The morning was fine — the sun shone out with a yellow splendour — all nature was refreshed — a pleasant smell rose up from tree, and flower, and earth. The now dry pavement and all the row of village windows were glittering merrily — the sparrows twittered their lively morning gossip among the thick ivy1 of the old church tower — here and there the village cock challenged his neighbour with high and vaunting crow, and the bugle2 notes soared sweetly into the air from the artillery3 ground beside the river.
Moore, the barber, was already busy making his morning circuit, servant men and maids were dropping in and out at the baker’s, and old Poll Delany, in her weather-stained red hood4, and neat little Kitty Lane, with her bright young careful face and white basket, were calling at the doors of their customers with new laid eggs. Through half-opened hall doors you might see the powdered servant, or the sprightly5 maid in her mob-cap in hot haste steaming away with the red japanned ‘tea kitchen’ into the parlour. The town of Chapelizod, in short, was just sitting down to its breakfast.
Mervyn, in the meantime, had had his solitary6 meal in the famous back parlour of the Phoenix7, where the newspapers lay, and all comers were welcome. He was by no means a bad hero to look at, if such a thing were needed. His face was pale, melancholy8, statuesque — and his large enthusiastic eyes, suggested a story and a secret — perhaps a horror. Most men, had they known all, would have wondered with good Doctor Walsingham, why, of all places in the world, he should have chosen the little town where he now stood for even a temporary residence. It was not a perversity9, but rather a fascination10. His whole life had been a flight and a pursuit — a vain endeavour to escape from the evil spirit that pursued him — and a chase of a chimera11.
He was standing12 at the window, not indeed enjoying, as another man might, the quiet verdure of the scene, and the fragrant13 air, and all the mellowed14 sounds of village life, but lost in a sad and dreadful reverie, when in bounced little red-faced bustling15 Dr. Toole — the joke and the chuckle16 with which he had just requited17 the fat old barmaid still ringing in the passage —‘Stay there, sweetheart,’ addressed to a dog squeezing by him, and which screeched18 out as he kicked it neatly19 round the door-post.
‘Hey, your most obedient, Sir,’ cried the doctor, with a short but grand bow, affecting surprise, though his chief object in visiting the back parlour at that moment was precisely20 to make a personal inspection21 of the stranger. ‘Pray, don’t mind me, Sir,— your — ho! Breakfast ended, eh? Coffee not so bad, Sir; rather good coffee, I hold it, at the Phoenix. Cream very choice, Sir?— I don’t tell ’em so though (a wink); it might not improve it, you know. I hope they gave you — eh?— eh? (he peeped into the cream-ewer, which he turned towards the light, with a whisk). And no disputing the eggs — forty-eight hens in the poultry22 yard, and ninety ducks in Tresham’s little garden, next door to Sturk’s. They make a precious noise, I can tell you, when it showers. Sturk threatens to shoot ’em. He’s the artillery surgeon here; and Tom Larkin said, last night, it’s because they only dabble23 and quack24 — and two of a trade, you know — ha! ha! ha! And what a night we had — dark as Erebus — pouring like pumps, by Jove. I’ll remember it, I warrant you. Out on business — a medical man, you know, can’t always choose — and near meeting a bad accident too. Anything in the paper, eh? ho! I see, Sir, haven’t read it. Well, and what do you think — a queer night for the purpose, eh? you’ll say — we had a funeral in the town last night, Sir — some one from Dublin. It was Tressel’s men came out. The turnpike rogue25 — just round the corner there — one of the talkingest gossips in the town — and a confounded prying26, tattling place it is, I can tell you — knows the driver; and Bob Martin, the sexton, you know — tells me there were two parsons, no less — hey! Cauliflowers in season, by Jove. Old Dr. Walsingham, our rector, a pious27 man, Sir, and does a world of good — that is to say, relieves half the blackguards in the parish — ha! ha! when we’re on the point of getting rid of them — but means well, only he’s a little bit lazy, and queer, you know; and that rancid, raw-boned parson, Gillespie — how the plague did they pick him up?— one of the mutes told Bob ’twas he. He’s from Donegal; I know all about him; the sourest dog I ever broke bread with — and mason, if you please, by Jove — a prince pelican28! He supped at the Grand Lodge29 after labour, one night — you’re not a mason, I see; tipt you the sign — and his face was so pinched, and so yellow, by Jupiter, I was near squeezing it into the punch-bowl for a lemon — ha! ha! hey?’
Mervyn’s large eyes expressed a well-bred surprise. Dr. Toole paused for nearly a minute, as if expecting something in return; but it did not come.
So the doctor started afresh, never caring for Mervyn’s somewhat dangerous looks.
‘Mighty pretty prospects31 about here, Sir. The painters come out by dozens in the summer, with their books and pencils, and scratch away like so many Scotchmen. Ha! ha! ha! If you draw, Sir, there’s one prospect30 up the river, by the mills — upon my conscience — but you don’t draw?’
No answer.
‘A little, Sir, maybe? Just for a maggot, I’ll wager32 — like my good lady, Mrs. Toole.’ A nearer glance at his dress had satisfied Toole that he was too much of a maccaroni for an artist, and he was thinking of placing him upon the lord lieutenant’s staff. ‘We’ve capital horses here, if you want to go on to Leixlip,’ (where — this between ourselves and the reader — during the summer months His Excellency and Lady Townshend resided, and where, the old newspapers tell us, they ‘kept a public day every Monday,’ and he ‘had a levée, as usual, every Thursday.’) But this had no better success.
‘If you design to stay over the day, and care for shooting, we’ll have some ball practice on Palmerstown fair-green today. Seven baronies to shoot for ten and five guineas. One o’clock, hey?’
At this moment entered Major O’Neill, of the Royal Irish Artillery, a small man, very neatly got up, and with a decidedly Milesian cast of countenance33, who said little, but smiled agreeably —
‘Gentlemen, your most obedient. Ha, doctor; how goes it?— anything new — anything on the Freeman?’
Toole had scanned that paper, and hummed out, as he rumpled34 it over,—‘nothing — very — particular. Here’s Lady Moira’s ball: fancy dresses — all Irish; no masks; a numerous appearance of the nobility and gentry35 — upwards36 of five hundred persons. A good many of your corps37 there, major?’
‘Ay, Lord Blackwater, of course, and the general, and Devereux, and little Puddock, and ——’
‘Sturk wasn’t,’ with a grin, interrupted Toole, who bore that practitioner38 no good-will. ‘A gentleman robbed, by two foot-pads, on Chapelizod-road, on Wednesday night, of his watch and money, together with his hat, wig39 and cane40, and lies now in a dangerous state, having been much abused; one of them dressed in an old light-coloured coat, wore a wig. By Jupiter, major, if I was in General Chattesworth’s place, with two hundred strapping41 fellows at my orders, I’d get a commission from Government to clear that road. It’s too bad, Sir, we can’t go in and out of town, unless in a body, after night-fall, but at the risk of our lives. [The convivial42 doctor felt this public scandal acutely.] The bloody-minded miscreants43, I’d catch every living soul of them, and burn them alive in tar-barrels. By Jove! here’s old Joe Napper, of Dirty-lane’s dead. Plenty of dry eyes after him. And stay, here’s another row.’ And so he read on.
In the meantime, stout44, tightly-braced Captain Cluffe of the same corps, and little dark, hard-faced, and solemn Mr. Nutter45, of the Mills, Lord Castlemallard’s agents, came in, and half a dozen more, chiefly members of the club, which met by night in the front parlour on the left, opposite the bar, where they entertained themselves with agreeable conversation, cards, backgammon, draughts46, and an occasional song by Dr. Toole, who was a florid tenor47, and used to give them, ‘While gentlefolks strut48 in silver and satins,’ or ‘A maiden49 of late had a merry design,’ or some other such ditty, with a recitation by plump little stage-stricken Ensign Puddock, who, in ‘thpite of hith lithp,’ gave rather spirited imitations of some of the players — Mossop, Sheridan, Macklin, Barry, and the rest. So Mervyn, the stranger, by no means affecting this agreeable society, took his cane and cocked-hat, and went out — the dark and handsome apparition50 — followed by curious glances from two or three pairs of eyes, and a whispered commentary and criticism from Toole.
So, taking a meditative51 ramble52 in ‘His Majesty’s Park, the Phoenix;’ and passing out at Castleknock gate, he walked up the river, between the wooded slopes, which make the valley of the Liffey so pleasant and picturesque53, until he reached the ferry, which crossing, he at the other side found himself not very far from Palmerstown, through which village his return route to Chapelizod lay.
1 ivy | |
n.常青藤,常春藤 | |
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2 bugle | |
n.军号,号角,喇叭;v.吹号,吹号召集 | |
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3 artillery | |
n.(军)火炮,大炮;炮兵(部队) | |
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4 hood | |
n.头巾,兜帽,覆盖;v.罩上,以头巾覆盖 | |
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5 sprightly | |
adj.愉快的,活泼的 | |
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6 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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7 phoenix | |
n.凤凰,长生(不死)鸟;引申为重生 | |
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8 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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9 perversity | |
n.任性;刚愎自用 | |
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10 fascination | |
n.令人着迷的事物,魅力,迷恋 | |
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11 chimera | |
n.神话怪物;梦幻 | |
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12 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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13 fragrant | |
adj.芬香的,馥郁的,愉快的 | |
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14 mellowed | |
(使)成熟( mellow的过去式和过去分词 ); 使色彩更加柔和,使酒更加醇香 | |
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15 bustling | |
adj.喧闹的 | |
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16 chuckle | |
vi./n.轻声笑,咯咯笑 | |
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17 requited | |
v.报答( requite的过去式和过去分词 );酬谢;回报;报复 | |
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18 screeched | |
v.发出尖叫声( screech的过去式和过去分词 );发出粗而刺耳的声音;高叫 | |
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19 neatly | |
adv.整洁地,干净地,灵巧地,熟练地 | |
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20 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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21 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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22 poultry | |
n.家禽,禽肉 | |
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23 dabble | |
v.涉足,浅赏 | |
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24 quack | |
n.庸医;江湖医生;冒充内行的人;骗子 | |
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25 rogue | |
n.流氓;v.游手好闲 | |
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26 prying | |
adj.爱打听的v.打听,刺探(他人的私事)( pry的现在分词 );撬开 | |
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27 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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28 pelican | |
n.鹈鹕,伽蓝鸟 | |
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29 lodge | |
v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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30 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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31 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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32 wager | |
n.赌注;vt.押注,打赌 | |
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33 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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34 rumpled | |
v.弄皱,使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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36 upwards | |
adv.向上,在更高处...以上 | |
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37 corps | |
n.(通信等兵种的)部队;(同类作的)一组 | |
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38 practitioner | |
n.实践者,从事者;(医生或律师等)开业者 | |
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39 wig | |
n.假发 | |
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40 cane | |
n.手杖,细长的茎,藤条;v.以杖击,以藤编制的 | |
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41 strapping | |
adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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42 convivial | |
adj.狂欢的,欢乐的 | |
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43 miscreants | |
n.恶棍,歹徒( miscreant的名词复数 ) | |
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45 nutter | |
n.疯子 | |
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46 draughts | |
n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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47 tenor | |
n.男高音(歌手),次中音(乐器),要旨,大意 | |
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48 strut | |
v.肿胀,鼓起;大摇大摆地走;炫耀;支撑;撑开;n.高视阔步;支柱,撑杆 | |
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49 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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50 apparition | |
n.幽灵,神奇的现象 | |
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51 meditative | |
adj.沉思的,冥想的 | |
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52 ramble | |
v.漫步,漫谈,漫游;n.漫步,闲谈,蔓延 | |
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53 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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