Mr. Rodney would have accompanied Endymion to Somerset House under any circumstances, but it so happened that he had reasons of his own for a visit to that celebrated1 building. He had occasion to see a gentleman who was stationed there. “Not,” as he added to Endymion, “that I know many here, but at the Treasury2 and in Downing Street I have several acquaintances.”
They separated at the door in the great quadrangle which led to the department to which Endymion was attached, and he contrived3 in due time to deliver to a messenger a letter addressed to his future chief. He was kept some time in a gloomy and almost unfurnished waiting-room, and his thoughts in a desponding mood were gathering4 round the dear ones who were distant, when he was summoned, and, following the messenger down a passage, was ushered5 into a lively apartment on which the sun was shining, and which, with its well-lined book-shelves, and tables covered with papers, and bright noisy clock, and general air of habitation and business, contrasted favourably6 with the room he had just quitted. A good-natured-looking man held out his hand and welcomed him cordially, and said at once, “I served, Mr. Ferrars, under your grandfather at the Treasury, and I am glad to see you here.” Then he spoke7 of the duties which Endymion would have at present to discharge. His labours at first would be somewhat mechanical; they would require only correctness and diligence; but the office was a large one, and promotion8 not only sure, but sometimes rapid, and as he was so young, he might with attention count on attaining9, while yet in the prime of life, a future of very responsible duties and of no inconsiderable emolument10. And while he was speaking he rang the bell and commanded the attendance of a clerk, under whose care Endymion was specially11 placed. This was a young man of pleasant address, who invited Endymion with kindness to accompany him, and leading him through several chambers12, some capacious, and all full of clerks seated on high stools and writing at desks, finally ushered him into a smaller chamber13 where there were not above six or eight at work, and where there was a vacant seat. “This is your place,” he said, “and now I will introduce you to your future comrades. This is Mr. Jawett, the greatest Radical14 of the age, and who, when he is President of the Republic, will, I hope, do a job for his friends here. This is Mr. St. Barbe, who, when the public taste has improved, will be the most popular author of the day. In the meantime he will give you a copy of his novel, which has not sold as it ought to have done, and in which we say he has quizzed all his friends. This is Mr. Seymour Hicks, who, as you must perceive, is a man of fashion.” And so he went on, with what was evidently accustomed raillery. All laughed, and all said something courteous15 to Endymion, and then after a few minutes they resumed their tasks, Endymion’s work being to copy long lists of figures, and routine documents of public accounts.
In the meantime, Mr. St. Barbe was busy in drawing up a public document of a different but important character, and which was conceived something in this fashion:—
“We, the undersigned, highly approving of the personal appearance and manners of our new colleague, are unanimously of opinion that he should be invited to join our symposium16 today at the immortal17 Joe’s.”
This was quietly passed round and signed by all present, and then given to Mr. Trenchard, who, all unconsciously to the copying Endymion, wrote upon it, like a minister of state, “Approved,” with his initial.
Joe’s, more technically18 known as “The Blue Posts,” was a celebrated chop-house in Naseby Street, a large, low-ceilinged, wainscoted room, with the floor strewn with sawdust, and a hissing19 kitchen in the centre, and fitted up with what were called boxes, these being of various sizes, and suitable to the number of the guests requiring them. About this time the fashionable coffee-houses, George’s and the Piazza20, and even the coffee-rooms of Stevens’ or Long’s, had begun to feel the injurious competition of the new clubs that of late years had been established; but these, after all, were limited, and, comparatively speaking, exclusive societies. Their influence had not touched the chop-houses, and it required another quarter of a century before their cheerful and hospitable21 roofs and the old taverns22 of London, so full, it ever seemed, of merriment and wisdom, yielded to the gradually increasing but irresistible23 influence of those innumerable associations, which, under classic names, or affecting to be the junior branches of celebrated confederacies, have since secured to the million, at cost price, all the delicacies24 of the season, and substituted for the zealous25 energy of immortal JOES the inexorable but frigid26 discipline of managing committees.
“You are our guest today,” said Mr. Trenchard to Endymion. “Do not be embarrassed. It is a custom with us, but not a ruinous one. We dine off the joint27, but the meat is first-rate, and you may have as much as you like, and our tipple28 is half-and-half. Perhaps you do not know it. Let me drink to your health.”
They ate most heartily29; but when their well-earned meal was despatched, their conversation, assisted by a moderate portion of some celebrated toddy, became animated30, various, and interesting. Endymion was highly amused; but being a stranger, and the youngest present, his silence was not unbecoming, and his manner indicated that it was not occasioned by want of sympathy. The talk was very political. They were all what are called Liberals, having all of them received their appointments since the catastrophe31 of 1830; but the shades in the colour of their opinions were various and strong. Jawett was uncompromising; ruthlessly logical, his principles being clear, he was for what he called “carrying them out” to their just conclusions. Trenchard, on the contrary, thought everything ought to be a compromise, and that a public man ceased to be practical the moment he was logical. St. Barbe believed that literature and the arts, and intellect generally, had as little to hope for from one party as from the other; while Seymour Hicks was of opinion that the Tories never would rally, owing to their deficiency in social influences. Seymour Hicks sometimes got an invitation to a ministerial soiree.
The vote of the House of Commons in favour of an appropriation32 of the surplus revenues of the Irish Church to the purposes of secular33 education—a vote which had just changed the government and expelled the Tories—was much discussed. Jawett denounced it as a miserable34 subterfuge35, but with a mildness of manner and a mincing36 expression, which amusingly contrasted with the violence of his principles and the strength of his language.
“The whole of the revenues of the Protestant Church should be at once appropriated to secular education, or to some other purpose of general utility,” he said. “And it must come to this.”
Trenchard thought the ministry37 had gone as far in this matter as they well could, and Seymour Hicks remarked that any government which systematically38 attacked the Church would have “society” against it. Endymion, who felt very nervous, but who on Church questions had strong convictions, ventured to ask why the Church should be deprived of its property.
“In the case of Ireland,” replied Jawett, quite in a tone of conciliatory condescension39, “because it does not fulfil the purpose for which it was endowed. It has got the property of the nation, and it is not the Church of the people. But I go further than that. I would disendow every Church. They are not productive institutions. There is no reason why they should exist. There is no use in them.”
“No use in the Church!” said Endymion, reddening; but Mr. Trenchard, who had tact40, here interfered41, and said, “I told you our friend Jawett is a great Radical; but he is in a minority among us on these matters. Everybody, however, says what he likes at Joe’s.”
Then they talked of theatres, and critically discussed the articles in the daily papers and the last new book, and there was much discussion respecting a contemplated42 subscription43 boat; but still, in general, it was remarkable44 how they relapsed into their favourite subject—speculation upon men in office, both permanent and parliamentary, upon their characters and capacity, their habits and tempers. One was a good administrator45, another did nothing; one had no detail, another too much; one was a screw, another a spendthrift; this man could make a set speech, but could not reply; his rival, capital at a reply but clumsy in a formal oration46.
At this time London was a very dull city, instead of being, as it is now, a very amusing one. Probably there never was a city in the world, with so vast a population, which was so melancholy47. The aristocracy probably have always found amusements adapted to the manners of the time and the age in which they lived. The middle classes, half a century ago, had little distraction48 from their monotonous49 toil50 and melancholy anxieties, except, perhaps, what they found in religious and philanthropic societies. Their general life must have been very dull. Some traditionary merriment always lingered among the working classes of England. Both in town and country they had always their games and fairs and junketing parties, which have developed into excursion trains and colossal51 pic-nics. But of all classes of the community, in the days of our fathers, there was none so unfortunate in respect of public amusements as the bachelors about town. There were, one might almost say, only two theatres, and they so huge, that it was difficult to see or hear in either. Their monopolies, no longer redeemed52 by the stately genius of the Kembles, the pathos53 of Miss O’Neill, or the fiery54 passion of Kean, were already menaced, and were soon about to fall; but the crowd of diminutive55 but sparkling substitutes, which have since taken their place, had not yet appeared, and half-price at Drury Lane or Covent Garden was a dreary56 distraction after a morning of desk work. There were no Alhambras then, and no Cremornes, no palaces of crystal in terraced gardens, no casinos, no music-halls, no aquaria, no promenade57 concerts. Evans’ existed, but not in the fulness of its modern development; and the most popular place of resort was the barbarous conviviality58 of the Cider Cellar.
Mr. Trenchard had paid the bill, collected his quotas59 and rewarded the waiter, and then, as they all rose, said to Endymion, “We are going to the Divan60. Do you smoke?”
Endymion shook his head; but Trenchard added, “Well, you will some day; but you had better come with us. You need not smoke; you can order a cup of coffee, and then you may read all the newspapers and magazines. It is a nice lounge.”
So, emerging from Naseby Street into the Strand61, they soon entered a tobacconist’s shop, and passing through it were admitted into a capacious saloon, well lit and fitted up with low, broad sofas, fixed62 against the walls, and on which were seated, or reclining, many persons, chiefly smoking cigars, but some few practising with the hookah and other oriental modes. In the centre of the room was a table covered with newspapers and publications of that class. The companions from Joe’s became separated after their entrance, and St. Barbe, addressing Endymion, said, “I am not inclined to smoke today. We will order some coffee, and you will find some amusement in this;” and he placed in his hands a number of “SCARAMOUCH.”
“I hope you will like your new life,” said St. Barbe, throwing down a review on the Divan, and leaning back sipping63 his coffee. “One thing may be said in favour of it: you will work with a body of as true-hearted comrades as ever existed. They are always ready to assist one. Thorough good-natured fellows, that I will say for them. I suppose it is adversity,” he continued, “that develops the kindly64 qualities of our nature. I believe the sense of common degradation65 has a tendency to make the degraded amiable—at least among themselves. I am told it is found so in the plantations66 in slave-gangs.”
“But I hope we are not a slave-gang,” said Endymion.
“It is horrible to think of gentlemen, and men of education, and perhaps first-rate talents—who knows?—reduced to our straits,” said St. Barbe. “I do not follow Jawett in all his views, for I hate political economy, and never could understand it; and he gives it you pure and simple, eh? eh?—but, I say, it is something awful to think of the incomes that some men are making, who could no more write an article in ‘SCARAMOUCH’ than fly.”
“But our incomes may improve,” said Endymion. “I was told today that promotion was even rapid in our office.”
“Our incomes may improve when we are bent67 and grey,” said St. Barbe, “and we may even retire on a pension about as good as a nobleman leaves to his valet. Oh, it is a horrid68 world! Your father is a privy69 councillor, is not he?”
“Yes, and so was my grandfather, but I do not think I shall ever be one.”
“It is a great thing to have a father a privy councillor,” said St. Barbe, with a glance of envy. “If I were the son of a privy councillor, those demons70, Shuffle71 and Screw, would give me 500 pounds for my novel, which now they put in their beastly magazine and print in small type, and do not pay me so much as a powdered flunkey has in St. James’ Square. I agree with Jawett: the whole thing is rotten.”
“Mr. Jawett seems to have very strange opinions,” said Endymion. “I did not like to hear what he said at dinner about the Church, but Mr. Trenchard turned the conversation, and I thought it best to let it pass.”
“Trenchard is a sensible man, and a good fellow,” said St. Barbe; “you like him?”
“I find him kind.”
“Do you know,” said St. Barbe, in a whisper, and with a distressed72 and almost vindictive73 expression of countenance74, “that man may come any day into four thousand a year. There is only one life between him and the present owner. I believe it is a good life,” he added, in a more cheerful voice, “but still it might happen. Is it not horrible? Four thousand a year! Trenchard with four thousand a year, and we receiving little more than the pay of a butler!”
“Well, I wish, for his sake, he might have it,” said Endymion, “though I might lose a kind friend.”
“Look at Seymour Hicks,” said St. Barbe; “he has smoked his cigar, and he is going. He never remains75. He is going to a party, I’ll be found. That fellow gets about in a most extraordinary manner. Is it not disgusting? I doubt whether he is asked much to dinner though, or I think we should have heard of it. Nevertheless, Trenchard said the other day that Hicks had dined with Lord Cinque–Ports. I can hardly believe it; it would be too disgusting. No lord ever asked me to dinner. But the aristocracy of this country are doomed76!”
“Mr. Hicks,” said Endymion, “probably lays himself out for society.”
“I suppose you will,” said St. Barbe, with a scrutinising air. “I should if I were the son of a privy councillor. Hicks is nothing; his father kept a stable-yard and his mother was an actress. We have had several dignitaries of the Church in my family and one admiral. And yet Hicks dines with Lord Cinque–Ports! It is positively77 revolting! But the things he does to get asked!—sings, rants78, conjures79, ventriloquises, mimics80, stands on his head. His great performance is a parliamentary debate. We will make him do it for you. And yet with all this a dull dog—a very dull dog, sir. He wrote for ‘Scaramouch’ some little time, but they can stand it no more. Between you and me, he has had notice to quit. That I know; and he will probably get the letter when he goes home from his party to-night. So much for success in society! I shall now say good-night to you.”
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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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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promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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attaining
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的现在分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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emolument
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| n.报酬，薪水 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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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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radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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symposium
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| n.讨论会，专题报告会；专题论文集 | |
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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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technically
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| adv.专门地，技术上地 | |
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hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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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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taverns
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| n.小旅馆，客栈，酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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joint
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tipple
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| n.常喝的酒；v.不断喝，饮烈酒 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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appropriation
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| n.拨款，批准支出 | |
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secular
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| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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subterfuge
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| n.诡计；藉口 | |
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mincing
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| adj.矫饰的；v.切碎；切碎 | |
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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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systematically
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| adv.有系统地 | |
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condescension
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tact
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interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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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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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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administrator
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| n.经营管理者，行政官员 | |
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oration
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melancholy
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distraction
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monotonous
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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colossal
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redeemed
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| adj. 可赎回的，可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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promenade
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conviviality
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| n.欢宴，高兴，欢乐 | |
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quotas
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| （正式限定的）定量( quota的名词复数 )； 定额； 指标； 摊派 | |
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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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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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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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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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70
demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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71
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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72
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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73
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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74
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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75
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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76
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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77
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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78
rants
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| n.夸夸其谈( rant的名词复数 )；大叫大嚷地以…说教；气愤地)大叫大嚷；不停地大声抱怨v.夸夸其谈( rant的第三人称单数 )；大叫大嚷地以…说教；气愤地)大叫大嚷；不停地大声抱怨 | |
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79
conjures
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的第三人称单数 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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80
mimics
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| n.模仿名人言行的娱乐演员，滑稽剧演员( mimic的名词复数 )；善于模仿的人或物v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的第三人称单数 )；酷似 | |
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