"So nice of you to have come, Mrs. Mandragore, to do honour to England's artistic past. And I'm so glad to see you've brought dear Mrs. Cayman. And is that Mrs. Nobes, too? So it is! I hadn't noticed her before. How delightful13! I knew we could depend on your love of art."
And he hurried away to seize the opportunity of introducing that eminent14 sculptor15, Sir Herbert Herne, to the bright young critic who had called him, in the public prints, a monumental mason.
A moment later the Ma?tre d'H?tel came to the door of the gilded16 saloon and announced, loudly and impressively, "Mr. Walter Tillotson." Guided from behind by young Spode, Mr. Tillotson came into the room slowly and hesitatingly. In the glare of the lights his eyelids17 beat heavily, painfully, like the wings of an imprisoned19 moth20, over his filmy eyes. Once inside the door he halted and drew himself up with a conscious assumption of dignity. Lord Badgery hurried forward and seized his hand.
"Welcome, Mr. Tillotson—welcome in the name of English art!"
Mr. Tillotson inclined his head in silence. He was too full of emotion to be able to reply.
"I should like to introduce you to a few of your younger colleagues, who have assembled here to do you honour."
Lord Badgery presented everyone in the room to the old painter, who bowed, shook hands, made little noises in his throat, but still found himself unable to speak. Mrs. Nobes, Mrs. Cayman, and Mrs. Mandragore all said charming things.
Dinner was served; the party took their places. Lord Badgery sat at the head of the table, with Mr. Tillotson on his right hand and Sir Herbert Herne on his left. Confronted with Bomba's succulent cooking and Bomba's wines, Mr. Tillotson ate and drank a good deal. He had the appetite of one who has lived on greens and potatoes for ten years among the blackbeetles. After the second glass of wine he began to talk, suddenly and in a flood, as though a sluice21 had been pulled up.
"In Asia Minor22," he began, "it is the custom when one goes to dinner, to hiccough as a sign of appreciative23 fullness. Eructavit cor meum, as the Psalmist has it; he was an Oriental himself."
Spode had arranged to sit next to Mrs. Cayman; he had designs upon her. She was an impossible woman, of course, but rich and useful; he wanted to bamboozle24 her into buying some of his young friends' pictures.
"In a cellar?" Mrs. Cayman was saying, "with, blackbeetles? Oh, how dreadful! Poor old man! And he's ninety-seven, didn't you say? Isn't that shocking! I only hope the subscription25 will be a large one. Of course, one wishes one could have given more oneself. But then, you know, one has so many expenses, and things are so difficult now."
"I know, I know," said Spode, with feeling.
"It's all because of Labour," Mrs. Cayman explained. "Of course, I should simply love to have him in to dinner sometimes. But, then, I feel he's really too old, too farouche and gateux; it would not be doing a kindness to him, would it? And so you are working with Mr. Gollamy now? What a charming man, so talented, such conversation...."
"Eructavit cor meum," said Mr. Tillotson for the third time. Lord Badgery tried to head him off the subject of Turkish etiquette26, but in vain.
By half-past nine a kinder vinolent atmosphere had put to sleep the hatreds and suspicions of before dinner. Sir Herbert Herne had discovered that the young Cubist sitting next him was not insane and actually knew a surprising amount about the Old Masters. For their part these young men had realised that their elders were not at all malignant27; they were just very stupid and pathetic. It was only in the bosoms28 of Mrs. Nobes, Mrs. Cayman, and Mrs. Mandragore that hatred still reigned29 undiminished. Being ladies and old-fashioned, they had drunk almost no wine.
The moment for speech-making arrived. Lord Badgery rose to his feet, said what was expected of him, and called upon Sir Herbert to propose the toast of the evening. Sir Herbert coughed, smiled and began. In the course of a speech that lasted twenty minutes he told anecdotes30 of Mr. Gladstone, Lord Leighton, Sir Almo Tadema, and the late Bishop31, of Bombay; he made three puns, he quoted Shakespeare and Whittier, he was playful, he was eloquent32, he was grave.... At the end of his harangue33 Sir Herbert handed to Mr. Tillotson a silk purse containing fifty-eight pounds ten shillings, the total amount of the subscription. The old man's health was drunk with acclamation.
Mr. Tillotson rose with difficulty to his feet. The dry, snakelike skin of his face was flushed; his tie was more crooked34 than ever; the green ribbon of the Order of Chastity of the second class had somehow climbed tip his crumpled35 and maculate shirt front.
"My lords, ladies, and gentlemen," he began in a choking voice, and then broke down completely. It was a very painful and pathetic spectacle. A feeling of intense discomfort36 afflicted37 the minds of all who looked upon that trembling relic38 of a man, as he stood there weeping and stammering39. It was as though a breath of the wind of death had blown suddenly through the room, lifting the vapours of wine and tobacco-smoke, quenching40 the laughter and the candle flames. Eyes floated uneasily, not knowing where to look. Lord Badgery, with great presence of mind, offered the old man a glass of wine. Mr. Tillotson began to recover. The guests heard him murmur41 a few disconnected words.
"This great honour ... overwhelmed with kindness ... this magnificent banquet ... not used to it ... in Asia Minor ... eructuvit cor meum."
At this point Lord Badgery plucked sharply at one of his long coat tails. Mr. Tillotson paused, took another sip42 of wine, and then went on with a newly won coherence43 and energy.
"The life of the artist is a hard one. His work is unlike other men's work, which may be done mechanically, by rote44 and almost, as it were, in sleep. It demands from him a constant expense of spirit. He gives continually of his best life, and in return he receives much joy, it is true much fame, it may be—but of material blessings45, very few. It is eighty years since first I devoted46 my life to the service of art; eighty years, and almost every one of those years has brought me fresh and painful proof of what I have been saying: the artist's life is a hard one."
This unexpected deviation47 into sense increased the general feeling of discomfort. It became necessary to take the old man seriously, to regard him as a human being. Up till then he had been no more than an object of curiosity, a mummy in an absurd suit of evening-clothes with a green ribbon across the shirt front. People could not help wishing that they had subscribed48 a little more. Fifty-eight pounds ten it wasn't enormous. But happily for the peace of mind of the company, Mr. Tillotson paused again, took another sip of wine, and began to live up to his proper character by talking absurdly.
"When I consider the life of that great man, Benjamin Robert Haydon, one of the greatest men England has ever produced...." The audience heaved a sigh of relief; this was all as it should be. There was a burst of loud bravoing and clapping. Mr. Tillotson turned his dim eyes round the room, and smiled gratefully at the misty49 figures he beheld50. "That great man, Benjamin Robert Haydon," he continued, "whom I am proud to call my master and who, it rejoices my heart to see, still lives in your memory and esteem51, that great man, one of the greatest that England has ever produced, led a life so deplorable that I cannot think of it without a tear."
And with infinite repetitions and divagations, Mr. Tillotson related the history of B.R. Haydon, his imprisonments for debt, his battle with the Academy, his triumphs, his failures, his despair, his suicide. Half-past ten struck. Mr. Tillotson was declaiming against the stupid and prejudiced judges who had rejected Haydon's designs for the decoration of the new Houses of Parliament in favour of the paltriest52 German scribblings.
"That great man, one of the greatest England has ever produced, that great Benjamin Robert Haydon, whom I am proud to call my master and who, it rejoices me to see, still lives on in your memory and esteem—at that affront53 his great heart burst; it was the unkindest cut of all. He who had worked all his life for the recognition, of the artist by the State, he who had petitioned every Prime Minister, including the Duke of Wellington, for thirty years, begging them to employ artists to decorate public buildings, he to whom the scheme for decorating the Houses of Parliament was undeniably due...." Mr. Tillotson lost a grip on his syntax and began a new sentence. "It was the unkindest cut of all, it was the last straw. The artist's life is a hard one."
At eleven Mr. Tillotson was talking about the pre-Raphaelites. At a quarter past he had begun to tell the story of B.R. Haydon all over again. At twenty-five minutes to twelve he collapsed54 quite speechless into his chair. Most of the guests had already gone away; the few who remained made haste to depart. Lord Badgery led the old man to the door and packed him into the second Rolls-Royce. The Tillotson Banquet was over; it had been a pleasant evening, but a little too long.
Spode walked back to his rooms in Bloomsbury, whistling as he went. The arc lamps of Oxford55 Street reflected in the polished surface of the road; canals of dark bronze. He would have to bring that into an article some time. The Cayman woman had been very successfully nobbled. "Voi che sapete," he whistled—somewhat out of tune56, but he could not hear that.
When Mr. Tillotson's landlady57 came in to call him on the following morning, she found the old man lying fully18 dressed on his bed. He looked very ill and very, very old; Boreham's dress-suit was in a terrible state, and the green ribbon of the Order of Chastity was ruined. Mr. Tillotson lay very still, but he was not asleep. Hearing the sound of footsteps, he opened his eyes a little and faintly groaned58. His landlady looked down at him menacingly.
"Disgusting!" she said, "disgusting, I call it. At your age."
Mr. Tillotson groaned again. Making a great effort, he drew out of his trouser pocket a large silk purse, opened it, and extracted a sovereign.
"The artist's life is a hard one, Mrs. Green," he said, handing her the coin. "Would you mind sending for the doctor? I don't feel very well. And oh, what shall I do about these clothes? What shall I say to the gentleman who was kind enough to lend them to me? Loan oft loseth both itself and friend. The Bard59 is always right."
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1
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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iconoclasts
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| n.攻击传统观念的人( iconoclast的名词复数 )；反对崇拜圣像者 | |
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3
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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suavity
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| n.温和；殷勤 | |
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7
feuds
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| n.长期不和，世仇( feud的名词复数 ) | |
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hatreds
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| n.仇恨，憎恶( hatred的名词复数 )；厌恶的事 | |
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9
ambushed
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| v.埋伏( ambush的过去式和过去分词 )；埋伏着 | |
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10
lustreless
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| adj.无光泽的，无光彩的，平淡乏味的 | |
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lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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12
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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13
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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14
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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16
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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17
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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18
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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19
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20
moth
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| n.蛾，蛀虫 | |
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21
sluice
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| n.水闸 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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23
appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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24
bamboozle
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| v.欺骗，隐瞒 | |
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25
subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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26
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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27
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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28
bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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29
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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30
anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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31
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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32
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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33
harangue
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| n.慷慨冗长的训话，言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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34
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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36
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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39
stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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40
quenching
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| 淬火，熄 | |
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41
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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42
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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43
coherence
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| n.紧凑；连贯；一致性 | |
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44
rote
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| n.死记硬背，生搬硬套 | |
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45
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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46
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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47
deviation
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| n.背离，偏离；偏差，偏向；离题 | |
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48
subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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49
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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50
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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51
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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52
paltriest
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| paltry（微小的）的最高级形式 | |
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53
affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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54
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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55
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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56
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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57
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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58
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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59
bard
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| n.吟游诗人 | |
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