It seems to be odd, at first sight, that there should be any such men as these; but their name and number is legion. If we were to deduct1 from the hunting-crowd farmers, and others who hunt because hunting is brought to their door, of the remainder we should find that the “men who don’t like it” have the preponderance. It is pretty much the same, I think, with all amusements. How many men go to balls, to races, to the theatre, how many women to concerts and races, simply because it is the thing to do? They have perhaps, a vague idea that they may ultimately find some joy in the pastime; but, though they do the thing constantly, they never like it. Of all such men, the hunting men are perhaps the most to be pitied.
They are easily recognized by any one who cares to scrutinize2 the men around him in the hunting field. It is not to be supposed that all those who, in common parlance3, do not ride, are to be included among the number of hunting men who don’t like it. Many a man who sticks constantly to the roads and lines of gates, who, from principle, never looks at a fence, is much attached to hunting. Some of those who have borne great names as Nimrods in our hunting annals would as lief have led a forlorn-hope as put a horse at a flight of hurdles4. But they, too, are known; and though the nature of their delight is a mystery to straight-going men, it is manifest enough, that they do like it. Their theory of hunting is at any rate plain. They have an acknowledged system, and know what they are doing. But the men who don’t like it, have no system, and never know distinctly what is their own aim. During some portion of their career they commonly try to ride hard, and sometimes for a while they will succeed. In short spurts5, while the cherry-brandy prevails, they often have small successes; but even with the assistance of a spur in the head they never like it.
Dear old John Leech6! What an eye he had for the man who hunts and doesn’t like it! But for such, as a pictorial7 chronicler of the hunting field he would have had no fame. Briggs, I fancy, in his way did like it. Briggs was a full-blooded, up-apt, awkward, sanguine8 man, who was able to like anything, from gin and water upwards9. But with how many a wretched companion of Briggs’ are we not familiar? men as to whom any girl of eighteen would swear from the form of his visage and the carriage of his legs as he sits on his horse that he was seeking honour where honour was not to be found, and looking for pleasure in places where no pleasure lay for him.
But the man who hunts and doesn’t like it, has his moments of gratification, and finds a source of pride in his penance10. In the summer, hunting does much for him. He does not usually take much personal care of his horses, as he is probably a town man and his horses are summered by a keeper of hunting stables; but he talks of them. He talks of them freely, and the keeper of the hunting stables is occasionally forced to write to him. And he can run down to look at his nags12, and spend a few hours eating bad mutton chops, walking about the yards and paddocks, and, bleeding halfcrowns through the nose. In all this there is a delight which offers some compensation for his winter misery13 to our friend who hunts and doesn’t like it.
He finds it pleasant to talk of his horses especially to young women, with whom, perhaps, the ascertained14 fact of his winter employment does give him some credit. It is still something to be a hunting man even yet, though the multiplicity of railways and the existing plethora15 of money has so increased the number of sportsmen, that to keep a nag11 or two near some well-known station, is nearly as common as to die. But the delight of these martyrs16 is at the highest in the presence of their tailors; or, higher still, perhaps, in that of their bootmakers. The hunting man does receive some honour from him who makes his breeches; and, with a well-balanced sense of justice, the tailor’s foreman is, I think, more patient, more admiring, more demonstrative in his assurances, more ready with his bit of chalk, when handling the knee of the man who doesn’t like the work, than he ever is with the customer who comes to him simply because he wants some clothes fit for the saddle. The judicious17 conciliating tradesman knows that compensation should be given, and he helps to give it. But the visits to the bootmaker are better still. The tailor persists in telling his customer how his breeches should be made, and after what fashion they should be worn; but the bootmaker will take his orders meekly18. If not ruffled19 by paltry20 objections as to the fit of the foot, he will accede21 to any amount of instructions as to the legs and tops. And then a new pair of top boots is a pretty toy; Costly22, perhaps, if needed only as a toy, but very pretty, and more decorative23 in a gentleman’s dressing-room than any other kind of garment. And top boots, when multiplied in such a locality, when seen in a phalanx tell such pleasant lies on their owner’s behalf. While your breeches are as dumb in their retirement24 as though you had not paid for them, your conspicuous25 boots are eloquent26 with a thousand tongues! There is pleasure found, no doubt, in this.
As the season draws nigh the delights become vague, and still more vague; but, nevertheless, there are delights. Getting up at six o’clock in November to go down to Bletchley by an early train is not in itself pleasant, but on the opening morning, on the few first opening mornings, there is a promise about the thing which invigorates and encourages the early riser. He means to like it this year if he can. He has still some undefined notion that his period of pleasure will now come. He has not, as yet, accepted the adverse27 verdict which his own nature has given against him in this matter of hunting, and he gets into his early tub with acme28 glow of satisfaction. And afterwards it is nice to find himself bright with mahogany tops, buff-tinted breeches, and a pink coat. The ordinary habiliments of an English gentleman are so sombre that his own eye is gratified, and he feels that he has placed himself in the vanguard of society by thus shining in his apparel. And he will ride this year! He is fixed29 to that purpose. He will ride straight; and, if possible, he will like it.
But the Ethiop cannot change his skin, nor can any man add a cubit to his stature30. He doesn’t like it, and all around him in the field know how it is with him; he himself knows how it is with others like himself, and he congregates31 with his brethren. The period of his penance has come upon him. He has to pay the price of those pleasant interviews with his tradesmen. He has to expiate32 the false boasts made to his female cousins. That row of boots cannot be made to shine in his chamber33 for nothing. The hounds have found, and the fox is away. Men are fastening on their flat-topped hats and feeling themselves in their stirrups. Horses are hot for the run, and the moment for liking34 it has come, if only it were possible!
But at moments such as these something has to be done. The man who doesn’t like it, let him dislike it ever so much, Cannot check his horse and simply ride back to the hunting stables. He understands that were he to do that, he must throw up his cap at once and resign. Nor can he trot35 easily along the roads with the fat old country gentleman who is out on his rough cob, and who, looking up to the wind and remembering the position of adjacent coverts36, will give a good guess as to the direction in which the field will move. No; he must make an effort. The time of his penance has come, and the penance must be borne. There is a spark of pluck about him, though unfortunately he has brought it to bear in a wrong direction. The blood still runs at his heart, and he resolves that he will ride, if only he could tell which way.
The stout37 gentleman on the cob has taken the road to the left with a few companions; but our friend knows that the stout gentleman has a little game of his own which will not be suitable for one who intends to ride. Then the crowd in front has divided itself. Those to the right rush down a hill towards a brook38 with a ford39. One or two, men whom he hates with an intensity40 of envy, have jumped the brook, and have settled to their work. Twenty or thirty others are hustling41 themselves through the water. The time for a judicious start on that side is already gone. But others, a crowd of others, are facing the big ploughed field immediately before them. That is the straightest riding, and with them he goes. Why has the scent42 lain so hot over the up-turned heavy ground? Why do they go so fast at this the very first blush of the morning? Fortune is always against him, and the horse is pulling him through the mud as though the brute43 meant to drag his arm out of the socket44. At the first fence, as he is steadying himself, a butcher passes him roughly in the jump and nearly takes away the side of his top boot. He is knocked half out of his saddle, and in that condition scrambles46 through. When he has regained47 his equilibrium48 he sees the happy butcher going into the field beyond. He means to curse the butcher when he catches him, but the butcher is safe. A field and a half before him he still sees the tail hounds, and renews his effort. He has meant to like it today, and he will. So he rides at the next fence boldly, where the butcher has left his mark, and does it pretty well, with a slight struggle. Why is it that he can never get over a ditch without some struggle in his saddle, some scramble45 with his horse? Why does he curse the poor animal so constantly, unless it be that he cannot catch the butcher? Now he rushes at a gate which others have opened for him, but rushes too late and catches his leg. Mad with pain, he nearly gives it up, but the spark of pluck is still there, and with throbbing49 knee he perseveres50. How he hates it! It is all detestable now. He cannot hold his horse because of his gloves, and he cannot get them off. The sympathetic beast knows that his master is unhappy, and makes himself unhappy and troublesome in consequence. Our friend is still going, riding wildly, but still keeping a grain of caution for his fences. He has not been down yet, but has barely saved himself more than once. The ploughs are very deep, and his horse, though still boring at him, pants heavily. Oh, that there might come a check, or that the brute of a fox might happily go to ground! But no! The ruck of the hunt is far away from him in front, and the game is running steadily51 straight for some well known though still distant protection. But the man who doesn’t like it still sees a red coat before him, and perseveres in chasing the wearer of it. The solitary52 red coat becomes distant, and still more distant from him, but he goes on while he can yet keep the line in which that red coat has ridden. He must hurry himself, however, or he will be lost to humanity, and will be alone. He must hurry himself, but his horse now desires to hurry no more. So he puts his spurs to the brute savagely53, and then at some little fence, some ignoble54 ditch, they come down together in the mud, and the question of any further effort is saved for the rider. When he arises the red coat is out of sight, and his own horse is half across the field before him. In such a position, is it possible that a man should like it ?
About four o’clock in the afternoon, when the other men are coming in, he turns up at the hunting stables, and nobody asks him any questions. He may have been doing fairly well for what anybody knows, and, as he says nothing of himself, his disgrace is at any rate hidden. Why should he tell that he had been nearly an hour on foot trying to catch his horse, that he had sat himself down on a bank and almost cried, and that he had drained his flask55 to the last drop before one o’clock? No one need know the extent of his miseries56. And no one does know how great is the misery endured by those who hunt regularly, and who do not like it.
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deduct
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| vt.扣除，减去 | |
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scrutinize
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| n.详细检查，细读 | |
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parlance
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| n.说法；语调 | |
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hurdles
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| n.障碍( hurdle的名词复数 )；跳栏；（供人或马跳跃的）栏架；跨栏赛 | |
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spurts
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| 短暂而突然的活动或努力( spurt的名词复数 )； 突然奋起 | |
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leech
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| n.水蛭，吸血鬼，榨取他人利益的人；vt.以水蛭吸血；vi.依附于别人 | |
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pictorial
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| adj.绘画的；图片的；n．画报 | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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nags
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| n.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的名词复数 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的第三人称单数 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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plethora
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| n.过量，过剩 | |
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martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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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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paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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accede
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| v.应允，同意 | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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acme
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| n.顶点，极点 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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congregates
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| （使）集合，聚集( congregate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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expiate
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| v.抵补，赎罪 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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coverts
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| n.隐蔽的，不公开的，秘密的( covert的名词复数 )；复羽 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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hustling
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| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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scrambles
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| n.抢夺( scramble的名词复数 )v.快速爬行( scramble的第三人称单数 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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perseveres
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的第三人称单数 ) | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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53
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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56
miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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