memories and portraits- 第22部分

the　poor　man's　dog　is　not　offended　by　the　notice　of　the　rich；　and　

keeps　all　his　ugly　feeling　for　those　poorer　or　more　ragged　than　his　

master。　　And　again；　for　every　station　they　have　an　ideal　of　

behaviour；　to　which　the　master；　under　pain　of　derogation；　will　do　

wisely　to　conform。　　How　often　has　not　a　cold　glance　of　an　eye　

informed　me　that　my　dog　was　disappointed；　and　how　much　more　gladly　

would　he　not　have　taken　a　beating　than　to　be　thus　wounded　in　the　

seat　of　piety！



I　knew　one　disrespectable　dog。　　He　was　far　liker　a　cat；　cared　

little　or　nothing　for　men；　with　whom　he　merely　coexisted　as　we　do　

with　cattle；　and　was　entirely　devoted　to　the　art　of　poaching。　　A　

house　would　not　hold　him；　and　to　live　in　a　town　was　what　he　

refused。



He　led；　I　believe；　a　life　of　troubled　but　genuine　pleasure；　and　

perished　beyond　all　question　in　a　trap。　　But　this　was　an　exception；　

a　marked　reversion　to　the　ancestral　type；　like　the　hairy　human　

infant。　　The　true　dog　of　the　nineteenth　century；　to　judge　by　the　

remainder　of　my　fairly　large　acquaintance；　is　in　love　with　

respectability。　　A　street…dog　was　once　adopted　by　a　lady。　　While　

still　an　Arab；　he　had　done　as　Arabs　do；　gambolling　in　the　mud；　

charging　into　butchers'　stalls；　a　cat…hunter；　a　sturdy　beggar；　a　

common　rogue　and　vagabond；　but　with　his　rise　into　society　he　laid　

aside　these　inconsistent　pleasures。　　He　stole　no　more；　he　hunted　no　

more　cats；　and　conscious　of　his　collar；　he　ignored　his　old　

companions。　　Yet　the　canine　upper　class　was　never　brought　to　

recognise　the　upstart；　and　from　that　hour；　except　for　human　

countenance；　he　was　alone。　　Friendless；　shorn　of　his　sports　and　the　

habits　of　a　lifetime；　he　still　lived　in　a　glory　of　happiness；　

content　with　his　acquired　respectability；　and　with　no　care　but　to　

support　it　solemnly。　　Are　we　to　condemn　or　praise　this　self…made　

dog？　　We　praise　his　human　brother。　　And　thus　to　conquer　vicious　

habits　is　as　rare　with　dogs　as　with　men。　　With　the　more　part；　for　

all　their　scruple…mongering　and　moral　thought；　the　vices　that　are　

born　with　them　remain　invincible　throughout；　and　they　live　all　

their　years；　glorying　in　their　virtues；　but　still　the　slaves　of　

their　defects。　　Thus　the　sage　Coolin　was　a　thief　to　the　last；　among　

a　thousand　peccadilloes；　a　whole　goose　and　a　whole　cold　leg　of　

mutton　lay　upon　his　conscience；　but　Woggs；　（7）　whose　soul's　

shipwreck　in　the　matter　of　gallantry　I　have　recounted　above；　has　

only　twice　been　known　to　steal；　and　has　often　nobly　conquered　the　

temptation。　　The　eighth　is　his　favourite　commandment。　　There　is　

something　painfully　human　in　these　unequal　virtues　and　mortal　

frailties　of　the　best。　　Still　more　painful　is　the　bearing　of　those　

〃stammering　professors〃　in　the　house　of　sickness　and　under　the　

terror　of　death。　　It　is　beyond　a　doubt　to　me　that；　somehow　or　

other；　the　dog　connects　together；　or　confounds；　the　uneasiness　of　

sickness　and　the　consciousness　of　guilt。　　To　the　pains　of　the　body　

he　often　adds　the　tortures　of　the　conscience；　and　at　these　times　

his　haggard　protestations　form；　in　regard　to　the　human　deathbed；　a　

dreadful　parody　or　parallel。



I　once　supposed　that　I　had　found　an　inverse　relation　between　the　

double　etiquette　which　dogs　obey；　and　that　those　who　were　most　

addicted　to　the　showy　street　life　among　other　dogs　were　less　

careful　in　the　practice　of　home　virtues　for　the　tyrant　man。　　But　

the　female　dog；　that　mass　of　carneying　affectations；　shines　equally　

in　either　sphere；　rules　her　rough　posse　of　attendant　swains　with　

unwearying　tact　and　gusto；　and　with　her　master　and　mistress　pushes　

the　arts　of　insinuation　to　their　crowning　point。　　The　attention　of　

man　and　the　regard　of　other　dogs　flatter　（it　would　thus　appear）　the　

same　sensibility；　but　perhaps；　if　we　could　read　the　canine　heart；　

they　would　be　found　to　flatter　it　in　very　different　degrees。　　Dogs　

live　with　man　as　courtiers　round　a　monarch；　steeped　in　the　flattery　

of　his　notice　and　enriched　with　sinecures。　　To　push　their　favour　in　

this　world　of　pickings　and　caresses　is；　perhaps；　the　business　of　

their　lives；　and　their　joys　may　lie　outside。　　I　am　in　despair　at　

our　persistent　ignorance。　　I　read　in　the　lives　of　our　companions　

the　same　processes　of　reason；　the　same　antique　and　fatal　conflicts　

of　the　right　against　the　wrong；　and　of　unbitted　nature　with　too　

rigid　custom；　I　see　them　with　our　weaknesses；　vain；　false；　

inconstant　against　appetite；　and　with　our　one　stalk　of　virtue；　

devoted　to　the　dream　of　an　ideal；　and　yet；　as　they　hurry　by　me　on　

the　street　with　tail　in　air；　or　come　singly　to　solicit　my　regard；　I　

must　own　the　secret　purport　of　their　lives　is　still　inscrutable　to　

man。　　Is　man　the　friend；　or　is　he　the　patron　only？　　Have　they　

indeed　forgotten　nature's　voice？　or　are　those　moments　snatched　from　

courtiership　when　they　touch　noses　with　the　tinker's　mongrel；　the　

brief　reward　and　pleasure　of　their　artificial　lives？　　Doubtless；　

when　man　shares　with　his　dog　the　toils　of　a　profession　and　the　

pleasures　of　an　art；　as　with　the　shepherd　or　the　poacher；　the　

affection　warms　and　strengthens　till　it　fills　the　soul。　　But　

doubtless；　also；　the　masters　are；　in　many　cases；　the　object　of　a　

merely　interested　cultus；　sitting　aloft　like　Louis　Quatorze；　giving　

and　receiving　flattery　and　favour；　and　the　dogs；　like　the　majority　

of　men；　have　but　foregone　their　true　existence　and　become　the　dupes　

of　their　ambition。









CHAPTER　XIII。　A　PENNY　PLAIN　AND　TWOPENCE　COLOURED





THESE　words　will　be　familiar　to　all　students　of　Skelt's　Juvenile　

Drama。　　That　national　monument；　after　having　changed　its　name　to　

Park's；　to　Webb's；　to　Redington's；　and　last　of　all　to　Pollock's；　

has　now　become；　for　the　most　part；　a　memory。　　Some　of　its　pillars；　

like　Stonehenge；　are　still　afoot；　the　rest　clean　vanished。　　It　may　

be　the　Museum　numbers　a　full　set；　and　Mr。　Ionides　perhaps；　or　else　

her　gracious　Majesty；　may　boast　their　great　collections；　but　to　the　

plain　private　person　they　are　become；　like　Raphaels；　unattainable。　　

I　have；　at　different　times；　possessed　ALADDIN；　THE　RED　ROVER；　THE　

BLIND　BOY；　THE　OLD　OAK　CHEST；　THE　WOOD　DAEMON；　JACK　SHEPPARD；　THE　

MILLER　AND　HIS　MEN；　DER　FREISCHUTZ；　THE　SMUGGLER；　THE　FOREST　OF　

BONDY；　ROBIN　HOOD；　THE　WATERMAN；　RICHARD　I。；　MY　POLL　AND　MY　PARTNER　

JOE；　THE　INCHCAPE　BELL　（imperfect）；　and　THREE…FINGERED　JACK；　THE　

TERROR　OF　JAMAICA；　and　I　have　assisted　others　in　the　illumination　

of　MAID　OF　THE　INN　and　THE　BATTLE　OF　WATERLOO。　　In　this　roll…call　

of　stirring　names　you　read　the　evidences　of　a　happy　childhood；　and　

though　not　half　of　them　are　still　to　be　procured　of　any　living　

stationer；　in　the　mind　of　their　once　happy　owner　all　survive；　

kaleidoscopes　of　changing　pictures；　echoes　of　the　past。



There　stands；　I　fancy；　to　this　day　（but　now　how　fallen！）　a　certain　

stationer's　shop　at　a　corner　of　the　wide　thoroughfare　that　joins　

the　city　of　my　childhood　with　the　sea。　　When；　upon　any　Saturday；　we　

made　a　party　to　behold　the　ships；　we　passed　that　corner；　and　since　

in　those　days　I　loved　a　ship　as　a　man　loves　Burgundy　or　daybreak；　

this　of　itself　had　been　enough　to　hallow　it。　　But　there　was　more　

than　that。　　In　the　Leith　Walk　window；　all　the　year　round；　there　

stood　displayed　a　theatre　in　working　order；　with　a　〃forest　set；〃　a　

〃combat；〃　and　a　few　〃robbers　carousing〃　in　the　slides；　and　below　

and　about；　dearer　tenfold　to　me！　the　plays　themselves；　those　

budgets　of　romance；　lay　tumbled　one　upon　another。　　Long　and　often　

have　I　lingered　there　with　empty　pockets。　　One　figure；　we　shall　

say；　was　visible　in　the　first　plate　of　characters；　bearded；　pistol　

in　hand；　or　drawing　to　his　ear　the　clothyard　arrow；　I　would　spell　

the　name：　was　it　Macaire；　or　Long　Tom　Coffin；　or　Grindoff；　2d　

dress？　　O；　how　I　would　long　to　see　the　rest！　how　…　if　the　name　by　

chance　were　hidden　…　I　would　wonder　in　what　play　he　figured；　and　

what　immortal　legend　justified　his　attitude　and　strange　apparel！　　

And　then　to　go　within；　to　announce　yourself　as　an　intending　

purchaser；　and；　closely　watched；　be　suffered　to　undo　those　bundles　

and　breathlessly　devour　those　pages　of　gesticulating　villains；　

epileptic　combats；　bosky　forests；　palaces　and　war…ships；　frowning　

fortresses　and　prison　vaults　…　it　was　a　giddy　joy。　　That　shop；　

which　was　dark　and　smelt　of　Bibles；　was　a　loadstone　rock　for　all　

that　bore　the　name　of　boy。　　They　could　not　pass　it　by；　nor；　having　

entered；　leave　it。　　It　was　a　place　besieged；　the　shopmen；　like　the　

Jews　rebuilding　Salem；　had　a　double　task。　　They　kept　us　at　the　

stick's　end；　frowned　us　down；　snatched　each　play　out　of　our　hand　

ere　we　were　trusted　with　another；　and；　increditable　as　it　may　

sound；　used　to　demand　of　us　upon　our　entrance；　like　banditti；　if　we　

came　with　money　or　with　empty　hand。　　Old　Mr。　Smith　himself；　worn　

out　with　my　eternal　vacillation；　once　swept　the　treasures　from　

before　me；　with　the　cry：　〃I　do　not　believe；　child；　that　you　are　an　

intending　purchaser　at　all！〃　　These　were　the　dragons　of　the　garden；　

but　for　such　joys　of　paradise　we　could　have　faced　the　Terror　of　

Jamaica　himself。　　Every　sheet　we　fingered　was　another　lightning　

glance　into　obscure；　delicious　story；　it　was　like　wallowing　in　the　

raw　stuff　of　story…books。　　I　know　nothing　to　compare　with　it　save　

now　and　then　in　dreams；　when　I　am　privileged　to　read　in　certain　

unwrit　stories　of　adventure；　from　which　I　awake　to　find　the　world　

all　vanity。　　The　CRUX　of　Buridan's　donkey　was　as　nothing　to　the　

uncertainty　of　the　boy　as　he　handled　and　lingered　and　doated　on　

these　bundles　of　delight；　there　was　a　physical　pleasure　in　the　

sight　and　touch　of　them　which　he　would　jealously　prolong；　and　when　

at　length　the　deed　was　done；　the　play　selected；　and　the　impatient　

shopman　had　brushed　the　rest　into　the　gray　portfolio；　and　the　boy　

was　forth　again；　a　little　late　for　dinner；　the　lamps　springing　into　

light　in　the　blue　winter