Brideshead Revisited

by Evelyn Waugh

major… well, where the devil have you been? I told you

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

i like this bad set and i enjoy getting drunk at luncheon

retarded 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 sophistries as I sat before my cousin, saw him,

wine and friendship

because everyone was bound to talk about it, and it’s so banal saying you have not read the book of the moment, if you haven’t. The solution I suppose is not to go

iits so banal

minutes? You know, when I hear him talk, I am reminded of that in some ways nauseating picture of ‘Bubbles.’ Conversation should be like juggling; up go the balls and the plates, up and over, in and out, good solid objects that glitter in the foot-lights 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

conversation described

None but church-goers seemed abroad that morning; under-graduates and graduates and wives and tradespeople, walking with that unmistakable English church-going pace which eschewed equally both haste and idle sauntering; holding, bound in black lamb-skin and white celluloid, the liturgies of half a dozen conflicting sects; 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 travesties of Venice and Athens; all in the summer sunshine going to the temples of their race. Four proud infidels alone proclaimed their dissent; four Indians

church going and infidels

There is no candor in a story of early manhood which leaves out of account the home-sickness for nursery morality, the regrets and resolutions of amendment, the black hours which, like zero on the roulette table, turn up with roughly calculable regularity.

truth of young manhood

your age.” “You see, I’ve run rather short.” “Yes?” said my father without any sound of interest. “In fact I don’t quite know how I’m going to get through the next two months.” “Well, I’m the worst person to come to for advice. I’ve never been ‘short’ as you so painfully call it. And yet what else could you say? Hard up? Penurious? Distressed? Embarrassed? Stony-broke?” (Snuffle.) “On the rocks? In Queer Street? Let us say you are in Queer Street and leave it at that. Your grandfather once said to me, ‘Live within your means, but

short of money and euphemisms soundslike Lebowskis daughter

heard in the words a challenge to myself. As we left the dining-room my father said, “Hayter, have you yet said anything to Mrs. Abel about the lobsters I ordered for tomorrow?” “No, sir.” “Do not do so.” “Very good, sir.” And when we reached our chairs in the garden-room he said: “I wonder whether Hayter had any intention of mentioning lobsters. I rather think not. Do you know, I believe he thought I was joking?” Next day, by chance, a weapon came

father lobster joke

paused to give full weight to the bizarre word—“a cropper.” Jorkins giggled nervously. My father fixed him with a look of reproach. “You find his misfortune the subject of mirth? Or perhaps the word I used was unfamiliar; you no doubt would say that he ‘folded up.’ ” My father was master of the situation. He had made a little fantasy for himself, that Jorkins should be an American, and throughout the evening he played a delicate, one-sided parlor-game with him, explaining any peculiarly English terms that occurred in the conversation, translating pounds into dollars, and courteously deferring to him with such phrases

english v american

My father’s counter-attack was delivered a few days later. He sought me out and said, “Mr. Jorkins is still here?” “No,

fathers coungter attack

father’s plan were surpassed by the actuality. As

entertaining lately. Now that you are paying me such a long visit, I will have many such evenings. You liked Miss Gloria Orme-Herrick?” “No.” “No?

now that you are pAying such a long visit

Lady Orme-Herrick would welcome me. However, I see you have no such doubts. I shall miss you, my dear boy, but do not hurry back on my account.” Paddington

do not hurry back on my accoun t

saw from my bathroom window Julia, with luggage at her back, drive from the forecourt and disappear at the hill’s crest, without a backward glance, I felt a sense of liberation and peace such as I was to know years later when, after a night of unrest, the sirens sounded the “All Clear.”

liberation and peace

from the wrong bottle, till we were obliged to start again with three clean glasses each, and the bottles were empty and our praise of them wilder and more exotic. “… It is a little, shy wine like a gazelle.” “Like a leprechaun.” “Dappled, in a tapestry meadow.” “Like a flute by still water.” “… And this is a wise old wine.” “A prophet in a cave.” “… And this is a necklace of pearls on a white neck.” “Like a swan.” “Like the last unicorn.” And we would leave the golden candlelight of the dining-room for the starlight outside and sit on the edge of the fountain,

wine descriptions

“Ought we to be drunk every night?” Sebastian asked one morning. “Yes, I think so.” “I think so too.”

drunk every night

remember every ball of it. Since then I’ve had to go by the papers. You seldom go to see cricket?” “Never,” I said, and he looked at me with the expression I have seen since in the religious, of innocent wonder that those who expose themselves to the dangers of the world should avail themselves so little of its varied solace. Sebastian always heard

the look of the religious

pray. My father did not go to church except on family occasions and then with derision. My mother, I think, was devout. It once seemed odd to me that she should have thought it her duty to leave my father and me and go off with an ambulance, to Serbia, to die of exhaustion in the snow in Bosnia. But later I recognized

mother died n bosnia

Later, too, I have come to accept claims which then, in 1923, I

1923

“Well, it may be good now. All I mean is that I don’t happen to like it much.” “But is there a difference between liking a thing and thinking it good?” “Bridey, don’t be so Jesuitical,” said Sebastian, but I knew that this disagreement was not a matter of words only, but expressed a deep and impassable division between us; neither had any

liking v being good

cousins—I have tried them in German and in French, but in neither tongue are they diverting. All these have now driven off to visit a neighbor. I have been spending a cozy afternoon before the

in neither tongue are tbey diverting

became very rich. It used to worry me, and I thought it wrong to have so many beautiful things when others had nothing. Now I realize that it is possible for the rich to sin by coveting the privileges of the poor. The poor have always been the favorites

the rich can sin by coveting the privelevges of thde poor

that it is one of the special achievements of Grace to sanctify the whole of life, riches included. Wealth in pagan Rome was necessarily something cruel; it’s not anymore.” I said something about a camel and the eye of a needle and she rose

wealth is not cruel any more

features of his father’s family; this was a man of the woods and caves, a hunter, a judge of the tribal council, the repository of the harsh traditions of a people at war with their environment. There were other illustrations in the book, snapshots of the three brothers on holiday, and in each

a people t war with their environment

fellows, garlanded victims, devoted to the sacrifice. These men must die to make a world for Hooper; they were the aborigines, vermin by right of law, to be shot off at leisure so that things might be safe for the traveling salesman, with his polygonal pince-nez, his fat wet

men who must die to make a world for hooper

said to do, frequenting the spots where they buried material treasures without which they cannot pay their way to the nether world. “I shall never go back,” I said to myself. A door had shut, the low door in the wall I had sought and found in Oxford; open it now and I should find no enchanted garden. I had come to the surface, into the light of common day and the fresh sea-air, after long captivity in the sunless coral palaces and waving forests of the ocean bed. I had left behind me—what? Youth? Adolescence? Romance? The

bhead left behind

happens to fancy my atmosphere…. Then she brings up religion. I’ve nothing against her Church; we don’t take much account of Catholics in Canada, but that’s different; in Europe you’ve got some very posh Catholics. All right, Julia can go to church whenever she wants

rex is canadian

sort of half-baked monk like Brideshead? Julia knows all about the other thing; if she doesn’t care, I don’t see it’s anyone else’s business.” After the duck came a salad of watercress and chicory in a faint mist of chives. I tried to think only of the salad. I succeeded for a time in thinking only of the soufflé. Then came the cognac and the proper hour for these confidences. “… Julia’s just rising twenty. I don’t want to wait till she’s of age. Anyway, I don’t want to marry without doing

dining journalism

splendid series. How could I have known? There seemed time for everything in those days; the world was open to be explored at leisure. I was so full of Oxford that summer; London could wait, I thought. The other great houses belonged to kinsmen or to childhood friends of Julia’s, and besides them there were countless substantial houses in the

the last ball of its kind

There is proverbially a mystery among most men of new wealth, how they made their first ten thousand; it is the qualities they showed then, before they became bullies, when every man was someone to be placated, when only hope sustained them and they could count

new wealth before becoming a bully

your husband. So will everyone.” “Damn everybody.” “We know nothing about him. He may have black blood—in fact he is suspiciously dark. Darling, the whole thing’s impossible. I can’t see how you

he may have black blood

abroad?” It was then explained to him that a mixed marriage was a very unostentatious affair. “How d’you mean ‘mixed’? I’m not a nigger or anything.” “No, darling, between a Catholic and a Protestant.” “Oh, that? Well, if that’s all, it’s soon unmixed. I’ll become

im not a nigger

“You never asked. Honest, I’ve not given her a thought in years.” His sincerity was so plain that they had to sit down and talk about it calmly. “Don’t you realize, you poor sweet oaf,” said Julia, “that you can’t get married as a Catholic when you’ve another wife alive?” “But I haven’t. Didn’t I just tell you we were divorced six years ago.” “But you can’t be divorced as a Catholic.” “I wasn’t a Catholic and I was divorced. I’ve got the papers somewhere.” “But didn’t Father Mowbray explain to you about marriage?” “He said I wasn’t to be divorced from you. Well, I don’t want

cathlicism

physics, from the way in which, I dimly apprehend, particles of energy group and regroup themselves in separate magnetic systems; a metaphor ready to hand for the man who can speak of these things with assurance; not for me, who can only say that England abounded in these small companies of intimate friends, so that, as in this case of Julia and myself, we could live in the same street in London, see at times, a few miles distant, the rural horizon, could have a liking one for the other, a mild curiosity about the other’s fortunes, a regret, even, that we should be separated, and the knowledge that either of us had only to pick up the telephone and speak by the other’s pillow, enjoy the intimacies of

circles of friendship

“I was glad when I found Celia was unfaithful,” I said. “I felt it was all right for me to dislike her.” “Is she? Do you? I’m glad. I don’t like her either. Why did you marry her?” “Physical attraction. Ambition. Everyone agrees she’s the ideal wife for a painter. Loneliness, missing Sebastian.” “You loved him, didn’t you?” “Oh yes. He was the forerunner.” Julia understood. The ship creaked and shuddered, rose and fell. My wife

disliking his wife

‘Cara came back from Paris with the news that you and he were inseparable. He seems to have a penchant for my children. However, bring him here; I think we have the room.’ ” “There was the time you had jaundice and wouldn’t let me see you.”

he seems to have a penchant for my children

develop little eccentricities of devotion, intense personal cults of his own; he’ll be found in the chapel at odd times and missed when he’s expected. Then one morning, after one of his drinking bouts, he’ll be picked up at the gate dying, and show by a mere flicker of the eyelid that he is conscious when they give him the last sacraments. It’s not such a bad way of getting through one’s life.” I thought of the youth with the teddy-bear under the flowering chestnuts. “It’s not what one would