Edward Bradley is one of few English humorists of the
mid-Victorian era who produced any work that is likely to
survive the wear of time and change of taste. "The Adventures
of Mr. Verdant Green," his earliest and best story, is, in its
way, a masterpiece. Never has the lighter and gayer side of
Oxford life been depicted with so much humour and fidelity;
and what makes this achievement still more remarkable is the
fact that Cuthbert Bede (to give Bradley the name which he
adopted for literary purposes and made famous) was not an
Oxford man. He was born at Kidderminster in 1827, and educated
at Durham University, with the idea of becoming a clergyman.
But not being old enough to take orders, he stayed for a year
at Oxford, without, however, matriculating there. At the age
of twenty he began to write for "Punch," and "The Adventures
of Verdant Green" was composed in 1853, when he was still on
the staff of that paper. The book, on its publication, had an
immense vogue, and though twenty-six other books followed from
his pen, it is still the most popular. He died on December 11,
1889.
_I.--A Very Quiet Party_
As Mr. Verdant Green was sitting, sad and lonely, in his rooms
overlooking the picturesque, mediaeval quadrangle of Brazenface College,
Oxford, a German band began to play "Home, Sweet Home," with that truth
and delicacy of expression which the wandering minstrels of Germany seem
to acquire intuitively. The sweet melancholy of the air, as it came
subdued into softer tones by distance, would probably have moved any lad
who had just been torn from the shelter of his family to fight, all
inexperienced, the battle of life. On Mr. Verdant Green it had such an
overwhelming effect that when his scout, Filcher, entered the room he
found his master looking very red about the eyes, and furiously wiping
the large spectacles from which his nick-name, "Gig-lamps," was derived.
The fact was that Mr. Verdant Green was a freshman of the freshest kind.
It was his first day in Oxford. He had been brought up entirely by his
mother and a maiden aunt. Happily, Mr. Larkyns, the rector of Manor
Green, the charming Warwickshire village of which the Greens had been
squires from time immemorial, convinced his mother that Verdant needed
the society of young men of his own age. Mr. Larkyn's own son, a manly
young fellow named Charles, had already been sent up to Brazenface
College, where he was rapidly distinguishing himself; and after many
tears and arguments, Mrs. Green had consented to her boy also going up
to Oxford.
As we have said, Mr. Verdant Green felt very tearful and lonely as his
scout entered his rooms. But the appearance of Filcher reminded him that
he was now an Oxford man, and he resolved to begin his career by calling
upon Mr. Charles Larkyns.
He found Mr. Larkyns lolling on a couch, in dressing-gown and slippers.
Opposite to him was a gentleman whose face was partly hidden by a pewter
pot, out of which he was draining the last draught. Mr. Larkyns turned
his head, and saw dimly through the clouds of tobacco smoke that filled
his room a tall, thin, spectacled figure, with a hat in one hand, and an
envelope in the other.
"It's no use," he said, "stealing a march on me in this way. I don't owe
you anything; and if I did it is not convenient to pay it. Hang you
Oxford tradesmen! You really make a man thoroughly billious. Tell your
master that I can't get any money out of my governor till I've got my
degree. Now make yourself scarce! You know where the door lies!"
Mr. Verdant Green was so confounded at this unusual reception that he
lost the power of motion and speech. But as Mr. Larkyns advanced towards
him in a threatening attitude, he managed to gasp out: "Why, Charles
Larkyns, don't you remember me, Verdant Green?"
"'Pon my word, old fellow," said his friend, "I thought you were a dun.
There are so many wretched tradesmen in this place who labour under the
impression that because a man buys a thing he means to pay for it, that
my life is mostly spent in dodging their messengers. Allow me," he
added, "to introduce you to Mr. Smalls. You will find him very useful in
helping you in your studies. He himself reads so hard that he is called
a fast man."
Mr. Smalls put down his pewter pot, and said that he had much pleasure
in forming the acquaintance of a freshman like Mr. Verdant Green; which
was undoubtedly true. And he then showed his absorbing interest in
literary studies by neglecting the society of Mr. Verdant Green and
immersing himself in the perusal of one of those vivid accounts of "a
rattling set-to between Nobby Buffer and Hammer Sykes" which make
"Bell's Life" the favourite reading of many Oxford scholars.
"I heard from my governor," said Mr. Larkyns, "that you were coming up,
and in the course of the morning I should have come to look you up. Have
a cigar, old chap?"
"Er--er--thank you very much," said Verdant, in a frightened way; "but I
have never smoked."
"Never smoked!" exclaimed Mr. Smalls, holding up "Bell's Life," and
making private signals to Mr. Larkyns. "You'll soon get the better of
that weakness! As you are a freshman, let me give you a little advice.
You know what deep readers the Germans are. That is because they smoke
more than we do. I should advise you to go at once to the
vice-chancellor and ask him for a box of good cigars. He will be
delighted to find you are beginning to set to work so soon."
Mr. Verdant Green thanked Mr. Smalls for his kind advice, and said that
he would go without delay to the vice-chancellor. And Mr. Smalls was so
delighted with the joke, for the vice-chancellor took severe steps to
prevent undergraduates from indulging in the fragrant weed, that he
invited Verdant to dine with him that evening.
"Just a small quiet party of hard-working men," said Mr. Smalls. "I hope
you don't object to a very quiet party."
"Oh, dear, no! I much prefer a quiet party," said Mr. Verdant Green;
"indeed, I have always been used to quiet parties; and I shall be very
glad to come."
In order to while away the time between then and evening, Mr. Charles
Larkyns offered to take Mr. Verdant Green over Oxford, and put him up to
a thing or two, and show him some of the freshman's sights. Naturally,
he got a considerable amount of fun out of his young and very credulous
friend. For some weeks afterwards, Mr. Verdant Green never met any of
the gorgeously robed beadles of the university without taking his hat
off and making them a profound bow. For, according to his information,
one of them was the vice-chancellor, and the rest were various
dignitaries and famous men.
By the time the inventive powers of Mr. Larkyns were exhausted, it was
necessary to dress for the very quiet party. Some hours afterwards, Mr.
Verdant Green was standing in a room filled with smoke and noise,
leaning rather heavily against the table. His friends had first tempted
him with a cigar; then, as his first smoke produced the strange effects
common in these cases, they had induced him to take a little strong
punch as a remedy. He was now leaning against the table in answer to the
call of "Mr. Gig-lamps for a song." Having decided upon one of those
vocal efforts which in the bosom of his family met with great applause,
he began to sing in low and plaintive tones, "'I dre-eamt that I dwelt
in Mar-ar-ble Halls, with'"--and then, alarmed by hearing the sound of
his own voice, he stopped.
"Try back, Verdant," shouted Mr. Larkyns.
Mr. Verdant Green tried back, but with an increased confusion of ideas,
resulting from the mixture of milk-punch and strong cigars. "'I dre-eamt
that I dwe-elt in Mar-arble Halls, with vassals and serfs at my
si-hi-hide; and--'--I beg your pardon, gentlemen, I really forget----oh,
I know--'And I also dre-eamt, which ple-eased me most--' No, that's not
it."
And, smiling very amiably, he sank down on the carpet, and went to sleep
under the table. Some time afterwards, two men were seen carrying an
inert body across the quad; they took it upstairs and put it on a bed.
And late the next morning, Mr. Verdant Green woke up with a splitting
headache, and wished that he had never been born.
As time went on, all the well-known practical jokes were played upon
him; and gradually--and sometimes painfully--he learnt the wisdom that
is not taught in books, nor acquired from maiden aunts.
_II.--Mr. Verdant Green Does as He Has Been Done By_
One morning, Mr. Green and one of his friends, little Mr. Bouncer, were
lounging in the gateway of Brazenface, when a modest-looking young man
came towards them. He seemed so ill at ease in his frock coat and high
collar that he looked as if he were wearing these articles for the first
time.
"I'll bet you a bottle of blacking, Gig-lamps," said Mr. Bouncer, "that
we have here an intending freshman. Let us take a rise out of him."
"Can you direct me to Brazenface College, please, sir?" said the
youthful stranger, flushing like a girl.
"This is Brazenface College," said Mr. Bouncer, looking very important.
"And, pray, what is your business here and your name?"
"If you please," said the stranger, "I am James Pucker. I came to enter,
sir, for my matriculation examination, and I wish to see the gentleman
who will examine me."
"Then you've come to the proper quarter, young man," said Mr. Bouncer.
"Here is Mr. Pluckem," turning to Mr. Verdant Green, "the junior
examiner."
Mr. Verdant Green took his cue with astonishing aptitude and glared
through his glasses at the trembling, blushing Mr. Pucker.
"And here," continued Mr. Bouncer, pointing to Mr. Fosbrooke, who was
coming up the street, "is the gentleman who will assist Mr. Pluckem in
examining you."
"It will be extremely inconvenient to me to examine you now," said Mr.
Fosbrooke; "but, as you probably wish to return home as soon as
possible, I will endeavour to conclude the business at once. Mr.
Bouncer, will you have the goodness to bring this young gentleman to my
rooms?"
Leaving Mr. Pucker to express his thanks for this great kindness to Mr.
Bouncer, who whiled away the time by telling him terrible stories about
the matriculation ordeal, Mr. Verdant Green and Fosbrooke ran upstairs,
and spread a newspaper over a heap of pipes and pewter pots and bottles
of ale, and prepared a table with pen, ink, and scribble-paper. Soon
afterwards, Mr. Bouncer led in the unsuspecting victim.
"Take a seat, sir," said Mr. Fosbrooke, gravely. And Mr. Pucker put his
hat on the ground, and sat down at the table in a state of blushing
nervousness. "Have you been at a public school?"
"Yes, sir," stammered the victim; "a very public one, sir. It was a
boarding school, sir. I was a day boy, sir, and in the first class."
"First class of an uncommon slow train!" muttered Mr. Bouncer.
"Now, sir," continued Mr. Fosbrooke, "let us see what your Latin writing
is like. Have the goodness to turn what I have written into Latin; and
be very careful," added Mr. Fosbrooke sternly, "be very careful that it
is good Latin!" And he handed Mr. Pucker a sheet of paper, on which he
had scribbled the following:
"To be turned into Latin after the Manner of the Animals of Tacitus: She
went into the garden to cut a cabbage to make an apple-pie. Just then a
great she-bear, coming down the street, poked its nose into the shop
window. 'What! No soap? Bosh!' So he died, and she (very imprudently)
married the barber. And there were present at the wedding the
Joblillies, and the Piccannies, and the Gobelites, and the great
Panjandrum himself, with the little button on top. So they all set to
playing catch-who-catch-can, till the gunpowder ran out at the heels of
their boots."
It was well for the purposes of the hoaxers that Mr. Pucker's
trepidation prevented him from making a calm perusal of the paper; he
was nervously doing his best to turn the nonsensical English word by
word into equally nonsensical Latin, when his limited powers of Latin
writing were brought to a full stop by the untranslatable word "bosh."
As he could make nothing of this, he gazed appealingly at the benignant
features of Mr. Verdant Green. The appealing gaze was answered by our
hero ordering Mr. Pucker to hand in his paper, and reply to the
questions on history and Euclid. Mr. Pucker took the two papers of
questions, and read as follows: