At the end of that time I went back to my mother’s house at Hadley. She had in the meantime returned from Vienna, had completed her two volumes on that journey, and published them with such a measure of success as to encourage her in hoping that she might vary her never-ceasing labour in the production of novels by again undertaking1 other journeys. But for this, and still more for the execution of other schemes, of which I shall have to speak further on, my presence and companionship were necessary to her. And after much consultation2 and very many walks together round the little quiet garden at Hadley, it was decided3 between us that I should send in my resignation of the Birmingham mastership, defer4 all alternative steps in the direction of any other life career, and devote myself, for the present at least, to becoming her companion and squire5.
The decision was a very momentous6 one. As{356} might have been anticipated, the “deferring” of any steps in the direction of a professional career of any sort turned out eventually to be the final abandonment of any such. It could hardly be otherwise in the case of a young man of twenty-eight, which was my age at the time. I was the son of a father who had left absolutely nothing behind him, and I had no prospect7 whatever of any independent means from any other source. It is true that property settled on my mother before her marriage would in any case suffice to keep me from absolute destitution8, but that was about all that could be said of it. And certainly the decision to which my mother and I came during these walks round and round the Hadley garden was audacious rather than prudent9.
I have never regretted it during any part of the now well-nigh half a century of life that has elapsed since the resolution was taken. I have been, I have not the smallest doubt, a much happier man than I should have been, had I followed a more beaten track. My brother Anthony used to say of me that I should never have earned my salt in the routine work of a profession, or any employment under the authoritative10 supervision11 of a superior. I always dissented12, and beg still to record my dissent13, from any such judgment14. But, as it is, I can say with sincerely grateful recognition in my heart, that I have been a very happy—I fear I may say an exceptionally happy—man. Despite this, I do not think that were I called upon to advise a young man{357} in precisely15 similar circumstances to mine at that time, I should counsel him to follow my example: for I have been not only a happy but a singularly fortunate man. Again and again at various turning points of my life I have been fortunate to a degree which no conduct or prudence16 of my own merited.
I was under no immediate17 obligation to work in any way, but I cannot say of myself I have been an idle man. I have worked much, and sometimes very hard.
Upon one occasion—the occasion was that of sudden medical advice to the effect that it was desirable that I should take my first wife from Florence for a change of climate, which I was not in funds to do comfortably—I planned and wrote from title-page to colophon and sold a two-volume novel of the usual size in four-and-twenty days. I had a “turn of speed” in those days in writing as well as walking. I could do my five miles and three-quarters in an hour at a fair toe and heel walk, and I wrote a novel in twenty-four days—it was written indeed in twenty-three, for I took a whole holiday in the middle of the work. Of course it may be said that the novel was trash. But it was as good as, and was found by the publisher to be more satisfactory than, some others of the great number I have perpetrated. And I should like those who may imagine that the arduous18 nature of the feat19 I accomplished20 was made less by the literary imperfection of the work to try the experiment of copying six hundred post octavo pages in the time. I{358} found the register of each day’s work the other day. The longest was thirty-three pages. It was no great matter to have written three-and-thirty pages in one day, but I am disposed to think that few men (or even women) could continue for as many days at so high an average of speed. My brother used to say that he could not do the like to save his life and that of all those dearest to him. And he was not a slow writer. Of course when my book was done I was nearly done too. But I do not know that I was ever any the worse for the effort. The novel in question was called Beppo the Conscript.
No, I have not been an idle man since the day when my mother and myself decided that I was to follow no recognised profession. The long, too long, series of works which have been published as mine will account for probably considerably21 less than half the printed matter which I am responsible for having given to the world. Nor can I say that I was driven to work “by hunger and request of friends.” During all my long career of authorship there was no period at which I could not have lived an idle man—not so well as I wished, certainly; but I was not driven by imperious necessity.
Yet I have a very pretty turn for idleness too. It is as pleasant to me “to smoke my canaster and tipple22 my ale in the shade,” as Thackeray says, as to any man. Anthony had no such turn. Work to him was a necessity and a satisfaction. He used often to say that he envied me the capacity for{359} being idle. Had he possessed23 it, poor fellow, I might not now be speaking of him in the past tense. And still less than of me could it be said of him that he was ever driven to literary work deficiente crumena. But he laboured during the whole of his manhood life with an insatiable ardour that (taking into consideration his very efficient discharge of his duties as Post Office surveyor) puts my industry into the shade.
Certainly we both of us ought to have inherited, and I suppose did inherit, an aptitude24 for industry. My father was, as I have said, a remarkably25 laborious26, though an unsuccessful man, and my mother left a hundred and fifteen volumes, written between her fiftieth year and that of her death.
Shortly after my final return from Birmingham my mother had a bad illness. It could not have been a very long one; the record of her published work shows no cessation of literary activity. Whether this illness had anything to do with the resolution she came to much about the same time to change her residence, I do not remember, but about this time we established ourselves at No. 20, York Street.
Here, as everywhere else where my mother found or made a home, the house forthwith became the resort of pleasant people; and my time in York Street was a very agreeable one. Among other frequenters of it, my diary makes frequent mention of Judge Haliburton, of Nova Scotia, better known to the world as Sam Slick, the Clockmaker. He{360} was, as I remember him, a delightful27 companion—for a limited time. He was in this respect exactly like his books—extremely amusing reading if taken in rather small doses, but calculated to seem tiresomely28 monotonous29 if indulged in at too great length. He was a thoroughly30 good fellow, kindly31, cheery, hearty32, and sympathetic always; and so far always a welcome companion. But his funning was always pitched in the same key, and always more or less directed to the same objects. His social and political ideas and views all coincided with my own, which, of course, tended to make us better friends. In appearance he looked entirely33 like an Englishman, but not at all like a Londoner. Without being at all too fat, he was large and burly in person, with grey hair, a large ruddy face, a humorous mouth, and bright blue eyes always full of mirth. He was an inveterate34 chewer of tobacco, and in the fulness of comrade-like kindness strove to indoctrinate me with that habit. But I was already an old smoker35, and preferred to content myself with that mode of availing myself of the blessing36 of tobacco.
“Highways and Byeways” Grattan we saw also occasionally when anything brought him to London. He also was, as will be readily believed, what is generally called very good company. He, too, was full of fun, and certainly it could not be said that his fiddle37 had but one string to it! His fault lay in the opposite direction. His funning muse38 “made increment39 of” everything. He was intensely Irish,{361} in manner, accent, and mind. He had a broken, or naturally bridgeless nose, and possessed as small a share of good looks or personal advantages as most men. He first urged me to try my hand at a novel. He had seen some of my early scribblings, but repeated that “Fiction, me boy, fiction and passion are what readers want!” But I did not at that time, or for many a long year afterwards, feel within myself any capacity for supplying such want.
点击收听单词发音
1 undertaking | |
n.保证,许诺,事业 | |
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2 consultation | |
n.咨询;商量;商议;会议 | |
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3 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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4 defer | |
vt.推迟,拖延;vi.(to)遵从,听从,服从 | |
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5 squire | |
n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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6 momentous | |
adj.重要的,重大的 | |
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7 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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8 destitution | |
n.穷困,缺乏,贫穷 | |
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9 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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10 authoritative | |
adj.有权威的,可相信的;命令式的;官方的 | |
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11 supervision | |
n.监督,管理 | |
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12 dissented | |
不同意,持异议( dissent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13 dissent | |
n./v.不同意,持异议 | |
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14 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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15 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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16 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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17 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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18 arduous | |
adj.艰苦的,费力的,陡峭的 | |
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19 feat | |
n.功绩;武艺,技艺;adj.灵巧的,漂亮的,合适的 | |
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20 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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21 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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22 tipple | |
n.常喝的酒;v.不断喝,饮烈酒 | |
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23 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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24 aptitude | |
n.(学习方面的)才能,资质,天资 | |
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25 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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26 laborious | |
adj.吃力的,努力的,不流畅 | |
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27 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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28 tiresomely | |
adj. 令人厌倦的,讨厌的 | |
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29 monotonous | |
adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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30 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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31 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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32 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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33 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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34 inveterate | |
adj.积习已深的,根深蒂固的 | |
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35 smoker | |
n.吸烟者,吸烟车厢,吸烟室 | |
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36 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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37 fiddle | |
n.小提琴;vi.拉提琴;不停拨弄,乱动 | |
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38 muse | |
n.缪斯(希腊神话中的女神),创作灵感 | |
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39 increment | |
n.增值,增价;提薪,增加工资 | |
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