‘What have you got there?’ asked the journalist, peeping over his shoulder. ‘As I live, an old volume of the “Satyrnine Review.”’
‘Yes. I saw the rubbish ticketed up very cheap, and bought it. It is not a complete set, but sufficiently3 so for my purpose.’
And he threw the volume down among its fellows.
‘You’ll find some spicy4 writing there,’ said Crieff. ‘A little out of date now, of course, for the new society journals have killed the “Satyrnine,” but it used to be deucedly clever.’
‘Clever!’ echoed Sutherland. ‘During the whole of last evening, and for hours this morning, I have been searching these volumes in vain for one spark of insight, for a ray of pure talent. They are simply trash, and spiteful trash, which is the worst of all.’
‘Perhaps you expect too much, old fellow. The “Satyrnine” only professes5 to be smart.’
‘I hate that word, though it expresses well enough the journalism6 we speak of—the journalism of the “Satyr,” who now wears fine clothes and calls himself a gentleman, but is at the best a production of literature’s slimy deposits—a Faun, earth-grubbing, ugliness-loving, screeching7 at the mysteries of artistic8 sunlight and moonlight. Even your friend Lagardère’s style is better—it makes no hideous9 pretences10.’
‘Come, I’m glad you see some merit in Lagardère, after all!’
‘But this rubbish’—here he touched the volume contemptuously with his foot—‘this rubbish, in its horrible baseness and unintelligence, has not even the redeeming11 quality of honesty. The writers are ignorant, but they are also vicious; uninstructed, but at the same time pertinacious12. Who are these men? Does any one know them? I should be curious, for example, to see the goatfooted animal who wrote this article on Thackeray.’
‘Well, you see,’ answered Crieff, reflectively, ‘they rather make a point of working in the dark, keeping up a mystery, so to speak; but nowadays, when the journal has gone downhill, and spicier13 papers like the “Plain Speaker” have practically killed it, the “Satyrnines” are better known than they used to be.’
‘Are they persons of reputation?’
‘Well, no; of course not.’
‘Gentlemen?’
‘Some of them, perhaps,’ said Crieff, with a smile; ‘but for the most part just like the rest of us—a mixed breed. There’s our friend Gass, whom you met at Gavrolles’; he’s one. He has his finger in most journalistic pies, and writes on all sides to turn an honest penny.’
‘Humph!’ muttered Sutherland. ‘I once had a “Satyrnine Reviewer” pointed14 out to me at a party. He looked like a creature fresh from some large drapery establishment; dressed within an inch of his life, with pince-nez on nose, but goat-eared and goat-footed for all that—I am sure the animal couldn’t even spell. But turning from the men to the matter, what I have been most struck by in reading these wretched volumes is their utter want of the positively15 human qualities—veracity, reverence16, generous aspiration17. There is not a single public man of any nobility, either in politics or literature, who is not persistently18 gibbered at and reviled19. Our present Liberal statesmen are insulted by the grossest personalities20. Our great literary men are for the most part decried—when they are praised the reason is not far to seek. Thackeray, inspected by the Satyr, is “no gentleman.” * Dickens is an ignoramus. Browning is a dunce, ignorant even of grammar. Worse than this is the vicious determination to ignore any kind of modest merit. In the course of the long years over which these files extend, many men, now distinguished21, have arisen. In no single instance has this representative journal been able to recognise the coming genius, or willing to help the struggling aspirant22. The method has been to ignore new men as long as possible; then when ignorance could not be pleaded, to interpose every possible impertinence of interpretation23 between the men and the public; and finally, when they have been crowned, to insult them with a monkey’s gibbering interposition. For fatuousness24, ignorance, ami dwarfish25 spitefulness—in a word, for all the old ear tidiness of the cloven foot—commend me to this “Satyrnine Review.”’
* See the ‘Roundabout Papers,’ passim
‘Never mind,’ says the practised Crieff, cheerily. ‘Nemesis has come—the “Satyrnine” is done for. The curse of dulness is upon it. It once sold 20,000. The other day, when it was in the market, it could hardly find a purchaser. It lingers on with a country subscription26 among retrograde old rectors and blue-buskin’d village spinsters, but by-and-by the acidulous27 short paragraph system will conquer even them.’
Thereupon Crieff, whose life was one of hard work and bustling28 visits, was about to take his departure, when at Sutherland’s entreaty29 he promised to return for lunch; for Sutherland liked the little man, and found a curious fascination30 in his tittle-tattle concerning the world of art and letters.
Later in the day the two lunched together. For a wonder, it was an idle day with Crieff, and, once comfortably seated in an arm-chair, with a good cigar in his mouth, he seemed determined31 to enjoy himself. The two chatted pleasantly for some time; that is to say, the journalist, who was garrulous32 by nature and habit, chatted, and the other smoked, listened, and occasionally interpolated a remark.
Presently Crieff’s face darkened, and, after looking keenly at his companion for a minute, he said, with a certain indignation—
‘I’m afraid I shall have to give up Lagardère, after all. He’s been at it again.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m almost afraid to tell you, old fellow, for fear of arousing the slumbering33 lion. Yet I think it’s only fair, as I fancy you take an interest in the lady.’
‘The lady?’
‘Yes. You remember the young actress who appeared at the Parthenon this summer? Ah, I see you do. Well, of course you know that she retired34 into private life—married Forster, the merchant, a rich man and a thoroughly35 good fellow.’
‘Yes, I heard of it, and—I was glad.’
‘And so was I. She was too good for the stage. Well, now, I’m afraid there’s something unpleasant brewing36. Just read this!’
As he spoke37 Crieff drew from his pocket several newspapers, and handed one, with a certain page turned down to indicate a paragraph, to Sutherland.
The paper was the ‘Plain Speaker,’ edited by Lagardère. The paragraph was as follows:—
‘Does a talented young actress, who recently left the stage, and, in the words of the immortal38 “Vilikens and his Dinah” (why not, on this occasion, read “Diana”?), married a rich merchant who in London did dwell, recollect39 a certain boarding school somewhere in France, an infatuated male teacher, and an elopement? It is said that Luna was once caught tripping, to the great amusement of Pan and the Satyrs. Luna was another name for Diana. Verb. sap.’
As he read, the lace of Sutherland grew black as night, his fist clenched40, and he uttered an angry exclamation41.
‘Do you understand the reference?’ asked Crieff. ‘I don’t, but I think there is no doubt as to whom it points. But Lagardère is fond of reiteration42. Read a little lower down.’
Further down, after a number of jaunty43 and not too grammatical paragraphs on various topics of the day, came the following—
‘When I was last in Paris, and the guest of Gambetta (it is a curious fact, by the way, that Gambetta has an exceedingly foul44 breath, and seldom or never changes his woollen shirt or washes his large feet), our talk turned on a volume which had just appeared, “Parfums de la Chair.” The title having a strong attraction for the not too clean Republican, he had bought the book. He admired it exceedingly. The affair is brought to my memory by the fact that the author is now in London. The other night, when we met at the house of a mutual45 friend, I asked him if he had ever been at Brussels, and visited professionally at a certain boarding school, and, if so, whether he had acquired there sufficient classical attainments46 to tell me if the goddess Diana had ever eloped with her music master, or appeared upon the public stage?’
Sutherland rose to his feet, crushing the paper between his clenched hands.
‘It is simply devilish,’ he cried. ‘O that I had the ruffian by the throat! I would choke him like a dog!’
‘I grant you it is horrible,’ said Crieff, ‘but what does it mean?’
‘Cannot you see? It is an infernal plot to ruin an unhappy woman.’
‘There is no doubt as to whom it points?’
‘None.’
‘Diana Vere was her stage name, you see? But is there any truth————’
‘Truth? Do you expect it from these vermin? Their end is calumny47, torture their delight. If I were only her brother—even her friend!’
‘Eh, what would you do?’
‘Thrash this devil within an inch of his life!’
‘And if you did, he would only thank you for an excellent advertisement. That’s the worst of it; he lives on recriminations. I’m really very sorry; for Lagardère, I have always held, has his good points. He has really a kind heart, as has been repeatedly shown by his generosity48 to the sick and suffering. He got up that idea of supplying old toys to the sick children in the hospitals, and I know for a fact that he kept Potts Peters, the dramatist, from starvation. I don’t think he realises the mischief49 he does. He calls it “plain speaking,” another name for calumny.’
‘Damn him!’ said Sutherland between his set teeth.
‘With all my heart, but I’ll pity him too; for one act of true kindness atones50 for many sins of judgment51. But I haven’t shown you all. The wasps52 are all at it. Look at this in the “Whirligig.”’
He handed another journal to Sutherland, who took it with trembling hands, and, glancing down a number of paragraphs similar to those in the ‘Plain Speaker,’ came upon the following:—
‘My dear Hubert, why will you pretend to omniscience53? You are all very well when you are telling us of your escapades in Russia, and your sad experiences of theatrical54 mismanagement in St. Mary Axe55, but you should really try to be correct in your classical gossip. Diana never bolted with a music master, and she was never at Brussels. The affair to which you allude56 took place at Rouen, and the gentleman was a teacher of languages. Try again, Hubert.’
After a few general paragraphs, one of which accused a certain royal personage of having a liaison57 with his cook, came another piece of mysterious gossip:—
‘If it is to become a cause célèbre, no one will regret it more than myself; though I shall rejoice, too, if it brings the peccant fair one back to the stage. I am sorry for the husband, but it is really his own fault. A person so well known as an Art connoisseur58 ought to have seen at a glance that the picture was damaged—before he bought it.’
The italics were the writer’s.
Livid with horror and indignation, Sutherland held the newspaper to Crieff.
‘Who—who wrote this?’ he cried.
‘Yahoo, I suspect—the editor of the “Whirligig.”’
‘Who and what is he?’
‘Edgar Yahoo, the last descendant of the race of the Yahoos, for the history of which see Swift’s “Gulliver”; the only difference being that this Yahoo no longer waits upon the nobler animal, but delights in airing himself upon its back.’
‘Explain!’
‘Yahoo lays claim to be the founder59 of the new system of journalism. From childhood upward he has aspired60 to be the social chiffonnier of his age. He rakes for garbage in the filth61 of the street and in the sewers62. Don’t you remember the verses MacAlpine wrote about him?
Who prances63 on through Rotten Row
Upon his golden-footed hay?
Who prances, ambles64, to and fro,
Always gay?
Who canters back along Mayfair,
Spreading foul odours on the air,
While all draw back to cry ‘Beware!
The Scavenger65 of Society!’
But, for Heaven’s sake, my dear Sutherland, don’t take this affair too seriously. It is very offensive, but no worse than they write of everybody, from the Queen downwards66; and I dare say it will do the lady in question no real harm.’
Sutherland was pacing up and down the room, a prey67 to the most violent agitation68. He wheeled round suddenly, and faced his companion.
‘Even while we speak, perhaps the poisoned arrows have shot home. I can see the poor child—for she is still a child—sickening under the shameless attack. I picture to myself a broken heart, a ruined home, and then——’
‘But suppose the insinuations are false?’
‘They may be false in essence, while having a certain foundation in fact. Remember the lines you yourself quoted to me when Lagardère was our theme on a former occasion—I mean the lines about “A lie which is half a truth.” Oh, it is horrible! horrible! I would rather live among the foulest69 of savages70 than among your literary Yahoos, your so-called human beings.’
Sutherland’s fears were right. When the poisoned arrows of slander71 and calumny are in the air, it is not long ere they reach their victim; and even as he spoke the cowardly work was complete.
That afternoon Madeline drove down to the Grosvenor Library, of which she was a member, to change some books. When she had made her choice of some new literature, and handed it to her footman to place in her carriage, she went upstairs to the ladies’ reading-room on the second floor.
The room was quite empty, and she strolled from table to table, turning over the new magazines, glancing at the journals. Presently she sat down, and began reading one of the theatrical papers, full of current gossip; for the old interest in histrionic affairs still clung to her, though she had abandoned all thoughts of returning to the stage.
Placing the theatrical paper aside after a few minutes, she took the next journal which came to her hand. It was the ‘Whirligig.’
Idly and listlessly she began glancing over its imbecile tittle-tattle. Suddenly her gaze was riveted72. She had come upon the paragraph beginning ‘My dear Hubert.’
There was no mistaking the innuendo73. That it referred to herself she could not doubt. Trembling like a leaf, she held the abominable74 journal in her hand, and almost by accident came upon the second paragraph.
She read on in horror, stung to the quick—
‘A person so well known as an Art connoisseur ought to have seen at a glance that the picture was damaged, before he bought it.’
It was real, then; all her horrible fear was justified75. Her enemy had not threatened in vain.
The room swam round her as she sank back, half swooning in her chair. Fortunately there was no one to observe her, for her face was pale as marble, and she seemed like one about to die.
Presently, summoning all her strength, she looked round the room, and her eye fell upon the last number ol the ‘Plain Speaker.’ She remembered the paragraph beginning ‘My dear Hubert and knowing enough of the amenities76 of personal journalism to be aware that the reference was to a paragraph in Lagardère’s paper, she took that paper up and searched it for the poison.
She had not far to search. She came without delay on the allusions77 to Luna, Diana, Pan, and the Satyrs, and on the mysterious matter concerning a boarding school and a music master.
The paper fell from her hands, and a low moan broke from her lips. She felt that she was lost indeed.
More than an hour elapsed before Madeline descended78 to her carriage. Her first impulse had been to fly, to destroy herself, to put herself beyond the power of calumny and cruelty. But at last, conquering her first fear, she determined to return home, and face her fate.
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1
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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professes
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| 声称( profess的第三人称单数 )； 宣称； 公开表明； 信奉 | |
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journalism
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| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
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screeching
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| v.发出尖叫声( screech的现在分词 )；发出粗而刺耳的声音；高叫 | |
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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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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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pretences
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| n.假装( pretence的名词复数 )；作假；自命；自称 | |
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redeeming
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| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
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pertinacious
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| adj.顽固的 | |
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spicier
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| adj.用香料调味的( spicy的比较级 )；有香料味的；有刺激性的；（故事、新闻等） 刺激的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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aspiration
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| n.志向，志趣抱负；渴望；(语)送气音；吸出 | |
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persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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reviled
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| v.辱骂，痛斥( revile的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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aspirant
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| n.热望者；adj.渴望的 | |
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interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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fatuousness
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| n.愚昧，昏庸，蠢 | |
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dwarfish
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| a.像侏儒的，矮小的 | |
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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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acidulous
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| adj.微酸的；苛薄的 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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garrulous
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| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
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slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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brewing
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| n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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reiteration
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| n. 重覆, 反覆, 重说 | |
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jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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attainments
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| 成就，造诣； 获得( attainment的名词复数 )； 达到； 造诣； 成就 | |
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calumny
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| n.诽谤，污蔑，中伤 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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atones
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| v.补偿，赎（罪）( atone的第三人称单数 )；补偿，弥补，赎回 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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52
wasps
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| 黄蜂( wasp的名词复数 )； 胡蜂； 易动怒的人； 刻毒的人 | |
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omniscience
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| n.全知，全知者，上帝 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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56
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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liaison
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| n.联系，（未婚男女间的）暖昧关系，私通 | |
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connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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aspired
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| v.渴望，追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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sewers
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| n.阴沟，污水管，下水道( sewer的名词复数 ) | |
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prances
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的第三人称单数 ) | |
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ambles
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的第三人称单数 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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scavenger
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| n.以腐尸为食的动物，清扫工 | |
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downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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67
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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68
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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69
foulest
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| adj.恶劣的( foul的最高级 )；邪恶的；难闻的；下流的 | |
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70
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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71
slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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72
riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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73
innuendo
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| n.暗指，讽刺 | |
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74
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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75
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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76
amenities
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| n.令人愉快的事物；礼仪；礼节；便利设施；礼仪( amenity的名词复数 )；便利设施；（环境等的）舒适；（性情等的）愉快 | |
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77
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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78
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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