“I was delayed,” I stammered1. Though what it was that had delayed me I should have been puzzled to explain! Luckily no questions were asked.
The carriage was ordered round, the hamper3, containing our contribution to the Picnic, was duly stowed away, and we set forth4.
There was no need for me to maintain the conversation. Lady Muriel and Arthur were evidently on those most delightful5 of terms, where one has no need to check thought after thought, as it rises to the lips, with the fear 'this will not be appreciated—this will give' offence—this will sound too serious—this will sound flippant': like very old friends, in fullest sympathy, their talk rippled6 on.
“Why shouldn't we desert the Picnic and go in some other direction?” she suddenly suggested. “A party of four is surely self-sufficing? And as for food, our hamper—”
“Why shouldn't we? What a genuine lady's argument!” laughed Arthur. “A lady never knows on which side the onus8 probandi—the burden of proving—lies!”
'Why should I deprive my neighbour
Of his goods against his will?'
Fancy that as an argument for Honesty! His position seems to be 'I'm only honest because I see no reason to steal.' And the thief's answer is of course complete and crushing. 'I deprive my neighbour of his goods because I want them myself. And I do it against his will because there's no chance of getting him to consent to it!'”
“I can give you one other exception,” I said: “an argument I heard only to-day—-and not by a lady. 'Why shouldn't I walk on my own forehead?'”
“What a curious subject for speculation12!” said Lady Muriel, turning to me, with eyes brimming over with laughter. “May we know who propounded13 the question? And did he walk on his own forehead?”
“Whoever it was, I hope we shall meet him at the Picnic!” said Lady Muriel. “It's a far more interesting question than 'Isn't this a picturesque15 ruin?' Aren't those autumn-tints lovely?' I shall have to answer those two questions ten times, at least, this afternoon!”
“That's one of the miseries16 of Society!” said Arthur. “Why ca'n't people let one enjoy the beauties of Nature without having to say so every minute? Why should Life be one long Catechism?”
“It's just as bad at a picture-gallery,” the Earl remarked. “I went to the R.A. last May, with a conceited17 young artist: and he did torment18 me! I wouldn't have minded his criticizing the pictures himself: but I had to agree with him—or else to argue the point, which would have been worse!”
“It was depreciatory19 criticism, of course?” said Arthur.
“I don't see the 'of course' at all.”
“Why, did you ever know a conceited man dare to praise a picture? The one thing he dreads20 (next to not being noticed) is to be proved fallible! If you once praise a picture, your character for infallibility hangs by a thread. Suppose it's a figure-picture, and you venture to say 'draws well.' Somebody measures it, and finds one of the proportions an eighth of an inch wrong. You are disposed of as a critic! 'Did you say he draws well?' your friends enquire21 sarcastically22, while you hang your head and blush. No. The only safe course, if any one says 'draws well,' is to shrug23 your shoulders. 'Draws well?' you repeat thoughtfully. 'Draws well? Humph!' That's the way to become a great critic!”
Thus airily chatting, after a pleasant drive through a few miles of beautiful scenery, we reached the rendezvous—a ruined castle—where the rest of the picnic-party were already assembled. We spent an hour or two in sauntering about the ruins: gathering24 at last, by common consent, into a few random25 groups, seated on the side of a mound26, which commanded a good view of the old castle and its surroundings.
The momentary27 silence, that ensued, was promptly28 taken possession of or, more correctly, taken into custody—by a Voice; a voice so smooth, so monotonous29, so sonorous30, that one felt, with a shudder31, that any other conversation was precluded32, and that, unless some desperate remedy were adopted, we were fated to listen to a Lecture, of which no man could foresee the end!
The speaker was a broadly-built man, whose large, flat, pale face was bounded on the North by a fringe of hair, on the East and West by a fringe of whisker, and on the South by a fringe of beard—the whole constituting a uniform halo of stubbly whitey-brown bristles33. His features were so entirely34 destitute35 of expression that I could not help saying to myself—helplessly, as if in the clutches of a night-mare—“they are only penciled in: no final touches as yet!” And he had a way of ending every sentence with a sudden smile, which spread like a ripple7 over that vast blank surface, and was gone in a moment, leaving behind it such absolute solemnity that I felt impelled36 to murmur37 “it was not he: it was somebody else that smiled!”
“Do you observe?” (such was the phrase with which the wretch38 began each sentence) “Do you observe the way in which that broken arch, at the very top of the ruin, stands out against the clear sky? It is placed exactly right: and there is exactly enough of it. A little more, or a little less, and all would be utterly39 spoiled!”
{Image...A lecture, on art}
“Oh gifted architect!” murmured Arthur, inaudibly to all but Lady Muriel and myself. “Foreseeing the exact effect his work would have, when in ruins, centuries after his death!”
“And do you observe, where those trees slope down the hill,” (indicating them with a sweep of the hand, and with all the patronising air of the man who has himself arranged the landscape), “how the mists rising from the river fill up exactly those intervals40 where we need indistinctness, for artistic41 effect? Here, in the foreground, a few clear touches are not amiss: but a back-ground without mist, you know! It is simply barbarous! Yes, we need indistinctness!”
The orator42 looked so pointedly43 at me as he uttered these words, that I felt bound to reply, by murmuring something to the effect that I hardly felt the need myself—and that I enjoyed looking at a thing, better, when I could see it.
“Quite so!” the great man sharply took me up. “From your point of view, that is correctly put. But for anyone who has a soul for Art, such a view is preposterous44. Nature is one thing. Art is another. Nature shows us the world as it is. But Art—as a Latin author tells us—Art, you know the words have escaped my memory—”
“Ars est celare Naturam,” Arthur interposed with a delightful promptitude.
“Quite so!” the orator replied with an air of relief. “I thank you! Ars est celare Naturam but that isn't it.” And, for a few peaceful moments, the orator brooded, frowningly, over the quotation45. The welcome opportunity was seized, and another voice struck into the silence.
“What a lovely old ruin it is!” cried a young lady in spectacles, the very embodiment of the March of Mind, looking at Lady Muriel, as the proper recipient46 of all really original remarks. “And don't you admire those autumn-tints on the trees? I do, intensely!”
Lady Muriel shot a meaning glance at me; but replied with admirable gravity. “Oh yes indeed, indeed! So true!”
“And isn't strange,” said the young lady, passing with startling suddenness from Sentiment to Science, “that the mere2 impact of certain coloured rays upon the Retina should give us such exquisite47 pleasure?”
“Oh, yes! Isn't it a sweet Science?”
Arthur slightly smiled. “It seems a paradox51, does it not,” he went on, “that the image formed on the Retina should be inverted52?”
“You have never heard the Theory, then, that the Brain also is inverted?”
“No indeed! What a beautiful fact! But how is it proved?”
“Thus,” replied Arthur, with all the gravity of ten Professors rolled into one. “What we call the vertex of the Brain is really its base: and what we call its base is really its vertex: it is simply a question of nomenclature.”
This last polysyllable settled the matter.
“How truly delightful!” the fair Scientist exclaimed with enthusiasm. “I shall ask our Physiological54 Lecturer why he never gave us that exquisite Theory!”
“I'd give something to be present when the question is asked!” Arthur whispered to me, as, at a signal from Lady Muriel, we moved on to where the hampers55 had been collected, and devoted56 ourselves to the more substantial business of the day.
We 'waited' on ourselves, as the modern barbarism (combining two good things in such a way as to secure the discomforts57 of both and the advantages of neither) of having a picnic with servants to wait upon you, had not yet reached this out-of-the-way region—and of course the gentlemen did not even take their places until the ladies had been duly provided with all imaginable creature-comforts. Then I supplied myself with a plate of something solid and a glass of something fluid, and found a place next to Lady Muriel.
It had been left vacant—apparently for Arthur, as a distinguished58 stranger: but he had turned shy, and had placed himself next to the young lady in spectacles, whose high rasping voice had already cast loose upon Society such ominous59 phrases as “Man is a bundle of Qualities!”, “the Objective is only attainable60 through the Subjective61!”. Arthur was bearing it bravely: but several faces wore a look of alarm, and I thought it high time to start some less metaphysical topic.
“In my nursery days,” I began, “when the weather didn't suit for an out-of-doors picnic, we were allowed to have a peculiar62 kind, that we enjoyed hugely. The table cloth was laid under the table, instead of upon it: we sat round it on the floor: and I believe we really enjoyed that extremely uncomfortable kind of dinner more than we ever did the orthodox arrangement!”
“I've no doubt of it,” Lady Muriel replied. “There's nothing a well-regulated child hates so much as regularity63. I believe a really healthy boy would thoroughly64 enjoy Greek Grammar—if only he might stand on his head to learn it! And your carpet-dinner certainly spared you one feature of a picnic, which is to me its chief drawback.”
“The chance of a shower?” I suggested.
“No, the chance—or rather the certainty of live things occurring in combination with one's food! Spiders are my bugbear. Now my father has no sympathy with that sentiment—have you, dear?” For the Earl had caught the word and turned to listen.
“To each his sufferings, all are men,” he replied in the sweet sad tones that seemed natural to him: “each has his pet aversion.”
“But you'll never guess his!” Lady Muriel said, with that delicate silvery laugh that was music to my ears.
I declined to attempt the impossible.
“He doesn't like snakes!” she said, in a stage whisper. “Now, isn't that an unreasonable65 aversion? Fancy not liking66 such a dear, coaxingly67, clingingly affectionate creature as a snake!”
“Not like snakes!” I exclaimed. “Is such a thing possible?”
“No, he doesn't like them,” she repeated with a pretty mock-gravity. “He's not afraid of them, you know. But he doesn't like them. He says they're too waggly!”
I was more startled than I liked to show. There was something so uncanny in this echo of the very words I had so lately heard from that little forest-sprite, that it was only by a great effort I succeeded in saying, carelessly, “Let us banish68 so unpleasant a topic. Won't you sing us something, Lady Muriel? I know you do sing without music.”
“The only songs I know—without music—are desperately69 sentimental70, I'm afraid! Are your tears all ready?”
“Quite ready! Quite ready!” came from all sides, and Lady Muriel—not being one of those lady-singers who think it de rigueur to decline to sing till they have been petitioned three or four times, and have pleaded failure of memory, loss of voice, and other conclusive71 reasons for silence—began at once:—
“There be three Badgers on a mossy stone,
Beside a dark and covered way:
And so they stay and stay
Though their old Father languishes75 alone,
They stay, and stay, and stay.
“There be three Herrings loitering around,
Longing to share that mossy seat:
Each Herring tries to sing what she has found
That makes Life seem so sweet.
Thus, with a grating and uncertain sound,
“The Mother-Herring, on the salt sea-wave,
Sought vainly for her absent ones:
You shalt have buns,' he shrieked, 'if you'll behave!
Yea, buns, and buns, and buns!'
“'I fear,' said she, 'your sons have gone astray?
My daughters left me while I slept.'
'Yes 'm,' the Badger said: 'it's as you say.'
'They should be better kept.'
Thus the poor parents talked the time away,
And wept, and wept, and wept.”
Here Bruno broke off suddenly. “The Herrings' Song wants anuvver tune79, Sylvie,” he said. “And I ca'n't sing it not wizout oo plays it for me!”
{Image...'Three badgers, writhing in a cave'}
Instantly Sylvie seated herself upon a tiny mushroom, that happened to grow in front of a daisy, as if it were the most ordinary musical instrument in the world, and played on the petals80 as if they were the notes of an organ. And such delicious tiny music it was! Such teeny-tiny music!
Bruno held his head on one side, and listened very gravely for a few moments until he had caught the melody. Then the sweet childish voice rang out once more:—
“Oh, dear beyond our dearest dreams,
Fairer than all that fairest seems!
How blest would be
A life so free—-
Ipwergis-Pudding to consume,
And drink the subtle Azzigoom!
“And if in other days and hours,
Mid other fluffs and other flowers,
The choice were given me how to dine—-
Oh, then I see
The life for me
Ipwergis-Pudding to consume,
And drink the subtle Azzigoom!”
“Oo may leave off playing now, Sylvie. I can do the uvver tune much better wizout a compliment.”
“He means 'without accompaniment,'” Sylvie whispered, smiling at my puzzled look: and she pretended to shut up the stops of the organ.
“The Badgers did not care to talk to Fish:
They did not dote on Herrings' songs:
They never had experienced the dish
To which that name belongs:
And oh, to pinch their tails,' (this was their wish,)
I ought to mention that he marked the parenthesis85, in the air, with his finger. It seemed to me a very good plan. You know there's no sound to represent it—any more than there is for a question.
Suppose you have said to your friend “You are better to-day,” and that you want him to understand that you are asking him a question, what can be simpler than just to make a “?”. in the air with your finger? He would understand you in a moment!
'They are the Fish!' the Second one replied.
'And they have left their home!'
'Oh wicked Fish,' the Youngest Badger cried,
'To roam, yea, roam, and roam!'
The sandy shore that fringed the bay:
Each in his mouth a living Herring bore—
Those aged ones waxed gay:
Clear rang their voices through the ocean's roar,
'Hooray, hooray, hooray!'”
“So they all got safe home again,” Bruno said, after waiting a minute to see if I had anything to say: he evidently felt that some remark ought to be made. And I couldn't help wishing there were some such rule in Society, at the conclusion of a song—that the singer herself should say the right thing, and not leave it to the audience. Suppose a young lady has just been warbling ('with a grating and uncertain sound') Shelley's exquisite lyric90 'I arise from dreams of thee': how much nicer it would be, instead of your having to say “Oh, thank you, thank you!” for the young lady herself to remark, as she draws on her gloves, while the impassioned words 'Oh, press it to thine own, or it will break at last!' are still ringing in your ears, “—but she wouldn't do it, you know. So it did break at last.”
“And I knew it would!” she added quietly, as I started at the sudden crash of broken glass. “You've been holding it sideways for the last minute, and letting all the champagne91 run out! Were you asleep, I wonder? I'm so sorry my singing has such a narcotic92 effect!”
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1
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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hamper
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| vt.妨碍，束缚，限制；n.(有盖的)大篮子 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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onus
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| n.负担；责任 | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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docility
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| n.容易教，易驾驶，驯服 | |
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watts
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| （电力计量单位）瓦，瓦特( watt的名词复数 ) | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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propounded
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| v.提出（问题、计划等）供考虑[讨论]，提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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15
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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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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conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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depreciatory
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| adj.贬值的，蔑视的 | |
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dreads
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| n.恐惧，畏惧( dread的名词复数 )；令人恐惧的事物v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的第三人称单数 ) | |
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enquire
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| v.打听，询问；调查，查问 | |
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sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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precluded
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| v.阻止( preclude的过去式和过去分词 )；排除；妨碍；使…行不通 | |
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bristles
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| 短而硬的毛发，刷子毛( bristle的名词复数 ) | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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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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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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orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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recipient
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| a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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physiology
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| n.生理学，生理机能 | |
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courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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50
enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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51
paradox
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| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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inverted
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| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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physiological
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| adj.生理学的，生理学上的 | |
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hampers
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的第三人称单数 ) | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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attainable
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| a.可达到的，可获得的 | |
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subjective
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| a.主观(上)的，个人的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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coaxingly
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| adv. 以巧言诱哄，以甘言哄骗 | |
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banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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badgers
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| n.獾( badger的名词复数 )；獾皮；（大写）獾州人（美国威斯康星州人的别称）；毛鼻袋熊 | |
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badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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languishes
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| 长期受苦( languish的第三人称单数 )； 受折磨； 变得（越来越）衰弱； 因渴望而变得憔悴或闷闷不乐 | |
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bleat
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| v.咩咩叫，(讲)废话，哭诉；n.咩咩叫，废话，哭诉 | |
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writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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tongs
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| n.钳；夹子 | |
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parenthesis
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| n.圆括号，插入语，插曲，间歇，停歇 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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lyric
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| n.抒情诗，歌词；adj.抒情的 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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narcotic
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| n.麻醉药，镇静剂；adj.麻醉的，催眠的 | |
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