82 lines
4.3 KiB
Plaintext
82 lines
4.3 KiB
Plaintext
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1819-20
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THE SKETCH BOOK
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THE INN KITCHEN
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by Washington Irving
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Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn?
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FALSTAFF.
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DURING a journey that I once made through the Netherlands, I had
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arrived one evening at the Pomme d'Or, the principal inn of a small
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Flemish village. It was after the hour of the table d'hote, so that
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I was obliged to make a solitary supper from the relics of its
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ampler board. The weather was chilly; I was seated alone in one end of
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a great gloomy dining-room, and, my repast being over, I had the
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prospect before me of a long dull evening, without any visible means
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of enlivening it. I summoned mine host, and requested something to
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read; he brought me the whole literary stock of his household, a Dutch
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family Bible, an almanac in the same language, and a number of old
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Paris newspapers. As I sat dozing over one of the latter, reading
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old and stale criticisms, my ear was now and then struck with bursts
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of laughter which seemed to proceed from the kitchen. Every one that
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has travelled on the continent must know how favorite a resort the
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kitchen of a country inn is to the middle and inferior order of
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travellers; particularly in that equivocal kind of weather, when a
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fire becomes agreeable toward evening. I threw aside the newspaper,
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and explored my way to the kitchen, to take a peep at the group that
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appeared to be so merry. It was composed partly of travellers who
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had arrived some hours before in a diligence, and partly of the
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usual attendants and hangers-on of inns. They were seated round a
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great burnished stove, that might have been mistaken for an altar,
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at which they were worshipping. It was covered with various kitchen
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vessels of resplendent brightness; among which steamed and hissed a
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huge copper tea-kettle. A large lamp threw a strong mass of light upon
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the group, bringing out many odd features in strong relief. Its yellow
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rays partially illumined the spacious kitchen, dying duskily away into
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remote corners; except where they settled in mellow radiance on the
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broad side of a flitch of bacon, or were reflected back from
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well-scoured utensils, that gleamed from the midst of obscurity. A
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strapping Flemish lass, with long golden pendants in her ears, and a
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necklace with a golden heart suspended to it, was the presiding
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priestess of the temple.
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Many of the company were furnished with pipes, and most of them with
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some kind of evening potation. I found their mirth was occasioned by
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anecdotes, which a little swarthy Frenchman, with a dry weazen face
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and large whiskers, was giving of his love adventures; at the end of
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each of which there was one of those bursts of honest unceremonious
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laughter, in which a man indulges in that temple of true liberty, an
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inn.
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As I had no better mode of getting through a tedious blustering
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evening, I took my seat near the stove, and listened to a variety of
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travellers' tales, some very extravagant, and most very dull. All of
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them, however, have faded from my treacherous memory except one, which
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I will endeavor to relate. I fear, however, it derived its chief
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zest from the manner in which it was told, and the peculiar air and
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appearance of the narrator. He was a corpulent old Swiss, who had
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the look of a veteran traveller. He was dressed in a tarnished green
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travelling-jacket, with a broad belt round his waist, and a pair of
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overalls, with buttons from the hips to the ankles. He was of a
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full, rubicund countenance, with a double chin, aquiline nose, and a
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pleasant, twinkling eye. His hair was light, and curled from under
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an old green velvet travelling-cap stuck on one side of his head. He
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was interrupted more than once by the arrival of guests, or the
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remarks of his auditors; and paused now and then to replenish his
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pipe; at which times he had generally a roguish leer, and a sly joke
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for the buxom kitchen-maid.
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I wish my readers could imagine the old fellow lolling in a huge
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arm-chair, one arm akimbo, the other holding a curiously twisted
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tobacco pipe, formed of genuine ecume de mer, decorated with silver
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chain and silken tassel- his head cocked on one side, and a
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whimsical cut of the eye occasionally, as he related the following
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story.
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THE END
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