“You see,” he said to his friend the Captain, “eating vegetables isn’t half bad, so long as you know what vegetables there are and eat all of them that you can. But there are two ways where it goes wrong among the gentry12. First, they’ve never had to eat a carrot or a potato because it was all there was in the house; so they’ve never learnt how to be really hungry for carrots, as that donkey might be. They only know the vegetables that are meant to help the meat. They know you take duck and peas; and when they turn vegetarian13 they can only think of the peas without the duck. They know you take lobster14 in a salad; and when they turn vegetarian they can only think of the salad without the lobster. But the other reason is worse. There’s plenty of good people even round here, and still more in the north, who get meat very seldom. But then, when they do get it, they gobble it up like good ’uns. But the trouble with the gentry is different. The trouble is, the same sort of gentry that don’t want to eat meat don’t really want to eat anything. The man called a Vegetarian who goes to Ivywood House is generally like a cow trying to live on a blade of grass a day. You and I, Captain, have pretty well been vegetarians15 for some time, so as not to break into the cheese, and we haven’t found it so difficult, because we eat as much as we can.”
“It’s not so difficult as being teetotallers,” answered Dalroy, “so as not to break into the cask. But I’ll never deny that I feel the better for that, too, on the whole. But only because I could leave off being one whenever I chose. And, now I come to think of it,” he cried, with one of his odd returns of animal energy, “if I’m to be a vegetarian why shouldn’t I drink? Why shouldn’t I have a purely16 vegetarian drink? Why shouldn’t I take vegetables in their highest form, so to speak? The modest vegetarians ought obviously to stick to wine or beer, plain vegetarian drinks, instead of filling their goblets17 with the blood of bulls and elephants, as all conventional meat-eaters do, I suppose. What is the matter?”
“Nothing,” answered Pump. “I was looking out for somebody who generally turns up about this time. But I think I’m fast.”
“I should never have thought so from the look of you,” answered the Captain, “but what I’m saying is that the drinking of decent fermented18 liquor is just simply the triumph of vegetarianism19. Why, it’s an inspiring idea! I could write a sort of song about it. As, for instance—
“You will find me drinking rum
Like a sailor in a slum,
You will find me drinking beer like a Bavarian;
You will find me drinking gin
In the lowest kind of inn,
Why, it’s a vista21 of verbal felicity and spiritual edification! It has I don’t know how many hundred aspects! Let’s see; how could the second verse go? Something like—
“So I cleared the inn of wine,
And I tried to climb the Sign;
But he said I couldn’t speak,
Because I was a Happy Vegetarian.”
I really think something instructive to the human race may come out of all this.... Hullo! Is that what you were looking for?”
The quadruped Quoodle came in out of the woods a whole minute later than the usual time and took his seat beside Humphrey’s left foot with a preoccupied24 air.
“Good old boy,” said the Captain. “You seem to have taken quite a fancy to us. I doubt, Hump, if he’s properly looked after up at the house. I particularly don’t want to talk against Ivywood, Hump. I don’t want his soul to be able in all eternity25 to accuse my soul of a mean detraction26. I want to be fair to him, because I hate him like hell, and he has taken from me all for which I lived. But I don’t think, with all this in my mind, I don’t think I say anything beyond what he would own himself (for his brain is clear) when I say that he could never understand an animal. And so he could never understand the animal side of a man. He doesn’t know to this day, Hump, that your sight and hearing are sixty times quicker than his. He doesn’t know that I have a better circulation. That explains the extraordinary people he picks up and acts with; he never looks at them as you and I look at that dog. There was a fellow calling himself Gluck who was (mainly by Ivywood’s influence, I believe) his colleague on the Turkish Conferences, being supposed to represent Germany. My dear Hump, he was a man that a great gentleman like Ivywood ought not to have touched with a barge-pole. It’s not the race he was—if it was one race—it’s the Sort he was. A coarse, common, Levantine nark and eavesdropper—but you mustn’t lose your temper, Hump. I implore27 you, Hump, to control this tendency to lose your temper when talking at any length about such people. Have recourse, Hump, to that consoling system of versification which I have already explained to you.
“Oh I knew a Doctor Gluck,
And his nose it had a hook,
And his attitudes were anything but Aryan;
So I gave him all the pork
That I had, upon a fork;
Because I am myself a Vegetarian.”
“If you are,” said Humphrey Pump, “you’d better come and eat some vegetables. The White Hat can be eaten cold—or raw, for that matter. But Bloodspots wants some cooking.”
“You are right, Hump,” said Dalroy, seating himself with every appearance of speechless greed. “I will be silent. As the poet says—
“I am silent in the Club,
I am silent in the pub,
I am silent on a bally peak in Darien;
For I stuff away for life,
Shoving peas in with a knife,
Because I am at heart a Vegetarian.”
He fell to his food with great gusto, dispatched a good deal of it in a very short time, threw a glance of gloomy envy at the cask, and then sprang to his feet again. He caught up the inn-sign from where it leant against the Pantomime Cottage, and planted it like a pike in the ground beside him. Then he began to sing again, in an even louder voice than before.
“O, Lord Ivywood may lop,
And is also free to top,
But——.”
“Do you know,” said Hump, also finishing his lunch, “that I’m rather tired of that particular tune29?”
“Tired, is it?” said the indignant Irishman, “then I’ll sing you a longer song, to an even worse tune, about more and more vegetarians, and you shall see me dance as well; and I will dance till you burst into tears and offer me the half of your kingdom; and I shall ask for Mr. Leveson’s head on the frying-pan. For this, let me tell you, is a song of oriental origin, celebrating the caprices of an ancient Babylonian Sultan and should be performed in palaces of ivory with palm trees and a bulbul accompaniment.”
“Nebuchadnezzar, the King of the Jews,
Suffered from new and original views,
He crawled on his hands and knees it’s said,
With grass in his mouth and a crown on his head,
With a wowtyiddly, etc.
“Those in traditional paths that trod,
Thought the thing was a curse from God;
But a Pioneer men always abuse,
Like Nebuchadnezzar the King of the Jews.”
Dalroy, as he sang this, actually began to dance about like a ballet girl, an enormous and ridiculous figure in the sunlight, waving the wooden sign around his head. Quoodle opened his eyes and pricked32 up his ears and seemed much interested in these extraordinary evolutions. Suddenly, with one of those startling changes that will transfigure the most sedentary dogs, Quoodle decided33 that the dance was a game, and began to bark and bound round the performer, sometimes leaping so far into the air as almost to threaten the man’s throat. But, though the sailor naturally knew less about dogs than the countryman, he knew enough about them (as about many other things) not to be afraid, and the voice he sang with might have drowned the baying of a pack.
Thought it a Futurist thing to do;
He offered them grass instead of bread,
So they stuffed him with grass when they cut off his head.
With a wowtyiddly, etc.
“For the pride of his soul he perished then,
But of course it is always of Pride that men
A Man in Advance of his Age accuse
Like Nebuchadnezzar the King of the Jews.
“Simeon Scudder of Styx, in Maine,
Thought of the thing and was at it again;
He gave good grass and water in pails
To a thousand Irishmen hammering rails,
With a wowtyiddly, etc.
“Appetites differ, and tied to a stake,
He was tarred and feathered for Conscience Sake;
But stoning the prophets is ancient news,
Like Nebuchadnezzar the King of the Jews.”
In an abandon, unusual even for him, he had danced his way down through the thistles into the jungle of weeds risen round the sunken Chapel35. And the dog, now fully36 convinced that it was not only a game but an expedition, perhaps a hunting expedition, ran barking in front of him, along the path that his own dog’s paws had already burst through the tangle37. Before Patrick Dalroy well knew what he was doing, or even remembered that he still carried the ridiculous signboard in his hand, he found himself outside the open porch of a sort of narrow tower at the angle of a building which, to the best of his recollection, he had never seen before. Quoodle instantly ran up four or five steps in the dark staircase inside, and then, lifting his ears again, looked back for his companion.
There is, perhaps, such a thing as asking too much of a man. If there is, it was asking too much of Patrick Dalroy to ask him not to accept so eccentric an invitation. Hurriedly plunging38 his unwieldy wooden ensign upright in the thick of thistles and grass, he bent39 his gigantic neck and shoulders to enter the porch, and proceeded to climb the stairs. It was quite dark, and it was only after at least two twists of the stone spiral that he saw light ahead of him, and then it was a sort of rent in the wall that seemed to him as ragged40 as the mouth of a Cornish cave. It was also so low that he had some difficulty in squeezing his bulk through it, but the dog had jumped through with an air of familiarity, and once more looked back to see him follow.
If he had found himself inside any ordinary domestic interior, he would instantly have repented41 his escapade and gone back. But he found himself in surroundings which he had never seen before, or even, in one sense, believed possible.
His first feeling was that he was walking in the most sealed and secret suite42 of apartments in the castle of a dream. All the chambers43 had that air of perpetually opening inwards which is the soul of the Arabian Nights. And the ornament45 was of the same tradition; gorgeous and flamboyant46, yet featureless and stiff. A purple mansion47 seemed to be built inside a green mansion and a golden mansion inside that. And the quaintly48 cut doorways49 or fretted50 lattices all had wavy51 lines like a dancing sea, and for some reason (sea-sickness for all he knew) this gave him a feeling as if the place were beautiful but faintly evil: as if it were bored and twisted for the fallen palace of the Worm.
But he had also another sensation which he could not analyze52; for it reminded him of being a fly on the ceiling or the wall. Was it the Hanging Gardens of Babylon coming back to his imagination; or the Castle East of the Sun and West of the Moon? Then he remembered that in some boyish illness he had stared at a rather Moorish53 sort of wall paper, which was like rows and rows of brightly coloured corridors, empty and going on forever. And he remembered that a fly was walking along one of the parallel lines; and it seemed to his childish fancy that the corridors were all dead in front of the fly, but all came to life as he passed.
“By George!” he cried, “I wonder whether that’s the real truth about East and West! That the gorgeous East offers everything needed for adventures except the man to enjoy them. It would explain the tradition of the Crusades uncommonly54 well. Perhaps that’s what God meant by Europe and Asia. We dress the characters and they paint the scenery. Well, anyhow, three of the least Asiatic things in the world are lost in this endless Asiatic palace—a good dog, a straight sword, and an Irishman.”
But as he went down this telescope of tropical colours he really felt something of that hard fatalistic freedom of the heroes (or should we say villains55?) in the Arabian Nights. He was prepared for any impossibility. He would hardly have been surprised if from under the lid of one of the porcelain56 pots standing57 in a corner had come a serpentine58 string of blue or yellow smoke, as if some wizard’s oil were within. He would hardly have been surprised if from under the curtains or closed doors had crawled out a snakey track of blood, or if a dumb negro dressed in white had come out with a bow string, having done his work. He would not have been surprised if he had walked suddenly into the still chamber44 of some Sultan asleep, whom to wake was a death in torments59. And yet he was very much more surprised by what he did see, and when he saw it, he was certain at last that he was only wandering in the labyrinth60 of his own brain. For what he saw was what was really in the core of all his dreams.
What he saw, indeed, was more appropriate to that inmost eastern chamber than anything he had imagined. On a divan61 of blood-red and orange cushions lay a startlingly beautiful woman, with a skin almost swarthy enough for an Arab’s, and who might well have been the Princess proper to such an Arabian tale. But in truth it was not her appropriateness to the scene, but rather her inappropriateness, that made his heart bound. It was not her strangeness but her familiarity that made his big feet suddenly stop.
The dog ran on yet more rapidly, and the princess on the sofa welcomed him warmly, lifting him on his short hind62 legs. Then she looked up, and seemed turned to stone.
“Bismillah,” said the oriental traveller, affably, “may your shadow never grow less—or more, as the ladies would say. The Commander of the Faithful has deputed his least competent slave to bring you back a dog. Owing to temporary delay in collecting the fifteen largest diamonds in the moon, he has been compelled to send the animal without any collar. Those responsible for the delay will instantly be beaten to death with the tails of dragons—”
The frightful63 shock, which had not yet left the lady’s face, brought him back to responsible speech.
“In short,” he said, “in the name of the Prophet, dog. I say, Joan, I wish this wasn’t a dream.”
“It isn’t,” said the girl, speaking for the first time, “and I don’t know yet whether I wish it was.”
“Well,” argued the dreamer, rationally, “what are you, anytime, if you’re not a dream—or a vision? And what are all these rooms, if they aren’t a dream—or rather a nightmare?”
“This is the new wing of Ivywood House,” said the lady addressed as Joan, speaking with great difficulty. “Lord Ivywood has fitted them up in the eastern style; he is inside conducting a most interesting debate in defence of Eastern Vegetarianism. I only came out because the room was rather hot.”
“Vegetarian!” cried Dalroy, with abrupt64 and rather unreasonable65 exasperation66. “That table seems to fall a bit short of Vegetarianism.” And he pointed67 to one of the long, narrow tables, laid somewhere in almost all the central rooms, and loaded with elaborate cold meats and expensive wines.
“He must be liberal-minded,” cried Joan, who seemed to be on the verge68 of something, possibly temper. “He can’t expect people suddenly to begin being Vegetarians when they’ve never been before.”
“It has been done,” said Dalroy, tranquilly69, walking across to look at the table. “I say, your ascetical friends seem to have made a pretty good hole in the champagne70. You may not believe it, Joan, but I haven’t touched what you call alcohol for a month.”
With which words he filled with champagne a large tumbler intended for claret cup and swallowed it at a draught71.
Lady Joan Brett stood up straight but trembling.
“Now that’s really wrong, Pat,” she cried. “Oh, don’t be silly—you know I don’t care about the alcohol or all that. But you’re in the man’s house, uninvited, and he doesn’t know. That wasn’t like you.”
“He shall know, all right,” said the large man, quietly. “I know the exact price of a tumbler of that champagne.”
And he scribbled72 some words in pencil on the back of a bill of fare on the table, and then carefully laid three shillings on top of it.
“And there you do Phillip the worst wrong of all,” cried Lady Joan, flaming white. “You know as well as I do, anyhow, that he would not take your money.”
Patrick Dalroy stood looking at her for some seconds with an expression on his broad and unusually open face which she found utterly73 puzzling.
“Curiously enough,” he observed, at last, and with absolutely even temper, “curiously enough, it is you who are doing Phillip Ivywood a wrong. I think him quite capable of breaking England or Creation. But I do honestly think he would never break his word. And what is more, I think the more arbitrary and literal his word had been, the more he would keep it. You will never understand a man like that, till you understand that he can have devotion to a definition; even a new definition. He can really feel about an amendment74 to an Act of Parliament, inserted at the last moment, as you feel about England or your mother.”
“Oh, don’t philosophise,” cried Joan suddenly. “Can’t you see this has been a shock?”
“I only want you to see the point,” he replied. “Lord Ivywood clearly told me, with his own careful lips, that I might go in and pay for fermented liquor in any place displaying a public sign outside. And he won’t go back on that definition or on any definition. If he finds me here, he may quite possibly put me in prison on some other charge, as a thief or a vagabond, or what not. But he will not grudge75 the champagne. And he will accept the three shillings. And I shall honour him for his glorious consistency76.”
“I don’t understand,” said Joan, “one word of what you are talking about. Which way did you come? How can I get you away? You don’t seem to grasp that you’re in Ivywood House.”
“You see there’s a new name outside the gate,” observed Patrick, conversationally77, and led the lady to the end of the corridor by which he had entered and into its ultimate turret78 chamber.
Following his indications, Lady Joan peered a little over the edge of the window where hung the brilliant purple bird in its brilliant golden cage. Almost immediately below, outside the entrance to the half-closed stairway, stood a wooden tavern79 sign, as solid and still as if it had been there for centuries.
“All back at the sign of ‘The Old Ship,’ you see,” said the Captain. “Can I offer you anything in a ladylike way?”
There was a vast impudence80 in the slight, hospitable81 movement of his hand, that disturbed Lady Joan’s features with an emotion other than any that she desired to show.
He caught her to him as in a whirlwind, and then vanished from the fairy turret like a blast, leaving her standing with her hand up to her wild black hair.
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1
fungus
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| n.真菌，真菌类植物 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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naturalist
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| n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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botanist
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| n.植物学家 | |
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edible
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| n.食品，食物；adj.可食用的 | |
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8
fungi
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| n.真菌，霉菌 | |
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9
naturalists
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| n.博物学家( naturalist的名词复数 )；（文学艺术的）自然主义者 | |
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10
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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11
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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13
vegetarian
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| n.素食者；adj.素食的 | |
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lobster
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| n.龙虾，龙虾肉 | |
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15
vegetarians
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| n.吃素的人( vegetarian的名词复数 )；素食者；素食主义者；食草动物 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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goblets
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| n.高脚酒杯( goblet的名词复数 ) | |
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fermented
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| v.（使）发酵( ferment的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）激动；骚动；骚扰 | |
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vegetarianism
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| n.素食，素食主义 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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detraction
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| n.减损；诽谤 | |
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implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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sylvan
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| adj.森林的 | |
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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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bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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lyric
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| n.抒情诗，歌词；adj.抒情的 | |
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pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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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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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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flamboyant
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| adj.火焰般的，华丽的，炫耀的 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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52
analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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53
moorish
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| adj.沼地的，荒野的，生[住]在沼地的 | |
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uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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56
porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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serpentine
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| adj.蜿蜒的，弯曲的 | |
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59
torments
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| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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60
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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61
divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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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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exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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68
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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69
tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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72
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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amendment
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| n.改正，修正，改善，修正案 | |
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75
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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conversationally
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| adv.会话地 | |
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turret
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| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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geniality
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| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
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