The misfortune which befell the simple and good-natured young Sackville, arose entirely2 from that abominable3 ‘Sarcophagus Club;’ and that he ever entered it was partly the fault of the present writer.
For seeing Mrs. Chuff, his mother-inlaw, had a taste for the genteel —(indeed, her talk was all about Lord Collingwood, Lord Gambier, Sir Jahaleel Brenton, and the Gosport and Plymouth balls)— Wagley and I, according to our wont4, trumped5 her conversation, and talked about Lords, Dukes, Marquises, and Baronets, as if those dignitaries were our familiar friends.
‘Lord Sextonbury,’ says I, ‘seems to have recovered her ladyship’s death. He and the Duke were very jolly over their wine at the “Sarcophagus” last night; weren’t they, Wagley?’
‘Good fellow, the Duke,’ Wagley replied. ‘Pray, ma’am’ (to Mrs. Chuff), ‘you who know the world and etiquette6, will you tell me what a man ought to do in my case? Last June, his Grace, his son Lord Castlerampant, Tom Smith, and myself were dining at the Club, when I offered the odds7 against DADDYLONGLEGS for the Derby — forty to one, in sovereigns only. His Grace took the bet, and of course I won. He has never paid me. Now, can I ask such a great man for a sovereign?— One more lump of sugar, if you please, my dear madam.’
It was lucky Wagley gave her this opportunity to elude8 the question, for it prostrated9 the whole worthy10 family among whom we were. They telegraphed each other with wondering eyes. Mrs. Chuff’s stories about the naval11 nobility grew quite faint and kind little Mrs. Sackville became uneasy, and went upstairs to look at the children — not at that young monster, Nelson Collingwood, who was sleeping off the whisky-and-water — but at a couple of little ones who had made their appearance at dessert, and of whom she and Sackville were the happy parents.
The end of this and subsequent meetings with Mr. Maine was, that we proposed and got him elected as a member of the ‘Sarcophagus Club.’
It was not done without a deal of opposition12 — the secret having been whispered that the candidate was a coal-merchant. You may be sure some of the proud people and most of the parvenus13 of the Club were ready to blackball him. We combated this opposition successfully, however. We pointed14 out to the parvenus that the Lambtons and the Stuarts sold coals: we mollified the proud by accounts of his good birth, good nature, and good behaviour; and Wagley went about on the day of election, describing with great eloquence15, the action between the ‘Pitchfork’ and the ‘Furibonde,’ and the valour of Captain Maine, our friend’s father. There was a slight mistake in the narrative16; but we carried our man, with only a trifling17 sprinkling of black beans in the boxes: Byles’s, of course, who blackballs everybody: and Bung’s, who looks down upon a coal-merchant, having himself lately retired18 from the wine-trade.
Some fortnight afterwards I saw Sackville Maine under the following circumstances:—
He was showing the Club to his family. He had ‘brought them thither19 in the light-blue fly, waiting at the Club door; with Mrs. Chuff’s hobbadehoy footboy on the box, by the side of the flyman, in a sham20 livery. Nelson Collingwood; pretty Mrs. Sackville; Mrs. Captain Chuff (Mrs. Commodore Chuff we call her), were all there; the latter, of course, in the vermilion tabinet, which, splendid as it is, is nothing in comparison to the splendour of the ‘Sarcophagus.’ The delighted Sackville Maine was pointing out the beauties of the place to them. It seemed as beautiful as Paradise to that little party.
The ‘Sarcophagus’ displays every known variety of architecture and decoration. The great library is Elizabethan; the small library is pointed Gothic; the dining-room is severe Doric; the strangers’ room has an Egyptian look; the drawing-rooms are Louis Quatorze (so called because the hideous21 ornaments22 displayed were used in the time of Louis Quinze); the CORTILE, or hall, is Morisco-Italian. It is all over marble, maplewood, looking-glasses, arabesques23, ormolu, and scagliola. Scrolls24, ciphers25, dragons, Cupids, polyanthuses, and other flowers writhe26 up the walls in every kind of cornucopiosity. Fancy every gentleman in Jullien’s band playing with all his might, and each performing a different tune1; the ornaments at our Club, the ‘Sarcophagus,’ so bewilder and affect me. Dazzled with emotions which I cannot describe, and which she dared not reveal, Mrs. Chuff, followed by her children and son-inlaw, walked wondering amongst these blundering splendours.
In the great library (225 feet long by 150) the only man Mrs. Chuff saw, was Tiggs. He was lying on a crimson-velvet sofa, reading a French novel of Paul de Kock. It was a very little book. He is a very little man. In that enormous hall he looked like a mere27 speck28. As the ladies passed breathless and trembling in the vastness of the magnificent solitude29, he threw a knowing, killing30 glance at the fair strangers, as much as to say, ‘Ain’t I a fine fellow?’ They thought so, I am sure.
‘WHO IS THAT?’ hisses31 out Mrs. Chuff, when we were about fifty yards off him at the other end of the room.
‘Tiggs!’ says I, in a similar whisper.
‘Pretty comfortable this, isn’t it, my dear?’ says Maine in a free-and-easy way to Mrs. Sackville; ‘all the magazines, you see — writing materials — new works — choice library, containing every work of importance — what have we here?—“Dugdale’s Monasticon,” a most valuable and, I believe, entertaining book.’
And proposing to take down one of the books for Mrs. Maine’s inspection32, he selected Volume VII., to which he was attracted by the singular fact that a brass33 door-handle grew out of the back. Instead of pulling out a book, however, he pulled open a cupboard, only inhabited by a lazy housemaid’s broom and duster, at which he looked exceedingly discomfited34; while Nelson Collingwood, losing all respect, burst into a roar of laughter.
‘That’s the rummest book I ever saw,’ says Nelson. ‘I wish we’d no others at Merchant Taylors’.’
‘Hush, Nelson!’ cries Mrs. Chuff, and we went into the other magnificent apartments.
How they did admire the drawing-room hangings, (pink and silver brocade, most excellent wear for London,) and calculated the price per yard; and revelled35 on the luxurious36 sofas; and gazed on the immeasurable looking-glasses.
‘Pretty well to shave by, eh?’ says Maine to his mother-inlaw. (He was getting more abominably37 conceited38 every minute.) ‘Get away, Sackville,’ says she, quite delighted, and threw a glance over her shoulder, and spread out the wings of the red tabinet, and took a good look at herself; so did Mrs. Sackville — just one, and I thought the glass reflected a very smiling, pretty creature.
But what’s a woman at a looking-glass? Bless the little dears, it’s their place. They fly to it naturally. It pleases them, and they adorn39 it. What I like to see, and watch with increasing joy and adoration40, is the Club MEN at the great looking-glasses. Old Gills pushing up his collars and grinning at his own mottled face. Hulker looking solemnly at his great person, and tightening41 his coat to give himself a waist. Fred Minchin simpering by as he is going out to dine, and casting upon the reflection of his white neckcloth a pleased moony smile. What a deal of vanity that Club mirror has reflected, to be sure!
Well, the ladies went through the whole establishment with perfect pleasure. They beheld42 the coffee-rooms, and the little tables laid for dinner, and the gentlemen who were taking their lunch, and old Jawkins thundering away as usual; they saw the reading-rooms, and the rush for the evening papers; they saw the kitchens — those wonders of art — where the CHEF was presiding over twenty pretty kitchen-maids, and ten thousand shining saucepans: and they got into the light-blue fly perfectly43 bewildered with pleasure.
Sackville did not enter it, though little Laura took the back seat on purpose, and left him the front place alongside of Mrs. Chuff’s red tabinet.
‘We have your favourite dinner,’ says she, in a timid voice; ‘won’t you come, Sackville?’
‘I shall take a chop here today, my dear,’ Sackville replied. ‘Home, James.’ And he went up the steps of the ‘Sarcophagus,’ and the pretty face looked very sad out of the carriage, as the blue fly drove away.
1 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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2 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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3 abominable | |
adj.可厌的,令人憎恶的 | |
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4 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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5 trumped | |
v.(牌戏)出王牌赢(一牌或一墩)( trump的过去分词 );吹号公告,吹号庆祝;吹喇叭;捏造 | |
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6 etiquette | |
n.礼仪,礼节;规矩 | |
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7 odds | |
n.让步,机率,可能性,比率;胜败优劣之别 | |
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8 elude | |
v.躲避,困惑 | |
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9 prostrated | |
v.使俯伏,使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 );(指疾病、天气等)使某人无能为力 | |
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10 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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11 naval | |
adj.海军的,军舰的,船的 | |
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12 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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13 parvenus | |
n.暴富者( parvenu的名词复数 );暴发户;新贵;傲慢自负的人 | |
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14 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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15 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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16 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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17 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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18 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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19 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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20 sham | |
n./adj.假冒(的),虚伪(的) | |
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21 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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22 ornaments | |
n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 );点缀;装饰品;首饰v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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23 arabesques | |
n.阿拉伯式花饰( arabesque的名词复数 );错综图饰;阿拉伯图案;阿拉贝斯克芭蕾舞姿(独脚站立,手前伸,另一脚一手向后伸) | |
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24 scrolls | |
n.(常用于录写正式文件的)纸卷( scroll的名词复数 );卷轴;涡卷形(装饰);卷形花纹v.(电脑屏幕上)从上到下移动(资料等),卷页( scroll的第三人称单数 );(似卷轴般)卷起;(像展开卷轴般地)将文字显示于屏幕 | |
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25 ciphers | |
n.密码( cipher的名词复数 );零;不重要的人;无价值的东西 | |
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26 writhe | |
vt.挣扎,痛苦地扭曲;vi.扭曲,翻腾,受苦;n.翻腾,苦恼 | |
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27 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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28 speck | |
n.微粒,小污点,小斑点 | |
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29 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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30 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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31 hisses | |
嘶嘶声( hiss的名词复数 ) | |
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32 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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33 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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34 discomfited | |
v.使为难( discomfit的过去式和过去分词);使狼狈;使挫折;挫败 | |
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35 revelled | |
v.作乐( revel的过去式和过去分词 );狂欢;着迷;陶醉 | |
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36 luxurious | |
adj.精美而昂贵的;豪华的 | |
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37 abominably | |
adv. 可恶地,可恨地,恶劣地 | |
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38 conceited | |
adj.自负的,骄傲自满的 | |
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39 adorn | |
vt.使美化,装饰 | |
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40 adoration | |
n.爱慕,崇拜 | |
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41 tightening | |
上紧,固定,紧密 | |
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42 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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43 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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