TOWARDS the end of that summer term I received the last visit and Grand Remonstrance1 of my cousin Jasper. I was just free of the schools, having taken the last paper of History Previous on the afternoon before; Jasper’s subfuse suit and white tie proclaimed him still in the thick of it; he had, too, the exhausted2 but resentful air of one who fears he has failed to do himself full justice on the subject of Pindar’s Orphism. Duty alone had brought him to my rooms, that afternoon at great inconvenience to himself and, as it happened, to me, who, when he caught me in the door, was on my way to make final arrangements about a dinner I was giving that evening. It was one of several parties designed to comfort Hardcastle - one of the tasks that had lately fallen to Sebastian and me since, by leaving his car out, we had got him into grave trouble with the proctors.
Jasper would not sit down; this was to be no cosy3 chat; he stood with his back to the fireplace and, in his own phrase, talked to me ‘like an uncle’. ‘...I’ve tried to get in touch with you several times in the last week or two. In fact, I have the impression you are avoiding me. If that is so, Charles, I can’t say I’m surprised. ‘You may think it none of my business, but I feel a sense of responsibility. You know as well as I do that since your - well, since the war, your father has not been really in touch with things lives in his own world. I don’t want to sit back and see you making mistakes which a word in season might save you from.
‘I expected you to make mistakes your first year. We all do. I got in with some thoroughly4 objectionable O.S.C.U. men who ran a mission to hop-pickers during the long vac. But you, my dear Charles, whether you realize it or not, have gone straight, hook line and sinker, into the very worst set in the University. You may think that, living in digs, I don’t know what goes on in college; but I hear things. In fact, I hear all too much. I find that I’ve become a figure of mockery on your account at the Dining Club. There’s that chap Sebastian Flyte you seem inseparable from. He may be all right, I don’t know. His brother Brideshead was a very sound fellow. But this friend of yours looks odd to me and he gets himself talked about. Of course, they’re an odd family. The Marchmains have lived apart since the war, you know. An extraordinary thing; everyone thought they were a devoted5 couple. Then he went off to France with his Yeomanry and just never came, back. It was as if he’d been killed. She’s a Roman Catholic, so she can’t get a divorce - or won’t, I expect. You can do anything at Rome with money, and they’re enormously rich. Flyte, may be all right, but Anthony Blanche - now there’s a man there’s absolutely no excuse for.’
‘I don’t, particularly like him myself,’ I said.
‘Well, he’s always hanging round here, and the stiffer element in college don’t like it. They can’t stand him at the House. He was in Mercury again last night. None of these people you go about with pull any weight in their own colleges, and that’s the real test. They think because they’ve got a lot of money to throw about, they can do anything. ‘And that’s another thing. I don’t know what allowance my uncle makes you, but I don’t mind betting you’re spending double. All this,’ he said, including in a wide sweep of his hand the evidence of profligacy6 about him. It was true; my room had cast its austere7 winter garments, and, by not very slow stages, assumed a richer wardrobe. ‘Is that paid for?’ (the box of a hundred cabinet Partagas on the sideboard) ‘or those?’ (a dozen frivolous8, new books on the table) ‘or those?’ (a Lalique decanter and glasses) ‘or that peculiarly noisome10 object?’ (a human skull11 lately purchased from the School of Medicine, which, resting in a bowl of roses, formed, at the moment, the chief decoration of my table. It bore the motto ‘Et in Arcadia ego’ inscribed12 on its forehead.) ‘Yes,’ I said, glad to be clear of one charge. ‘I had to pay cash for the skull.’ ‘You can’t be doing any work. Not that that matters, particularly if you’re making something of your career elsewhere - but are you? Have you spoken at the Union or at any of the clubs? Are you connected with any of the magazines? Are you even making a position in the O.U.D.S.? And your clothes!’ continued my cousin. ‘When you came up I remember advising you to dress as you would in a country house. Your present get-up seems an unhappy compromise between the correct wear for a theatrical14 party at Maidenhead and a glee-singing competition in a garden suburb. ‘And drink - no one minds a man getting tight once or twice a term. In fact, he ought to, on certain occasions. But I hear you’re constantly seen drunk in the middle of the afternoon.’
He paused, his duty discharged. Already the perplexities of the examination school were beginning to reassert themselves in his mind.
‘I’m sorry, Jasper,’ I said. ‘I know it must be embarrassing for you, but I happen to like this bad set. I like getting drunk at luncheon15, and though I haven’t yet spent quite double my allowance, I undoubtedly16 shall before the end of term. I usually have a glass of champagne17 about this time. Will you join me?’
So my cousin Jasper despaired and, I learned later, wrote to his father on the subject of my excesses who, in his turn, wrote to my father, who took no action or particular thought in the matter, partly because he had disliked my uncle for nearly sixty years and partly because, as Jasper had said, he lived in his own world now, since my mother’s death.
Thus, in broad outline, Jasper sketched18 the more prominent features of my first year; some detail may be added on the same scale.
I had committed myself earlier to spend the Easter vacation with Collins and, though I would have broken my word without compunction and left my former friend friendless, had Sebastian made a sign, no sign was made; accordingly Collins and I spent several economical and instructive weeks together in Ravenna. A bleak19 wind blew from the Adriatic among those mighty20 tombs. In an hotel bedroom designed for a warmer season, I wrote long letters to Sebastian and called daily at the post: office for his answers. There were two, each from a different address, neither giving any plain news of himself, for he wrote in a style of remote fantasy - ...’Mummy and two attendant poets have three bad colds in the head, so I have come here. It is the feast of S. Nichodemus of Thyatira, who was martyred by having goatskin nailed to his pate21, and is accordingly the patron of bald heads. Tell Collins, who I am sure will be bald before us. There are too many people here, but one, praise heaven! Has an ear trumpet22, and that keeps me in good humour. And now I must try to catch a fish. It is too far to send it to you so I will keep the backbone23...’ - which left me fretful. Collins made notes for a little thesis pointing out the inferiority of the original mosaics24 to their photographs. Here was planted the seed of what became his life’s harvest. When, many years later, there appeared the first massive volume of his still unfinished work on Byzantine Art, I was touched to find among two pages of polite, preliminary acknowledgements of debt, my own name: ‘...to Charles Ryder, with the aid of whose all-seeing yes I first saw the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia and San Vitale...’
I sometimes wonder whether, had it not been for Sebastian, I might have trodden the same path as Collins round the cultural water-wheel. My father in his youth sat for All Souls and, in a year of hot competition, failed; other successes and honours came his way later, but that early failure impressed itself on him, and through him on me, so that I came up with an ill-considered sense that there lay the proper and natural goal of the life of reason. I, too, should doubtless have failed, but, having failed, I might perhaps have slipped into a less august academic life elsewhere. It is conceivable, but not, I believe, likely, for the hot spring of anarchy25 rose from the depths where was no solid earth, and burst into the sunlight - a rainbow in its cooling vapours - with a power the rocks could not repress.
In the event, that Easter vacation formed a short stretch of level road in the precipitous descent of which Jasper warned me. Descent or ascent26? It seems to me that I grew younger daily with each adult habit that I acquired. I had lived a lonely childhood and a boyhood, straitened by war and overshadowed by bereavement27; to the hard bachelordom of English adolescence28, the premature29 dignity and authority of the school system, I had added, a sad and grim strain of my own. Now, that summer term with Sebastian, it seemed as though I was being given a brief spell of what I had never known, a happy childhood, and though its toys were silk shirts and liqueurs and cigars and its naughtiness high in the catalogue of grave sins, there was something of nursery freshness about us that fell little short of the joy of innocence30. At the end of the term I took my first schools; it was necessary to pass, if I was to remain at Oxford31 and pass I did, after a week in which I forbade Sebastian my rooms and sat up to a late hour, with iced black, coffee and charcoal32 biscuits, cramming33 myself with the neglected texts. I remember no syllable34 of them now, but the other, more ancient lore35 which I acquired that term will be with me in one shape or another to my last hour. ‘I like this bad set and I like getting drunk at luncheon’; that was enough then. Is more needed now?
Looking back, now, after twenty years, there is little I would have left undone36 or done otherwise. I could match my cousin Jasper’s game-cock maturity37 with a sturdier fowl38. I could tell him that all the wickedness of that time was like the spirit they mix with the pure grape of the Douro, heady stuff full of dark ingredients; it at once enriched and retarded39 the whole process of adolescence as the spirit checks the fermentation of the wine, renders it undrinkable, so, that it must lie in the dark year in, year out, until it is brought up at last fit for the table.
I could tell him, too, that to know and love one other, human being is the root of all wisdom. But I felt no need for these sophistries40 as I sat before my cousin, saw him, freed from his inconclusive struggle with Pindar, in his dark grey suit, his white tie, his scholar’s gown; heard his grave tones and, all the time, savoured the gillyflowers in full bloom under my windows. I had my secret and sure defence, like a talisman41 worn in the bosom42, felt for in the moment of danger, found and firmly grasped. So I told him what was not in fact the truth, that I usually had a glass of champagne about that time, and asked him to join me.
On the day after Jasper’s Grand Remonstrance I received another, in different terms and from an unexpected source.
All the term I had been seeing rather more of Anthony Blanche than my liking43 for him warranted. I lived now among his friends, but our frequent meetings were more of his choosing than mine, for I held him in considerable awe44. In years, he was barely my senior, but he seemed then to be burdened with the experience of the Wandering Jew. He was indeed a nomad45 of no nationality. An attempt had been made in his childhood to make an Englishman of him; he was two years at Eton; then in the middle of the war he had defied the submarines, rejoined his mother in the Argentine, and a clever and audacious schoolboy was added to the valet, the maid, the two chauffeurs46, the pekinese, and the second husband. Criss-cross about the world he travelled with them, waxing in wickedness like a Hogarthian page boy. When peace came they returned to Europe, to hotels and furnished villas48 spas, casinos, and bathing beaches. At this age of fifteen, for a wager49; he was disguised as a girl and taken to play at the big table in the Jockey Club at Buenos Aires; he dined with Proust and Gide and was on closer terms with Cocteau and Diaghilev; Firbank sent him novels with fervent50 inscriptions51; he had aroused three irreconcilable52 feuds53 in Capri; by his own account he had practised black art in Cefalù and had been cured of drug-taking in California and of an Oedipus complex in Vienna.
At times we all seemed like children beside him - at most times, but not always, for there was a bluster54 and zest55 in Anthony which the rest of us had shed somewhere in our more leisured adolescence, on the playing field or in the school-room; his vices56 flourished less in the pursuit of pleasure than in the wish to shock, and in the midst of his polished exhibitions I was often reminded of an urchin57 I had once seen in Naples, capering58 derisively59 with obscene, unambiguous gestures, before a party of English tourists; as he told the tale of his evening at the gaming table, one could see in the roll of his eye just how he had glanced, covertly60, over the dwindling61 pile of chips at his stepfather’s party; while we had been rolling one another in the mud at football and gorging62 ourselves with crumpets, Anthony had helped oil fading beauties on sub-tropical sands and had sipped63 his apéritif in smart little bars, so that the savage64 we had tamed was still rampant65 in him. He was cruel, too, in the wanton, insect-maiming manner of the very young, and fearless like a little boy, charging, head down, small fists whirling, at the school prefects.
He asked me to dinner, and I was a little disconcerted to find that we were to dine alone. ‘We are going to Thame,’ he said. ‘There is a delightful66 hotel there, which luckily doesn’t appeal to the Bullingdon. We will, drink Rhine wine and imagine ourselves...where? Not on a j-j-jaunt with J-J-Jorrocks anyway. But first we will have our apéritif.’
At the George bar he ordered ‘Four Alexandra cocktails67, please,’ ranged them before him with a loud ‘Yum-yum’ which drew every eye, outraged69, upon him. ‘I expect you would prefer sherry, but, my dear Charles, you are not going to have sherry. Isn’t this a delicious concoction70? You don’t like it? Then I will drink it for you. One, two, three, four, down the red lane they go. How the students stare!’ And he led me out to the waiting motorcar.
‘I hope we shall find no undergraduates there. I am a little out of sympathy with them for the moment. You heard about their treatment of me on Thursday? It was too naughty. Luckily I was wearing my oldest pyjamas71 and it was an evening of oppressive heat, or I might have been seriously cross.’ Anthony had a habit of putting his face near one when he spoke13; the sweet and creamy cocktail68 had tainted72 his breath. I leaned away from him in the comer of the hired car.
‘Picture me, my dear, alone and studious. I had just bought a rather forbidding book called Antic Hay, Which I knew I must read before going to Garsington on Sunday, because everyone was bound to talk about it, and it’s so banal73 saying you have not read the book of the moment, if you haven’t. The solution I suppose is not to go to Garsington, but that didn’t occur to me until this moment. So, my dear, I had an omelet and a peach and a bottle of Vichy water and put on my pyjamas and settled down to read. I must say my thoughts wandered, but I kept turning the pages and watching the light fade, which in Peckwater, my dear, is quite an experience - as darkness falls the stone seems positively74 to decay under one’s eyes. I was reminded of some of those leprous fa?ade’s in the vieux port at Marseille, until suddenly I was disturbed by such a bawling75 and cater-wauling as you never heard, and there, down in the little piazza76, I saw a mob of about twenty terrible young men, and do know what they were chanting? “We want Blanche. We want Blanche,” in a kind of litany. Such a public declaration! Well, I saw it was all up with Mr Huxley for the evening, and, I must say I had reached a point of tedium77 when any interruption was welcome. I was stirred by the bellows78, but, do you know, the louder they shouted, the shyer they seemed? They kept saying “Where’s Boy?” “He’s Boy Mulcaster’s friend,” “Boy must bring him down.” Of course you’ve met Boy? He’s always popping in and out of dear Sebastian’s rooms. He’s everything we dagos expect of an English lord. A great parti I can assure you. All the young ladies in London are after him. He’s very hoity-toity with them I’m told. My dear, he’s scared stiff. A great oaf - that’s Mulcaster - and what’s more, my dear, a cad. He came to le Touquet at Easter and, in some extraordinary way, I seemed to have asked him to stay. He lost some infinitesimal sum at cards, and as a result expected me to pay for all his treats - well, Mulcaster was in this party; I could see his ungainly form shuffling79 about below and hear him saying: “It’s no good. He’s out. Let’s go back and have a drink?” So then I put my head out of the window and called to him; “Good evening, Mulcaster, old sponge and toady80, are you lurking81 among the hobbledehoys? Have you come to repay me the three hundred francs I lent you for the poor drab you picked up in the Casino? It was a niggardly82 sum for her trouble, and what a trouble, Mulcaster. Come up and pay me, poor hooligan!”
‘That, my dear, seemed to put a little life into them, and up the stairs they came,
clattering83. About six of them came into my room, the rest stood mouthing outside. My dear, they looked too extraordinary. They had been having one of their ridiculous club dinners, and they were all wearing coloured tail-coats - a sort of livery. “My dears,” I
said to them, “you look like a lot of most disorderly- footmen.” Then one of them, rather a juicy little piece, accused me of unnatural84 vices. “My dear,” I said, “I may be inverted85 but I am not insatiable. Come back when you are alone.” Then they began to blaspheme in a very shocking manner, and suddenly I, too, began to be annoyed. “Really,” I thought, “when I think of all the hullabaloo there was when I was seventeen, and the Duc de Vincennes (old Armand, of course, not Philippe) challenged me to a duel86 for an affair of the heart, and very much more than the heart, I assure you, with the duchess (Stefanie, of course, not old Poppy) - now, to submit to impertinence from these pimply87, tipsy virgins88...” Well, I gave up the light, bantering89 tone and let myself be just a little offensive.
‘Then they began saying, “Get hold of him. Put him in Mercury.” Now as you know I have two sculptures by Brancusi and several pretty things and I did not want them to start getting rough, so I said, pacifically, “Dear sweet clodhoppers, if you knew anything of sexual psychology90 you would know that nothing could give me keener pleasure than to be manhandled by you meaty boys. It would be art ecstasy91 of the very naughtiest kind. So if any of you wishes to be my partner in joy come and seize me. If, on the other hand, you simply wish to satisfy some obscure and less easily classified libido92 and see me bathe, come with me quietly, dear louts, to the fountain.” ‘Do you know, they all looked a little foolish at that? I walked down with them and no one came within a yard of me. Then I got into the fountain and, you know, it was really most refreshing93, so I sported there a little and struck some attitudes, until they turned about and walked sulkily home, and I heard Boy Mulcaster saying, “Anyway, we did put him in Mercury.” You know, Charles, that is just what they’ll be saying in thirty years time. When they’re all married to scraggy little women like hens and have cretinous porcine sons like themselves getting drunk at the same club dinner in the same coloured coats, they’ll still say, when my name is mentioned, “We put him in Mercury one night,” and their barnyard daughters will snigger and think their father was quite a dog in his day, and what a pity he’s grown so dull.’ Oh, la fatigue94 du Nord!’ It was not, I knew, the first time Anthony had been ducked, but the incident seemed much on his mind, for he reverted95 to it again at dinner. ‘Now you can’t imagine an unpleasantness like that happening to Sebastian, can you?’
‘No.’ I said; I could not.
‘No, Sebastian has charm’; he held up his glass of hock to the candle-light and repeated, ‘such charm. Do you know, I went round to call on Sebastian next day? I thought the tale of my evening’s adventures might amuse him. And what do you think I found - besides, of course, his amusing toy bear? Mulcaster and two of his cronies of the night before. They looked very foolish and Sebastian, as composed as Mrs P-p-ponsonby-de-Tomkyns in P-p-punch, said, “You know Lord Mulcaster, of course,” and the oafs said, “Oh, we just came to see how Aloysius was,” for they find the toy bear just as amusing as we do - or, shall I hint, just a teeny bit more? So off they went. And I said “S-s-sebastian, do you realize that those s-sycophantic s-slugs insulted me last night, and but for the warmth of the weather might have given me a s-s-severe cold,” and he said “Poor things. I expect they were drunk.” He has a kind -word for everyone, you see; he has such charm.
‘I can see he has completely captivated you, my dear Charles. Well, I’m not surprised.
Of course, you haven’t known him as long as I have. I was At school with him. You wouldn’t believe it, but in those days people used to say he was a little bitch; just a few unkind boys who knew him well. Everyone in pop liked him, of course and all the masters. I expect it was really that they were jealous of him. He never seemed to get into trouble. The rest of us were constantly being beaten in the most savage way, on the most frivolous pretexts96, but never Sebastian. He was the only boy in my house who was never beaten at all. I can see him now, at the age of fifteen. He never had spots you know; all the other boys were spotty. Boy Mulcaster was positively scrofulous. But not Sebastian. Or did he have one, rather a stubborn one at the back of his neck? I think, now, that he did. Narcissus, with one pustule. He and I were both Catholics, so we used to go to mass together. He used to spend such a time in the confessional, I used to wonder what he had to say, because he never did anything wrong; never quite; at least, he never got punished. Perhaps he was just being charming through the grille. I left under what is called a cloud, you know - I can’t think why it is called that; it seemed to me a glare of unwelcome light; the process involved a series of harrowing interviews with m’ tutor. It was disconcerting to find how observant that mild old man proved to be. The things he knew about me, which I thought no one - except possibly Sebastian - knew. It was a lesson never to trust mild old men - or charming school boys; which? ‘Shall we have another bottle of this wine, or of something different? Something different, some bloody97, old Burgundy, eh? You see, Charles, I understand all your tastes. You must come to France with me and drink the wine. We will go at the vintage. I will take you to stay at the Vincennes. It is all made up with them now, and he has finest wine in France; he and the Prince de Portallon - I will take you there, too. I think they would amuse you, and of course they would love you. I want to introduce, you to a lot of my friends. I have told Cocteau about you. He is all agog98. You see, my dear Charles, you are that very rare thing, An Artist. Oh yes, you must not look bashful. Behind that cold, English, phlegmatic99 exterior100 you I are An Artist. I have seen those little drawings you keep hidden away in your room. They are exquisite101. And you, dear Charles, if you will understand me, are not exquisite; but not at all Artists are not exquisite. I am; Sebastian, in a kind of way, is exquisite, but the artist is an eternal type, solid, purposeful, observant - and, beneath it all, p-p-passionate, eh, Charles? ‘But who recognizes you? The other day I was speaking to Sebastian about you, and I said, “But you know Charles is an artist. He draws like a young Ingres,” and do you know what Sebastian said? - “Yes, Aloysius draws very prettily102, too, but of course he’s rather more modern.’ So charming; so amusing.
‘Of course those that have charm don’t really need brains. Stefanie de Vincennes really tickled103 me four years ago. My dear, I even used the same coloured varnish104 for my toe-nails. I used her words and lit my cigarette in the same way and spoke with her tone on the telephone so that the duke used to carry on long and intimate conversations with me, thinking that I was her. It was largely that which put his mind on pistol and sabres in such an old-fashioned manner. My step-father thought it an excellent education for me. He thought it would make me grow out of what he calls my “English habits”. Poor man, he is very South American...I never heard anyone speak an ill word of Stefanie, except-the Duke: and she, my dear, is positively cretinous.’ Anthony had lost his stammer105 in the deep waters of his old romance. It came floating back to him, momentarily, with the coffee and liqueurs. ‘Real G-g-green Chartreuse, made before the expulsion of the monks106. There are five distinct tastes as it trickles107 over the tongue. It is like swallowing a sp-spectrum. Do you wish Sebastian was with us? Of course you do. Do I? I wonder. How our thoughts do run on that little bundle of charm to be sure. I think you must be mesmerizing108 me, Charles. I bring you here, at very considerable expense, my dear, simply to talk about myself, and I find I talk of no one except Sebastian. It’s odd because there’s really no mystery about him except how he came to be born of such a very sinister109 family.
‘I forget if you know his family. I don’t suppose he’ll ever let you meet them. He’s far too clever. They’re quite, quite gruesome. Do you ever feel there is something a teeny bit gruesome about Sebastian? No? Perhaps I imagine it; it’s simply that he looks so like the rest of them, sometimes.
‘There’s Brideshead who’s something archaic110, out of a cave that’s been sealed for centuries. He has the face as though an Aztec sculptor111 had attempted a portrait of Sebastian; he’s a learned bigot, a ceremonious barbarian113, a snow-bound lama...Well, anything you like. And Julia, you know what she looks like. Who could help it? Her photograph appears as regularly in the illustrated114 papers as the advertisements for Beecham’s Pills. A face of flawless Florentine quattrocento beauty; almost anyone else with those looks would have been tempted112 to become artistic115; not Lady Julia; she’s as smart as - well, as smart as Stefanie. Nothing greenery-yallery about her. So gay, so correct, so unaffected. I wonder if she’s incestuous. I doubt it; all she wants is power. There ought to be an Inquisition especially set up to burn her. There’s another sister, too, I believe, in the schoolroom. Nothing is known of her yet except that her governess went mad and drowned herself not long ago. I’m sure she’s abominable116. So you see there was really very little left for poor Sebastian to do except be sweet and charming. ‘It’s when one gets to the parents that a bottomless pit opens. My dear, such a pair. How does Lady Marchmain manage it? It is one of the questions of the Age. You have seen her? Very, very beautiful; no artifice117 her hair just turning grey in elegant silvery streaks118, no rouge119 very pale, huge-eyed - it is extraordinary how large those eyes look and how the lids are veined blue where anyone else would have touched them with a finger-tip of paint; pearls and a few great starlike jewels, heirlooms, in ancient settings, a voice as quiet as a prayer, and as powerful. And Lord. Marchmain, well, a little fleshy perhaps, but very handsome, a magnifico, a voluptuary, Byronic, bored, infectiously slothful, not at all the sort of man you would expect to see easily put down. And that Reinhardt nun120, my dear, has destroyed him but utterly121. He daren’t show his great purple face anywhere. He is the last, historic, authentic122 case of someone being hounded out of society. Brideshead won’t see him, the girls mayn’t, Sebastian does, of course, because he’s, so charming. No one else goes near him. Why, last September Lady Marchmain was in Venice staying at the Palazzo Fogliere. To tell you the truth she was just a teeny bit ridiculous in Venice. She never went near the Lido, of course, but she was always drifting about the canals in a gondola123 with Sir Adrian Porson - such attitudes, my dear, like Madame Récamier; once I passed them and I caught the eye of the Fogliere gondolier, whom, of course, I knew, and, my dear, he gave me such a wink124. She came to all the parties in a sort of cocoon125 of gossamer126, my dear, as though she were part of some Celtic play or a heroine from Maeterlinck; and she would go to church. Well, as you know, Venice is the one town in Italy where no one ever has gone to church. Anyway, she was rather a figure of fun that year, and then who, should turn up, in the Maltons’ yacht, but poor Lord Marchmain. He’d taken a little palace there, but was he allowed in? Lord Malton put him and his valet into a dinghy, my dear, and transhipped him there and then into the steamer for Trieste. He hadn’t even his mistress with him. It was her yearly holiday. No one ever knew how they heard Lady Marchmain was there. And, do you know, for a week Lord Malton slunk about as if he was in disgrace? And he was in disgrace. The Principessa Fogliere gave a ball and Lord Malton was not asked nor anyone from his yacht - even the de Pa?oses. How does Lady Marchmain do it? She has convinced the world that Lord Marchmain is a monster. And what is the truth? They were married for fifteen years or so and then Lord Marchmain went to the war; he never came back but formed a connection with a highly talented dancer. There are a thousand such cases. She refuses to divorce him because she is so pious127. Well, there have been cases of that before. Usually, it arouses sympathy for the adulterer; not for Lord Marchmain though. You would think that the old reprobate128 had tortured her, stolen her patrimony129, flung her out of doors, roasted, stuffed, and eaten his children, and gone frolicking about wreathed in all the flowers of Sodom and Gomorrah; instead of what?
Begetting130 four splendid children by her, handing over to her Brideshead and Marchmain House in St James’s and all the money she can possibly want to spend, while he sits with a snowy shirt front at Larue’s with a personable, middle-aged131 lady of the theatre, in most conventional Edwardian style. And she meanwhile keeps a small gang of enslaved and emaciated132 prisoners for her exclusive enjoyment133. She sucks their blood. You can see the tooth marks all Adrian Porson’s shoulders when he is bathing . And he, my dear, was the greatest, the only, poet of our time. He’s bled dry; there’s nothing left of him. There are five or is others of all ages and sexes, like wraiths134 following her around. They never escape once she’s had her teeth into them. It is withcraft. There’s no other explanation.
‘So you see we mustn’t blame Sebastian if at times he seems a little insipid135 - but then you don’t blame him, do you, Charles? With that very murky136 background, what could he do except set up as being simple and charming, particularly as he isn’t very well endowed in the Top Storey. We couldn’t claim that for him, could we, much as we love him?
‘Tell me candidly137, have you ever heard Sebastian say anything you have remembered for five minutes? You know, when I hear him talk, I am reminded of that in some ways nauseating138 picture of “Bubbles”. Conversation should be like juggling139; up go the balls and the plates, up and over, in and out, good solid objects that glitter in the footlights ‘and fall with a bang if you miss them. But when dear Sebastian speaks it is like a little sphere of soapsud drifting off the end of an old clay pipe, anywhere, full of rainbow light for a second and then phut! vanished, with nothing left at all, nothing.’ And then Anthony spoke of the proper experiences of an artist, of the appreciation140 and criticism and stimulus141 he should expect from his friends, of the hazards he should take in the pursuit of emotion, of one thing and another while I fell drowsy142 and let my mind wander a little. So we drove home, but his words, as we swung over Magdalen Bridge, recalled the central theme of our dinner. ‘Well, my dear, I’ve no doubt that first thing tomorrow you’ll trot143 round to Sebastian and tell him everything I’ve said about him. And, I will tell you two things; one, that it will not make the slightest difference to Sebastian’s feeling for me and secondly144, my dear - and I beg you to remember this though I have plainly bored you into condition of coma145, - that he will immediately start talking about that amusing bear of his. Good night. Sleep innocently.’
But I slept ill. Within an hour of tumbling drowsily146 to bed I was awake again, thirsty, restless, hot and cold by turns, and unnaturally147 excited. I had drunk a lot, but neither the mixture nor the Chartreuse, nor the Mavrodaphne Trifle nor even the fact that I had sat immobile and almost silent throughout the evening instead of clearing the fumes148, as we normally did, in puppyish romps149 and tumbles, explains the distress150 of that hagridden night. No dream distorted the images of the evening into horrific shapes. I lay awake and clear-headed. I repeated to myself Anthony’s words, catching151 his accent, soundlessly, and the stress and cadence152 of his speech, while under my closed lids I saw his pale, candle-lit face as it had fronted me across the dinner table. Once during the hours of darkness I brought to light the drawings in my sitting-room153 and sat at the open window, turning them over. Everything was black and dead-still in the quadrangle; only at the quarter-hours the bells awoke and sang over the gables. I drank soda-Water and smoked and fretted155, until light began to break and the rustle156 of a rising breeze turned me back to my bed.
When I awoke Lunt was at the open door. ‘I let you lie,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think you’d be going to the Corporate157 Communion.’
‘You were quite right’
‘Most of the freshmen158 went and quite a few second and third year men. It’s all on account of the new chaplain. There was never Corporate Communion before just Holy Communion for those that wanted it and Chapel159 and Evening Chapel.’ It was the last Sunday of term; the last of the year. As I went to my bath, the quad154 filled with gowned and surpliced undergraduates drifting from chapel to hall. As I came back they standing160 in groups, smoking; Jasper had bicycled in from his digs to be among them.
I walked down the empty Broad to breakfast as I often did on Sundays at a tea-shop opposite Balliol. The air was full of bells from the surrounding spires161 and the sun, casting long shadows across the open spaces, dispelled162 the fears of night. The tea-shop was hushed as a library, a few solitary163 men in bedroom slippers164 from Balliol and Trinity looked up as I entered, then turned back to their Sunday newspapers. I ate my scrambled165 eggs and bitter marmalade with the zest which in youth follows a restless night. I lit a cigarette and sat on, while one by one the Balliol and Trinity men paid their bills and shuffled166 away, slip-slop, across the street to their colleges. It was nearly eleven when I left, and during my walk I heard the change-ringing cease and, all over the town, give place to the single chime which warned the city that service was about to start. None but churchgoers seemed abroad that morning; undergraduates and graduates and wives and tradespeople, walking with that unmistakable English church-going pace which eschewed167 equally both haste and idle sauntering; holding, bound in black lamb-skin and white celluloid, the liturgics of half a dozen conflicting sects168; on their way to St Barnabas, St Columba, St Aloysius, St Mary’s, Pusey House, Blackfriars, and heaven knows where besides; to restored Norman and revived Gothic, to travesties169 of,Venice and Athens; all in the summer sunshine going to the temples of their race. Four proud infidels alone proclaimed their dissent170, four Indians from the gates of Balliol, in freshly-laundered white flannels171 and neatly172 pressed blazers with snow-white turbans on their, heads, and in their plump, brown hands bright cushions, a picnic basket and the Plays Unpleasant of Bernard Shaw, making for the river.
In the Cornmarket a party of tourists stood on the steps of the Clarendon Hotel discussing a road map with their chauffeur47, while opposite, through the venerable arch of the Golden Cross, I greeted a group of undergraduates from my college who had breakfasted there and now lingered with their pipes in the creeper-hung courtyard. A troop of boy scouts173, church-bound, too, bright with Coloured ribbons and badges, loped past in unmilitary array, and at Carfax I met the Mayor and corporation, in scarlet174 gowns and gold chains, preceded by wand-bearers and followed by no curious glances, in procession to the preaching at the City Church. In St Aldates I passed a crocodile of choir175 boys, in starched176 collars and peculiar9 caps, on their way to Tom Gate and the Cathedral. So through a world of piety177 I made my way to Sebastian. He was out. I read the letters, none of them very revealing, that littered his writing table and scrutinized178 the invitation cards on his chimney-piece - there were no new additions. Then I read Lady into Fox until he returned. ‘I’ve been to at the Old Palace,’ he said. ‘I haven’t been all this term, and Monsignor Bell asked me to dinner twice last week, and I know what that means. Mummy’s been writing to him. So I sat bang in front where he couldn’t help seeing me and absolutely shouted the Hail Marys at the end so that’s over. How was dinner with Antoine? What did you talk about? ‘
‘Well, he did most of the talking. Tell me, did you know him at Eton?’ ‘He was sacked my first half. I remember seeing him about. He always has been a noticeable figure.’
‘Did he go to church with you?’
‘I don’t think so, why?’
‘Has he met any of your family?’
‘Charles, how very peculiar you’re being today. No. I don’t suppose so.
‘Not your mother at Venice?’
‘I believe she did say something about it. I forget what. I think she was staying with some Italian cousins of ours, the Foglieres, and Anthony turned up with his family at the hotel, and there was some party the Foglieres gave that they weren’t asked to. I know Mummy said something about it when I told her he was a friend of mine. I can’t think why he should want to go to a party at the Foglieres - the princess is so proud of her English blood that she talks of nothing else. Anyway, no one objected to Antoine - much, I gather. It was his mother they thought difficult.’ ‘And who is the Duchesse of Vincennes?’
‘Poppy?’
‘Stefanie.’
‘You must ask Antoine that. He claims to have had an affair with her.’
‘Did he?’
‘I dare say. I think it’s more or less compulsory179 at Cannes. Why all this interest?’
‘I just wanted to find out how much truth there was in what Anthony said last night.’
‘I shouldn’t, think a word. That’s his great charm.’
‘You may think it charming. I think it’s devilish. Do you know he spent the whole of yesterday evening trying to turn me against you, and almost succeeded?’ ‘Did he? How silly. Aloysius wouldn’t approve of that at all, would you, you pompous180 old bear?’
And then Boy Mulcaster came into the room.
将近夏季学期末尾，我接受了我的堂兄贾斯珀最后一次访问和重要的规劝。我刚好没有课，前天下午已经考完史学学位的初试；贾斯珀的黑衣服和白领带表明他还处在紧张的时刻；他神色疲惫，满腹怨气，就像一个人担心在考试品达的神秘音乐这门学科中没有充分发挥自己的才能的样子。那天下午仅仅是出于责任心才促使他到我房里来，这对他、对我都是很不方便的事。他在门口碰到我的时候，我偏巧要出去安排当天晚上请客的事。这是计划用来安慰哈德卡斯尔的几次宴会中的一次——落到我和塞巴斯蒂安身上的一项任务，因为，我们把哈德卡斯尔的摩托车丢在外面，使他遭到学监的严厉指责。
贾斯珀不愿意坐下；这可不是一场情投意合的谈话，他背朝壁炉站着，用他自己的话说，“像个伯伯”一样对我讲话。
“最近一两个星期我几次设法跟你接触，实际上，我觉得你在躲避我。查尔斯，如果真是这样的话，我倒并不感到意外。
“你也许认为这不关我的事，但是我感到有责任管。你像我一样清楚，自从你的——嗯，自从战争开始，你父亲事实上已经不问世事——生活在自己的世界里。我不愿意不闻不问，看着你犯错误，本来只消及时说一句话，就可以使你避免犯错误。
“我预料你第一学期会犯错误。我们都犯下错误。我认识了一群十分讨厌的牛津学生教会联合会会员，他们给摘啤酒花的工人办了个暑期传教团。可是你呢？亲爱的查尔斯，不管你自己是否认识到，你完完全全同这个大学最坏的一伙人混到一起了。你也许认为，我住在宿舍里，大学里的事我一点都不知道，可是，我听得见。事实上，我听到的太多了。我发现，因为你的缘故，我在饭厅俱乐部里成了人家讥笑的对象。有个叫塞巴斯蒂安·弗莱特的家伙，你好像跟他混得难分难舍。他也许不坏，这个我不知道，他的哥哥布赖兹赫德是个正常的人。但是，我看你那位朋友却很古怪，他引起了人们的议论。当然，他们的家庭很古怪。你知道，自从战争开始以来，马奇梅因夫妇就分居了。真是一件怪事；人人都认为那是一对恩爱夫妻。后来，他带着仆人去法国，再也不回英国了。他仿佛被人杀死了。她是一个罗马天主教徒，她不能离婚——或者不愿离婚，我想。在罗马，有钱就能办到一切，而他们是大阔佬。弗莱特可能不坏，可是安东尼·布兰奇呀——这是个绝对不能原谅的人。”
“我自己并不特别喜欢他，”我说。
“哦，他老在这里转悠，学校里的强硬分子不喜欢这件事。他们一看见他在宿舍出现就受不了。昨天晚上他又被扔在水星池里。你带着到处转悠的那些人在他们自己的学院里都不好好地工作，这才是真正能说明问题的事。他们认为，因为他们的钱多得可以到处撒，所以他们什么事都可以干。
“那是另外一回事。我不知道我叔叔给你多少钱。我敢打赌，你会花两倍于此的数目。这一切东西，“他一边说，一边挥挥手把他所指的挥霍浪费的证据都包括进去。的确，我的房间已经换掉了它朴素的冬装，相当迅速地成了一个丰富多彩的藏衣室。“这个付了钱吗？”（那是放在餐具橱上的装有一百个小格的盒子。）“还有这些呢？”（那是书桌上十几本毫无价值的新书。）“还有那个特别讨厌的东西？”（最近从医学院买来的死人头盖骨，放在一盆玫瑰花中，当时这是我书桌上的主要摆设。头盖骨前额上刻有拉丁文题词：“我也曾有过田园牧歌的生活”）
“付了，”我说，因为消除这条罪状，我感到十分高兴。“买这个头盖骨我得付现钱。”
“你不可能在干任何事情，这倒还不要紧，特别是如果你在其他方面做出一番事业来——你在做吗？你在大学俱乐部或任何俱乐部里讲演过吗？你和哪种杂志有联系？你在牛津大学剧社有没有一个位置？可是瞧你这身打扮！”我的堂兄接着说，“我记得，你刚上学时，我劝过你要穿得像在乡间一样。你现在的装束好像是把参加梅登海德的剧团活动的服装和参加郊区花园合唱比赛的服装不伦不类地混合起来了。
“谈到喝酒——如果一个人一个学期里喝醉一两次，谁也不会注意。事实上，在某种情况下，他应该喝。我听说，人家看到你常常下午喝得醉醺醺的。”
他停住了，他尽了责任。担心考试的心情又开始在他心里顽强地出现了。
“贾斯珀，很抱歉。”我说，“我知道这一定使你烦恼，可是，我恰恰就喜欢这批坏人。我喜欢午饭时喝醉酒。虽然我的花费不到爸爸给我津贴的两倍。我相信，不到学期结束我就会花到两倍的。我通常到这时候要喝一杯香槟酒。你跟我一道喝一杯好吗？”
这样一来，我的堂兄贾斯珀感到没有办法了，我后来听说，他给他父亲写信说我挥霍无度，他父亲又把这话写信告诉了我父亲，可是我父亲对这件事并没有采取什么行动，也没有特别在意，一个原因是他六十年来一直不喜欢我伯伯，另一个原因是，我父亲自从我母亲一死，就过着与世隔绝的生活。
就这样，贾斯珀把我大学第一年生活的显著特点粗略地描画出来了；有一些细节还得同样粗略地添上去。
我早些时候答应过科林斯和他一道过复活节假期，如果塞巴斯蒂安表示要和我在一起，我就会毫无内疚地食言，把科林斯撇在一边，但是塞巴斯蒂安并没有什么表示；因此，科林斯同我在腊万纳过了几周节俭的、有益的生活。亚得里亚海的一阵冷风吹到这里巨大的坟墓间。在设计得适合于暖和气候居住的旅馆房间里，我给塞巴斯蒂安写了几封长信，我天天去邮局等他的回信。收到他两封信，每封信都寄自不同的地点，没有一封信把他自己的近况明白地告诉我，因为他用的是一种抽象的、幻想式的文体——“妈妈和两个陪同的诗人都患了三次厉害的伤风头痛，所以我到这儿来了。这是圣·尼古登墨斯·泰亚第亚的节日，这个圣者因为头顶被钉上块羊皮而殉教，所以，他是一切秃顶人的保护神。告诉科林斯，我相信他会比我们早秃顶。这里的人太多了，但是，感谢上帝，有一个人戴了个喇叭形的助听器，这使得我很开心。现在我得去捉一条鱼。咱们离得太远了，我不能把鱼送给你，因此，我要把鱼的脊骨留下来……”——这种信看了叫我心烦。科林斯写了一篇小论文，指出镶嵌细工的原件不如照片那么好看。在这里种下了他一生有成就的种子。多年以后，他出版了尚未完成的论拜占廷艺术的第一卷巨著，我深为感动，发现在该书前言两页内容客气的感谢辞中有我的名字：“感谢查尔斯·赖德，借助他洞察一切的眼光，我第一次看到普拉西底亚和圣维太尔的陵墓……”
有时我不知道，如果不是塞巴斯蒂安，我会不会走上这条同科林斯一样的研究文化的艰苦道路。我父亲年轻时曾参加过牛津大学万灵学院的考试，但是经过一年激烈的竞争后，他失败了；后来，他有机会得到别的成功和光荣，但是他早年的失败深深影响了他，又通过他影响了我，因此，我产生了一种不明智的想法，以为这就是理智生活固有的、当然的目标。无疑我将来也会失败，但是失败以后，我可能在别处滑到不太严格的学术生活方面去。控制不住的温泉从大地深处迸出，以岩石无法压制的力量喷射到阳光中——在它的逐渐冷却的水汽中出现一条彩虹：这样的事情是可以想象的，但是我认为是不可能的。
结果，那个复活节假期在贾斯珀警告我要避免的极陡峭的斜坡上形成一段短短的平路。下降还是上升？我觉得随着我获得的每一种成年人的习惯，我一天天地变得更年轻了。我度过了寂寞的童年，度过了备受战争苦难和由于丧母而变得黯淡无光的少年时代；除了英国人在青春时期感受到的单身的艰苦，除了早熟的自尊心和学校制度的压制，我还添上了自己所独有的悲哀而冷酷的性格。在和塞巴斯蒂安一块儿度过的那个夏季学期中，我仿佛获得了我前所未有的一段幸福童年，虽然这个时期的享受不过是绸衬衣、甜酒和雪茄烟；这时的淘气，在严重罪恶分类中也属于一种轻罪，但我们身上有一种婴儿似的清新，不乏天真之乐。到了这学期末，为了要继续留在牛津大学，我参加了第一次大学学位考试，经过一个星期禁止塞巴斯蒂安到我房间里来，学习到深夜，喝冰镇咖啡，吃炭饼干，把荒疏了的功课填满脑袋以后，我通过了考试。如今，那些东西我一个字也记不得了，但是那学期中获得的另一些古代的学问，则将以这样或那样的形式陪伴我到生命的最后一刻。
“我喜欢这一群坏人，我喜欢午饭时喝酒，那就够了。现在我还需要什么呢？”
现在过了二十年，我回顾往事，很少事没有干过，或者不那样干的。我可以像斗鸡一样，用一只更强壮的种鸡斗败我堂兄的公鸡，斗败他的世故老成。我可以告诉他，那时的邪恶行为就像人们把酒精掺进杜罗河区的纯葡萄汁里，那是一种满是黑色混合物的、醉人的东西。那种邪恶既丰富了青春的历程，又放慢了青春的速度，就像那种酒一样，控制了葡萄的发酵，使之不能饮用，必须年复一年藏在黑暗的地窖里，直到最后酿造得适于摆在桌上供人饮用。
我还可以告诉他，一切知识的来源在于了解并爱人类中另一个成员。但是，当我坐在我堂兄面前，看到他不再与品达进行无结果的斗争，穿着深灰色衣服，打着白领带，罩上学士长袍，听他的严肃的声调，一直闻着盛开在窗下的紫罗兰花香气，这时我感到我的诡辩毫无必要了。我在感到危险的时刻就摸摸我的秘密的可靠避邪物，像佩在胸前的护身符一样。我找到这东西，紧紧抓住它。因此我对他说的并不是真话，说什么我通常在这时要喝一杯香槟，并邀请他和我一道喝。
在贾斯珀的庄严训诫之后第二天，我接受了另一次训诫，这次用语不同，来源也不同。
整个学期，倒不是我喜欢，我见到安东尼·布兰奇的次数相当多。我现在生活在他的朋友当中。但是我们频繁见面，与其说是出于我自己的意愿，倒不如说是出于他的意愿，因为我对他是有点敬而远之的。
就年龄而论，他只比我大一点，但是那时候，他似乎有着流浪的犹太人的经历。他的确是个无国籍的游民。
他幼年时，家里曾打算把他培养成为一个英国人；他在伊顿公学上过两年学；后来，在战争中，他不顾遇上潜艇的危险，横渡大西洋去阿根廷和母亲团聚，这个聪明大胆的中学生加入到男女仆人、两个司机、一头小狮子狗和她母亲的第二个丈夫的行列中。布兰奇和他们一起周游世界，变得邪恶得像画家霍格斯笔下的小侍僮。大战结束，他们回到欧洲，住豪华旅馆、疗养胜地，逛游乐场所，去海滨浴场。十五岁时，作为赌注，他被打扮成个女孩，带到布宜诺斯艾利斯赛马总会的大台上表演；他同普鲁斯特和纪德一道进餐，同加图和第雅基烈夫往来亲密；费班克送他好几部长篇小说，上面写着热烈的题词，他在卡普里岛引起了三场不可和解的冤仇；他自己说在切法卢曾干过魔术的营生，在加利富尼亚治好了吸毒瘾，在维也纳治好了恋母情结。
有些时候，与他比起来我们都像孩子——大部分时间是这样，但并不总是这样，因为安东尼身上有一种疯狂和热情，这种狂热会在我们闲暇时的青春时期某些地方表现出来，比如在运动场上，或者在教室里；安东尼的恶劣行为，与其说是为了寻欢作乐，还不如说是为了要别人吃惊，他的精心表演常常令我回想起在那不勒斯遇到的一个顽童。这个顽童在一群英国旅游客人面前用明显下流的动作可笑的蹦蹦跳跳着。当安东尼谈到他晚上在赌桌上的情形时，我们从他的乱转的眼珠里看出他怎样贪婪地盯着他继父的逐渐减少的筹码；当我们在泥泞里翻滚着踢足球，狼吞虎咽吃松脆的圆饼的时候，安东尼已经在亚热带沙漠中帮助漂亮的妇女们做减肥治疗，在漂亮的小酒吧间小口小口的吸饮饭前的开胃酒，因此，我们身上已经驯服了的野性在他身上却仍然难以控制。安东尼也一样残酷，任性得就像爱随意残害小昆虫的孩子，他还像一个大胆的小学生一样，低下头对班长挥舞着小拳头。
他邀我去吃饭，我发现自己单独和他一起吃，心里颇感不安。“我们到泰姆去，”他说，“那儿有一家可心的饭店，幸好这家没有引起布林敦学院的人们的注意。我们要喝莱茵酒，想象我们自己在……在什么地方？不会是和约——约——约罗克兄弟一块儿出去游览。但是，我们首先喝一点饭前酒，帮助消化。”
在乔治酒吧间，他命令说：“请来四杯亚历山大鸡尾酒，”他把酒放在自己面前，同时发出品尝美味时响亮的“啧啧”声，引得人人都愤怒地瞪着他。“我想你比较喜欢雪利酒，但是，亲爱的查尔斯，不许你喝雪利酒。这不是一种很可口的混合酒吗？你不喜欢这酒吗？那么，我替你干杯。一、二、三、四——四杯下了肚。瞧，那些学生怎样盯着我！”然后他领我出去坐上等着的汽车。
“希望我们不会在那里遇到大学生。目前我对他们毫无好感。你听到星期四他们怎么对待我的吗？太不像话了。幸亏那晚上我穿的是最旧的睡衣裤，而且那晚上天气很闷热，否则我真要发脾气了。”安东尼有个习惯，说话时爱把脸贴近对方；甜甜的、发出奶油味的鸡尾酒味沾染了他的气息。我侧过身子躲着他，坐在出租汽车的角落里。
“亲爱的，你想象一下我的情形吧，单身一个，勤奋用功。我刚刚买到一本相当可怕的书名叫《滑稽的圆舞》，我知道我必须在星期天去加辛顿之前读完，因为每个人都得谈谈对这本书的看法，要说没有读过这部当代作品，就显得太没有修养了。我想解决的办法就是不去加辛顿，但是我现在才想出这个办法。所以，亲爱的，我就带了一个煎蛋饼，一个桃子和一瓶维希矿泉水，穿上睡衣，安下心来看书。我得承认我思想不集中，但是我一页一页地翻下去，一边看白昼的光渐渐暗淡，亲爱的，这种光景在佩格泉这地方是很值得体验的——随着夜幕降临，周围的石头好像在眼前渐渐变得模糊了。这光景让我回忆起马赛旧港一些建筑物正面的鳞状石块，直到突然间一阵你从未听到过的怪叫声惊醒了我，我看见游廊上来了一群乱嘈嘈的二十来个可怕的青年人。你知道他们在唱什么吗？他们用连祷文式的语言吟唱：‘我们大家都要布兰奇，我们大家都要布兰奇’这样公开宣布！得，我看今晚上赫胥黎的小说算是吹了。我得说，我腻烦透了的时候，什么打搅我都欢迎。这样的高声歌唱搅乱了我，可是你知道吗？他们唱的声音越响，他们就表现得越胆小，他们不停地问：‘博伊在哪儿？布兰奇是博伊·马尔卡斯特的朋友。’‘博伊一定把他带来了。’你当然见过博伊？他总是在亲爱的塞巴斯蒂安房间里进进出出。他完全是我们南欧人心目中的英国贵族。我敢保证，他是一个理想的对象。伦敦的小姐都追求他。人家说，他对小姐们很傲慢。亲爱的，他吓呆了。一个大笨蛋——马尔卡斯特就是这样一个人——而且，亲爱的，他还是一个无赖。复活节那天，他来到图居艾饭店，我破例请了他留下来。他玩牌输了一点钱——结果，他要我付他请客的钱——好呀！马尔卡斯特参加了他们一伙；我看见他笨拙的身子在楼下慢吞吞地走着，听到他说：‘不行。他出门了。我们回去喝杯酒吧？’这样，我把头伸到窗户外对他说，‘老寄生虫马尔卡斯特，你这马屁精晚上好吗？你躲在这群小伙子中间吗？为了你在娱乐场勾搭上的娼妇，我借给你三百法郎，你是来还我钱的吗？这点钱也解救不了她的困难，她的困难可大啦，马尔卡斯特。来还给我钱，你这流氓！’
“亲爱的，这话好像给了他们一点生气，他们吵吵嚷嚷地上了楼。大约有六个人进了我的房子，其他的人站在外边大声嚷嚷。亲爱的，他们看起来太古怪了，他们已经吃了俱乐部的可笑晚餐，他们都穿着带色的燕尾服——一种制服！‘亲爱的，’我对他们说，‘你们像一群无法无天的用人。’这时其中一个有趣的小伙子，骂我搞同性恋爱。‘亲爱的，’我说，‘我也许搞同性恋爱，可是我不是没个够的。等你一个人的时候再来吧。’接着他们开始说一些不堪入耳的下流话，我突然也恼怒起来。‘真的，’我想，‘这时我想起我十七岁时遇到的所有麻烦事，文森尼公爵（是老阿曼德，并非年轻的菲利普）为了我和公爵夫人（当然是年轻的斯蒂芬妮，而不是老太婆波比）的爱情关系、而且比爱情关系还严重的关系，要和我决斗，我——现在决不能忍受这群长着脓包、喝醉了的小兔崽子们的无礼举动……’嗯，我放弃了轻松的开玩笑的口吻，采取了一点点攻势。
“这时，他们开始说，‘抓住他，把他扔到水星池里。’瞧，你是知道的，我有两座布兰库西的雕塑，还有几件漂亮东西我不愿意他们撒野给破坏了，我就安静地对他们说，‘亲爱的漂亮的乡下佬，如果你们懂得一点性心理学的话，你们就会知道，我最大的快乐莫过于让你们这些肉乎乎的孩子们粗暴对待了。那将是一种最下流的狂欢。因此，如果你们当中谁想当我的伴儿，就来抓住我吧。如果，相反地，你只想满足某种模糊的、不容易归类的性欲，要看我洗澡，好小丑们，就安静地跟我去水池边吧。’
“你知道，听了我的话，这些人都变傻了。我和他们一起下楼去，没有人敢近在咫尺。然后，我跳进了水池，你知道，池水的确非常凉爽，因此我就在那里游了一会儿，玩了几个花样，直到他们转身恼怒地走了。我听到博伊·马尔卡斯特说：‘我们毕竟把他扔到水星池里去了。’查尔斯，你知道，这就是他们会说上三十年的话。当他们都跟瘦得像皮包骨的母鸡一样的女人结了婚，生下一群像他们自己一样痴呆的小猪似的儿子的时候，当他们穿着同样颜色的上衣在同一个俱乐部吃晚饭时喝醉了酒，当人们提到我的名字时，他们还会说，‘有天晚上，我们曾把他扔进水星池里，’而他们的在谷仓前空地上游玩的女儿们会窃笑不已，说她们父亲年轻时简直是个无赖，可惜老了时变得那么迟钝。啊，劳累的北方人！”
我知道，这并不是安东尼第一次被人撵进水里，可是这件事好像老挂在他心上，他在晚餐时又提起来。
“你不能想象塞巴斯蒂安会遇到这样倒霉的事情，是不是？”
“是的，”我说，“我不能想象。”
“是的，塞巴斯蒂安有魅力，”他对着烛光举起盛着德国葡萄酒的玻璃杯，重复说，“很有魅力。你知道吗？我第二天顺便去看望塞巴斯蒂安。我想，他可能对我那天晚上碰到的事情感兴趣。你猜，除了他那只有趣的玩具熊以外——我还看到了什么？我看到马尔卡斯特和昨天晚上他的两个好朋友。他们的样子显得很愚蠢——而塞巴斯蒂安像《苯——苯——笨拙》周刊上的旁——旁——旁松比——德——汤姆金斯太太一样镇静自若。他说：‘当然啰，你认识马尔卡斯特勋爵。’于是那几个白痴说：‘我们只是来看看玩具熊阿洛伊修斯怎么样了。’因为他们像我们一样发现玩具熊很有趣——或者，我可否这样说，比我们更感到有趣？于是他们走了。我说：‘塞——塞——塞巴斯蒂安，你是否了解那批拍——拍——拍马屁的鼻涕虫昨晚侮辱了我，如果不是天气还暖和，我很可能得了重——重——重感冒。’他说：‘可怜的家伙们。我想他们喝醉了。’你看，他替谁都说好话；这就是他的魅力。
“我看他把你完全迷住了，亲爱的查尔斯。嗯，我并不觉得奇怪。当然，你认识他没有我认识他的时间长。我在中学和他同学。你可能不相信，那几年人们常说他是个小坏蛋；只有几个野孩子跟他好。当然，在通俗音乐会里人人都喜欢他，当然，所有的教员都喜欢他。我猜想，他们的确羡慕他。他好像从来没有遇到过麻烦。我们其他人常常为了很小的事情狠狠地挨一顿揍，塞巴斯蒂安可从来没有挨过打。他是我们寄宿舍里唯一没有挨过打的孩子。我现在还记得他十五岁时的样子。你举不出他的缺点来；其他所有的孩子都有缺点。博伊·马尔卡斯特的确是道德败坏。但是塞巴斯蒂安可不是。或者他有一点缺点，是不是他的脖子后面有一
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remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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profligacy
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| n.放荡，不检点，肆意挥霍 | |
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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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noisome
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| adj.有害的，可厌的 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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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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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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pate
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| n.头顶；光顶 | |
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trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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mosaics
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| n.马赛克( mosaic的名词复数 )；镶嵌；镶嵌工艺；镶嵌图案 | |
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anarchy
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| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
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ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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bereavement
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| n.亲人丧亡，丧失亲人，丧亲之痛 | |
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adolescence
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| n.青春期，青少年 | |
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premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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cramming
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| n.塞满，填鸭式的用功v.塞入( cram的现在分词 )；填塞；塞满；（为考试而）死记硬背功课 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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retarded
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| a.智力迟钝的，智力发育迟缓的 | |
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sophistries
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| n.诡辩术( sophistry的名词复数 )；（一次）诡辩 | |
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talisman
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| n.避邪物，护身符 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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nomad
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| n.游牧部落的人，流浪者，游牧民 | |
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chauffeurs
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| n.受雇于人的汽车司机( chauffeur的名词复数 ) | |
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chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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49
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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50
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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51
inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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52
irreconcilable
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| adj.（指人）难和解的，势不两立的 | |
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53
feuds
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| n.长期不和，世仇( feud的名词复数 ) | |
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54
bluster
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| v.猛刮；怒冲冲的说；n.吓唬，怒号；狂风声 | |
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55
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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56
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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57
urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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58
capering
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| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的现在分词 )；蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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59
derisively
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| adv. 嘲笑地，嘲弄地 | |
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60
covertly
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| adv.偷偷摸摸地 | |
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61
dwindling
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| adj.逐渐减少的v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的现在分词 ) | |
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62
gorging
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| v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的现在分词 )；作呕 | |
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63
sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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65
rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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66
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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67
cocktails
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| n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 )；餐前开胃菜；混合物 | |
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68
cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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69
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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70
concoction
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| n.调配(物)；谎言 | |
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71
pyjamas
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| n.（宽大的）睡衣裤 | |
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72
tainted
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|
| adj.腐坏的；污染的；沾污的；感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 )；使污染；败坏；被污染，腐坏，败坏 | |
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73
banal
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| adj.陈腐的，平庸的 | |
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74
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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75
bawling
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|
| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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76
piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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77
tedium
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| n.单调；烦闷 | |
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78
bellows
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| n.风箱；发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的名词复数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的第三人称单数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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79
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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80
toady
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| v.奉承；n.谄媚者，马屁精 | |
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81
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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82
niggardly
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|
| adj.吝啬的，很少的 | |
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83
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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84
unnatural
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|
| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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85
inverted
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|
| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
duel
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|
| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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87
pimply
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| adj.肿泡的；有疙瘩的；多粉刺的；有丘疹的 | |
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88
virgins
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| 处女，童男( virgin的名词复数 )； 童贞玛利亚（耶稣之母） | |
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89
bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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90
psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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91
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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92
libido
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| n.本能的冲动 | |
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93
refreshing
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|
| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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94
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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95
reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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96
pretexts
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| n.借口，托辞( pretext的名词复数 ) | |
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97
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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98
agog
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| adj.兴奋的，有强烈兴趣的； adv.渴望地 | |
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99
phlegmatic
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| adj.冷静的，冷淡的，冷漠的，无活力的 | |
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100
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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101
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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102
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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103
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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104
varnish
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| n.清漆；v.上清漆；粉饰 | |
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105
stammer
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|
| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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106
monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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107
trickles
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| n.细流( trickle的名词复数 )；稀稀疏疏缓慢来往的东西v.滴( trickle的第三人称单数 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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108
mesmerizing
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| adj.有吸引力的，有魅力的v.使入迷( mesmerize的现在分词 ) | |
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109
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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110
archaic
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| adj.(语言、词汇等)古代的，已不通用的 | |
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111
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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112
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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113
barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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114
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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115
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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116
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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117
artifice
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| n.妙计，高明的手段；狡诈，诡计 | |
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118
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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119
rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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120
nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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121
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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122
authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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123
gondola
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| n.威尼斯的平底轻舟；飞船的吊船 | |
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124
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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125
cocoon
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| n.茧 | |
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126
gossamer
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| n.薄纱，游丝 | |
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127
pious
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|
| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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128
reprobate
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| n.无赖汉；堕落的人 | |
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129
patrimony
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| n.世袭财产，继承物 | |
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130
begetting
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| v.为…之生父( beget的现在分词 )；产生，引起 | |
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131
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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132
emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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133
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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134
wraiths
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| n.幽灵( wraith的名词复数 )；（传说中人在将死或死后不久的）显形阴魂 | |
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135
insipid
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| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
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136
murky
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|
| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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137
candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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138
nauseating
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| adj.令人恶心的，使人厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的现在分词 ) | |
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139
juggling
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| n. 欺骗, 杂耍(=jugglery) adj. 欺骗的, 欺诈的 动词juggle的现在分词 | |
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140
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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141
stimulus
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| n.刺激，刺激物，促进因素，引起兴奋的事物 | |
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142
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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143
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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144
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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145
coma
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| n.昏迷，昏迷状态 | |
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146
drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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147
unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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148
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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149
romps
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| n.无忧无虑，快活( romp的名词复数 )v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的第三人称单数 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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150
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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151
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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152
cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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153
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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154
quad
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| n.四方院；四胞胎之一；v.在…填补空铅 | |
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155
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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156
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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157
corporate
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| adj.共同的，全体的；公司的，企业的 | |
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158
freshmen
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| n.（中学或大学的）一年级学生( freshman的名词复数 ) | |
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159
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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160
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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161
spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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162
dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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163
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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164
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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165
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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166
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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167
eschewed
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| v.（尤指为道德或实际理由而）习惯性避开，回避( eschew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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168
sects
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| n.宗派，教派( sect的名词复数 ) | |
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169
travesties
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| n.拙劣的模仿作品，荒谬的模仿，歪曲( travesty的名词复数 ) | |
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170
dissent
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| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
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171
flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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172
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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173
scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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174
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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175
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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176
starched
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| adj.浆硬的，硬挺的，拘泥刻板的v.把（衣服、床单等）浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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177
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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178
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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179
compulsory
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| n.强制的，必修的；规定的，义务的 | |
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180
pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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