There is a certain fable1 with which we greatly comfort our hearts in these days. And this is the fable of the mild, the tame, the old-maiden-ladylike Victorians. We know in our inner hearts that we, the Georgians, are the most regulation-ridden people that ever were. If we want a box of chocolates or a packet of cigarettes after eight o’clock at night, we cannot get either without breaking the law. In most parts of London, the greatest city in the world, a glass of beer after ten becomes a penal3 offence. We have the liberty to go to bed quietly; that is about all. I suppose it is the secret knowledge of all this, the knowledge that we have become a flock of rather pitiful sheep, driven tamely off to our pens by the sheep dog of the law, that makes us puff4 out our chests and pity the poor, limited, propriety-ridden Victorians, and pretend that we are desperate dogs, indeed. If a man would keep any spirit at all, it is necessary that he should look down on someone; rightly or wrongly. But the mid-Victorian age was not really what we pretend to think it. It was, probably, one of the jolliest ages in our history; and all the better for this, that a great deal of the jollity was above-ground, harmless, hearty5 mirth. There was the other side, of course; there always is that, and now more than ever, since the coming of cocaine6 — the nasty, underground, poisonous gaiety that is not gaiety at all, but rather ghastliness. But on the whole, the mid-Victorian who was resolved to “keep it up” and “make a night of it” could make a most tremendous night of it and be rather the better than the worse the morning after. A headache? Possibly. But an occasional headache does not do anyone much harm.
I was talking the other day to a man whose business it is, speaking generally, to know everything. I will not define his occupation more precisely7; but I happened to mention to him the “Welcome Guest” and Sala’s “Twice Round the Clock.” He had neither heard of the periodical nor the series of articles. And so, perhaps, I may safely quote this witness of the London world in the year 1858, when Queen Victoria had been reigning8 twenty-seven years. The period may fairly be called the mid-Victorian; and this was the fashion of it. The time is midnight; the people are coming out of the Haymarket Theatre, still laughing at the drolleries of the inimitable Mr. Buckstone and ——
“Supper is now the great cry, and the abundant eating and drinking resources of the Haymarket are forthwith called into requisition. By the ravenous10 hunger and thirst displayed by the late patrons of the theatre, you would imagine that they had gone without dinner for a week . . . Are you rich — there is Dubourg’s, the Hotel de Paris, and the upstairs department of the Café de l’Europe. There is no lack of cunning cooks there, I warrant, to send you up pheasants and partridges en papillote; filets with mushrooms or truffles, culinary gew-gaws that shall cost five shillings the dish. Yes, and cellarers shall not be wanting to convey to you the Roederer’s champagne11, the fragrant12 Clos Vougeot, the refreshing13 Lafitte and the enlivening Chambertin with yellow seal . . . If your taste leads you still towards French cookery — though you wince14 somewhat at the idea of the claret, burgundy and champagne to follow — there exists a second-class French restaurant or two where excellent suppers may be obtained at moderate prices.” Sala follows on the descending16 scale: a porkpie and a glass of ale at a bar for a few pence: “trotters,” mysterious but succulent, for a penny; a potato from the can at the Coventry Street end of the Haymarket, with salt and pepper, for a halfpenny: and then reverts17 to oysters19, as the refreshment20 most proper to the hour and the place.
“I will abide21 by the Haymarket oyster18 shop, rude, simple, primitive22 as it is, with its peaceful concourse of customers taking perpendicular23 refreshment at the counter, plying24 the unpretending pepper-castor and the vinegar cruet with the perforated cork25, calling cheerfully for crusty bread and pats of butter; and tossing off foaming26 pints27 of brownest stout28.” But a a few oysters and a little bread-and-butter and stout at midnight were only the beginning of a mid-Victorian’s night out. Refreshed, he strolled on to Evans’s in Covent Garden, where, as Mr. Sala assures him, Captain Costigan is no longer allowed to sing his dubious29 songs, to the shame of young Clive Newcome and to the rage and indignation of the immortal30 Colonel, his father.
“We have been to the play, we have consumed a few oysters in the Haymarket; but the principal effect of that refreshment seems to have been to make us ten times hungrier. The delicate bivalves of Colchester”— I am afraid that Sala was the first to call an oyster a “succulent bivalve”—“have failed in appeasing31 our bucolic32 stomachs. We require meat. Wherefore we walk till the piazza33 looms34 in sight. A low doorway35, brilliantly lit with gas, greets our view. We descend15 a flight of stone steps, pass through a vestibule, and enter the ‘Cave of Harmony.’ The visitor finds himself in a vast music-hall of really noble proportions and decorated not only with admirable taste, but with something nearly akin2 to splendour. At the northern extremity36 of the hall is a spacious37 proscenium and stage, with the grand pianoforte de rigueur, the whole veiled by a curtain in the intervals38 of performance. As for the huge area stretching from the proscenium to a row of columns which separate it from the ante-chamber café, it is occupied by parallel lines of tables. . . . See the suppers set forth9 for the strong stomached supporters of Evans’s. See the pyramids of dishes arrive; the steaming succession of red-hot chops, with their brown, frizzling caudal appendages39 seething40 hot tears of passionate41 fat. See the serene42 kidneys unsubdued, though grilled43, smiling though cooked, weltering proudly in their noble gravy44. . . . See the yellow lava45 of the Welsh rabbit stream over and engulf46 the timid toast. Sniff47 the fragrant vapour of the corpulent sausage. Mark how the russet leathern-coated baked potato at first defies the knife, then gracefully48 cedes49, and through a lengthened50 gash51 yields its farinaceous effervescence to the influence of butter and catsup. The only refreshment present open to even a suspicion of effeminacy are the poached eggs, glistening52 like suns in a firmament53 of willow-pattern plate; and those, too, I am willing to believe, are only to be taken by country gentlemen hard-pressed by hunger, just to ‘stay their stomachs,’ while the more important chops and kidneys are being prepared . . . Pints of stout, if you please, no puny54 half-measures, pints of sparkling pale ale, or brownest Burton moisten these sturdy rations55. And when the strong men have supped — or, rather, before they have supped, and while they have supped — and indeed generally during the evening, there bursts out a strong smell of something good to drink; and presently you perceive that the strong men have ordered potent56 libations of spirituous liquors, hot whiskey and water being the favourite one; and are hastily brewing57 mighty58 jorums of punch and grog which they undauntedly quaff59.”
There! What a jolly scene it is, and how entirely60 honest and free from blame. And while people are eating heartily61 and drinking heartily and smoking heartily, a choir62 of small boys sing eighteenth century glees to them; or perhaps it is a nigger minstrel, some far-off precursor63 of poor Chirgwin; or it may be a comic singer who obliges. Perhaps, as I have hinted, there may be a headache to-morrow morning, perhaps a slight distaste for breakfast; but those stout fellows of the ‘fifties care little for such trifles. And all this jollity, all this brown stout and steaming punch at one o’clock in the morning! To us “daring” Georgians it seems well-nigh incredible.
There is one odd note in this tale of Sala’s. It is well-known that Thackeray was a constant visitor at Evans’s. Here is his portrait according to Sala.
“Thersites Theorbo (who is an assiduous frequenter of the Cave at hours when men of not so transcendent a genius are in bed), Thersites Theorbo, down yonder in the café ante-saloon, glowering64 over his grog, cannot forbear beating time and wagging his august head approvingly when he hears the little boys sing. May their pure harmony do the battered65 old cynic good!”
Now, I wonder. This was the very year of the famous Dickens–Thackeray-Yates quarrel. Thackeray had called Yates “Young Grub-street” in print; I wonder whether he had called Sala “Young Guttersnipe” in conversation. Sala was a Dickens man; and led-captains fought valiantly66 for their chiefs in those brave days.
1 fable | |
n.寓言;童话;神话 | |
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2 akin | |
adj.同族的,类似的 | |
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3 penal | |
adj.刑罚的;刑法上的 | |
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4 puff | |
n.一口(气);一阵(风);v.喷气,喘气 | |
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5 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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6 cocaine | |
n.可卡因,古柯碱(用作局部麻醉剂) | |
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7 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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8 reigning | |
adj.统治的,起支配作用的 | |
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9 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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10 ravenous | |
adj.极饿的,贪婪的 | |
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11 champagne | |
n.香槟酒;微黄色 | |
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12 fragrant | |
adj.芬香的,馥郁的,愉快的 | |
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13 refreshing | |
adj.使精神振作的,使人清爽的,使人喜欢的 | |
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14 wince | |
n.畏缩,退避,(因痛苦,苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动;v.畏缩,退缩,退避 | |
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15 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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16 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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17 reverts | |
恢复( revert的第三人称单数 ); 重提; 回到…上; 归还 | |
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18 oyster | |
n.牡蛎;沉默寡言的人 | |
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19 oysters | |
牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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20 refreshment | |
n.恢复,精神爽快,提神之事物;(复数)refreshments:点心,茶点 | |
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21 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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22 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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23 perpendicular | |
adj.垂直的,直立的;n.垂直线,垂直的位置 | |
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24 plying | |
v.使用(工具)( ply的现在分词 );经常供应(食物、饮料);固定往来;经营生意 | |
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25 cork | |
n.软木,软木塞 | |
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26 foaming | |
adj.布满泡沫的;发泡 | |
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27 pints | |
n.品脱( pint的名词复数 );一品脱啤酒 | |
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29 dubious | |
adj.怀疑的,无把握的;有问题的,靠不住的 | |
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30 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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31 appeasing | |
安抚,抚慰( appease的现在分词 ); 绥靖(满足另一国的要求以避免战争) | |
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32 bucolic | |
adj.乡村的;牧羊的 | |
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33 piazza | |
n.广场;走廊 | |
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34 looms | |
n.织布机( loom的名词复数 )v.隐约出现,阴森地逼近( loom的第三人称单数 );隐约出现,阴森地逼近 | |
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35 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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36 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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37 spacious | |
adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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38 intervals | |
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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39 appendages | |
n.附属物( appendage的名词复数 );依附的人;附属器官;附属肢体(如臂、腿、尾等) | |
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40 seething | |
沸腾的,火热的 | |
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41 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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42 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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43 grilled | |
adj. 烤的, 炙过的, 有格子的 动词grill的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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44 gravy | |
n.肉汁;轻易得来的钱,外快 | |
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45 lava | |
n.熔岩,火山岩 | |
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46 engulf | |
vt.吞没,吞食 | |
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47 sniff | |
vi.嗅…味道;抽鼻涕;对嗤之以鼻,蔑视 | |
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48 gracefully | |
ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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49 cedes | |
v.让给,割让,放弃( cede的第三人称单数 ) | |
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50 lengthened | |
(时间或空间)延长,伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51 gash | |
v.深切,划开;n.(深长的)切(伤)口;裂缝 | |
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52 glistening | |
adj.闪耀的,反光的v.湿物闪耀,闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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53 firmament | |
n.苍穹;最高层 | |
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54 puny | |
adj.微不足道的,弱小的 | |
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55 rations | |
定量( ration的名词复数 ); 配给量; 正常量; 合理的量 | |
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56 potent | |
adj.强有力的,有权势的;有效力的 | |
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57 brewing | |
n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
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58 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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59 quaff | |
v.一饮而尽;痛饮 | |
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60 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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61 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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62 choir | |
n.唱诗班,唱诗班的席位,合唱团,舞蹈团;v.合唱 | |
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63 precursor | |
n.先驱者;前辈;前任;预兆;先兆 | |
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64 glowering | |
v.怒视( glower的现在分词 ) | |
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65 battered | |
adj.磨损的;v.连续猛击;磨损 | |
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66 valiantly | |
adv.勇敢地,英勇地;雄赳赳 | |
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