I have already stated, among the other branches of human attainment1 which I acquired at the public school, that I learned to draw caricatures of the masters who were so obliging as to educate me. I had a natural faculty2 for this useful department of art. I improved it greatly by practice in secret after I left school, and I ended by making it a source of profit and pocket money to me when I entered the medical profession. What was I to do? I could not expect for years to make a halfpenny, as a physician. My genteel walk in life led me away from all immediate3 sources of emolument4, and my father could only afford to give me an allowance which was too preposterously5 small to be mentioned. I had helped myself surreptitiously to pocket-money at school, by selling my caricatures, and I was obliged to repeat the process at home!
At the time of which I write, the Art of Caricature was just approaching the close of its colored and most extravagant6 stage of development. The subtlety7 and truth to Nature required for the pursuit of it now, had hardly begun to be thought of then. Sheer farce8 and coarse burlesque9, with plenty of color for the money, still made up the sum of what the public of those days wanted. I was first assured of my capacity for the production of these requisites10, by a medical friend of the ripe critical age of nineteen. He knew a print-publisher, and enthusiastically showed him a portfolio11 full of my sketches12, taking care at my request not to mention my name. Rather to my surprise (for I was too conceited13 to be greatly amazed by the circumstance), the publisher picked out a few of the best of my wares14, and boldly bought them of me—of course, at his own price. From that time I became, in an anonymous15 way, one of the young buccaneers of British Caricature; cruising about here, there and everywhere, at all my intervals16 of spare time, for any prize in the shape of a subject which it was possible to pick up. Little did my highly-connected mother think that, among the colored prints in the shop-window, which disrespectfully illustrated17 the public and private proceedings18 of distinguished20 individuals, certain specimens21 bearing the classic signature of “Thersites Junior,” were produced from designs furnished by her studious and medical son. Little did my respectable father imagine when, with great difficulty and vexation, he succeeded in getting me now and then smuggled22, along with himself, inside the pale of fashionable society—that he was helping23 me to study likenesses which were destined25 under my reckless treatment to make the public laugh at some of his most august patrons, and to fill the pockets of his son with professional fees, never once dreamed of in his philosophy.
For more than a year I managed, unsuspected, to keep the Privy26 Purse fairly supplied by the exercise of my caricaturing abilities. But the day of detection was to come.
Whether my medical friend’s admiration27 of my satirical sketches led him into talking about them in public with too little reserve; or whether the servants at home found private means of watching me in my moments of Art-study, I know not: but that some one betrayed me, and that the discovery of my illicit28 manufacture of caricatures was actually communicated even to the grandmotherly head and fount of the family honor, is a most certain and lamentable29 matter of fact. One morning my father received a letter from Lady Malkinshaw herself, informing him, in a handwriting crooked30 with poignant31 grief, and blotted32 at every third word by the violence of virtuous33 indignation, that “Thersites Junior” was his own son, and that, in one of the last of the “ribald’s” caricatures her own venerable features were unmistakably represented as belonging to the body of a large owl34!
Of course, I laid my hand on my heart and indignantly denied everything. Useless. My original model for the owl had got proofs of my guilt35 that were not to be resisted.
The doctor, ordinarily the most mellifluous36 and self-possessed of men, flew into a violent, roaring, cursing passion, on this occasion—declared that I was imperiling the honor and standing37 of the family—insisted on my never drawing another caricature, either for public or private purposes, as long as I lived; and ordered me to go forthwith and ask pardon of Lady Malkinshaw in the humblest terms that it was possible to select. I answered dutifully that I was quite ready to obey, on the condition that he should reimburse38 me by a trebled allowance for what I should lose by giving up the Art of Caricature, or that Lady Malkinshaw should confer on me the appointment of physician-in-waiting on her, with a handsome salary attached. These extremely moderate stipulations so increased my father’s anger, that he asserted, with an unmentionably vulgar oath, his resolution to turn me out of doors if I did not do as he bid me, without daring to hint at any conditions whatsoever39. I bowed, and said that I would save him the exertion40 of turning me out of doors, by going of my own accord. He shook his fist at me; after which it obviously became my duty, as a member of a gentlemanly and peaceful profession, to leave the room. The same evening I left the house, and I have never once given the clumsy and expensive footman the trouble of answering the door to me since that time.
I have reason to believe that my exodus41 from home was, on the whole, favorably viewed by my mother, as tending to remove any possibility of my bad character and conduct interfering42 with my sister’s advancement43 in life.
By dint44 of angling with great dexterity45 and patience, under the direction of both her parents, my handsome sister Annabella had succeeded in catching46 an eligible47 husband, in the shape of a wizen, miserly, mahogany-colored man, turned fifty, who had made a fortune in the West Indies. His name was Batterbury; he had been dried up under a tropical sun, so as to look as if he would keep for ages; he had two subjects of conversation, the yellow-fever and the advantage of walking exercise: and he was barbarian48 enough to take a violent dislike to me. He had proved a very delicate fish to hook; and, even when Annabella had caught him, my father and mother had great difficulty in landing him—principally, they were good enough to say, in consequence of my presence on the scene. Hence the decided49 advantage of my removal from home. It is a very pleasant reflection to me, now, to remember how disinterestedly50 I studied the good of my family in those early days.
Abandoned entirely51 to my own resources, I naturally returned to the business of caricaturing with renewed ardor52.
About this time Thersites Junior really began to make something like a reputation, and to walk abroad habitually53 with a bank-note comfortably lodged54 among the other papers in his pocketbook. For a year I lived a gay and glorious life in some of the freest society in London; at the end of that time, my tradesmen, without any provocation55 on my part, sent in their bills. I found myself in the very absurd position of having no money to pay them, and told them all so with the frankness which is one of the best sides of my character. They received my advances toward a better understanding with brutal57 incivility, and treated me soon afterward58 with a want of confidence which I may forgive, but can never forget. One day, a dirty stranger touched me on the shoulder, and showed me a dirty slip of paper which I at first presumed to be his card. Before I could tell him what a vulgar document it looked like, two more dirty strangers put me into a hackney coach. Before I could prove to them that this proceeding19 was a gross infringement59 on the liberties of the British subject, I found myself lodged within the walls of a prison.
Well! and what of that? Who am I that I should object to being in prison, when so many of the royal personages and illustrious characters of history have been there before me? Can I not carry on my vocation56 in greater comfort here than I could in my father’s house? Have I any anxieties outside these walls? No: for my beloved sister is married—the family net has landed Mr. Batterbury at last. No: for I read in the paper the other day, that Doctor Softly (doubtless through the interest of Lady Malkinshaw) has been appointed the King’s-Barber-Surgeon’s-Deputy-Consulting Physician. My relatives are comfortable in their sphere—let me proceed forthwith to make myself comfortable in mine. Pen, ink, and paper, if you please, Mr. Jailer: I wish to write to my esteemed61 publisher.
“DEAR SIR—Please advertise a series of twelve Racy Prints, from my fertile pencil, entitled, ‘Scenes of Modern Prison Life,’ by Thersites Junior. The two first designs will be ready by the end of the week, to be paid for on delivery, according to the terms settled between us for my previous publications of the same size.
“With great regard and esteem60, faithfully yours,
“FRANK SOFTLY.”
Having thus provided for my support in prison, I was enabled to introduce myself to my fellow-debtors, and to study character for the new series of prints, on the very first day of my incarceration62, with my mind quite at ease.
If the reader desires to make acquaintance with the associates of my captivity63, I must refer him to “Scenes of Modern Prison Life,” by Thersites Junior, now doubtless extremely scarce, but producible to the demands of patience and perseverance64, I should imagine, if anybody will be so obliging as to pass a week or so over the catalogue of the British Museum. My fertile pencil has delineated the characters I met with, at that period of my life, with a force and distinctness which my pen cannot hope to rival—has portrayed65 them all more or less prominently, with the one solitary66 exception of a prisoner called Gentleman Jones. The reasons why I excluded him from my portrait-gallery are so honorable to both of us, that I must ask permission briefly67 to record them.
My fellow-captives soon discovered that I was studying their personal peculiarities68 for my own advantage and for the public amusement. Some thought the thing a good joke; some objected to it, and quarreled with me. Liberality in the matter of liquor and small loans, reconciled a large proportion of the objectors to their fate; the sulky minority I treated with contempt, and scourged69 avengingly with the smart lash70 of caricature. I was at that time probably the most impudent71 man of my age in all England, and the common flock of jail-birds quailed72 before the magnificence of my assurance. One prisoner only set me and my pencil successfully at defiance73. That prisoner was Gentleman Jones.
He had received his name from the suavity74 of his countenance75, the inveterate76 politeness of his language, and the unassailable composure of his manner. He was in the prime of life, but very bald—had been in the army and the coal trade—wore very stiff collars and prodigiously77 long wristbands—seldom laughed, but talked with remarkable78 glibness79, and was never known to lose his temper under the most aggravating80 circumstances of prison existence.
He abstained81 from interfering with me and my studies, until it was reported in our society, that in the sixth print of my series, Gentleman Jones, highly caricatured, was to form one of the principal figures. He then appealed to me personally and publicly, on the racket-ground, in the following terms:
“Sir,” said he, with his usual politeness and his unwavering smile, “you will greatly oblige me by not caricaturing my personal peculiarities. I am so unfortunate as not to possess a sense of humor; and if you did my likeness24, I am afraid I should not see the joke of it.”
“Sir,” I returned, with my customary impudence82, “it is not of the slightest importance whether you see the joke of it or not. The public will—and that is enough for me.”
With that civil speech, I turned on my heel; and the prisoners near all burst out laughing. Gentleman Jones, not in the least altered or ruffled83, smoothed down his wristbands, smiled, and walked away.
The same evening I was in my room alone, designing the new print, when there came a knock at the door, and Gentleman Jones walked in. I got up, and asked what the devil he wanted. He smiled, and turned up his long wristbands.
“Only to give you a lesson in politeness,” said Gentleman Jones.
“What do you mean, sir? How dare you—?”
The answer was a smart slap on the face. I instantly struck out in a state of fury—was stopped with great neatness—and received in return a blow on the head, which sent me down on the carpet half stunned84, and too giddy to know the difference between the floor and the ceiling.
“Sir,” said Gentleman Jones, smoothing down his wristbands again, and addressing me blandly85 as I lay on the floor, “I have the honor to inform you that you have now received your first lesson in politeness. Always be civil to those who are civil to you. The little matter of the caricature we will settle on a future occasion. I wish you good-evening.”
The noise of my fall had been heard by the other occupants of rooms on my landing. Most fortunately for my dignity, they did not come in to see what was the matter until I had been able to get into my chair again. When they entered, I felt that the impression of the slap was red on my face still, but the mark of the blow was hidden by my hair. Under these fortunate circumstances, I was able to keep up my character among my friends, when they inquired about the scuffle, by informing them that Gentleman Jones had audaciously slapped my face, and that I had been obliged to retaliate86 by knocking him down. My word in the prison was as good as his; and if my version of the story got fairly the start of his, I had the better chance of the two of being believed.
I was rather anxious, the next day, to know what course my polite and pugilistic instructor87 would take. To my utter amazement88, he bowed to me as civilly as usual when we met in the yard; he never denied my version of the story; and when my friends laughed at him as a thrashed man, he took not the slightest notice of their agreeable merriment. Antiquity89, I think, furnishes us with few more remarkable characters than Gentleman Jones.
That evening I thought it desirable to invite a friend to pass the time with me. As long as my liquor lasted he stopped; when it was gone, he went away. I was just locking the door after him, when it was pushed open gently, but very firmly, and Gentleman Jones walked in.
My pride, which had not allowed me to apply for protection to the prison authorities, would not allow me now to call for help. I tried to get to the fireplace and arm myself with the poker90, but Gentleman Jones was too quick for me. “I have come, sir, to give you a lesson in morality to-night,” he said; and up went his right hand.
I stopped the preliminary slap, but before I could hit him, his terrible left fist reached my head again; and down I fell once more—upon the hearth-rug this time—not over-heavily.
“Sir,” said Gentleman Jones, making me a bow, “you have now received your first lesson in morality. Always speak the truth; and never say what is false of another man behind his back. To-morrow, with your kind permission, we will finally settle the adjourned91 question of the caricature. Good-night.”
I was far too sensible a man to leave the settling of that question to him. The first thing in the morning I sent a polite note to Gentleman Jones, informing him that I had abandoned all idea of exhibiting his likeness to the public in my series of prints, and giving him full permission to inspect every design I made before it went out of the prison. I received a most civil answer, thanking me for my courtesy, and complimenting me on the extraordinary aptitude92 with which I profited by the most incomplete and elementary instruction. I thought I deserved the compliment, and I think so still. Our conduct, as I have already intimated, was honorable to us, on either side. It was honorable attention on the part of Gentleman Jones to correct me when I was in error; it was honorable common sense in me to profit by the correction. I have never seen this great man since he compounded with his creditors93 and got out of prison; but my feelings toward him are still those of profound gratitude94 and respect. He gave me the only useful teaching I ever had; and if this should meet the eye of Gentleman Jones I hereby thank him for beginning and ending my education in two evenings, without costing me or my family a single farthing.
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1
attainment
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| n.达到，到达；［常pl.］成就，造诣 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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3
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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4
emolument
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| n.报酬，薪水 | |
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5
preposterously
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| adv.反常地；荒谬地；荒谬可笑地；不合理地 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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7
subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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8
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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9
burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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10
requisites
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| n.必要的事物( requisite的名词复数 ) | |
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11
portfolio
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| n.公事包；文件夹；大臣及部长职位 | |
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12
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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13
conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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14
wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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15
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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16
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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17
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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18
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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20
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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21
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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22
smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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23
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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24
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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25
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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26
privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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28
illicit
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| adj.非法的，禁止的，不正当的 | |
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29
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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30
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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32
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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mellifluous
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| adj.（音乐等）柔美流畅的 | |
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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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38
reimburse
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| v.补偿，付还 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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exodus
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| v.大批离去，成群外出 | |
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42
interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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46
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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47
eligible
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| adj.有条件被选中的；(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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48
barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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49
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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50
disinterestedly
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51
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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52
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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53
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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54
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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55
provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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56
vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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57
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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58
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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59
infringement
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| n.违反；侵权 | |
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60
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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61
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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62
incarceration
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| n.监禁，禁闭；钳闭 | |
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63
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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64
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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65
portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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66
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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67
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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68
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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69
scourged
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| 鞭打( scourge的过去式和过去分词 )； 惩罚，压迫 | |
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70
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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quailed
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| 害怕，发抖，畏缩( quail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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suavity
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| n.温和；殷勤 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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prodigiously
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| adv.异常地，惊人地，巨大地 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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glibness
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| n.花言巧语；口若悬河 | |
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aggravating
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| adj.恼人的，讨厌的 | |
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abstained
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| v.戒（尤指酒），戒除( abstain的过去式和过去分词 )；弃权（不投票） | |
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82
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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83
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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85
blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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retaliate
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| v.报复，反击 | |
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instructor
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| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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