call life.
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1
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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2
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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4
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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5
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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sumptuously
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| 奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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8
infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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10
goaded
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| v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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13
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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rupture
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| n.破裂；(关系的)决裂；v.(使)破裂 | |
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endearment
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| n.表示亲爱的行为 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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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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spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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gall
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| v.使烦恼，使焦躁，难堪；n.磨难 | |
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supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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craftiness
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| 狡猾，狡诈 | |
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mince
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| n.切碎物；v.切碎，矫揉做作地说 | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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skulk
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| v.藏匿；潜行 | |
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covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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slur
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| v.含糊地说；诋毁；连唱；n.诋毁；含糊的发音 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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antiquities
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| n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 )；古迹；古人们；古代的风俗习惯 | |
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renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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contractor
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| n.订约人，承包人，收缩肌 | |
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slates
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| （旧时学生用以写字的）石板( slate的名词复数 )； 板岩； 石板瓦； 石板色 | |
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adornment
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| n.装饰；装饰品 | |
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cormorants
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| 鸬鹚，贪婪的人( cormorant的名词复数 ) | |
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influentially
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| adv.有影响地；有力地 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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44
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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45
depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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48
profuse
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| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
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49
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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50
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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51
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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53
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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54
arduously
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| adv.费力地，严酷地 | |
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55
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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56
industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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57
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
relishing
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| v.欣赏( relish的现在分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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scuttling
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| n.船底穿孔，打开通海阀（沉船用）v.使船沉没( scuttle的现在分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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conviviality
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| n.欢宴，高兴，欢乐 | |
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perusing
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| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的现在分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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adjourn
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| v.（使）休会，（使）休庭 | |
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chagrined
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| adj.懊恼的，苦恼的v.使懊恼，使懊丧，使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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lucidly
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| adv.清透地，透明地 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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scantily
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| adv.缺乏地；不充足地；吝啬地；狭窄地 | |
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juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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slumbered
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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tramples
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| 踩( trample的第三人称单数 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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aphorism
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| n.格言，警语 | |
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elongate
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| v.拉长，伸长，延长 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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forestall
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| vt.抢在…之前采取行动；预先阻止 | |
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