"You've no idea what a poor opinion I have of myself, and how little
I deserve it."—Ruddigore.
It was one dark, dank, dreary1, dismal2 night in February, 1888 (I believe that is the way to commence a book, no matter what the subject be), when the present writer might have been seen standing3, with other gentlemen, in a sombre dining-room brilliantly illuminated4 with one ceiling-lamp buried in a deep red shade. We were standing round the dining-room table, each with a dinner-napkin in the left hand; while the right hand was occupied in moving back chairs, to permit of the departure of the ladies for the drawing-room. I could not help thinking that, as they filed off, the ladies looked like queens; while we (especially with the aid of the serviettes) looked like waiters. The gentlemen drew their chairs round the host, and wine was languidly passed round. A tall gentleman, with a heavy beard, to whom I had not been introduced, approached me, and sat by my side. He passed me the spirit-lamp, for which I thanked him while lighting6 my cigarette. He then commenced a conversation in earnest.
"Did you see that Mr. —— is writing his reminiscences?"
"Yes."
"Don't you think it rather a pity that he should do so?"
"Why a pity?" I asked in reply to his question.
"Well, I always think the moment a man begins to write his reminiscences he is bound, more or less, to make an ass5 of himself."
"In what way?" I asked.
"In the first place, he is hampered7 by having to be so egotistical. He must talk about himself, which is never a nice thing to do. He cannot very well tell stories in his own favour; and if he tells them against himself, he affects humility8: if he talks about his distinguished9 acquaintances, he becomes a snob10; in short, I can only repeat my former observation, that he is bound to make an ass of himself."
For a moment or two I did not know what to say, for my conscience smote11 me. At last I said:
"I am very pleased to hear your candid12, and certainly unbiassed, opinion; for I have just accepted an offer from Mr. Arrowsmith to do a shilling book of my own reminiscences for the Bristol Library Series."
My friend did not know what to say for a moment. His conscience evidently smote him. At last he remarked:
"I fear I have said one of those things that are best left unsaid."
"I'm glad you said it," I replied. "You have rather opened my eyes. It will be necessary for me to explain that I cannot very well back out of my agreement with Mr. Arrowsmith, although, candidly13 speaking, I have no desire to do so; and I shall certainly have to apologise to the reading public for making an ass of myself."
I have thought over the above conversation many a time since, and have concluded that I could not do better than commence this little book with it.
I have taken my own professional career, and used it as a peg14 whereon to hang my stories. I have chosen the title because I think it will look well on the bookstalls. It is by no means intended as a sneer15 at my calling. To clown properly is a very difficult art, and I am never so happy as when I am making people laugh. I am unfeignedly proud of my profession, on and off the stage. I have clowned amongst all sorts of people, and in all sorts of places. On the stage I play the fool of others' creation, and at the piano I play the simple fool of my own.
The late John Parry, whom I took as my model, was marvellous at amusing. His satire16 was worthy17 of Dickens or Thackeray. Though possessed18 of a small voice, few people could sing better, and certainly few could play the piano better than he. His was an "excellent fooling" that many have envied, many imitated, and none surpassed.
My first desire in producing the following sketches19 of my life is to benefit others, by making an hour pass pleasantly in the library or in a railway carriage. My second desire, which goes without saying, is to benefit my publisher and myself.
Like all clowns, I have had my serious side of life—I have experienced many small troubles and some sorrows; but I shall not dwell on them, but merely reproduce some short notes—(having been a reporter, I may say shorthand notes)—of incidents which have amused me, and which I hope will equally entertain my readers. The majority I have had permission to publish, and the others I do not expect will be recognised. It would grieve me very much if I thought I had offended anyone.
Society has been exceedingly kind to its clown, and the clown is deeply grateful. My only ambition is, that someone in the dim future may speak half as kindly20 of me as Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, spoke21 of the Society Clown of his period.
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1
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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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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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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snob
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| n.势利小人，自以为高雅、有学问的人 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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14
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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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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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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