the book of snobs-第37节

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Yet　how　little　you　can　tell　from　a　man's　outward

demeanour！　　There's　a　man　at　our　Clublarge；　heavy；

middle…agedgorgeously　dressedrather　baldwith

lacquered　bootsand　a　boa　when　he　goes　out；　quiet　in

demeanour；　always　ordering　and　consuming　a　RECHERCHE

little　dinner：　whom　I　have　mistaken　for　Sir　John

Pocklington　any　time　these　five　years；　and　respected　as　a

man　with　five　hundred　pounds　PER　DIEM；　and　I　find　he　is

but　a　clerk　in　an　office　in　the　City；　with　not　two

hundred　pounds　income；　and　his　name　is　Jubber。　　Sir　John

Pocklington　was；　on　the　contrary；　the　dirty　little　snuffy

man　who　cried　out　so　about　the　bad　quality　of　the　beer；

and　grumbled　at　being　overcharged　three…halfpence　for　a

herring；　seated　at　the　next　table　to　Jubber　on　the　day

when　some　one　pointed　the　Baronet　out　to　me。



Take　a　different　sort　of　mystery。　　I　see；　for　instance；

old　Fawney　stealing　round　the　rooms　of　the　Club；　with

glassy；　meaningless　eyes；　and　an　endless　greasy　simper

he　fawns　on　everybody　he　meets；　and　shakes　hands　with

you；　and　blesses　you；　and　betrays　the　most　tender　and

astonishing　interest　in　your　welfare。　　You　know　him　to　be

a　quack　and　a　rogue；　and　he　knows　you　know　it。　　But　he

wriggles　on　his　way；　and　leaves　a　track　of　slimy　flattery

after　him　wherever　he　goes。　　Who　can　penetrate　that　man's

mystery？　　What　earthly　good　can　he　get　from　you　or　me？

You　don't　know　what　is　working　under　that　leering

tranquil　mask。　　You　have　only　the　dim　instinctive

repulsion　that　warns　you；　you　are　in　the　presence　of　a

knavebeyond　which　fact　all　Fawney's　soul　is　a　secret　to

you。



I　think　I　like　to　speculate　on　the　young　men　best。　　Their

play　is　opener。　　You　know　the　cards　in　their　hand；　as　it

were。　　Take；　for　example；　Messrs。　Spavin　and　Cockspur。



A　specimen　or　two　of　the　above　sort　of　young　fellows　may

be　found；　I　believe；　at　most　Clubs。　　They　know　nobody。

They　bring　a　fine　smell　of　cigars　into　the　room　with

them；　and　they　growl　together；　in　a　corner；　about

sporting　matters。　　They　recollect　the　history　of　that

short　period　in　which　they　have　been　ornaments　of　the

world　by　the　names　of　winning　horses。　　As　political　men

talk　about　'the　Reform　year；'　'the　year　the　Whigs　went

out；'　and　so　forth；　these　young　sporting　bucks　speak　of

TARNATION'S　year；　or　OPODELDOC'S　year；　or　the　year　when

CATAWAMPUS　ran　second　for　the　Chester　Cup。　　They　play　at

billiards　in　the　morning；　they　absorb　pale　ale　for

breakfast；　and　'top　up'　with　glasses　of　strong　waters。

They　read　BELL'S　LIFE　（and　a　very　pleasant　paper　too；

with　a　great　deal　of　erudition　in　the　answers　to

correspondents）。　　They　go　down　to　Tattersall's；　and

swagger　in　the　Park；　with　their　hands　plunged　in　the

pockets　of　their　paletots。



What　strikes　me　especially　in　the　outward　demeanour　of

sporting　youth　is　their　amazing　gravity；　their

conciseness　of　speech；　and　careworn　and　moody　air。　　In

the　smoking…room　at　the　'Regent；'　when　Joe　Millerson　will

be　setting　the　whole　room　in　a　roar　with　laughter；　you

hear　young　Messrs。　　Spavin　and　Cockspur　grumbling

together　in　a　corner。　　'I'll　take　your　five…and…twenty　to

one　about　Brother　to　Bluenose；'　whispers　Spavin。　　'Can't

do　it　at　the　price；'　Cockspur　says；　wagging　his　head

ominously。　　The　betting…book　is　always　present　in　the

minds　of　those　unfortunate　youngsters。　　I　think　I　hate

that　work　even　more　than　the　'Peerage。'　　There　is　some

good　in　the　latterthough；　generally　speaking；　a　vain

record：　though　De　Mogyns　is　not　descended　from　the　giant

Hogyn　Mogyn；　though　half　the　other　genealogies　are

equally　false　and　foolish；　yet　the　mottoes　are　good

readingsome　of　them；　and　the　book　itself　a　sort　of

gold…laced　and　livened　lackey　to　History；　and　in　so　far

serviceable。　　But　what　good　ever　came　out　of；　or　went

into；　a　betting…book？　　If　I　could　be　Caliph　Omar　for　a

week；　I　would　pitch　every　one　of　those　despicable

manuscripts　into　the　flames；　from　my　Lord's；　who　is　'in'

with　Jack　Snaffle's　stable；　and　is　over…reaching　worse…

informed　rogues　and　swindling　greenhorns；　down　to　Sam's；

the　butcher…boy's；　who　books　eighteenpenny　odds　in　the

tap…room；　and　'stands　to　win　five…and…twenty　bob。'



In　a　turf　transaction；　either　Spavin　or　Cockspur　would

try　to　get　the　better　of　his　father；　and；　to　gain　a　point

in　the　odds；　victimise　his　best　friends。　　One　day　we

shall　hear　of　one　or　other　levanting；　an　event　at　which；

not　being　sporting　men；　we　shall　not　break　our　hearts。

SeeMr。　Spavin　is　settling　his　toilette　previous　to

departure；　giving　a　curl　in　the　glass　to　his　side…wisps

of　hair。　　Look　at　him！　　It　is　only　at　the　hulks；　or　among

turf…men；　that　you　ever　see　a　face　so　mean；　so　knowing；

and　so　gloomy。



A　much　more　humane　being　among　the　youthful　Clubbists　is

the　Lady…killing　Snob。　　I　saw　Wiggle　just　now　in　the

dressing…room；　talking　to　Waggle；　his　inseparable。



WAGGLE。　'Pon　my　honour；　Wiggle；　she　did。'



WIGGLE。　'Well；　Waggle；　as　you　sayI　own　I　think　she

DID　look　at　me　rather　kindly。　　We'll　see　to…night　at　the

French　play。'



And　having　arrayed　their　little　persons；　these　two

harmless　young　bucks　go　upstairs　to　dinner。







CHAPTER　XL



CLUB　SNOBS



Both　sorts　of　young　men；　mentioned　in　my　last　under　the

flippant　names　of　Wiggle　and　Waggle；　may　be　found　in

tolerable　plenty；　I　think；　in　Clubs。　　Wiggle　and　Waggle

are　both　idle。　　They　come　of　the　middle　classes。　　One　of

them　very　likely　makes　believe　to　be　a　barrister；　and　the

other　has　smart　apartments　about　Piccadilly。　　They　are　a

sort　of　second…chop　dandies；　they　cannot　imitate　that

superb　listlessness　of　demeanour；　and　that　admirable

vacuous　folly　which　distinguish　the　noble　and　high…born

chiefs　of　the　race；　but　they　lead　lives　almost　as　bad

（were　it　but　for　the　example）；　and　are　personally　quite

as　useless。　　I　am　not　going　to　arm　a　thunderbolt；　and

launch　it　at　the　beads　of　these　little　Pall　Mall

butterflies。　　They　don't　commit　much　public　harm；　or

private　extravagance。　　They　don't　spend　a　thousand　pounds

for　diamond　earrings　for　an　Opera…dancer；　as　Lord　Tarquin

can：

neither　of　them　ever　set　up　a　public…house　or　broke　the

bank　of　a　gambling…club；　like　the　young　Earl　of

Martingale。　　They　have　good　points；　kind　feelings；　and

deal　honourably　in　money…transactionsonly　in　their

characters　of　men　of　second…rate　pleasure　about　town；

they　and　their　like　are　so　utterly　mean；　self…contented；

and　absurd；　that　they　must　not　be　omitted　in　a　work

treating　on　Snobs。



Wiggle　has　been　abroad；　where　he　gives　you　to　understand

that　his　success　among　the　German　countesses　and　Italian

princesses；　whom　he　met　at　the　TABLES…D'HOTE；　was

perfectly　terrific。　　His　rooms　are　hung　round　with

pictures　of　actresses　and　ballet…dancers。　　He　passes　his

mornings　in　a　fine　dressing…gown；　burning　pastilles；　and

reading　'Don　Juan'　and　French　novels　（by　the　way；　the

life　of　the　author　of　'Don　Juan；'　as　described　by

himself；　was　the　model　of　the　life　of　a　Snob）。　　He　has

twopenny…halfpenny　French　prints　of　women　with

languishing　eyes；　dressed　in　dominoes；guitars；

gondolas；　and　so　forth；and　tells　you　stories　about

them。



'It's　a　bad　print；'　says　he；　'I　know；　but　I've　a　reason

for　liking　it。　　It　reminds　me　of　somebodysomebody　I

knew　in　other　climes。　　You　have　heard　of　the　Principessa

di　Monte　Pulciano？　　I　met　her　at　Rimini。　　Dear；　dear

Francesca！　　That　fair…haired；　bright…eyed　thing　in　the

Bird　of　Paradise　and　the　Turkish　Simar　with　the　love…bird

on　her　finger；　I'm　sure　must　have　been　taken　fromfrom

somebody　perhaps　whom　you　don't　know　but　she's　known　at

Munich；　Waggle　my　boy；　everybody　knows　the　Countess

Ottilia　de　Eulenschreckenstein。　　Gad；　sir；　what　a

beautiful　creature　she　was　when　I　danced　with　her　on　the

birthday　of　Prince　Attila　of　Bavaria；　in　'44。　　Prince

Carloman　was　our　vis…a…vis；　and　Prince　Pepin　danced　the

same　CONTREDANSE。　　She　had　a　Polyanthus　in　her　bouquet。

Waggle；　I　HAVE　IT　NOW。'　　His　countenance　assumes　an

agonized　and　mysterious　expression；　and　he　buries　his

head　in　the　sofa　cushions；　as　if　plunging　into　a

whirlpool　of　passionate　recollections。



Last　year　he　made　a　considerable　sensation　by　having　on

his　table　a　morocco　miniature…case　locked　by　a　gold　key；

which　he　always　wore　round　his　neck；　and　on　which　was

stamped　a　serpentemblem　of　eternitywith　the　letter　M

in　the　circle。　　Sometimes　he　laid　this　upon　his　little

morocco　writing…table；　as　if　it　were　on　an　altar

generally　he　had　flowers　upon　it；　in　the　middle　of　a

conversation　he　would　start　up　and　kiss　it。　　He　would

call　out　from　his　bed…room　to　his　valet；　'Hicks；　bring　me

my　casket！'



'I　don't　know　who　it　is；'　Waggle　would　say。　　'Who　DOES

know　that　fellow's　intrigues！　　Desborough　Wiggle；　sir；　is

the　slave　of　passion。　　I　suppose　you　have　heard　the　story

of　the　Italian　princess　locked　up　in　the　Convent　of　Saint

Barbara；　at　Rimini？　　He　hasn't　told　you？　　Then　I'm　not　at

liberty　to　speak。　　Or　th