The Duke of St. James was now, in the comprehensive sense of the phrase, a public character. Some choice spirits took the hint from the public feeling, and determined5 to dine on the public curiosity. A Sunday journal was immediately established. Of this epic6 our Duke was the hero. His manners, his sayings, his adventures, regularly regaled, on each holy day, the Protestant population of this Protestant empire, who in France or Italy, or even Germany, faint at the sight of a peasantry testifying their gratitude7 for a day of rest by a dance or a tune8. ‘Sketches of the Alhambra,’ ‘Soupers in the Regent’s Park,’ ‘The Court of the Caliph,’ ‘The Bird Cage,’ &c, &c, &c, were duly announced and duly devoured9. This journal, being solely10 devoted11 to the illustration of the life of a single and a private individual, was appropriately entitled ‘The Universe.’ Its contributors were eminently12 successful. Their pure inventions and impure13 details were accepted as delicate truth; and their ferocious14 familiarity with persons with whom they were totally unacquainted demonstrated at the same time their knowledge both of the forms and the personages of polite society.
At the first announcement of this hebdomadal his Grace was a little annoyed, and ‘Noctes Hautevillienses’ made him fear treason; but when he had read a number, he entirely15 acquitted16 any person of a breach17 of confidence. On the whole he was amused. A variety of ladies in time were introduced, with many of whom the Duke had scarcely interchanged a bow; but the respectable editor was not up to Lady Afy.
If his Grace, however, were soon reconciled to this not very agreeable notoriety, and consoled himself under the activity of his libellers by the conviction that their prolusions did not even amount to a caricature, he was less easily satisfied with another performance which speedily advanced its claims to public notice.
There is an unavoidable reaction in all human affairs. The Duke of St. James had been so successfully attacked that it became worth while successfully to defend him, and another Sunday paper appeared, the object of which was to maintain the silver side of the shield. Here everything was couleur de rose. One week the Duke saved a poor man from the Serpentine18; another a poor woman from starvation; now an orphan19 was grateful; and now Miss Zouch, impelled20 by her necessity and his reputation, addressed him a column and a half, quite heart-rending. Parents with nine children; nine children without parents; clergymen most improperly21 unbeneficed; officers most wickedly reduced; widows of younger sons of quality sacrificed to the Colonies; sisters of literary men sacrificed to national works, which required his patronage to appear; daughters who had known better days, but somehow or other had not been so well acquainted with their parents; all advanced with multiplied petitions, and that hackneyed, heartless air of misery22 which denotes the mumper. His Grace was infinitely23 annoyed, and scarcely compensated24 for the inconvenience by the prettiest little creature in the world, who one day forced herself into his presence to solicit25 the honour of dedicating to him her poems.
He had enough on his hands, so he wrote her a cheque and, with a courtesy which must have made Sappho quite desperate, put her out of the room.
We forgot to say that the name of the new journal was ‘The New World.’ The new world is not quite so big as the universe, but then it is as large as all the other quarters of the globe together. The worst of this business was, ‘The Universe’ protested that the Duke of St. James, like a second Canning, had called this ‘New World’ into existence, which was too bad, because, in truth, he deprecated its discovery scarcely less than the Venetians.
Having thus managed, in the course of a few weeks, to achieve the reputation of an unrivalled roué, our hero one night betook himself to Almack’s, a place where his visits, this season, were both shorter and less frequent.
Many an anxious mother gazed upon him, as he passed, with an eye which longed to pierce futurity; many an agitated26 maiden27 looked exquisitely28 unembarrassed, while her fluttering memory feasted on the sweet thought that, at any rate, another had not captured this unrivalled prize. Perhaps she might be the Anson to fall upon this galleon29. It was worth a long cruise, and even a chance of shipwreck30.
He danced with Lady Aphrodite, because, since the affair of the Signora, he was most punctilious31 in his attentions to her, particularly in public. That affair, of course, she passed over in silence, though it was bitter. She, however, had had sufficient experience of man to feel that remonstrance32 is a last resource, and usually an ineffectual one. It was something that her rival — not that her ladyship dignified33 the Bird by that title — it was something that she was not her equal, that she was not one with whom she could be put in painful and constant collision. She tried to consider it a freak, to believe only half she heard, and to indulge the fancy that it was a toy which would soon tire. As for Sir Lucius, he saw nothing in this adventure, or indeed in the Alhambra system at all, which militated against his ulterior views. No one more constantly officiated at the ducal orgies than himself, both because he was devoted to self-gratification, and because he liked ever to have his protégé in sight. He studiously prevented any other individual from becoming the Petronius of the circle. His deep experience also taught him that, with a person of the young Duke’s temper, the mode of life which he was now leading was exactly the one which not only would insure, but even hurry, the catastrophe34 his faithful friend so eagerly desired. His pleasures, as Sir Lucius knew, would soon pall35; for he easily perceived that the Duke was not heartless enough for a roué. When thorough satiety36 is felt, young men are in the cue for desperate deeds. Looking upon happiness as a dream, or a prize which, in life’s lottery37, they have missed; worn, hipped38, dissatisfied, and desperate, they often hurry on a result which they disapprove39, merely to close a miserable41 career, or to brave the society with which they cannot sympathise.
The Duke, however, was not yet sated. As after a feast, when we have despatched a quantity of wine, there sometimes, as it were, arises a second appetite, unnatural42 to be sure, but very keen; so, in a career of dissipation, when our passion for pleasure appears to be exhausted43, the fatal fancy of man, like a wearied hare, will take a new turn, throw off the hell-hounds of ennui44, and course again with renewed vigour45.
And to-night the Duke of St. James was, as he had been for some weeks, all life, and fire, and excitement; and his eye was even now wandering round the room in quest of some consummate46 spirit whom he might summon to his Saracenic Paradise.
A consummate spirit his eye lighted on. There stood May Dacre. He gasped47 for breath. He turned pale. It was only for a moment, and his emotion was unperceived. There she stood, beautiful as when she first glanced before him; there she stood, with all her imperial graces; and all surrounding splendour seemed to fade away before her dazzling presence, like mournful spirits of a lower world before a radiant creature of the sky.
She was speaking with her sunlight smile to a young man whose appearance attracted his notice. He was dressed entirely in black, rather short, but slenderly made; sallow, but clear, with long black curls and a Murillo face, and looked altogether like a young Jesuit or a Venetian official by Giorgone or Titian. His countenance48 was reserved and his manner not easy: yet, on the whole, his face indicated intellect and his figure blood. The features haunted the Duke’s memory. He had met this person before. There are some countenances49 which when once seen can never be forgotten, and the young man owned one of these. The Duke recalled him to his memory with a pang50.
Our hero — let him still be ours, for he is rather desolate51, and he requires the backing of his friends — our hero behaved pretty well. He seized the first favourable52 opportunity to catch Miss Dacre’s eye, and was grateful for her bow. Emboldened53, he accosted54 her, and asked after Mr. Dacre. She was courteous55, but unembarrassed. Her calmness, however, piqued56 him sufficiently57 to allow him to rally. He was tolerably easy, and talked of calling. Their conversation lasted only for a few minutes, and was fortunately terminated without his withdrawal58, which would have been awkward. The young man whom we have noticed came up to claim her hand.
‘Arundel Dacre, or my eyes deceive me?’ said the young Duke. ‘I always consider an old Etonian a friend, and therefore I address you without ceremony.’
The young man accepted, but not with readiness, the offered hand. He blushed and spoke59, but in a hesitating and husky voice. Then he cleared his throat, and spoke again, but not much more to the purpose. Then he looked to his partner, whose eyes were on the ground, and rose as he endeavoured to catch them. For a moment he was silent again; then he bowed slightly to Miss Dacre and solemnly to the Duke, and then he carried off his cousin.
‘Poor Dacre!’ said the Duke; ‘he always had the worst manner in the world. Not in the least changed.’
His Grace wandered into the tea-room. A knot of dandies were in deep converse60. He heard his own name and that of the Duke of Burlington; then came ‘Doncaster beauty.’ ‘Don’t you know?’ ‘Oh! yes.’ ‘All quite mad,’ &c, &c, &c. As he passed he was invited in different ways to join the coterie61 of his admirers, but he declined the honour, and passed them with that icy hauteur62 which he could assume, and which, judiciously63 used, contributed not a little to his popularity.
He could not conquer his depression; and, although it was scarcely past midnight, he determined to disappear. Fortunately his carriage was waiting. He was at a loss what to do with himself. He dreaded64 even to be alone. The Signora was at a private concert, and she was the last person whom, at this moment, he cared to see. His low spirits rapidly increased. He got terribly nervous, and felt miserable. At last he drove to White’s.
The House had just broken up, and the political members had just entered, and in clusters, some standing65 and some yawning, some stretching their arms and some stretching their legs, presented symptoms of an escape from boredom66. Among others, round the fire, was a young man dressed in a rough great coat all cords and sables67, with his hat bent68 aside, a shawl tied round his neck with boldness, and a huge oaken staff clenched69 in his left hand. With the other he held the ‘Courier,’ and reviewed with a critical eye the report of the speech which he had made that afternoon. This was Lord Darrell.
We have always considered the talents of younger brothers as an unanswerable argument in favour of a Providence70. Lord Darrell was the younger son of the Earl of Darleyford, and had been educated for a diplomatist. A report some two years ago had been very current that his elder brother, then Lord Darrell, was, against the consent of his family, about to be favoured with the hand of Mrs. Dallington Vere. Certain it is he was a devoted admirer of that lady. Of that lady, however, a less favoured rival chose one day to say that which staggered the romance of the impassioned youth. In a moment of rashness, impelled by sacred feelings, it is reported, at least, for the whole is a mystery, he communicated what he had heard with horror to the mistress of his destinies. Whatever took place, certain it is Lord Darrell challenged the indecorous speaker, and was shot through the heart. The affair made a great sensation, and the Darleyfords and their connections said bitter things of Mrs. Dallington, and talked much of rash youth and subtle women of discreeter years, and passions shamefully71 inflamed72 and purposes wickedly egged on. We say nothing of all this; nor will we dwell upon it. Mrs. Dallington Vere assuredly was no slight sufferer. But she conquered the cabal73 that was formed against her, for the dandies were her friends, and gallantly74 supported her through a trial under which some women would have sunk. As it was, at the end of the season she did travel, but all is now forgotten; and Hill Street, Berkeley Square, again contains, at the moment of our story, its brightest ornament75.
The present Lord Darrell gave up all idea of being an ambassador, but he was clever; and though he hurried to gratify a taste for pleasure which before had been too much mortified76, he could not relinquish77 the ambitious prospects78 with which he had, during the greater part of his life, consoled himself for his cadetship. He piqued himself upon being at the same time a dandy and a statesman. He spoke in the House, and not without effect. He was one of those who make themselves masters of great questions; that is to say, who read a great many reviews and newspapers, and are full of others’ thoughts without ever having thought themselves. He particularly prided himself upon having made his way into the Alhambra set. He was the only man of business among them. The Duke liked him, for it is agreeable to be courted by those who are themselves considered.
Lord Darrell was a favourite with women. They like a little intellect. He talked fluently on all subjects. He was what is called ‘a talented young man.’ Then he had mind, and soul, and all that. The miracles of creation have long agreed that body without soul will not do; and even a coxcomb79 in these days must be original, or he is a bore. No longer is such a character the mere40 creation of his tailor and his perfumer. Lord Darrell was an avowed80 admirer of Lady Caroline St. Maurice, and a great favourite with her parents, who both considered him an oracle81 on the subjects which respectively interested them. You might dine at Fitz-pompey House and hear his name quoted at both ends of the table; by the host upon the state of Europe, and by the hostess upon the state of the season. Had it not been for the young Duke, nothing would have given Lady Fitz-pompey greater pleasure than to have received him as a son-in-law; but, as it was, he was only kept in store for the second string to Cupid’s bow.
Lord Darrell had just quitted the House in a costume which, though rough, was not less studied than the finished and elaborate toilet which, in the course of an hour, he will exhibit in the enchanted82 halls of Almack’s. There he will figure to the last, the most active and the most remarked; and though after these continued exertions83 he will not gain his couch perhaps till seven, our Lord of the Treasury84, for he is one, will resume his official duties at an earlier hour than any functionary85 in the kingdom.
Yet our friend is a little annoyed now. What is the matter? He dilates86 to his uncle, Lord Seymour Temple, a greyheaded placeman, on the profligacy87 of the press. What is this? The Virgilian line our orator88 introduced so felicitously89 is omitted. He panegyrizes the ‘Mirror of Parliament,’ where, he has no doubt, the missing verse will appear. The quotation90 was new, ‘Timeo Danaos.’
Lord Seymour Temple begins a long story about Fox and General Fitzpatrick. This is a signal for a general retreat; and the bore, as Sir Boyle Roche would say, like the last rose of summer, remains91 talking to himself.
点击收听单词发音
1 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
2 patronage | |
n.赞助,支援,援助;光顾,捧场 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
3 celebrity | |
n.名人,名流;著名,名声,名望 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
4 pariahs | |
n.被社会遗弃者( pariah的名词复数 );贱民 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
5 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
6 epic | |
n.史诗,叙事诗;adj.史诗般的,壮丽的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
7 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
8 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
9 devoured | |
吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 ); 耗尽; 津津有味地看; 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
10 solely | |
adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
11 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
12 eminently | |
adv.突出地;显著地;不寻常地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
13 impure | |
adj.不纯净的,不洁的;不道德的,下流的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
14 ferocious | |
adj.凶猛的,残暴的,极度的,十分强烈的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
15 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
16 acquitted | |
宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 ); 使(自己)作出某种表现 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
17 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
18 serpentine | |
adj.蜿蜒的,弯曲的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
19 orphan | |
n.孤儿;adj.无父母的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
20 impelled | |
v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
21 improperly | |
不正确地,不适当地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
22 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
23 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
24 compensated | |
补偿,报酬( compensate的过去式和过去分词 ); 给(某人)赔偿(或赔款) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
25 solicit | |
vi.勾引;乞求;vt.请求,乞求;招揽(生意) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
26 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
27 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
28 exquisitely | |
adv.精致地;强烈地;剧烈地;异常地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
29 galleon | |
n.大帆船 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
30 shipwreck | |
n.船舶失事,海难 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
31 punctilious | |
adj.谨慎的,谨小慎微的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
32 remonstrance | |
n抗议,抱怨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
33 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
34 catastrophe | |
n.大灾难,大祸 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
35 pall | |
v.覆盖,使平淡无味;n.柩衣,棺罩;棺材;帷幕 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
36 satiety | |
n.饱和;(市场的)充分供应 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
37 lottery | |
n.抽彩;碰运气的事,难于算计的事 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
38 hipped | |
adj.着迷的,忧郁的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
39 disapprove | |
v.不赞成,不同意,不批准 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
40 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
41 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
42 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
43 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
44 ennui | |
n.怠倦,无聊 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
45 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
46 consummate | |
adj.完美的;v.成婚;使完美 [反]baffle | |
参考例句: |
|
|
47 gasped | |
v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 );喘息;倒抽气;很想要 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
48 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
49 countenances | |
n.面容( countenance的名词复数 );表情;镇静;道义支持 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
50 pang | |
n.剧痛,悲痛,苦闷 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
51 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
52 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
53 emboldened | |
v.鼓励,使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
54 accosted | |
v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 );跟…搭讪;(乞丐等)上前向…乞讨;(妓女等)勾搭 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
55 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
56 piqued | |
v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 );激起(好奇心) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
57 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
58 withdrawal | |
n.取回,提款;撤退,撤军;收回,撤销 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
59 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
60 converse | |
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
61 coterie | |
n.(有共同兴趣的)小团体,小圈子 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
62 hauteur | |
n.傲慢 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
63 judiciously | |
adv.明断地,明智而审慎地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
64 dreaded | |
adj.令人畏惧的;害怕的v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
65 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
66 boredom | |
n.厌烦,厌倦,乏味,无聊 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
67 sables | |
n.紫貂( sable的名词复数 );紫貂皮;阴暗的;暗夜 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
68 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
69 clenched | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
70 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
71 shamefully | |
可耻地; 丢脸地; 不体面地; 羞耻地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
72 inflamed | |
adj.发炎的,红肿的v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
73 cabal | |
n.政治阴谋小集团 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
74 gallantly | |
adv. 漂亮地,勇敢地,献殷勤地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
75 ornament | |
v.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
76 mortified | |
v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 );伤害(人的感情);克制;抑制(肉体、情感等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
77 relinquish | |
v.放弃,撤回,让与,放手 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
78 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
79 coxcomb | |
n.花花公子 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
80 avowed | |
adj.公开声明的,承认的v.公开声明,承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
81 oracle | |
n.神谕,神谕处,预言 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
82 enchanted | |
adj. 被施魔法的,陶醉的,入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
83 exertions | |
n.努力( exertion的名词复数 );费力;(能力、权力等的)运用;行使 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
84 treasury | |
n.宝库;国库,金库;文库 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
85 functionary | |
n.官员;公职人员 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
86 dilates | |
v.(使某物)扩大,膨胀,张大( dilate的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
87 profligacy | |
n.放荡,不检点,肆意挥霍 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
88 orator | |
n.演说者,演讲者,雄辩家 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
89 felicitously | |
adv.恰当地,适切地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
90 quotation | |
n.引文,引语,语录;报价,牌价,行情 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
91 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
欢迎访问英文小说网 |