At Castle Dacre
THE moment that was to dissolve the spell which had combined and enchanted2 so many thousands of human beings arrived. Nobles and nobodies, beauties and blacklegs, dispersed3 in all directions. The Duke of Burlington carried off the French princes and the Protocolis, the Bloomerlys and the Vaticans, to his Paradise of Marringworth. The Fitz-pompeys cantered off with the Shropshires; omen1 of felicity to the enamoured St. Maurice and the enamouring Sophy. Annesley and Squib returned to their patés. Sir Lucius and Lady Aphrodite, neither of them with tempers like summer skies, betook their way to Cambridgeshire, like Adam and Eve from the glorious garden. The Duke of St. James, after a hurried visit to London, found himself, at the beginning of October, on his way to Dacre.
As his carriage rolled on he revelled4 in delicious fancies. The young Duke built castles not only at Hauteville, but in less substantial regions. Reverie, in the flush of our warm youth, generally indulges in the future. We are always anticipating the next adventure and clothe the coming heroine with a rosy5 tint6. When we advance a little on our limited journey, and an act or two of the comedy, the gayest in all probability, are over, the wizard Memory dethrones the witch Imagination, and ’tis the past on which the mind feeds in its musings. ’Tis then we ponder on each great result which has stolen on us without the labour of reflection; ’tis then we analyse emotions which, at the time, we could not comprehend, and probe the action which passion inspired, and which prejudice has hitherto defended. Alas8! who can strike these occasional balances in life’s great ledger9 without a sigh! Alas! how little do they promise in favour of the great account! What whisperings of final bankruptcy10! what a damnable consciousness of present insolvency11! My friends! what a blunder is youth! Ah! why does Truth light her torch but to illume the ruined temple of our existence! Ah! why do we know we are men only to be conscious of our exhausted12 energies!
And yet there is a pleasure in a deal of judgment13 which your judicious14 man alone can understand. It is agreeable to see some younkers falling into the same traps which have broken our own shins; and, shipwrecked on the island of our hopes, one likes to mark a vessel15 go down full in sight. ’Tis demonstration17 that we are not branded as Cains among the favoured race of man. Then giving advice: that is delicious, and perhaps repays one all. It is a privilege your grey-haired signors solely18 can enjoy; but young men now-a-days may make some claims to it. And, after all, experience is a thing that all men praise. Bards19 sing its glories, and proud Philosophy has long elected it her favourite child. ’Tis the ‘rò Kaxàv’, in spite of all its ugliness, and the elixir20 vit?, though we generally gain it with a shattered pulse.
No more! no more! it is a bitter cheat, the consolation21 of blunderers, the last refuge of expiring hopes, the forlorn battalion22 that is to capture the citadel23 of happiness; yet, yet impregnable! Oh! what is wisdom, and what is virtue24, without youth! Talk not to me of knowledge of mankind; give, give me back the sunshine of the breast which they o’erclouded! Talk not to me of proud morality; oh! give me innocence25!
Amid the ruins of eternal Rome I scribble26 pages lighter27 than the wind, and feed with fancies volumes which will be forgotten ere I can hear that they are even published. Yet am I not one insensible to the magic of my memorable28 abode29, and I could pour my passion o’er the land; but I repress my thoughts, and beat their tide back to their hollow caves!
The ocean of my mind is calm, but dim, and ominous30 of storms that may arise. A cloud hangs heavy o’er the horizon’s verge31, and veils the future. Even now a star appears, steals into light, and now again ’tis gone! I hear the proud swell32 of the growing waters; I hear the whispering of the wakening winds; but reason lays her trident on the cresting33 waves, and all again is hushed.
For I am one, though young, yet old enough to know ambition is a demon16; and I fly from what I fear. And fame has eagle wings, and yet she mounts not so high as man’s desires. When all is gained, how little then is won! And yet to gain that little how much is lost! Let us once aspire34 and madness follows. Could we but drag the purple from the hero’s heart; could we but tear the laurel from the poet’s throbbing35 brain, and read their doubts, their dangers, their despair, we might learn a greater lesson than we shall ever acquire by musing7 over their exploits or their inspiration. Think of unrecognised Caesar, with his wasting youth, weeping over the Macedonian’s young career! Could Pharsalia compensate36 for those withering37 pangs38? View the obscure Napoleon starving in the streets of Paris! What was St. Helena to the bitterness of such existence? The visions of past glory might illumine even that dark-imprisonment; but to be conscious that his supernatural energies might die away without creating their miracles: can the wheel or the rack rival the torture of such a suspicion? Lo! Byron bending o’er his shattered lyre, with inspiration in his very rage. And the pert taunt39 could sting even this child of light! To doubt of the truth of the creed40 in which you have been nurtured41 is not so terrific as to doubt respecting the intellectual vigour42 on whose strength you have staked your happiness. Yet these were mighty43 ones; perhaps the records of the world will not yield us threescore to be their mates! Then tremble, ye whose cheek glows too warmly at their names! Who would be more than man should fear lest he be less.
Yet there is hope, there should be happiness, for them, for all. Kind Nature, ever mild, extends her fond arms to her truant44 children, and breathes her words of solace45. As we weep on her indulgent and maternal46 breast, the exhausted passions, one by one, expire like gladiators in yon huge pile that has made barbarity sublime47. Yes! there is hope and joy; and it is here!
Where the breeze wanders through a perfumed sky, and where the beautiful sun illumines beauty.
On the poet’s farm and on the conqueror’s arch thy beam is lingering! It lingers on the shattered porticoes48 that once shrouded49 from thy o’erpowering glory the lords of earth; it lingers upon the ruined temples that even in their desolation are yet sacred! ’Tis gone, as if in sorrow! Yet the woody lake still blushes with thy warm kiss; and still thy rosy light tinges50 the pine that breaks the farthest heaven!
A heaven all light, all beauty, and all love! What marvel51 men should worship in these climes? And lo! a small and single cloud is sailing in the immaculate ether, burnished52 with twilight53, like an Olympian chariot from above, with the fair vision of some graceful54 god!
It is the hour that poets love; but I crush thoughts that rise from out my mind, like nymphs from out their caves, when sets the sun. Yes, ’tis a blessing55 here to breathe and muse56. And cold his clay, indeed, who does not yield to thy Ausonian beauty! Clime where the heart softens57 and the mind expands! Region of mellowed58 bliss59! O most enchanting60 land!
But we are at the park gates.
They whirled along through a park which would have contained half a hundred of those Patagonian paddocks of modern times which have usurped61 the name. At length the young Duke was roused from his reverie by Carlstein, proud of his previous knowledge, leaning over and announcing —
‘Chateau de Dacre, your Grace!’
The Duke looked up. The sun, which had already set, had tinged62 with a dying crimson63 the eastern sky, against which rose a princely edifice64. Castle Dacre was the erection of Vanbrugh, an imaginative artist, whose critics we wish no bitterer fate than not to live in his splendid creations. A spacious65 centre, richly ornamented66, though broken, perhaps, into rather too much detail, was joined to wings of a corresponding magnificence by fanciful colonnades67. A terrace, extending the whole front, was covered with orange trees, and many a statue, and many an obelisk68, and many a temple, and many a fountain, were tinted69 with the warm twilight. The Duke did not view the forgotten scene of youth without emotion. It was a palace worthy70 of the heroine on whom he had been musing. The carriage gained the lofty portal. Luigi and Spiridion, who had preceded their master, were ready to receive the Duke, who was immediately ushered71 to the rooms prepared for his reception. He was later than he had intended, and no time was to be unnecessarily lost in his preparation for his appearance.
His Grace’s toilet was already prepared: the magical dressing-box had been unpacked72, and the shrine73 for his devotions was covered with richly-cut bottles of all sizes, arranged in all the elegant combinations which the picturesque74 fancy of his valet could devise, adroitly75 intermixed with the golden instruments, the china vases, and the ivory and rosewood brushes, which were worthy even of Delcroix’s exquisite76 inventions.
The Duke of St. James was master of the art of dress, and consequently consummated77 that paramount78 operation with the decisive rapidity of one whose principles are settled. He was cognisant of all effects, could calculate in a second all consequences, and obtained his result with that promptitude and precision which stamp the great artist. For a moment he was plunged79 in profound abstraction, and at the same time stretched his legs after his drive. He then gave his orders with the decision of Wellington on the arrival of the Prussians, and the battle began.
His Grace had a taste for magnificence in costume; but he was handsome, young, and a duke. Pardon him. Yet today he was, on the whole, simple. Confident in a complexion80 whose pellucid81 lustre82 had not yielded to a season of dissipation, his Grace did not dread83 the want of relief which a white face, a white cravat84, and a white waistcoat would seem to imply.
A hair chain set in diamonds, worn in memory of the absent Aphrodite, and to pique85 the present Dacre, is annexed86 to a glass, which reposes87 in the waistcoat pocket. This was the only weight that the Duke of St. James ever carried. It was a bore, but it was indispensable.
It is done. He stops one moment before the long pier-glass, and shoots a glance which would have read the mind of Talleyrand. It will do. He assumes the look, the air that befit the occasion: cordial, but dignified88; sublime, but sweet. He descends89 like a deity90 from Olympus to a banquet of illustrious mortals.
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1
omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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revelled
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| v.作乐( revel的过去式和过去分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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7
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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10
bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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insolvency
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| n.无力偿付，破产 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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15
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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16
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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18
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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bards
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| n.诗人( bard的名词复数 ) | |
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elixir
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| n.长生不老药，万能药 | |
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21
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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23
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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24
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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25
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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26
scribble
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| v.潦草地书写，乱写，滥写；n.潦草的写法，潦草写成的东西，杂文 | |
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27
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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28
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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29
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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31
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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32
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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33
cresting
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| n.顶饰v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的现在分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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34
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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35
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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36
compensate
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| vt.补偿，赔偿；酬报 vi.弥补；补偿；抵消 | |
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withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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39
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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nurtured
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| 养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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44
truant
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| n.懒惰鬼，旷课者；adj.偷懒的，旷课的，游荡的；v.偷懒，旷课 | |
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45
solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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porticoes
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| n.柱廊，（有圆柱的）门廊( portico的名词复数 ) | |
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shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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tinges
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| n.细微的色彩，一丝痕迹( tinge的名词复数 ) | |
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51
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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52
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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53
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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softens
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| （使）变软( soften的第三人称单数 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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mellowed
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| （使）成熟( mellow的过去式和过去分词 )； 使色彩更加柔和，使酒更加醇香 | |
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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61
usurped
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| 篡夺，霸占( usurp的过去式和过去分词 )； 盗用； 篡夺，篡权 | |
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tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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colonnades
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| n.石柱廊( colonnade的名词复数 ) | |
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obelisk
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| n.方尖塔 | |
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tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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adroitly
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| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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consummated
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| v.使结束( consummate的过去式和过去分词 )；使完美；完婚；（婚礼后的）圆房 | |
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paramount
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| a.最重要的，最高权力的 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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pellucid
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| adj.透明的，简单的 | |
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lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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pique
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| v.伤害…的自尊心，使生气 n.不满，生气 | |
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86
annexed
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| [法] 附加的，附属的 | |
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87
reposes
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的第三人称单数 ) | |
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88
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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89
descends
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| v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 )；下去；下降；下斜 | |
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90
deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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