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some roundabout papers(绕圈的文件)-第4部分

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amusement to the company; while the feet of five hundred nymphs were 

cutting   flicflacs   on   the stage   at   a   few   paces   distant。  Ah;   I   remember   a 

different     state   of  things!     Credite     posteri。    To    see   these    nymphs      

gracious      powers;     how     beautiful     they   were!      That     leering;    painted; 

shrivelled;      thin…armed;     thick…ankled      old    thing;   cutting    dreary    capers; 

coming thumping down on her board out of time  that an opera…dancer? 

Pooh!      My dear Walter; the great difference between my time and yours; 

who will enter life some two or three years hence; is that; now; the dancing 

women   and   singing   women   are   ludicrously   old;   out   of   time;   and   out   of 

tune; the paint is so visible; and the dinge and wrinkles of their wretched 

old cotton stockings; that I am surprised how anybody can like to look at 

them。     And as for laughing at me for falling asleep; I can't understand a 

man   of   sense   doing   otherwise。       In   my   time;   a   la   bonne   heure。   In   the 

reign   of   George   IV。;   I   give   you   my   honour;   all   the   dancers   at   the   opera 

were as beautiful as Houris。            Even in William IV。's time; when I think of 

Duvernay prancing in as the Bayadere;  I say it was a vision of loveliness 



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such as mortal eyes can't see nowadays。              How well I remember the tune 

to which she used to appear!          Kaled used to say to the Sultan; 〃My lord; a 

troop   of   those   dancing   and   singing   gurls   called   Bayaderes   approaches;〃 

and; to the clash of cymbals; and the thumping of my heart; in she used to 

dance!     There has never been anything like it  never。             There never will 

be      I   laugh   to   scorn   old   people   who   tell   me   about   your   Noblet;   your 

Montessu; your Vistris; your Parisot  pshaw; the senile twaddlers!                   And 

the impudence of the young men; with their music and their dancers of to… 

day!     I tell you the women are dreary old creatures。             I tell you one air in 

an opera is just like another; and they send all rational creatures to sleep。 

Ah; Ronzi de Begnis; thou lovely one!             Ah; Caradori; thou smiling angel! 

Ah; Malibran!        Nay; I will come to modern times; and acknowledge that 

Lablache was a very good singer thirty years ago (though Porto was the 

boy for me):       and they we had Ambrogetti; and Curioni; and Donzelli; a 

rising young singer。 

     But what is most certain and lamentable is the decay of stage beauty 

since    the  days    of  George    IV。   Think     of  Sontag!    I   remember      her   in 

Otello   and   the   Donna   del   Lago   in   ‘28。   I   remember   being   behind   the 

scenes at the opera (where numbers of us young fellows of fashion used to 

go); and seeing Sontag let her hair fall down over her shoulders previous 

to her murder by Donzelli。           Young fellows have never seen beauty like 

that;   heard   such   a   voice;   seen   such   hair;   such   eyes。 Don't   tell   me! A 

man who has been about town since the reign of George IV。; ought he not 

to   know     better   than   you   young    lads   who    have    seen   nothing?     The 

deterioration     of  women      is  lamentable;     and    the  conceit    of  the  young 

fellows more lamentable still; that they won't see this fact; but persist in 

thinking their time as good as ours。 

     Bless me! when I was a lad; the stage was covered with angels; who 

sang;    acted;    and   danced。     When      I  remember       the  Adelphi;     and   the 

actresses there:      when I think of Miss Chester; and Miss Love; and Mrs 

Serle at Sadler's Wells; and her forty glorious pupils  of the Opera and 

Noblet; and the exquisite young Taglioni; and Pauline Leroux; and a host 

more!     One much…admired being of those days I confess I never cared for; 

and   that   was   the   chief   male   dancer      a   very   important   personage   then; 



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with a bare neck; bare arms; a tunic; and a hat and feathers; who used to 

divide the applause with the ladies; and who has now sunk down a trap… 

door for ever。      And this frank admission ought to show that I am not your 

mere twaddling laudator temporis acti  your old fogey who can see no 

good except in his own time。 

     They say that claret is better nowadays; and cookery much improved 

since    the   days   of  my    monarch       of  George     IV。   Pastry    Cookery     is 

certainly not so good。        I have often eaten half…a… crown's worth (including; 

I trust; ginger…beer) at our school pastrycook's; and that is a proof that the 

pastry must have been very good; for could I do as much now?                      I passed 

by the pastrycook's shop lately; having occasion to visit my old school。 It 

looked a very dingy old baker's;           misfortunes may have come over him  

those penny tarts certainly did not look so nice as I remember them:                    but 

he may have grown careless as he has grown old (I should judge him to be 

now     about    ninety…six   years    of  age);   and   his  hand    may    have   lost  its 

cunning。 

     Not that we were not great epicures。            I remember how we constantly 

grumbled at the quantity of the food in our master's house  which on my 

conscience I believe was excellent and plentiful  and how we tried once 

or twice to eat him out of house and home。               At the pastrycook's we may 

have   over…eaten   ourselves   (I   have   admitted   half…a…crown's   worth   for   my 

own part; but I don't like to mention the real figure for fear of perverting 

the   present   generation   of   boys   by   my   monstrous   confession)      we   may 

have    eaten    too  much;    I  say。   We     did;   but   what    then?    The    school 

apothecary  was   sent   for:     a   couple   of   small   globules   at   night;   a   trifling 

preparation of senna in the morning; and we had not to go to school; so 

that the draught was an actual pleasure。 

     For our amusements; besides the games in vogue; which were pretty 

much in   old   times   as they  are   now   (except   cricket par   exemple      and   I 

wish the present youth joy of their bowling; and suppose Armstrong and 

Whitworth   will   bowl   at   them   with   light   field…pieces   next);   there   were 

novels      ah!   I   trouble   you   to   find   such   novels   in   the   present   day! O 

Scottish Chiefs; didn't we weep over you! O Mysteries of Udolpho; didn't 

I   and   Briggs   Minor   draw   pictures   out   of   you;   as   I   have   said? Efforts; 



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feeble indeed; but still giving pleasure to us and our friends。                 〃I say; old 

boy;    draw    us  Vivaldi    tortured    in  the  Inquisition;〃    or;  〃Draw     us  Don 

Quixote and the windmills; you know;〃 amateurs would say; to boys who 

had a love of drawing。         〃Peregrine Pickle〃 we liked; our fathers admiring 

it; and telling us (the sly old boys) it was capital fun;               but I think I was 

rather    bewildered     by   it;  though   〃Roderick     Random〃       was   and   remains 

delightful。     I don't remember having Sterne in the school library; no doubt 

because   the   works   of   that   divine   were   not   considered   decent   for   young 

people。     Ah!   not   against   thy  genius;   O   father   of   Uncle Toby  and   Trim; 

would I say a word in disrespect。           But I am thankful to live in times when 

men   no   longer     have   the   temptation     to   write  so   as   to  call   blushes  on 

women's cheeks; and would shame to whisper wicked allusions to honest 

boys。     Then; above all; we had Walter Scott; the kindly; the generous; the 

pure  the companion of what countless delightful hours;                    the purveyor 

of   how    much     happiness;     the   friend   whom   we      recall  as  the   constant 

benefactor of our youth! How well I remember the type and the brownish 

paper of the old duodecimo 〃Tales of My Landlord!〃                   I have never dared 

to   read   the   〃Pirate;〃   and   the   〃Bride   of   Lammermoor;〃   or   〃Kenilworth;〃 

from that day to this; because the finale is unhappy; and people die; and 

are murdered at the end。          But 〃Ivanhoe;〃 and 〃Quentin Durward〃!                 Oh! 

for   a   half…holiday;   and   a   quiet   corner;   and   one   of   those   books   again! 

Those books; and perhaps those eyes with which w
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